The Trouble with Texas Cowboys

by Carolyn Brown

  “It’s official. Our butts will be dragging so bad by closin’ time tomorrow night, we won’t need to sweep the barroom floor.” Jill tossed the newspaper on the tractor seat between her and Sawyer.

  “Polly says she only does this when Valentine’s Day falls on Saturday, so it just happens every seven years. She wanted to come help us. Said she could hobble around behind the bar and at least do some grilling,” Sawyer said.

  “She and Aunt Gladys are going to man the store all afternoon for us to decorate. Neither of those old gals realize they aren’t twenty anymore, so that will tax them both.” Jill shook her head. “I’m glad we’ve started using big hay bales, so she’ll stay in most of the afternoons and let us take care of things.”

  “We need to convince Gladys to let us make more big bales.” He started up the engine and drove the tractor to the line of round bales at the edge of the pasture. Driving the fork on the front into the middle of the four-foot, firmly packed bale, he raised it up and carefully backed up.

  “We’ve got the equipment for small ones, and as long as Aunt Gladys is alive and the hay barn is standing, I reckon we’ll be making both sizes,” Jill said.

  Sawyer wiggled his eyebrows. “Time to do other things.”

  “Speaking of which, did you talk to your cousin Rhett?” she asked.

  “I did, and he didn’t even hesitate. He’ll be here Tuesday morning, so after this party is done on Saturday, we should clean out the office for him,” Sawyer said. “His first job is clearing land, so we can start planting. I don’t want to get this low on hay another year.”

  “Hey, look here,” she said.

  Sawyer whipped around, and she snapped a picture of him with her phone. “Mama wants to know what you look like. I’m sending this to them right now.”

  “What brought that on?” Sawyer asked. “We were talking about Rhett.”

  “I’m going to be occupying a bunkhouse with two cowboys. Mama is not going to be happy about that. I’m sending her a picture of you now, so she can get used to the idea of what you look like, before I send her one of Rhett with a tat and a ponytail.” Jill poked the right buttons to shoot the photograph through cyberspace.

  Sawyer parked the tractor and helped Jill down to the ground, drawing her closely to his side with one arm, kissing her cold lips, and taking a selfie picture with the other hand.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked.

  “My family has seen pictures of you, darlin’. I’m sendin’ this one to Rhett, so he knows before he gets here that you belong to me,” Sawyer said.

  “Your family,” she gasped. “When did you take pictures to send them?”

  “Which time?”

  “You sent more than one?”

  He chuckled. “Well, there was one day I only sent one.”

  “Sawyer, are you joking?”

  He shook his head and took her hand in his, pulling her toward the bunkhouse. “I promise I did not take any of you in my bed or in any other compromising situation. But you were so darn cute in that outfit you wore when we bought the cast-iron pan that I took several in the antique store. And there’s some of you taking the roses to the office room and playing with the kittens.”

  “How…?”

  “You thought I was texting.” He grinned.

  “And?”

  “Mama says that she can’t believe I’ve fallen for a redhead. Daddy thinks you are cute, and Rhett, well, he needs to know that he hasn’t got a chance.” Sawyer removed his coat and hat and helped Jill with hers. “How about hot chocolate while we spend some quality time with Miss Piggy and Miss Chickadee? Then we’ll go to the store a couple of hours early and make Gladys take Polly home. She’ll be tired by then.”

  “The cats’ names have evolved. They sound like hookers in an animated movie.” She laughed. “Is it the truth? Have you fallen for me, Sawyer O’Donnell?”

  “Yes, Jill Cleary, head over boots, I’ve fallen for you.” He brushed another kiss across her lips and headed to the kitchen.

  She snapped half a dozen pictures of him, one of nothing more than that tight butt as it walked away from her. “Paybacks,” she said when he looked over his shoulder and she took another one.

  “Just remember that I can do the same thing.” He turned around quickly, ran toward her like a football tackle, and without slowing down, picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. “Forget the chocolate. We’ll get warm another way.”

  “Hmmm. Chocolate or sex? Which one?” She cupped his face in her hands.

  “You decide.” His dark eyes fluttered shut, and she barely had time to moisten her dry, still-cold lips before he found them.

  No contest. Chocolate took a backseat.

  * * *

  The bar was so slow on Friday night that time practically stood still. They opened at six, and the first customer arrived at seven. He was a middle-aged fellow from across the river, who just wanted to sit in the corner, nurse a couple of double shots, and listen to a dollar’s worth of old Hank Williams tunes before he called it a night at eight thirty. The next customer that wandered in was Hart Gallagher, who’d gotten tired of the church party. He bought a pitcher of beer and plunked quarters into the jukebox.

  “Bet you he’s playin’ beer-drinkin’ songs because he’s got the hots for a Brennan woman and he can’t have her,” Sawyer whispered to Jill.

  “It’s pretty plain that something has his mind in a twist,” Jill agreed.

  Sawyer was right. For the next hour, the jukebox spit out sad songs while Hart finished off his beer.

  Gladys called at ten to tell them the party was winding down but that it had been a success. “Everyone had a wonderful time, and the potluck was great.”

