Sawyer shook his head slowly. “But I could hear her all the way over here. I didn’t know she was that much against your being here,” he said. “Now where’s the customer?”
The little bell at the top of the door dinged, and Jill pointed to Verdie. “Right there.”
Verdie started talking the second the door shut behind her. “Hey, y’all, looks like it’s a slow day. I figured more folks would be in town, what with all the gossip flyin’ around. I heard that the pig war tried to do something else over the weekend and failed. Some folks saw Tilly out with two unidentified people in the back of his wagon. It’s bein’ rumored that a Gallagher was shot, or else that a Brennan and a Gallagher were up to hanky-panky and got caught.”
“And what would Tilly have to do with that?” Sawyer asked.
“He’d be bringin’ them into town for a price. Gladys done told me the real story, but I ain’t breathin’ a word of it. Let them think a Brennan shot a Gallagher if they want to.” She pushed a cart toward the meat counter. “I need three pounds of shaved ham, a pound of bologna, and a pound of summer sausage. Got that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jill said.
“What brought you out in the cold this Tuesday afternoon?” Sawyer hung his hat on the rack and headed to the meat market. “I’ll take care of your order back here. Jill can help you with the rest of it.”
“Lunch makings for the kids. I’m going to pick them up at school while I’m in town. Y’all hear about the new kink in the pig war?” She put three loaves of bread in the cart and added two five-pound bags of apples.
“I think that idea of calling it a pig war is funny, but I bet those two families that think they’re better than the rest of us don’t think it’s a bit humorous,” Sawyer said.
“Don’t matter what either one of those families like. They shouldn’t have started this thing. They act like children, and this new thing is really childish. Pork rinds were delivered to the Brennans this morning, and ‘oink, oink’ was written on the gift card.”
“Oh, really. Pork rinds, huh?” Sawyer chuckled.
“You think that’s funny?” Verdie asked.
“Yes, I do. Don’t you?”
Verdie nodded. “Laughed my ass off when I heard about it. The Gallaghers thought they were rubbin’ in the thievin’ of those hogs.”
“So you think they really did steal them?” Jill asked.
“Yes, I do, but proving it is another matter, and until there is proof, there won’t be no arrests made. Sawyer, put three of those ten-pound bags of potatoes in my cart, please.”
“How about I put them on the counter, and then when you’re done, I’ll take them out to your van?” he said.
“Thank you. Now, I was saying, the Gallaghers got their comeuppance a few minutes later when they got a bunch of some kind of dog treats called Chicken Chips delivered to them.” She chuckled and then guffawed.
“And that’s funny?” Jill asked.
“Hell, no, but the note was. It said it was for ‘the Gallagher bitches.’ Dogs. Bitches. Chickens. I think that’s funnier than the pork rinds,” Verdie said.
“And the Gallaghers?” Jill asked.
“The Gallaghers have been plannin’ something for sure. This added fuel to their plans. I’m wonderin’ how in the world both of them got things delivered the same day. Oh, well, never a dull minute in Burnt Boot.”
“Depends on who you ask,” Jill said. “I talked to my mama, and she said this place was boring. She said to tell the aunts hello. I expect that includes you, Verdie.”
“I’m not blood kin, but I appreciate being remembered. I always liked your mama when your dad brought her here to visit, but there never was a doubt about her liking this place. She hated every minute she spent here. Now if you’ll check out my purchases, Jill, I’ll take Sawyer up on loading it for me. Kids will be out of school in fifteen minutes.”
Kinsey breezed into the store while Sawyer was outside helping Verdie. She snapped her fingers and pointed toward the meat counter. “Granny needs fourteen pork chops and two pounds of thinly sliced ham.”
Jill slowly meandered through the store to the back, taking time to turn a couple of cans of corn around to show the picture better. Be damned if she’d hurry, when the bitch had snapped her fingers at her.
Kinsey tapped her high heel on the wooden floor. “I’m in a hurry. I’m running this errand on my lunch break.”
“We’ve got a sale on pork rinds. You want to pick up a few bags?” Jill asked.
Kinsey’s mouth set in such a firm line that it disappeared. Didn’t she know that her face could freeze like that? Aunt Polly used to tell Jill that all the time, and she believed it with her whole heart.
