by Dixie Cash
She returned her attention to the menu. “Well, not much, really....Maybe some chicken tenders. Hm. Then again, maybe not. I don’t know if I’m in the mood for eating fowl right now. And they’re deep-fried. Still, they look like the only thing on the menu that isn’t loaded with calories....Oh, wait, I know. I could have a Hogg’s Chili Dog. I haven’t had a chili dog in ages. But that’s probably super fattening and they say hot dogs are so unhealthy. ... Hey, they serve breakfast all day. I could have —”
“Ma’am, please. I’m hungry. Pick something.”
She gave him a glare and a gasp. “Look, you’re the one who asked me in here. I didn’t ask you.”
He shrugged and arched his brow.
“You know what? A small plain hamburger is just fine. A child’s size.”
“Baby hamburger. Coming up.” He scooted out of the booth and walked to the order counter, giving Sandi another excellent view of his very fine butt in his tight Wranglers. But after Fiona’s drunken remarks, that wasn’t the part that drew her.
Thinking of sex, her boyfriend floated into her mind. Had she ever seen Richard in a pair of tight jeans? The answer to that question was a resounding no. If he wore jeans at all, he wore “mom jeans.” His body was a pathetic comparison to the one standing at the counter placing an order for hamburgers.
She pinched herself mentally. Richard might not be a hard body with a big ding-dong, but he was steady, with a good education and a good income. He didn’t smoke, didn’t do drugs and drank only moderately. They were as comfortable with each other as a brother and sister and nothing was wrong with that. Surely, long happy relationships were based on comfort.
Being around Nick Conway would lead to something different from comfort. Sex. Red hot sex. The kind that wakes you from a sound sleep. And that was anything but comfortable.
Nick’s return to the booth interrupted those wayward thoughts. He carried a tray laden with food and two tall Styrofoam cups. He began to unload everything off the tray and set it on the table. Two baskets of hamburgers and fries and a couple of Hogg’s locally-famous fried pies enclosed inside parchment wrappers. Folded over, they were not much smaller than a dinner plate.
She stared at the array of food. “That’s a lot of food. I don’t see a small hamburger.”
“A child’s hamburger is the size of a quarter. Not enough to eat. I got you a regular size.”
Controlling jerk. Sandi made a huff of annoyance. “You also got fried pies. What kind?”
“Apricot. The kind my granny used to make when I was a little tyke. Hogg’s uses lard in the crust, just like my granny did. That’s why they taste so good.”
She made a mental groan. “A fried pie made by these people probably has about five thousand calories.”
His brow scrunched into a frown. “You’re not gonna eat a fried pie after I got you one?”
She shook her head. “I am not. I did not ask for a fried pie. You obviously aren’t concerned with your diet, but I try to limit the fat and carbs I eat. I don’t want to have a heart attack before I’m thirty-five and I want to be able to pass through the front door of my shop.”
He scooted the fried pie across the table toward her. “One little fried pie is not gonna give you a heart attack or put twenty pounds on you. Maybe a dose of sugar will put you in a better mood.”
She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Now that food was before her, she really was hungry. She stared at the pie, tempted. “Welll...I know the fried pies are good. I’ve had them before. My aunt always buys them.” She peeled back the wrapper, broke off a small corner, put it into her mouth and chewed the heavenly confection, its flaky layers rich with lard and butter and perfectly fried to a golden brown. She wanted to just grab it and gobble it up, but she couldn’t let herself be so undisciplined.
He was looking at her as if he was eager for her to say something, so she complied. “Do you know that even after all these years, this place still claims that Elvis Presley loved their fried pies? And they claim they shipped them to him in Memphis many times.”
Nick looked around at their surroundings, laughing. “I’ve been hearing those Elvis stories ever since I first moved here. You believe that stuff about him eating here?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I just can’t figure out how and why a music icon like Elvis Presley ever even passed through a burg like this.” Nick unwrapped his thick burger and bit into it, smearing chili all the way to his nose. He grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth while he chewed.
