by Alter, Judy
And we did, though I don’t know which is more trouble to deal with—a skittish yearling steer or an electric mule. When I thought I was turning left, it turned right; when I tried to stop, it speeded up, so that at one point I was headed right for a cow. Serve it right if I plowed into it. The cow moved, and I found the brake. It wasn’t that operating that mechanical monster was physically tiring; it was wearing me out with worry. When we got all the cattle we could find herded back into their pasture, Bob Greenough said he was short two steers he had planned to take to market in a couple of weeks or so. City dwellers may think rustling has disappeared as a problem for ranchers, especially in East Texas, but I knew better.
Bob Greenough gave Rick a picture of his brand and described the markings of the steers. It always amazed me cattlemen knew each animal and could tell them apart. It amazed me even more that Rick Samuels, the city boy, was so at home on a horse, herding stray cattle, and taking notes on markings on the missing animals.
With the animals safely corralled again and the fence patched, we let Huggles out for a run in the pasture with no cattle and a lake. He ran and chased and jumped on us when he came back, sometimes with muddy feet. We laughed and hugged him and sent the Frisbee flying again…until Rick did it. Sent it into the lake.
“Oops, guess my aim isn’t what it used to be.”
The Frisbee was lost but Huggles hadn’t figured it out, so he dove into the lake and began swimming, while we both shouted from the shore, ordering him to come back. He ignored us, and I was sure he would drown.
Rick gave me a scornful look. “Dogs don’t drown, unless they get exhausted. He’ll come back before then.”
I was only partially reassured.
To our amazement, he came swimming toward us, proudly carrying the Frisbee in his mouth. Once on land, he shook vigorously, sending dirty lake water all over both of us. I yelped in protest, Rick laughed, and Huggles ran to comfort me, getting me wetter than ever. Rick ran for the towels and blankets in the car, and we toweled the dog as best we could and then tried to towel ourselves. But there was no hiding the fact we both looked like we’d been rolling in the mud. Rick looked at me and laughed again, but I thought he ought to see himself before he laughed too loudly.
“He who laughs first….” I intoned.
“Laughs best,” he finished.
“You know that’s not how it goes!”
“I double dog dare you to go into the café without changing.”
“You know I won’t do that!” The very idea would have sent Gram down from above in person to take over her café.
But when we drove into town, a crowd of people stood outside the café, including all the employees, even Gus, the dishwasher.
Rick screeched to a halt, I ordered Huggles to stay in the car, and we both leapt out. “What happened?” I asked, rushing up to Marj.
“Customer complained of smelling gas. Volunteer fire department evacuated until they can find the source. I didn’t never smell no gas.”
Rick looked startled. “Why wasn’t I notified?”
Marj gave both of us a long look. “Tried to call you both. No luck.”
Rick looked down at his phone, as though to shake it in anger, but then, sheepishly, he pressed the button to turn it back on. “Must have turned it off so as not to scare those damn cattle,” he said. And then he rushed into the restaurant.
Rick soon restored order to the restaurant. The gas leak came from a faulty pilot light on one set of burners, and we would simply have to do without those burners until I could get a plumber out from Canton to make the repair. Meantime it was business as usual. I told Marj to re-serve the evacuated customers and comp their meals. I was going home to change.
Putting a leash on Huggles, I got him out of Rick’s car and headed home, but Sara Jo waylaid me. Trust her to be Johnny-on-the-spot when there was trouble in Wheeler.
“You look like you’ve been rolling in the mud,” she observed.
I didn’t detect any journalistic detachment in her comment. In fact, I thought she was savoring the moment.
I shouldn’t have felt the need to defend myself, but that’s just what I did. “Huggles got into a lake. Excuse me, but I have to go put both of us in the shower.”
“You shower with your dog?” she asked incredulously. And then she went on, “Pardon me asking, but where were you and what were you doing?”
I could see the headline now: SMALL TOWN RESTAURANT OWNER SHOWERS WITH HER DOG.
“Separately,” I said icily.
