“Sounds like a sensible young man.”
“Yeah, well the girls were a hell of a lot perkier back then.” She felt loose and easy now that the liquor had hit. She snorted a laugh. “All I can say now is, thank God for underwires.”
She heard Tyler clear his throat and suspected she had made him uncomfortable, again, but didn’t care. She trudged on with her long forgotten story.
“Things didn’t work out, though, for the oddest reason.” D’Anne gave Tyler a chance to respond but he didn’t utter a sound, just sat quiet and close. So she blurted it out. “He curved to the right.”
Tyler’s spine straightened. He pulled his head away, twisted to look at her.
Unleashed by the bottle, she held nothing back. “He couldn’t help it, he was built that way, but he missed the spot, you know? We were kids. We didn’t have a clue how to make sex work for both of us. So I lost interest.” D’Anne sat up and slapped her hands on her kneecaps. “End of story,” she said, except it sounded more like shory.
“And then you met Reese.”
She turned and looked into Tyler’s eyes. “Yes,” she said softly, daring not to look away.
“Who didn’t curve to the right, I take it.”
Even now his eyes beamed clear and deep under the starlight. “Correct.”
He regarded her with interest and subtle intensity. She wanted to take a deep breath in and sniff the good-smelling cowboy…all over.
“Did it curve right right or stage right?”
This time she smiled as she gave the question some thought. “Why I guess it was stage right.”
Tyler seemed to relax with that bit of information, which set D’Anne’s mind to wandering in all kinds of directions.
“And for twenty-five years you were faithful,” he said.
“Yes.”
He gently steered her back next to him and stroked her cheek with his thumb for a few delectable seconds. Tyler cleared his throat. “Would you feel unfaithful to Reese if I kissed you?”
She looked up and saw his full, masculine mouth so close and, oh, so appealing. She wanted to press her lips to his, feel them with her own, and most of all taste him. She fought the urge to touch his mustache and run her thumb over his chin. She fidgeted with a button on his shirt instead, shyness overcoming her. She uttered a barely audible answer. “I’m not sure, but I’d like to find out.”
Down the road, tires crunched on the campground asphalt. Tyler moved his face a bit closer to D’Anne’s. A car door opened and slammed shut. Tyler angled nearer toward D’Anne’s mouth. She felt his breath on her cheek, forgot to take one herself as gooseflesh erupted on her neck and down her spine. Footsteps crushed and popped on the road. She imagined how soft his lips would feel on hers. The car reversed direction, driving off. Tyler’s mouth hovered just above D’Anne’s, filling her with anticipation, exciting the skin on her arms and chest into fine prickles. Their lips brushed like butterfly wings. The footsteps grew closer and came to a stop.
“Well, don’t let me interrupt anything.”
Distracted, D’Anne and Tyler broke apart and looked up to find Ricky-Bob carting his huge upright bass on his hip.
“I can’t get any, but you can, hey Dee?” Sarcasm melted the moment.
“Be quiet!”
“Shut up!”
Several other campers in the area exploded.
She flashed a hand through her hair, recovering her senses. She couldn’t bring herself to answer.
“Nothing’s goin’ on, Ricky-Bob,” Tyler said. “We’re just relaxing and sharing a drink is all.”
“Yeah? Looked like you were sharing more than a drink.”
“As I recall, we’re not the ones that are married,” Tyler replied, stopping Ricky-Bob for a beat.
“Well, I’m heading in to bed. Be sure to report that to my wife, Dee.” He lumbered up the steps, fiddle first, and rapped on the door. When Bear opened it, Ricky-Bob angled inside the RV and slammed the door.
“Hey!” The biker next door yelled now that he was through making it with his babe.
Tyler and D’Anne looked at each other, confused and decidedly relieved about being saved from a big mistake. D’Anne made a fist and pumped the air a couple of times and mouthed yes, delighted to have Ricky-Bob home.
“One for Slick Momma Dee,” Tyler whispered, squeezing her shoulder and patting her thigh.
She smiled, shook her head and tried not to respond to his piercing touch. “You think he’ll still hate me in the morning?”