“It was in the early days of his career. Before he got so famous.” Sandi broke off another tiny bite of the fried pie and munched on it, barely restrained herself from moaning with delight. “They say his bus had mechanical problems and he had to stay here overnight. He fell in love with Hogg’s food. He wasn’t the healthiest eater, you know.” She broke off a larger chunk of the pie and popped it into her mouth.
Nick’s wide shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’ve never kept up with Elvis. But if he ever really came in here, I can believe the part about him falling in love with the food.”
She picked up a Styrofoam cup, lifted the plastic lid and looked inside. “What’s this?”
“Iced tea. No sugar.” He settled back into the seat and gave her another cute grin, as if he were proud of his cleverness, which did nothing to help her erase a naked Nick and a big ding-dong from her mind.
All at once, the coincidence of running into him again and in Salt Lick, of all places, dawned on Sandi. Located sixty-five miles southwest of Midland, the tiny town wasn’t exactly on the beaten path. “What are you doing in Salt Lick, Mr. Conway?”
“I work here. Out at the Flying C.”
Naturally, he worked on a ranch. He was obviously a cowboy. “Oh. That’s the ranch owned by the local rich guy. My aunt and her partner know him.”
“I imagine everybody in town knows Harley. Probably everybody in Texas. Yeah, he’s rich. More oil wells than he can count. But he’s still a good guy.”
“I thought you lived in Midland.”
“Not right now. I grew up in Midland though. I’ve still got my place up there. I’m here most of the time, but I go up there when I get a chance. Mostly on weekends.”
“What kind of place?”
“Some grazing land and a house and a barn. What are you doing here?”
“Visiting a relative. I brought a parrot down to my aunt.”
“A parrot,” he said, a flat expression on his face. “You mean a big colorful bird?”
“I had to find him a good home.” From out of the blue, a new spate of tears filled Sandi’s throat and eyes and began to slide down her cheeks. “I took him in after the SPCA rescued him. I’m a...I’m a...rescue animal foster parent.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “A what?”
“I’m a registered foster parent for unwanted animals,” she wailed, her voice hitching.
She put down her fried pie and shook her head, turned to her purse and rummaged for a fresh Kleenex. After she mopped her eyes and nose, she glanced at him. He was looking at her with bewilderment. He probably thought she had lost her mind. She almost concurred. Why was she so grief-stricken over a parrot?
“Is that what’s got you so upset?”
“I’m not upset.” A new wave of tears burst out. “I just hate parting with him. I think I fell in love with him.”
A long pause while he sat and watched her compose herself. Finally, he said something. “I can understand, I guess. I like animals myself. I lost my dog a few months ago and I’m still stewing over it. I feel like I lost a brother.” He took another bite of his burger and gave her a long look as he chewed. “I’ve also got an old horse I’ve had since I was a boy and a couple of llamas my neighbor abandoned.”
“You don’t strike me as the llama type.”
“I can’t stand to see any animal starve to death. The sheriff’s office was gonna haul them off. I knew what that meant, so I took them. At least they pay the
ir way. I have them sheared and sell their wool. Come spring, I’ll probably try to sell them. This parrot. Is he big? Little?” He formed his thumb and finger into a measuring gesture.
“Are you making a joke? He’s an African Grey. On the vet’s scale, he weighs two pounds, give or take. The size of a small chicken.”
“Never heard of African Grey, but I know this much. Birds aren’t like dogs. From what I know about birds, you’re probably just as well off to be rid of one. Looks to me like a pet bird the size of a chicken could be a helluva lot of trouble.”
“He is...was.... But he was fun, too.” She sobbed again, sopping her cheeks and eyes with her napkin.
He heaved a sigh. “Ma’am, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to let you drive back to Midland alone. You’re in no shape—”
“My shape is none of your business. You’re not—you’re not the boss of me.”
“You’re too upset. If you had a wreck, I’d feel guilty.”
