Even Cowboys Get the Blues

by Stuart, Amie

  “It’s okay, Uncle Zack.” I got him settled on my back and stood up. “Where to, Master Trav?”

  I SETTLED INTO a routine, holing up in my little by-the-week motel, sleeping by day and bartending at night. I felt like a vampire and had neither the urge nor the inclination to do anything else.

  I decided that the only thing that would have gotten me across that Louisiana border would have been seeing my baby standing on the other side in the flesh. Again, I tried to register for the adoption registry and again they sent me a letter stating there was no adoption on file in my name. I stashed it with the other dozen or more letters I’d collected, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

  I missed Kellie, I missed Susie Boudreaux and Tim’s smart-mouthed sister-in-law, Jessa. She always made me laugh, the way she’d razz the regulars. Hell, I missed the regulars. I couldn’t go back and I couldn’t go forward.

  And Tim. Of all the odd things to miss, I missed his manners. The holding doors and holding my arm, asking me what I want and ordering for me, his hand on my back as we strolled the Riverwalk. For such a large man, he had the lightest, gentlest touch.

  I refused to call Vegas, afraid that any of the women still living at Miss Rose’s would offer me money to come home, and worse, that I’d take it. So the days and weeks passed in a blur of sleep and beer-pouring followed quickly by Christmas when everything took a turn for the worse.

  HE MISSED HER. He missed her like he’d never missed anyone in his life. His chest hurt with the pain of it, but still Tim managed to do his day-to-day, and slowly things got easier. Rene even returned to her same old, snotty cussing self, but at least she brought home B’s now.

  With a slide of the heavy side door, he slipped into the big, brand new barn and out of the bitter late-November wind, smiling at the sight of his very pregnant sister-in-law dressed in flannel and making time with her favorite, Sampson, a deep-chested, buckskin. “Thought I’d find you here.”

  She leaned into him and they hugged. He stifled a surprising surge of jealousy at the feel of her swollen belly against his side. He had no business being jealous of Zack and Jessa. God knows Zack deserved a little happiness, but every time he turned around lately, Zack had taken off home to be with her, or paint, and even Ty didn’t come around for a beer anymore. He’d been married less than two weeks, and Betti already had him wrapped around her finger—not that that was a bad thing. And not that he blamed Ty for hurrying home. She was a hell of a woman.

  Which brought him back to Toni, again.

  “You’re awful quiet there, partner.”

  He pulled away and looked down the rows of stalls to where an occasional mare would poke her head out and give a hello whinny. He and Jessa had spent most of the summer working out a breeding plan, and once she had the baby, she’d—in theory anyway—be able to help break. In reality, he’d probably end up hiring someone. Truth be told, he’d rather have Rene. She knew almost as much as he did, and she was a natural with the horses. But she also had school.

  “Hello,” Jessa sang softly from behind him.

  Hands shoved in his pocket he turned to face her, his heels grinding on the concrete. “I’m giving Rene a couple of mares to work for Christmas.”

  “They’re your horses, sugar, you can do what you want. And she’ll love you for that. I’ve seen how good she is with them. Now, what’s really on your mind?” She crossed her arms over her swollen belly and eyed him, her dark brows arched.

  “You get everything straightened out with Betti?” He moved a little closer and leaned against the stall, scratching Sampson behind one ear.

  “Yeah.” She grimaced and looked down.

  “I’m surprised she didn’t rip you to shreds. She’s not one to fool around.” He chuckled at the thought of two very strong-willed pregnant women going head to head. Jessa had threatened to kick her ass if she hurt Ty, and Betti had called her a bitch in front of half of Bluebonnet.

  “Thanksgiving is just a couple days away. Heard from Toni?”

  “No.” His turn to study the concrete.

  “Why don’t you call her?”

  “She left.” Him, he silently added. Besides he had no clue how to reach her, find her. Other than Louisiana.

  “What about Kellie? Did you talk to her? See if maybe she has some idea where Toni might have taken off to?”

  “No,” he snapped, leaning against the stall door and crossing his arms.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “You’re as bad as Rene. No wonder my daughter cusses so much.”