Their moment had passed. Tyler stood. “He’s not one to hold a grudge.” He stretched his long, lanky limbs. “He might even thank you.” Scratched his stomach. “Well, I guess it’s time to turn in.”
They could hear Bear and Ricky-Bob talking inside while the slide-out expansions moved into place. Before their eyes the RV widened, adding several square feet to their cramped quarters.
Now business as usual, Tyler said, “You coming in?” He mounted the stairs and stopped on the top.
“I’m going to use the campground bathroom first,” she whispered.
“Shall I take you?” he whispered back.
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll let myself in through the back door.”
Feeling grateful she had a private entrance at the back into her bedroom, D’Anne was glad she wouldn’t have to face Ricky-Bob, Bear or Tyler again that night.
****
Eleven forty-five the next morning, the RV was all set to go when a beat up 1983 Ford Mustang came careening down the camp road sending rocks and gravel flying. Ricky-Bob was talking to his wife on the phone and D’Anne had to speak louder to be heard on the cell phone with her youngest son, Randy. They paced back and forth, passing each other on the same course. She tried to eavesdrop on his conversation while concentrating on her own.
“How are the kids?” she heard Ricky-Bob ask. “What? Oh, I’ll be home no later than three
weeks. I’m fine! Honest.” She plugged her other ear with a finger. “I swear, I’m not delusional, just tooling around the country. That’s all. Did I tell you I went to Graceland, Randy?”
The car did its best to stop on a dime and J.T. catapulted out the passenger door. “Listen, I’ve got to go,” she said.
“Sorry I’m late,” J.T. practically yelled, hair pulled back into a tight braid and cheeks flushed.
The bosomy bleached-blonde waitress from the Dallas club got out from the other side. They met up in the front of the car and glommed onto each other like lead to a magnet, proceeding to inspect each other’s tonsils with their tongues. The waitress lifted a long leg and wrapped it around his hip in a tight groin grip. Too stunned to look away, D’Anne bit her tongue to keep from saying, Now that will be enough of that.
“Listen, Randy, the connection is breaking up. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”
J.T. wound up having more sense than D’Anne ever thought when he gingerly removed the blonde’s clamped thigh from his hip and eased away from her voluptuous embrace. She almost expected to hear a popping sound when their lips broke suction.
Bear and Ricky-Bob stood motionless taking in the scene in awe. Tyler was the only one ignoring it altogether. He busied himself with last minute lock checks on the RV storage doors and the Rabbit trunk, which he closed with a slam.
“’Bout ready to get going?” he asked.
J.T. turned and gave everyone a sloppy lipstick-smeared grin. “I guess so.” He looked a little woozy, like he hadn’t gotten much sleep. Hell, D’Anne figured he probably hadn’t gotten any sleep at all.
“We left the dinette cot pulled out for you, if you need it,” D’Anne ventured when J.T. set to prying the blonde’s hands from his shoulders.
“Sounds like a plan,” he said, then whispered something to his date and pecked her goodbye.
They all loaded into the cabin and took their places—Tyler at D’Anne’s side in the cockpit, Dexter on alert in between, Bear sprawled on the couch with a handheld game, Ricky
-Bob on the adjacent couch looking at pictures of his kids in his wallet, and J.T. heading for bed.
The waitress stood with hands on shapely hips, waving goodbye, unaware J.T. wasn’t even looking. She blew a kiss and kept vigil on spiky-heeled boots while the RV pulled out of its campsite. Shaking her head, and almost feeling sorry for her, D’Anne headed down the road toward Interstate 30 on their way to Abilene and the Super Bowl of chili cook-offs.
Chapter Eight
Two hours later, the I-30 had merged with the I-20 and visions of the Old West opened up before them. D’Anne saw fertile farms, sleek meadows and ranches, and in the distance one solitary oil well dipping its head to the earth like a huge iron woodpecker.
Bear had exchanged places with Tyler, who sat picking his guitar on the couch.