“Well, I heard something about loose and stolen cattle. Were you helping Chief Samuels with that? Has he deputized you?”
I fought the impulse to say, “No, he hasn’t done a background check on me yet.” Instead I said, “We happened to be at the Greenough ranch when the cattle were discovered missing. Naturally, we did what we could to help. You’ll have to ask Chief Samuels if you have more questions.” I turned and fled, giving her no chance to follow.
Huggles came first. Whereas he loved the lake, he hated the shower, and cleaning him was a battle of both the wills and my strength against his. I honestly thought about leaving him outside, dirty, until Henry could come after school, but I thought that was cowardly. So I fought with him, dumped shampoo on him, talking lovingly all the while. Finally I got him rinsed and toweled dry—I’d already started one load of towels and cotton blankets from the ranch and would have to do another. When he was reasonably dry, I released him, gave him a treat, and told him to go to his bed, which, being a good, obedient dog, he did. Then I cleaned myself up, noticing my chinos were torn at the knee. Honest, I can ruin more good pants without even trying. Finally, though, I was showered, shampooed, dressed in clean clothes, and ready to take on disaster at the Blue Plate Café. Huggles was sound asleep in his bed. Briefly, I wanted to be a dog.
Henry heard about the episode—how do things travel that fast in a small town?—and stormed into the café after school, demanding, “Aunt Kate, what did you do to Huggles? Is he all right? Can I go see him?”
“Henry,” I sighed, “I didn’t do anything. He jumped in Mr. Greenough’s lake and got us all dirty. He’s clean and on his bed. If he’s dry, you can let him out to play.”
Mollified, he left, only to return within thirty minutes to report Huggles was dry and glad to be outside and he forgave me for putting him in the shower. I almost yelped for the second time that day.
Sara Jo came in for supper that evening and, to my surprise, ordered the meat loaf. I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking if she was falling off her diet. She sat at the counter, so I served her, and it was clear she wanted to talk.
“You know,” she said, “I find you interesting.”
Well, gee whiz. What am I supposed to say about that?’
She never noticed my hesitation. “You had a good career and life in Dallas…yes, I checked…and you came back here to this Podunk town and seem okay with it. And you sort of are with the chief of police, but you sort of aren’t. Would you come to the B&B some night, let me give you a glass of wine and interview you?”
I started to explain how busy my evenings were and then I thought, Why not? Maybe I can turn the tables on her and learn something…if I don’t drink too much wine.
We agreed on two nights later, and I began scheming. She finished her meat loaf, gave me a nice tip…doesn’t she know you don’t tip the owner?…and left, confirming our date.
Rick came in just before closing time for a cup of coffee. “Actually I’d like a beer. Are you entertaining after you close up?”
“I could,” I said. “Haven’t you had a long day though?”
“Yeah, and I’m not used to riding horses any more. I expect to be sore in the morning. Besides, you sent Sara Jo to me about rustling. You owe me.”
I giggled. “I knew she’d run right to you, and you’d probably be angry. But I had to get Huggles and me both showered. She wanted to know if we showered together.”
He actually
laughed out loud. “Good Lord, I hope not.”
“No, but we’re both clean now, thank you very much. And I told her we showered separately. He went first.”
He laughed again and left, saying, “See you in about thirty minutes.”
After I closed, tallied the charge slips and locked up the cash, I headed for the house only to find Rick waiting for me on the back porch, comfortably rocking in one of Gram’s big chairs. He had a beer in his hand.
“Helped myself. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s good. I’ll get some wine and join you.”
I did, and we didn’t talk about rustlers or Sara Jo. Instead, I said, “You were pretty comfortable on a horse today, but I thought you grew up in Dallas.”
He snorted. “No such luck. I grew up in Brewster County, ‘‘bout as far from Dallas as you can get. On a ranch. Rode before I could walk.”
“I don’t even know where Brewster County is,” I confessed.
“So far west in Texas it’s almost not on the map. Alpine is the only city in the county. My dad was supervisor of schools there, but we didn’t live in town.”
“So how did you get to Dallas?”