“That is not funny. I guess Verdie told you about our delivery?” she said through clenched teeth.
“She might have mentioned it. Fourteen pork chops, or was that fifteen?”
“Fourteen and two pounds of ham,” Kinsey said.
“You bitch!” Betsy Gallagher came in like a whirlwind with a tornado pushing it.
“Me? Your damn family is the one who sent the pork rinds.”
Betsy got right up in Kinsey’s face. “Well, that note you sent to our family with those chicken-flavored dog treats was damn sure rude.”
Sawyer hurried inside. “Hey, what’s going on in here? I’m tired of telling you that this is neutral territory. I think Jill is taking care of Kinsey. What can I help you with, Betsy?”
“Grandma wants ten pounds of flour and five pounds of sugar, and this is not over, Kinsey Brennan. You think you are so cute. Well, you tell that family of yours to be careful, because you’ve done pissed off the wrong Gallagher.”
Kinsey leaned forward, nose to nose with Betsy. “If you ever send another thing to River Bend, I’ll personally burn down Wild Horse and enjoy watching the fire.”
“That is enough,” Sawyer said. “Betsy, I’ll get your flour and sugar and carry them out to the truck for you.”
“Will you go home with me for supper?”
“No, I will not. I’m not taking sides or being a pawn in your games either,” he said.
Betsy flipped around to follow him to the counter, and Kinsey stuck a foot out. Trouble was that when Betsy was going down, she reached for something to hang on to and got a firm hold on Kinsey’s leg, taking her down with her.
The screaming and hair pulling began in earnest, and Sawyer started to wade in to stop it, but Jill put a hand on his shoulder. “Let Piggy and Chick alone. They need to fight and scream. Take this meat order to the front, and I’ll bring the flour and sugar. We’ll get it all rung up, and if they haven’t finished scratchin’ and yanking at each other’s hair by then, or if one can of food hits the floor, we’ll stop them. Can’t have the store wrecked, can we?”
“Little retail shopping, huh?” He grinned.
“It sure helped my mood,” she said.
They were still throwing punches and screaming obscenities after Sawyer put their orders in the right vehicles and returned to the store. “I don’t think they’re going to get tired and lie down together to sleep,” he said.
“Been at it five whole minutes. I reckon they’re tired and waiting on us to stop it so neither one of them will lose face,” she said.
“You care if they lose face?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He sat down in the chair, picked up his hat from on top of the cash register, and adjusted it over his eyes. “Call me if they start throwing cans of corn. Don’t want the front glass of the meat counter to suffer damage.”
Jill picked up her tablet to see if there was anything else of interest concerning chickens or hogs. She stole sideways glances at Sawyer as the fight wore on another two minutes. Sawyer was the man she’d waited for her whole life. The one who eased her fear, made her laugh, and stood beside her. Lean
ing back in an old metal folding chair, boots crossed at the ankles on the countertop, hat down over his eyes, he didn’t fool her one bit. That cocky little grin said he wasn’t sleeping or even dozing.
Two very rich men vying for my attention, and I’m interested in a rough old cowboy that I’ve known less than a month. Am I certifiably crazy?
Kinsey finally broke free from Betsy and ran out the front door, her hair a mess and one eye already turning color. One heel had popped off those fancy shoes and had scooted up under a shelf. A long rip up one side of that short skirt that barely covered her ass showed the edge of her panties. Scratches ran down the length of her jawline, and she’d best get out a scoop shovel to apply her makeup the next day to cover that and the black eye. The runs and holes in her black panty hose were icing on the cake. Her cute little sports car sped out of the lot, slinging gravel up on the porch.
Betsy didn’t look much better when she took off after Kinsey. She swiped away the blood from her lip and nose with the back of her hand, and she also had a black eye. At least her jeans and boots hadn’t suffered as much, so she might be the winner of the fight.
“Y’all come on back now, you hear?” Jill called after them.
Chapter 19
Kinsey chose the stool at the far end of the bar on Saturday night. After the grocery-store brawl, the families had retreated to their corners. Makeup couldn’t cover the yellow-looking bruise under Kinsey’s eye or the long fingernail scratch up across her face.