“Now see, you’ve got yer traditional country, yer contemporary country and yer neo-traditional country.” Bear used his callused musician fingers with scabbed-over knuckles to count off the types of music. His pale hazel eyes drifted up toward the ceiling while he thought. A fourth finger shot up. “Then, you’ve got yer Western Swing revival…”
D’Anne kept her eyes mostly on the road. “How about country gothic?” She couldn’t resist.
“What?” He looked serious as a scholar while he contemplated her question. “You mean that Acadian stuff? That’d be Cajun Zydeco music.”
“I see.” She tried her best to keep from grinning. D’Anne shifted her interest to the wide-open, sun burnt country before her. “I can almost imagine a cattle drive with real cowboys going through here.”
Her eyes settled on tumbleweed by the side of the road. “This is great.”
“Now this here Abilene is known as the buckle of the Bible belt,” Professor Bear continued.
“You mean this isn’t the rootin’ tootin’ Wild West?”
“That’d be Abilene, Kansas,” Bear said.
Tyler changed the tempo and chords on the music he played and J.T. broke into song. “Women there don’t treat you mean, in Abilene…”
D’Anne had quickly grown to love hearing guitar strumming while on the road. The sound of live country music had snuck into her life and found a cozy home in her heart, which surprised her.
Bear twisted around in his seat. “Yeah, well, women treat me mean everywhere I go, J.T.”
“Why do you suppose that is?” Ricky-Bob asked from his reclined position on one of the couches.
“I’m not a good lookin’ feller like you and J.T. or Tyler.”
D’Anne’s mothering instinct broke through. “You’re not a bad looking guy, Bear.” She saw the disbelief on his face, thought she’d better back up her claim. “For one thing, you’ve got cute dimples. And another, you’re a terrific musician. Women love musicians.”
He smiled extra wide showing the button-sized craters on his cheeks. He didn’t have his partial in. D’Anne frowned.
“Do your Wookie imitation for Dee, Bear,” J.T. coaxed.
Bear changed his smile, angled his head and bleated like the big furry sidekick in Star Wars. D’Anne couldn’t help but giggle when the men har-har-har’d their appreciation of the big guy’s special talent.
“Bear?” It occurred to D’Anne she didn’t have a clue. “What’s your real name?”
“Whoooweee!” Ricky-Bob made a hog call from the cabin. “Don’t ask him that, Dee, you’ll get him all upset.” From the rearview mirror she saw him stand up, take a few steps, reach forward and knock Bear’s hat off.
Bear picked it up, swatted at Ricky-Bob several times, and fussed with reshaping the hat before he settled back down. “I don’t tell just anyone my name, but I consider you to be a friend, Dee.”
It was surprising how good that made her feel. “I’m flattered, thank you, Bear.”
“Cledus…Ulysses…Simpson.”
She heard all kinds of extra s sounds from Bear’s mouth. “Well, my, my.” She swerved the slightest bit on the highway and worked at suppressing another giggle. “That’s certainly a mouthful.” D’Anne made a point to be respectful, but when the guys started laughing she couldn’t help joining them.
For the second time, she heard Tyler laugh. He made a deep and hearty haw-haw-haw sound, which pleased her to no end. She latched onto it, savored the newest addition to her secret study of the big cowboy, and found herself smiling.
Bear took the teasing like a seasoned professional, most likely because he’d taken and gotten used to it all his life. He smiled a resigned, semi-toothless grin and looked out the window.
“You know…Cledus, where I come from teeth…” Oh gosh, how should she put it? “…aren’t optional.” She felt a nervous tickle and resorted to clearing her throat. “What I’m trying to tell you is, women prefer a man with all of his pearly whites.”
His smile faded. “I’ll have you know, I had these three teeth right here knocked out saving a lady from a drunk.” He moved closer, pointed to the gap in his mouth. She tried not to look by keeping her eyes on the road.
She pushed down on the gas pedal and the motor home picked up speed.
“This here gap is sort a like a badge of honor,” he said.
She forced her foot to back off. “You might want to keep your partial-plate in all the time and just tell women about how you once lost them in a fight. You know, tell don’t show.”