  She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Don’t blame me for that mouth of hers. I don’t cuss in front of her, thank you very much. And you ain’t gonna find your lady love if you don’t try. So why haven’t you talked to Kellie? Do you want me to do it?”

  “I can’t. And no! I just don’t see the point. She’s gone and she’s not coming back.” Ever.

  “Coward.”

  “I am not a coward,” he replied indignantly.

  “The hell you ain’t.” She grinned and moved closer, wrapping her arms around him. “Tim, if you love her, try and find out what happened.”

  “Why? She’s gone. And I just need to move on. Dwellin’ on her won’t bring her back,” he snapped.

  “You know I ain’t one to pull punches, so I’m just gonna say it. You mean, because dwelling on Charlene didn’t bring her back.”

  “Lesson learned.” He gently untangled her arms and headed for the side door.

  DECEMBER 29 WAS an ordinary, quiet evening at The Filling Station—where the only thing that got filled was the customers—until the mayor’s son and a few of his friends came in. They got rowdy, I cut them off, and before it was all over, I ended up in a damned Gulfhill, Texas, jail cell for kicking the mayor’s son’s ass. They booked me on criminal assault charges.

  “That’s not to say more won’t be added,” the arresting officer added with a grin. Prick. I knew better than to talk, so I stayed silent during the short ride to the police station and while they booked me. When another officer joked about strip searching me, I glared at him.

  “Try it,” I muttered under my breath. I knew, from the way his eyes widened and then narrowed, he’d heard me. I was fingerprinted, photographed, and thrown in a cell. “What about my one phone call?”

  “Watch who you threaten, Frenchie. We’ll discuss that phone call in the morning.” With a wink, he disappeared, his keys jangling at his waist until the steel door separating the cells from the police station slammed behind him. I leaned my head against the cool steel bars and sighed. In the cell across from me an old grizzled man opened one eye and peered at me from his bunk.

  “Don’t piss ‘em off. Don’t piss those boys off. Jest git the hell outta here soon’s you can, girl.” He nodded, closed his eyes, and rolled over to face the wall.

  I stood there, my knuckles aching as I clutched the cell bars. They’d taken my purse, containing the only photo I had of Nichole, and after I’d smarted off to that cop, I worried he’d throw it away. I also worried I might not get that phone call. And if I did? My options were few. It would take hours for anyone from Las Vegas to reach me by plane, and wiring bail money to a town like this was iffy. I curled up on the cell’s hard lower bunk and wrapped the rough wool blanket around me.

  There was only one person I could call. One person I knew without a doubt would come for me. One person who was only four hours away. I sighed and closed my eyes in resignation. As mad as Tim was, I knew if I called, he’d come. I’d left too much unfinished between us. An hour later, the chief of police himself came and got me. He was a large man. As tall as Tim and twice as wide with thin blond hair and a scowl.

  “You really did it, sugar puss.”

  I bit my tongue at the words sugar puss as he led me into his office and pointed to a hard metal chair. I sat as he maneuvered his large frame behind his desk.

  “Got anyone you can call? Quick? The mayor wants your ass. On a platter. He’s screaming att
empted murder. What the hell did you do to that boy?”

  “They were getting shit-faced. He got smart with me when I cut him off. I told him to leave, but he wouldn’t. It was just me. So I escorted him and his friends out of the bar.”

  “Did you have to use the baseball bat? And what was the purpose of banging his truck to hell? Honey, you don’t go pissing off the powers that be in small towns!”

  “I didn’t use a baseball bat. I kicked the driver’s window in with my foot and I kicked his ass with my hands and feet. It’s not my fault his friends ran off and left him.”

  “That’s not how the mayor sees it.” He picked up the phone and set it in front of me. “I want you out of my town before sunrise.” He shook his head and added, “before the mayor decides to press charges.”

  I picked up the handset and absently noticed how heavy it was in my hand. “It’s long distance,” I said quietly.

  “Dial nine.” His bushy brows drew together as his scowl deepened.