“What can I get you?” Sawyer asked.
“Two sticks of dynamite and a hit man,” she answered.
Sawyer picked up the bottle from the top shelf. “Double shot of Jameson, it is.”
Jill bumped him with her hip. “Here comes trouble.”
Betsy shot a few daggers down the length of the bar before she hopped up on a stool at the other end. “Coors, from the tap, and, Sawyer, I want a cheeseburger basket with extra fries.”
“Jill.” Kinsey crooked her finger. “Tell that hussy at the other end of the bar that we don’t need the preacher comin’ out to River Bend to talk to us. We know the Brennans have gone to talk to him, but we are not burying hatchets any time soon. We are not having a powwow with the Gallaghers, not even in the church. We’d rather kiss the south end of a northbound brood sow as give them the satisfaction of peace.”
“Sawyer,” Betsy said, “tell that bitch that he came to Wild Horse without an invitation, and that we told him that we take care of our vengeance. We don’t even trust God with it. And she might as well kiss a pig’s ass with those lips. They’ve kissed worse.”
Kinsey sipped her whiskey and looked at Betsy in the mirror behind the bar. “Jill, tell her that I beg to disagree. They’ve never kissed a Gallagher.”
Betsy cackled. “She wouldn’t be so lucky. There’s not a Gallagher who’d ever bend so low as to kiss her.”
Kinsey opened her mouth, and Jill slapped the bar with a wet towel. “Stop it, both of you. Either take your bitchin’ outside, or shut up. I’m tired of this constant shit between y’all.”
Sawyer flipped the burger on the grill and checked the basket of fries in the deep fryer. Three women within slapping distance of him. Out of the trio, he would have chosen the tall, willowy blond a few months ago. Two of the others were short redheads, and he’d have given neither of them a second look. But he had flat-out fallen for Jill Cleary. She could do better than a cowboy with barely enough money saved to put a down payment on a very small spread. Hell, she could be sitting pretty over on Wild Horse or River Bend, either one. But Sawyer wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman in his entire life. They were soul mates, and looking back, he had known it from the first time he saw her standing in the doorway of the bunkhouse. Even then, in her anger, he’d seen something that had attracted him to her.
“Do you understand me?” Jill asked. “If so, nod.”
The two women on the other side of the bar had just tried to kill each other with dirty looks and barbed, hateful remarks, but they both nodded and went back to their drinks.
“Thank you,” Jill said.
Sawyer put the burger together and set it in front of Betsy. She picked it up in one hand and her drink in the other and, with a ramrod-straight back, headed to the table the Gallaghers always chose. Leaving food and beer on the table, she went to the jukebox, fished a few coins from her pocket, and plunked them in.
On her return to the table, she tipped an imaginary hat at Kinsey. Loretta Lynn’s voice filled the bar with “You Ain’t Woman Enough to Take My Man.” Betsy made sure she was staring holes in Kinsey when the words said that women like her were a dime a dozen and could be found anywhere.
“So tonight the battleground is in the jukebox. Hope we have enough quarters,” Jill whispered to Sawyer.
The next song was another Loretta song called “Fist City.” Sawyer could almost see the steam coming out of Kinsey’s ears when Betsy held up her beer in a salute. When the words said that if she didn’t want to go to fist city she’d better get out of her town, Betsy raised her fist and shook it at Kinsey.
“Would you take some woman to fist city?” Sawyer whispered in Jill’s ear.
“Damn straight! I’d tear a woman to pieces to protect what’s mine,” Jill answered. “I wonder if this is going to go on all night.”
“Looks like she’s about to have her say one way or the other. Is the shotgun loaded?” Sawyer asked.
“It stays ready.”
Several people pushed inside and claimed tables, Gallaghers sitting with Betsy, the Brennans finding their own spot, and the folks who didn’t care about the feud taking up the rest of the empty tables. Kinsey tossed back the rest of her whiskey and, without taking her eyes off Betsy, headed toward the jukebox.