“With me what you see is what you get.” He snorted with an air of stubborn pride and looked out the huge front window on the RV.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him contemplating.
“Cain’t say that about a lot of women, though,” he said.
“Yeah,” J.T. chimed in from behind on the same wavelength. “I’ve been with plenty of women that should tell first, too. Did you ever notice how those damn fancy underwear places sell bras that don’t even need tits? It’s like false advertising. Us poor unsuspecting guys unwrap the package expecting big hooters and find these little bitty titties. What’s with that?”
D’Anne wondered about J.T.’s big-busted girl from Dallas.
“I hear ya,” Bear said, eyes drifting to D’Anne’s chest.
She felt her face flush and wished she hadn’t brought the subject up then realized she hadn’t. It seemed, with men, sooner or later everything led back to sex.
An awkward silence settled in on the cabin. Tyler went back to playing, picking and singing. “Women there, don’t treat you mean in…”
She loved his voice and the sound of his guitar. It made her smile and feel at peace with the road and the rest of the world.
After three and a half hours with these guys, she felt relieved to see the Abilene city limits sign just up ahead.
“Go toward Buffalo Gap and turn on Farm Road,” Tyler piped up and instructed from where he stretched out on the couch. He stood and came up behind her chair. She noticed he had a guitar pick between his lips and had an odd urge to remove it with her own.
“We’ll be staying on a ranch,” he said.
****
The ranch turned out to be one big restaurant on several acres of land. After hooking up the RV and settling in, they were all invited to dinner served from an authentic old-time chuck wagon. Happy to get out of cooking, D’Anne jumped at the chance. J.T. opted to stay behind.
Tyler picked chicken and small portions of the side dishes and it pleased her. She even thought she already saw a change in his waistline. Bear, on the other hand, hadn’t learned his lesson from the day before at all. They sat on old picnic benches and dined while Bear continued his series of Texas lessons for D’Anne’s benefit.
“Now, the thing about real Texas cowboy chili is there’s no beans…and it’s hot.” Bear swiped up what was left of the barbeque sauce on his plate with a healthy portion of bread while he explained more and ate the swab of crust. He licked his fingers one at a time. “You know what this place is famous for?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Pop corn on a cob. That’s right. You pop it right off the cob.” His eyes sparkled like he’d just to
ld her about the greatest invention known to man.
He pushed his plate aside and went straight to dessert. A couple bites later he said, “You gotta try this.” Bear shoved a spoonful toward D’Anne. “It’s whiskey bread puddin’.”
She gingerly took a nibble and acted like it was delicious but begged off eating any more for fear of what else he might be passing by way of the spoon. Tyler came to the rescue.
“Let me show you where we’ll be playing tomorrow, Dee.”
He took her by the elbow, led her away from Bear and Ricky-Bob to the back of the restaurant, and pointed to a makeshift stage. “It’s not much, but they’re paying well and tomorrow this place will be crawling with chili cooks and tourists. We follow some bluegrass group and a ZZ Top-type country rock band. The exposure will be good for me and the guys.”
“It’ll be fun to hear you play outside.” Enthusiasm swelled in her chest.
Tyler dug his hands into his back pockets and cleared his throat. Some of the excitement seeped away.
“I think it would be better if you stayed with the RV.”
A knot formed in her stomach the size of a—her eyes darted around the yard—the size of a cow pie.
“What’s up with keeping me on house arrest?” Her hands fisted and went to her jean-clad hips. “First you don’t want me to go to the concert in Texarkana, then the club in Dallas, and now this. Am I cramping your style?” She found herself in his face. He didn’t respond. “Well, I’ll do whatever the hell I want. You got that, Stud?” She poked at his chest with her finger.
Tyler grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer. “Now listen up. I know you know there’s a reason to keep an eye on the RV, and I want you to know I know it.” His eyes looked intense, though a bit puzzled.
D’Anne snatched her hand back, confused. “What did you just say?”
“You know damn well what I mean, Slick.” He switched weight from one hip to the other.
One for the Road Page 9