  My mind went blank and I struggled to pull Tim’s phone number from my memory banks. Damnit! What if I was wrong? What if he said no? I began to dial as the numbers slowly came back to me. The phone rang and rang before he picked up and mumbled a sleepy hello. I struggled to force words past the lump in my throat. I wanted him here now. I wanted to curl up in his arms and let him hold me. I realized I’d better talk before he hung up. “Tim?”

  I kept my head down and counted off the seconds, waiting for him to say something.

  “Toni,” he breathed. The sound of my name on his lips was like a caress, and I sighed in relief.

  “Time’s wasting, young lady,” the chief growled.

  I looked up at him and then back at my lap, trying to block out his presence and form a coherent thought. Tim always muddled my brain. “I’m in trouble, in jail and I need you to come and bail me out.”

  “You need...what...jail? You called because you’re in jail?” His tone went from foggy and gentle to harsh as a whip, and I winced.

  “Please. I’m in Gulfhill city jail. Just outside of Beaumont.” I held my breath and prayed he wouldn’t turn me down. “Please, Tim.”

  “I know where you are,” he bit out. “If I come get you, Toni, I’ll expect some answers for my trouble. Are we clear?”

  “Al...alright.” I nodded, not that he could see me.

  The connection was broken and the dial tone beeped in my ear. I immediately searched for a clock and found one on the credenza behind the sheriff’s desk. Eleven now, that would put him here between three and four in the morning. I sighed and met the sheriff’s raised eyebrows.

  “He said he’d come.”

  I spent the longest four hours of my life trying to read a dog-eared Stephen King novel about a writer. Poor man. Poor me. Talk about misery.

  I was a horrible person. I felt like a complete shit for calling Tim, but I had no choice. Everything no longer seemed to go back to Nichole but to him. Somewhere along the way I’d lost sight of my priorities, and I’d have to get back on track, but for now, it looked like I was going back to Bluebonnet, after all.

  Nearly four hours on the dot, the sheriff reappeared with Tim behind him. My heart stopped. I’d forgotten how achingly handsome he was, but he kept his attention on the sheriff.

  “How much do you think it will take to cover any possible fines?”

  “She did a lot of damage. Lot of personal damage. The boy’ll live, but the mayor’s screaming attempted murder.” He leveled a gaze at him and lowered his voice, “She’ll get the shaft if she stays. Eventually he’ll cool down and remember what a little shit his son is, if you catch my drift.”

  “I got five hundred cash. Think that’ll cover everything?”

  From my vantage point in the chair I could just see his hand out, bills sticking out the sides of his fist. Great, bribery. We’d both end up in jail at this rate. The sheriff took it and slapped him on the back. Tim turned to me, finally, and said, “Let’s go.”

  I glanced at the sheriff, who just nodded, and I found myself struggling to push words past my cold, nervous lips. “My purse and boots?”

  He nodded again and stuck his head out the door, yelling for my things. The officer who arrested me brought them in, his eyes shooting daggers.

  “Reign it in, Tad.”

  “Sorry, Dad.”

  Nepotism tops bribery.

  I yanked off the paper slippers and hustled into my boots, quickly checking my purse to make sure my photo of Nichole was there. It was. “Let’s go.”

  “And stay the hell out of Gulfhill, Frenchie,” Tad snarled.

  “Count on it.”

  Tim gave me a firm shove out the door and never let up the pressure at the base of my spine until we were outside the tiny police station.

  “My car.” I came to a screeching halt that not even his most forceful shove could overcome.

  “Where’d you leave it?”

  I looked over my shoulder at him for the first time and caught his eyes on me. They smoldered hot and blue, scorching me. He was furious, and it would be a long night. I felt a little frisson of fear dance up my spine. “At the bar. It’s on the way out of town.”

  “I’ve got a trailer hitch. We’ll hook it up and head for Bluebonnet.” He gave me another little shove.

  I resisted. “My things.”

  “Where?” he sighed, his jaw tensing in the dim light of an almost full moon.

  “Beaumont, on the edge. Just a few miles up the road,” I pleaded. “Tim, I—”

  “Save it. Let’s go.”