“Bad luck, I guess. I wanted to get out, get away, see the city lights. Came to Dallas, applied for the police academy, went through their training, and the rest is history you know. Sometimes I think I might better go back to Brewster. They’re having big-time problems with illegal immigrants, violence against ranchers. It’s a real hotbed.”
“As compared to Wheeler,” I supplied.
“Well, a man would feel needed there. I’m never sure if anyone would even notice if I left Wheeler.”
“I would.”
He took my hand and said, “Thanks. I’m grateful.”
I wanted to add, “But I didn’t mean it that way.” Why can’t I just fall in love with this man? He’s good-looking, intelligent. He can be kind and caring if you scratch the surface, but it just isn’t happening. Donna would be spinning a passionate romance out of this and here I am, sitting in my rocking chair two feet away from him. “Tell me about Sara Jo today.”
“She wanted to know all about rustlers. If I told her about Brewster County, I could have told her some real hair-raising rustler stories. Here, it’s piddly stuff, but I know Greenough is hoppin’ mad. And he wants it in the newspaper, all over, so someone will know he was done wrong. Me, I’d rather catch the guys than have the sympathy of the town.”
Somehow, at that moment, I knew Rick wouldn’t stay in Wheeler forever. Don’t ask more because I couldn’t tell.
When he rose to leave, I stood up too, and suddenly I was in his arms, sharing a rather passionate kiss that spoke lots about attraction and very little about the future. For the time being I liked it.
Chapter Nine
The next cooking class came the day of my meeting with Sara Jo. Naturally that meeting had been on my mind for two days now—aside from that kiss from Rick. Bonnie Smith called Donna that morning and said she had to withdraw from the class. She explained her life was just too busy, and she didn’t have time. Carolyn Grimes didn’t come to the lesson, and I was puzzled. I thought surely she’d call if she was going to miss it.
If I thought my sister missed local gossip, I underestimated her. “What does Bonnie Smith do with that time that she’s so busy? Maybe try to keep Sara Jo from Cary. I hear she’s been interviewing him a lot more than the other kids. Wonder what’s going on? Maybe Bonnie doesn’t want to come to the class because Sara Jo is there.”
Right on, sister. But I didn’t say that.
We were fixing Beef Wellington that day, and I planned to show them an easy yet delicious method to make that delicacy—without the liver pâté that, as Rick so aptly pointed out, most men in Wheeler wouldn’t eat. I bought puff pastry and good beef in Canton and told the ladies this dish would require a trip to the larger stores in that city or even in Tyler.
I laid out a sheet of pastry, set the piece of beef in the middle, added salt and pepper and wrapped the dough around it, showing the ladies how to press it tight and pinch off the excess. Then I used that extra dough to makes leaf shapes, flipped the pastry package over and put the leaves on the top. They were all convinced they could never do it, but when I had Barbara Wallace (the dress shop lady) wrap the next steak, she declared, “Why there’s nothing to this! I can do it!” The other ladies crowded around, and each wanted to try, so they took turns, each wrapping what would be their own dinners. Naturally, some looked better than others. They left the lesson, each carrying two individual Beef Wellingtons and green beans almandine in to-go containers from the café. I pretty much left them on their own for potatoes but tucked directions for twice-baked into each to-go bag.
As soon as I got back to the café, I called. “Carolyn? I missed you today at cooking class. We made individual Beef Wellingtons. I saved you a copy of the directions. Chester would love it.”
I heard the lovely sound of Carolyn’s laugh. “Lordy child, Chester has no idea what Beef Wellington is. But, yes, he’d like it. I’m sorry, and I should have called. I have no real excuse. I just didn’t have the energy. Instead of energy, I have a dread in my bones.”
“Dread in your bones?” I echoed her phrase.
“Just a feeling something bad is going to happen. It’s probably foolish, and it will go away after a good night’s sleep.”
“Should I come see you tomorrow?” I asked.
“Now, you know I’d love that, and I’d make you tuna salad, and give you wine, and make you take a nap. But don’t put yourself out. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be there by eleven in the morning,” I said.