He was right. She needed to pull herself together. Waffle and a herd of animals that depended on her waited at home. She drew a deep sniff and wiped her eyes. “If you’re thinking of driving me to Midland, forget it. I’m fine now.”
“Uh-huh. I can see that. Look, maybe you could think about it another way. Maybe you could be glad the parrot’s gone. I’ll bet he lived inside your house and I’m sure he made a hulluva mess. Now that he’s gone, you don’t have to clean up after him.”
“Don’t say that.” She broke into tears again. “I didn’t mind. He cooed to me when I left him.”
“You loved him, he loved you. A real romance, huh?” He dragged a French fry through his puddle of Hogg’s Special Sauce. “What makes you think he loved you? Birds aren’t capable of emotion. They function from instinct, not intelligence. A two-pound bird’s brain is probably the size of a marble.”
Sandy gasped. “How do you know so much?”
“A lot of animal science in college. And logic.”
“College? Oh, really. And what college did you attend? You’re a ... you’re a cowboy.”
His pointed glare came at her like a spear. “I caught that sneer when you said that. What, you think cowboys can’t go to college?”
She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. “I didn’t mean that. I went to college in Odessa and there were plenty of cowboys who were students.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“All I meant was I didn’t think...I mean, I assumed...You just don’t strike me as a college man.”
“I don’t strike you as a llama man, either, but the two I’ve got aren’t a mirage.”
“Did you ... graduate?”
“Sure did. Got a BS. And that doesn’t stand for bullshit. Went to Texas Tech on a football scholarship. Got a degree in biology. Been through A&M’s range management program. Studied grasslands enhancement with Dow Chemical. I’ve got a Masters in animal nutrition. That enough education for you?”
Her mind blanked out. Now she felt foolish and embarrassed. He knew more about nutritious food for animals than she did. “Okay, okay. I apologize for stereotyping. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” She toyed with her napkin. “I’m not thinking clearly. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am a little upset. You’re the manager of the Flying C Ranch?”
“Yep. All of what I just told you and a few years’ experience qualifies me to be the general manager of just about any spread in Texas. And that’s what I do. A man’s gotta make a living.”
“Managing a big ranch must be a good job.”
“It is. It’s like being a CEO. And I like it. Provides me with damn near everything a man could want.”
“Believe it or not, I know how you feel. I like what I do, too. I’m not making a fortune in my little business, but I’m making enough. And the personal satisfaction would be hard to give up. I suppose it depends on your priorities.”
He nodded, chewing on another bite of burger. He had eaten more than half of the super-size burger.
She looked down at her own food. The fried pie had disappeared. Without even realizing it, she had eaten all of it. He tilted his head toward the empty wrapper that had held it. “You must’ve decided that fried pie wasn’t too fattening after all. Want another?”
She ducked her chin, glared at him from beneath her brow and drew a long breath. “Please do not patronize me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.” He shrugged. “But you obviously know that old saying.”
“What old saying? And don’t call me ma’am.”
“The one that says, ‘Life’s uncertain. Eat dessert first.’” He nodded toward her hamburger. “I hate to see you waste that hamburger. Somewhere in the world, some little kid would —”
“Please. Are you deliberately trying to annoy me?”
“Just trying to put you in a better mood.”
“Well, stop trying. I don’t want to be in a better mood.”
“I had them cut that burger in half. If you can’t eat all of it, you can take the other half home with you. Growing up, I was taught not to waste food.”
She composed herself and wolfed down half of the hamburger. He went to the counter and returned with a to-go box in which he placed the other half of her hamburger.
Soon, they were leaving Hogg’s, her with a half of a hamburger in her satchel. Daylight had already turned to twilight. He walked her to her car door. She scooted behind the wheel and looked up at him. “Thank you for supper.”
“You’re welcome. Sure you’re okay to drive now?”
“I’m fine, I told you.”
“Okay, then.”
He closed her car door and she started the engine. He stood back and touched the brim of his hat. “You be careful, you hear?”
Without giving him another look, she backed out and drove out of the parking lot.
