Blame It On Texas

by Kristine Rolofson

  “Thank you very much,” she said, when he delivered the glasses of juice. It was important to teach the young people manners. Seemed like not too many folks thought of that these days, but folks should learn them just the same.

  “I’ve got some money,” Danny said. “Twenty-one dollars.”

  “Ooh-wee, that’s a lot of money,” Gert told him. “How’d you get all that?”

  “I worked for my dad. A lot.”

  “Good for you. That’s how folks are supposed to get money. By earning it, just the way you did.” She watched him beam with pride. He was going to be a handsome boy, probably on the small side, though his father was tall and lean. They both shared dark straight hair and brown eyes. Handsome devils, the two of them, with identical dimples in the center of their chins. That Dustin could have his pick of the women in the county, she was sure, but he didn’t mind her teasing him about it.

  Gert liked teasing. Her Edwin never minded a good joke, laughed even harder when the joke was on him. That was a good quality in a man.

  “I should write a book,” she said, taking a sip of the juice when the boy did. “Those other old ladies did real well with theirs. Maybe there’s a market for memoirs.”

  “Memoirs,” the child repeated, trying out the unfamiliar word.

  “Memoirs. That’s like memories,” she said. “The story of somebody’s life. I’ve had a pretty interesting life, I think.” Or maybe not. Maybe nothing special to anyone else, but she was partial to it.

  “I could spice it up a bit,” she thought aloud. “Add some old lady wisdom, too. Folks like that, at least in books.” But not in person. Martha didn’t take too kindly to advice lately, despite her carrying on with the Jackson fella and talking about “villas” and “central vacuuming,” whatever that was. Meant you didn’t have to sweep anymore, Gert supposed.

  “Sweeping’s good exercise,” she told the boy, who didn’t seem to mind the change in subject.

  “You want me to get the broom?”

  “No, thank you. Not on Sunday. We’re not doing chores on Sunday.”

  “Oh.” He looked down at his juice glass, then back at her. “Dad’s doing chores.”

  “Well, that’s because your daddy’s a hard worker and likes to get things done.”

  “Yep.”

  “What’d he want on the phone?”

  “Just to check to see if we were okay.”

  “Well,” Gert said, looking around her old kitchen with its worn linoleum and scarred cabinets, “I think we’re doing just fine, don’t you?”

  Danny’s dark eyebrows rose. “That’s what daddy says all the time.” He lowered his voice and repeated, imitating his young, serious father. “I think we’re doin’ just fine.”

  Gert couldn’t help chuckling. “Well, we are. I don’t know why everybody worries so much.”

  The boy shrugged. “Me neither. You want some more juice?”

  “No, thanks. But you help yourself. And there’s more biscuits in the bread box over there.”

  “Okay.”

  Gert watched him, just for the pleasure of it. It was sure nice to have a youngster around to talk to. To have anyone to talk to, though Danny’s father wasn’t much for chitchat. She squinted at the clock over the refrigerator. Kate would call today, and she’d be coming home soon for the party.

  Maybe she would start writing that book this week so she could surprise her granddaughter with Chapter One.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “MY DAUGHTER WANTS me to move in to one of those things with her,” Gert declared as they drove past the sign announcing the site of the Good Night Villas.

  “I guess no one can force you,” Dustin said, slowing down the truck so Mrs. Knepper could get a good look. She’d insisted on coming here first, to see for herself the latest change in the town. “Can they?”

  “I sure hope not.”

  “You want me to stop?”

  “I sure do.”

  “Cool,” Danny said, tucked in the narrow length of seat behind them. “I like this.”

  “I’m glad you’re having a good time.” Dustin wasn’t at all sure why he was driving around Beauville on a Monday morning when there was all sorts of work to be done on the ranch, but she was the boss and so here he was on the north edge of town looking at a drive-in where he’d spent a lot of nights panting after Kate McIntosh. Maybe the fascination with drive-ins ran in the family.

  He pulled into a dirt area alongside the road, but kept the motor running for the air-conditioning. He didn’t want this nice little old lady passing out from heatstroke. “There. How’s this?”

  “Just fine.” She rolled down the window and stuck her head out as if she was going to yell at the construction workers. Not that anyone would’ve heard, with a dozer moving dirt around behind the foundation. A blast of dusty hot air wafted into the truck, but the elderly woman seemed oblivious to it as she watched the construction crew of five men erecting framework. “They don’t move too fast, do they.”

  “It’s the hottest part of the day,” he pointed out, hoping she’d close that window before she expired from the heat and the dust. It scared him, how old she was. “Maybe you should—”

  “They can take their time, for all I care. I’m in no hurry to die in one of those silly villas.” She sighed. “I’ll bet you spent a few nights in this place. Or are you too young to remember the drive-in movies on weekend nights?”

  “I remember.” Darkness. Kissing Kate. Pressing her down on the back seat, the one with the rips in the vinyl he’d taken great pains to repair. To this day duct tape made him think of making love to a brown-haired teenaged girl.