We talked a bit more and hung up, with me repeating I’d see her tomorrow. Carolyn was special, and if she was worried, I was worried. I’d quiz her about Chester. Maybe she was worried about his health? Certainly not his safety. Being Kaufman County deputy sheriff, stationed in a sleepy town like Crandall, left Chester with little to do except catch speeders as they went by on the highway around town or occasionally rescuing a motorist in trouble, as he had me several months ago when someone cut the brake lines on my car.
Hanging up the phone, I sighed and turned my mind to café business. And, of course, to my meeting that night with Sara Jo. I intended to play hardball with her.
Maybe Carolyn’s dread in the bones described how I felt about Sara Jo.
****
I arrived at the B&B promptly at seven, ringing the front door chimes as a proper guest should. From the cooking classes, I was familiar with the gleaming white and chrome kitchen. Donna had spared no expense—a Subzero refrigerator, an Aga stove, a chrome-topped island with built-in cutting board and granite for rolling out pastry dough. The idea made me giggle—Donna rolling out pie dough? I actually did use the marble for the puff pastry to wrap the beef. But Donna probably never even chopped an onion on that maple cutting board.
I was less familiar with the living areas—a spacious living room and a cozy library off it. Donna had done a smashing job of decorating. She claimed she did it herself, but I always suspected that before Irv died he had put her in touch with a decorator from Dallas, and Donna later spirited that person, man or woman, in and out of town without letting any of us know—particularly Tom.
Sara Jo answered the door, as though she were welcoming a guest into her own home. I thought she had really taken over the B&B—kitchen privileges and now she was the hostess. But she welcomed me into a cheery room, bright and seemingly sunny even as dusk approached on this spring night.
Instead of treating the large living room as one room, Donna had chosen to break it into two conversation areas. Side chairs with bright floral upholstery flanked small settees upholstered in gray and white ticking. Throw pillows in red, blue and yellow brightened the settees and picked up the colors of floral rugs. Donna had painted the walls a soft white with the faintest blue-gray tinge but kept the beautiful dark woodwork of the home.
“Kitchen or l
iving room?” Sara Jo asked. Her manner was a bit abrupt.
“Let’s settle in one of those settees,” I suggested.
“I’ll be right back with wine. Donna told me you prefer white, so I have sauvignon blanc. Okay?”
“Perfect.”
She came back with a glass of white for me and red for her, and I prayed she wouldn’t get angry and throw it on Donna’s ticking upholstery.
“Donna’s gone home for the night. I told her you were coming, and I thought you and I would have a more productive visit if she wasn’t around. I suspect she was a bit miffed.” She curled into one of the floral chairs and tucked her legs under her like a teenager.
My reaction was mixed. I was indeed relieved Donna wasn’t there, because I would talk more freely and so, probably, would Sara Jo. If she were there, Donna would hover. On the other hand, this was just another instance of Sara Jo taking over, as if it were her B&B. She couldn’t quite direct Donna to leave. Her next words floored me.
“I told Donna, though, if she’s going to have long-term guests or a full house on weekends, she really ought to be here twenty-four seven. I don’t know where she’d put that husband and those children.”
Boy oh boy, this is not getting off to a good start. I resent her dismissive reference to Tom and the children.
She never missed a beat. “Now, tell me why you’re back here in Wheeler and how you feel about it.”
I sighed. I thought we’d covered this territory before. I repeated the whole story about Gram’s death and her wish that I’d take over the café and my own dissatisfaction with my life in Dallas. Sara Jo had turned on a tape recorder, after asking if that was all right with me. I agreed. I wasn’t the one with something to hide.
Then she asked about the problem with the then-mayor and William Overton, Gram’s crooked accountant, and I told her details. She was, I knew, working up to Rick.
“Wasn’t there another incident? Something to do with a drug dealer.”
“Yes, but I don’t feel it’s my place to talk about it. The man owned the nursery and was a good friend, and now he’s in prison. His sister sold her place to the Wallaces and went back to Dallas. I’ve lost track of both of them.”