***
That woman’s crazy, Nick thought. And he hated thinking that because appearance-wise, she was the kind of woman he liked—pretty hair and eyes, tall, well-built and healthy-looking. Biologically speaking, except for the fact that she was a few years older than eighteen, she was a perfect specimen for propagation. And she was passionate. No more time than he had spent around her, he had seen that much. In his mind, passionate trumped crazy. In his experience, passionate women liked red hot sex and that was mostly all he wanted or needed from a woman.
***
That guy is even better looking than I remember, Sandi thought. And he was intriguing. But the word “intriguing” didn’t explain her visceral reaction every time she had been in his presence. She’d had two husbands and she couldn’t say that she had ever found either one of them intriguing nor had either of them made her stomach tremble.
As she neared the curve in the road where she had encountered Nick earlier in the day, she eased her foot off the accelerator and slowed to a crawl, scanning for livestock that might have escaped the fence. She saw nothing but a panoramic expanse of flat pasture, mesquite trees and sage brush and several seesawing pump jacks. Plenty of oil, but no cow. And no cowboy.
Chapter 9
The next morning, before daylight, a cold nose and a whine awoke Sandi from a troubled sleep. She sat up slowly. Her eyes felt scratchy and sore after yesterday’s crying jag. Waffle darted to the doorway and stood wagging his tail and anxiously looking at her. When she didn’t rise immediately, he ran back to her and placed a paw on her knee.
“What is it, boy? What do you want?”
On a canine whine, he started out of the bedroom, stopping once to look back at her. With a groan, she got to her feet and followed him. He beelined to Jake’s room and began to whine and spin in front of the closed door. He typically went to Jake’s bedroom door first thing every morning, but he didn’t usually appear so fretful. Then it dawned on Sandi that he must be able to tell that the parrot wasn’t inside the room.
“He went to a new home, sweetheart.”
She opened the door, instinctively holding her breath. Sometimes the smell when
she first opened Jake’s door took her breath. Nick’s words from last evening rushed at her:...Maybe you could be glad the parrot’s gone. Now you don’t have to clean up after him. I’m sure he made a hulluva mess....
A little part of her that she hated acknowledging clapped with glee at seeing the empty room. She shut it down. She had been Jake’s savior. Who could say what would have happened to him if she hadn’t been willing to act as his foster caretaker. “See? He isn’t here,” she said to Waffle.
She had never seen anything that looked as lonely as Jake’s empty room. When she had given the bedroom over to him, she had removed everything that didn’t have a hard surface that she could wash, including the carpet. She had spent money she couldn’t afford to spend on laminate flooring that was easy to mop. This morning, seeing dollar signs with wings made her even gloomier.
The bird’s shoulder-height perch stood in the middle of the room. The square white Formica table where he ate looked bare and cold. The small table where she had tried to teach him to go potty most of the time stood in the corner, its surface clean. The cabinet where she kept his supplies and toys stood open-doored, its shelves empty. She had taken everything of Jake’s to her aunt in Salt Lick. New tears burned her eyes.
Waffle walked in and looked around, sniffed everything, then looked back at her with big questioning eyes, a keening sound coming from his throat.
“Oh, Waffle...”
Stop it, Sandi!
She had no time for this. What was she doing grieving over a damn bird? Having him gone was going to free up hours of her time. When she agreed to take him, the plan had been for her to keep him for a short time while the SPCA found him a new home. She would have stuck with it except that the SPCA appeared to have made little effort to relocate Jake. WLA had found him a place with her, so everyone stopped worrying about him. That was what was annoying about the SPCA and the animal shelter. Half the time, they failed to follow through. That was how she had ended up with a menagerie. And now poor Betty Ann, her employee, was finding herself in the same boat.
Sandi quickly dried her eyes. “We have to hurry, Waffle. Betty Ann and Jessica are already at the shop making raw food. Come on, now, and eat your breakfast.” She grasped the dog’s collar and dragged him toward the kitchen.