Betsy’s last choice brought folks out to the dance floor for a line dance, with her leading the pack. Alan Jackson sang “Good Time,” which surprised Sawyer. He was ready for another fighting song from Loretta or maybe Tammy Wynette. But Gallaghers, Brennans, and folks that neither Jill nor Sawyer knew filled up the dance floor.
* * *
“That hussy knew exactly when her backup troops would arrive,” Jill said. “Uh-oh!”
“What?”
“Keep an eye on what’s about to happen,” Jill said.
On one shake of the hip, Betsy bumped Kinsey so hard that she had to grab the jukebox to keep her balance. Betsy mouthed “oops,” moved away, and kept on dancing with the crowd.
Kinsey headed for the jukebox and nodded toward the door.
“If Betsy does that again, Kinsey is taking her outside,” Jill said.
“Long as they don’t dent my truck, I don’t care if they kill each other,” Sawyer said.
Tyrell left the line dancers and yelled on his way across the floor, “Hey, Sawyer, we need ten cheeseburger baskets, and, Jill darlin’, if you could draw us up four pitchers of beer and give us about a dozen cups, we’d be some happy Gallaghers.”
Quaid propped a hip on the stool closest to the door. “Double that order, only put poison in theirs.”
“No can do,” Jill said. “Poison has to be done outside the bar.”
“Did you see what Betsy did to Kinsey? Of course you did, and I heard you didn’t do a thing to help my sister.” Quaid accused as much with his eyes as with his words.
“It was their fight, not mine,” Jill said.
Tyrell stopped dancing and swaggered over to the bar. “Betsy didn’t need any help. She put that Brennan bitch on the run.”
“Like I told the ladies, the fight stops at the door. You want to feud, take it outside,” Jill said.
The noise level in the bar went from rock band noisy to eerie quiet when the song stopped. Every eye in the place was on Quaid and Tyrell, and dollar bills started flying out of pockets to land on the tables. Quaid slid off the stool, and Tyrell d
id the same. They looked at the door, but then set their eyes ahead on the tables where their families were and circled away from each other.
“Like a couple of wiry old tomcats,” Jill said as she drew up eight pitchers of beer and evened them out on opposite ends of the bar.
“The fur will fly when they finally howl their last and really get into the fight,” Sawyer said with a gleam in his eye. “In this corner we have the pig and in this corner the chicken. One is bigger, but the other has claws of steel. Which one will win, folks?”
“Now that might be a fight worth refereeing.” Jill laughed as she wrapped cheeseburgers, stuck a toothpick in the top to hold the paper together, and set the baskets on the bar.
“What would make it different than the one with Betsy and Kinsey?” Sawyer grabbed her hand and twirled her around to the music, then brought her back to his chest for a little back-of-the-bar two-stepping.
“Hey, we need a pitcher of martinis and one of beer,” a tall, lanky cowboy ordered. “And, honey, if you want to dance, I’d be glad to take you out on the floor where there is a hell of a lot more room.”
“Rule number one, I have to stay behind the bar. Rule number two, no one but Sawyer can be back here with me.” Jill smiled. “Haven’t seen you in here before. Gallagher or Brennan?”
“Neither. I jumped over the river from Oklahoma and came to party. Heard there was a damn sexy redhead down here in Burnt Boot, so I came to check things out,” he flirted.
“She’s sittin’ right back there in the corner,” Jill said.
“That one looks like she’s done been through the wringer. I’d rather have a pretty one like you, darlin’. What are you doing after closin’ tonight?”
She set two pitchers on the bar and took his money. “I’m goin’ home with this cowboy right here.” She pointed at Sawyer. “He’s the one I came with, and he’s the one I’m leavin’ with.”
“Just my luck. Day late and a redhead short, and I do like sassy redheaded women,” the man said.
Sawyer broke open a bag of frozen fries and dumped them into two baskets, lowered them into the grease, and swayed back and forth to the music. Watching his hips move like that jacked Jill’s hormones into overdrive. Who would have ever thought she’d think a man flipping burgers or sweeping up a floor was as sexy as one throwing hay bales or fixing fence? Bulging muscles, a damn fine body, brown eyes, and arms that made her feel oh, so safe—it didn’t matter what they were doing.
The Trouble with Texas Cowboys Page 18