  “Mavis and Naomi?” Jill asked.

  “Sat on different sides of the fellowship hall all evening, surrounded by their grandchildren and children. They didn’t kiss and make up, but they didn’t start a food fight, so I guess it was a draw where the pig war is concerned. I really don’t know what else they could do anyway,” Gladys answered.

  “Aunt Polly worn out?”

  “Yes, but she won’t admit it,” Gladys said. “She wants to know how things are going there.”

  “Two customers all evening. Couple of double shots of Jim Beam and a pitcher of beer is all we’ve sold. Won’t even have to sweep the floors. If Aunt Polly had brought the decorations down here from her house, we could have the place ready for tomorrow.”

  “Polly says for y’all to shut it down and go home. Tomorrow is going to make up for tonight, and you need your rest.”

  “Yes, ma’am. You don’t have to beg me to shut the doors tonight,” Jill said.

  * * *

  “Mama, please tell me I didn’t wake you.” Jill shut her eyes and could picture her mother. Tall, thin, and blond. Big doe-colored eyes and a smile that was a dental record.

  “Did that feud and scalding-hot cowboy suck all the memory out of your brain? Remember, I’m a night owl,” her mother said. “If I’d known he looked like that when you told me you were going to Burnt Boot, I’d have kidnapped you myself.”

  “I think I’m in love,” Jill said.

  “Either you are or you aren’t. Which is it?”

  “I am, but I need you to talk me out of it,” Jill said. “Oh my God, I’m fanning myself with my hand, and I’m telling you this because you can’t see me, and you are my mother, but I don’t know who else to call.”

  “You’ve slept with him?”

  “He brought me daisies,” Jill answered.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Have you slept with him?”

  “And we bought an ice tray and a cast-iron pan together, and we have two kittens, Miss Piggy and Miss Chickadee.”

  “Are you in love with him, Jillian?”

  “Yes, just like you were with my
daddy.”

  “You both like ranchin’. He bought you freakin’ daisies, and you bought an ice tray and cast-iron pan together. What in the hell are you waiting for, girl? Propose to him,” her mother said.

  “But, Mama, I’ve only known him six weeks.”

  “I proposed to your father in three weeks. When it’s right, you know it. You still didn’t answer my question.”

  Jill laughed. “I’m in the bathtub, and the water has gone cold. I’m going to end this call and get out. And, Mama, I’m not going to answer that question.”

  “Where are you sleeping tonight?”

  “That is need to know, and you don’t.”

  “Hey, now, we’ve been sharing some pretty big secrets.”

  “Good night, Mama,” Jill said and hit the “end” button.

  Sitting in the rocking chair, towel drying her hair, and thinking about the conversation, she didn’t hear her bedroom door crack open. She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn’t even see Miss Piggy chasing a bit of ribbon across the floor.

  “You take my breath away,” Sawyer said. “No wonder I fell in love with you.”

  As if in slow motion, her head raised. The hinges squeaked when he pushed the door wide open. The thought that ran through her mind was that she’d have to put some oil on them or she’d get caught sneaking across to Sawyer’s room after Rhett arrived. Then she wondered if she’d heard what she wanted to hear, not what he’d actually said.

  “Say that again,” she whispered.

  “I said I’ve fallen in love with you, Jillian Cleary. My heart has known it for a while. It just took my mind a while to catch up,” he said.

  “One more time, just so I’m sure there’s no water in my ears.”

  He took the towel from her hands, picked her up, and sat down in the rocker with her in his lap. “I love you, Jill.”

  “I love you, Sawyer,” she whispered.

  “That makes me the happiest cowboy in all of Texas,” he drawled. “I’d planned all these beautiful scenarios to say those three words, but they just slipped out tonight. I guess we aren’t destined for roses and romance.”

  “Roses? No, darlin’, we are not. Romance? It goes much deeper than just saying words, although they are beautiful and I want to hear them every single day. FYI, right here in our bunkhouse at the end of a workday is the best place ever to say it for the first time. Romance is wonderful, Sawyer, but it needs actions to back them up. Your bed is bigger than mine, and I’m not sleeping alone anymore, so…” She hesitated.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m right good at showing instead of telling.” He stopped any further talk with a searing-hot kiss.

  * * *

  Decorating the next day involved stringing up some crepe paper, putting a glittery heart garland around the mirror behind the bar, using red paper liners in the plastic burger baskets instead of the customary white ones, and hanging a big red foldout heart above the jukebox. It took all of thirty minutes to do that and take the chairs down from the tables.

  “Now what? I was expecting an all-afternoon job,” Sawyer said. They could go back to the bunkhouse and spend the afternoon in bed or maybe drive around the ranch and talk about the changes they’d like to make.

  He looked around the pitifully decorated bar. He’d been out to dance and drink on Valentine’s Day, and this place sure didn’t scream romance.

  “If we had a pool table, I might suggest a nap on it until opening time,” she said.

  “How about a trip into town? If we hung a paper heart over where the Gallaghers sit and one above the Brennans, it might put an end to the pig war,” Sawyer said.