  Despite his anger, he was still the perfect gentleman. He held the truck’s door open for me and waited until I got my seatbelt snapped before closing it with a resounding thud.

  “Do you know where The Filling Station is?” I asked as he climbed in and slammed the driver’s door.

  “Yeah, I passed it on my way into town.”

  The rest of the short drive to the bar passed in silence.

  With the crunch of tires on gravel we pulled into the parking lot of the low-slung cinderblock bar.

  “Pull your car out so I can hitch it to the truck,” he ordered.

  I dug my keys from my purse and slid out of the truck, stumbling through the gravel in my haste to get the hell out of Gulfhill. I positioned the car just so, hopped out, and stood shivering as Tim secured the two vehicles together with a chain. “You going with me?”

  I ran around and climbed back in the passenger side, slamming the door and hooking my seatbelt in one swift motion. He silently put the truck in gear and eased back onto the highway toward Beaumont. The ten-minute drive passed in silence as I debated whether to speak and what to say. I decided on the direct approach. Kind of like taking a shot for strep throat instead of pills. It hurt worse but worked a hell of a lot faster. “Do you want to talk, now?”

  “Where am I going?”

  Never mind. “Right up here on the left. Casa Madrid Motor Inn.”

  “Casa Madrid?”

  “It was the best I could do.”

  “I figured you’d be in Louisiana by now, sipping mint juleps.” He slowed the truck, and I listened to the repeated click of his directional signal as he prepared to turn in.

  “You aren’t the only one.”

  “Later. We’ll talk later.” After a semi blew past, he turned into my motel and parked on the side. Close enough that we could see his truck through my front window, but out of the way so neither vehicle would be hit. The silence in the truck was louder even than the big four-oh-eight engine under the Chevy’s hood.

  “I stay right there, on the corner.”

  “How long will take you to pack?”

  “Thirty minutes?”

  “Fine.” He got out, came around and let me out. I clutched his arm, afraid I’d trip in the shadowy parking lot. A few cars blew by as we crossed the lot, and somewhere a dog barked. I hugged myself as a stiff breeze caught me. I’d left my jacket at the bar. My only one. Shit! Tears sprang to my eyes. I s
hould’ve stayed in Vegas.

  My hands shook so badly from cold and worrying, I could barely get the key in the lock. Finally, Tim took it from me and unlocked the door, swinging it wide and letting me enter ahead of him.

  There was no place to run, and my stomach clenched in fear at the thought of what the night might bring. I had a lot to answer for. A lot to say. I swallowed hard. Behind me, the door shut with a snap, and the sound of the chain sliding into place was like fingernails down a chalkboard.

  “Does this place come with lights?” The sound of his voice resonated through the tiny apartment, startling me.

  I jumped, and my heart knocked in my chest, demanding to be freed. I could feel him staring at me in the murky gloom as his hand slid against the wall, searching for the light switch. I winced and blinked in the sudden illumination from the two bedside lamps. I stood frozen, unable to look away as he studied me and the tiny hotel room.

  “Coffee?”

  “I’ll make some.” I quickly got the coffee going, well aware of his eyes on me, following my every move. While it brewed, I dug out cream, sugar and mugs, and set them on the counter. Then found a box of trash bags and held them up. “I’ll pack.”

  “Not yet.” The deep rumble of his voice and the stern look in his eyes raised my worry level another notch.

  “It won’t take me but a few minutes, and then we can leave.”

  “You do realize that you’re going back to Bluebonnet with me.”

  “Oui, yes.” My head bobbed up and down jerkily. I’d known it when I called him, that going back to Bluebonnet would be part of the bargain. What had been left unfinished between us would have to be finished now.

  I leaned against the counter, doing my best to hide my fear as he moved in. He pinned me in place with his long muscular legs and an arm on either side. I briefly considered using the box of trash bags as a weapon, but just as quickly realized no matter how angry he was with me, Tim would never hurt me.

  “You have a lot to answer for,” he murmured.

  I blinked a few times, distracted by his words, the deep rumble of his voice, and the heat radiating from his body. I couldn’t look at him and my throat closed up. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”