  “It’ll take more than a paper heart to create that miracle. But I do think we need more than this after that big ad in the paper,” she agreed. “Let’s make a run into Walmart—no wait, isn’t there a party store in that outlet mall?”

  “I wouldn’t know. Guess we could check on it first, and if there isn’t, we could go on into Walmart.” Sawyer was already getting their coats from the backs of two bar stools. “Last time I was in a bar on Valentine’s, they had put little fancy things on the tables. Folks fought over who got to take them home.”

  “I know what you are talking about. They have a weighted bottom with something that looks like red heart fireworks shooting out of the top. Lord help us if Betsy gets drunk and takes one to Kinsey’s head.” She slung her purse over her shoulder.

  “Hey, Jill,” he said as he took her hand in his.

  “Hey, what?”

  “I love you,” he said.

  “Hey, Sawyer, I love you back,” she told him. “Red plastic tablecloths?”

  “You sure are romantic this afternoon,” he teased.

  “What’s not romantic about red plastic tablecloths?” she shot right back.

  “For starters, they’d be real easy for Betsy or Kinsey to accidentally-on-purpose grab if they were fake falling. Can you imagine Betsy if a whole table full of burger baskets landed in her lap?”

  Jill laughed as he opened the door and helped her inside his truck. “It might end the pig war and begin the burger war.”

  “Where they throw food rather than steal pigs.”

  When he was inside the truck, she said, “Or where they poison food instead of stealing livestock, so scratch that idea. We just need some cutesy things that remind the folks that it’s a fall-in-love day, not a war day.”

  “How about a couple of bags of those heart-shaped red hots and some of those conversation hearts to go on the bar instead of pretzels and peanuts?”

  She pulled her wallet from her purse, ripped off a check, and fished around until she found a pen. “I’m going to make a list. Candy for bar. Keep thinking, and I’ll write it all down as we travel.”

  By the time they reached the outlet mall, the back side of her check was filled with ideas. He parked, and hand in hand, they started toward the party store. It was two stores up from the jewelry store and just past the leather-goods place where they sold boots, saddles, and all kinds of hand-tooled jewelry and luggage.

  “Want to dash inside the leather store for a few minutes?” he asked.

  “No, darlin’, I want to get this list taken care of and then get an apple dumplin’ over at that Cracker Barrel place,” she answered. “But it doesn’t take two of us to buy party goods. You go to the leather store if you want to.”

  He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  He darted into the leather store for about thirty seconds and then went straight to the jewelry store. He wanted a necklace with a heart pendant to give her for Valentine’s Day. The one he’d seen online had a banner across it with I Love You written in tiny, sparkling diamonds. If he couldn’t find that, then a bracelet with interlocking hearts, but it had to be yellow gold.

  “Help you, sir?” an older woman said from behind the counter. “I bet you are doing late Valentine shopping.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I was thinking a heart necklace,” he said.

  “Sold the last one a few minutes ago. This year, folks are going in for infinity symbols more than hearts, so we didn’t order many of those. Want to see what we’ve got left?”

  “Yes, thank you. Yellow gold.”

  “That limits it. White gold is still the rage with the young girls. Yellow gold hasn’t been in vogue in years. In my opinion, it’s far classier. We have one double infinity bracelet in yellow gold. It’s all the way to the end of the display case beside the collection of antique rings we just got from an estate sale.” She motioned for him to follow her.

  She brought out the bracelet, and he nodded.

  “I like that better than hearts. I’ll take it.”

  “Wrapped? We have some lovely red-rose wrapping paper.”

  “Yes, but nothing with roses,” he said.

  “Pink hearts
?” she asked.

  “Or yellow daisies,” he answered.

  “For Valentine’s? We do have some yellow daisy paper that we got for Easter, but…” She paused.

  “That’s what I’d like.”

  “Be right back then,” she said.

  He leaned on the counter and looked inside at display after display of diamond rings. It was way too early to think about that, but he wondered what Jill would choose. Then his eye settled on the small black velvet ring case with the antique rings. Six in all, and every one of them yellow gold.

  The last one in the case was Jill. No doubt about it. That was what she’d choose, and it wouldn’t be just an engagement ring. It would be her wedding band as well. One emerald, half the size of a dime, graced the middle. Diamonds were scattered in the open scrollwork around it. The stone was the color of her eyes; the diamonds the twinkle in them when she was happy.

  “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” The clerk set his wrapped present in front of him. “Cash or credit card?”

  “Can I look at that ring?” he asked.

  “The diamond one in the middle?”

  “No, the emerald,” he said.

  “It has a story behind it,” she said.

  Remembering what Jill had said about liking things with a story behind them brought a smile to his face. “Written down?”

  “No, just what the folks told my boss when he bought the rings. That one was the only one they knew much about. It was given to a lady in 1880 as a betrothal ring. She and her husband were married fifty years before he died, and although she was elderly, she was still healthy. Three days after he died, she joined him. They said it was from a broken heart. Her son inherited the jewelry and gave that particular ring to his grown son to give to his fiancée. They were married sixty years when she died, and he lived only a few days afterward. It was put in a lockbox and sold last week at a jewelry auction.”

  “Third’s the charm.” He held the ring up to catch the light.