  “My family used to keep cattle here, back before the railroad came through. Did you know that?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She pressed the button on the door and the window rolled up. “My, that’s easy.”

  “Yes.” He waited a moment. “Are you ready to head back to town, Mrs. Knepper?”

  “I think you’d better call me Gert. We should be on a first-name basis since we live together.”

  “And me?” the boy said, leaning forward so that his chin touched Gert’s shoulder for a brief moment. “What can I call you, Mrs. Knepper?”

  “Mrs. Knepper,” his father replied.

  “Well, now, most of the children I know call me Grandma Gert, so you sure can, too, Danny,” Gert declared. “If that’s okay with your daddy.”

  Dustin nodded and put the truck in reverse. “Where to now, Gert?”

  “The library, I think. I have some books to get and then we’ll get groceries after we go to the bank.”

  “Sure.”

  “Danny can go to the library with me and help me carry the books,” Gert said. “You must have errands of your own to do without dragging an old lady around with you.”

  “I’m worried about the heat, Gert. You want to get a cold drink at the café first?”

  “I wouldn’t mind. The boy and I might have one of those chocolate milk shakes.”

  Danny got a kick out of that idea. “Oh, boy,” he said, leaning forward again. “I never had one of those before.”

  “Well, my goodness.” Gert was clearly speechless. She frowned at Dustin. “Does he have one of them milk allergies or something?”

  “Not that I know of.” He didn’t know much, that was certain.

  “What’s that?” the boy asked.

  “It means you get sick when you drink milk or eat ice cream, things like that,” Dustin explained, hoping he was right. No one had warned him that becoming a father meant you were supposed to be right about everything.

  “I’m okay,” Danny insisted. “Grandma Gert and me’ve been drinking milk all week.”

  “We sure have,” the old woman agreed. “So I guess a chocolate milk shake will go down real good—with some French fries and maybe a hamburger, too.”

  “Wow,” the child whispered under his breath. Dustin winced, wondering what in hell Lisa had done to this kid bes
ides the crap he already knew about. Too thin and too quiet, Danny still had that scared look in his eyes, like someone was going to yell at him or worse. Dustin felt sick to his stomach and his hands clenched the steering wheel.

  Gert gave him a sharp look. “You’d rather be back at the ranch working, wouldn’t you?”

  “Well, ma’am, there’s a lot that needs doing.” Not that any of it would matter if Gert decided she’d lived out there for too long. He could always go back to the Dead Horse and work for Bobby Calhoun, but what would he do with the boy? Growing up in a bunkhouse was no place for a kid, and it was long past time to get started on making some kind of home for the child. And for himself.

  “I thought maybe I should be running more cattle.”

  “You’ve got the grass,” he agreed.

  “Well, see to it, Dustin. Maybe we’ll try to make some money this year.”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We sure could, though it might take me more than a year. I’ve come up with a plan for the cattle and the grass but it’s not short-term.”

  “A plan is good,” Gert agreed. “Making some changes is good, too. You grew up around here, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Outside of Marysville.”

  “But you know my granddaughter, Kate.”

  “Yes.” Intimately.

  Unfortunately.

  KATE WAS LATE. And there would be hell to pay, along with the possibility of missing seeing her grandmother blow out the candles on her birthday cake. Kate could do without the crowds and the fruit punch and the photographer from the Beauville Times, but she hated to disappoint her mother and grandmother, especially when they looked forward to her visits so much. And she looked forward to the peace and quiet of her hometown.

  She hurried through the airport toward the car rental booths. Already hot and uncomfortable, she was ready for the arctic temperatures of her rental car. She’d brought her suitcase to the office, just in case, but there hadn’t been time to change into something less businesslike than a black suit and shell-pink camisole. It had been another hellish week on Loves of Our Lives, which made getting home even more difficult.

  Everyone in town would be at the party. The grange hall would be filled. She wondered for the hundredth time if Dustin would be present or back at the ranch taking care of things there. Odd that Dustin Jones would end up on the Lazy K, along with his son, who must be eight now. Seeing Dustin wouldn’t bother her, she decided, signing the papers to rent the biggest, fastest Lincoln available. She would be polite, of course. She scooped up the keys and the directions to the Alamo lot and hurried toward the wide doors that fronted the sidewalk. She would pretend that nothing had ever happened between them, that he hadn’t broken her heart and made her feel like the biggest fool in Texas.

  “THERE SHE IS,” Gert declared, pointing to the door. “You can rest easy now, Martha. Our girl is home.”

  “Thank goodness.” She hadn’t realized she’d been so tense and worried, but she worried when she knew Kate was flying. She always listened to the hourly news reports on the radio just to make sure there hadn’t been a plane crash, even though she knew Kate would call her when she was safe in her apartment or hotel room. There was always that span of time when she didn’t know if Kate was safe, that span of time when she prayed a lot. Maybe that was the trouble with having only one child. You couldn’t spread the worry around. “I wonder what happened.”

  Gert shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, Martha, as long as the child gets here safe and sound.”

  “She’s not a child,” she said, watching her beautiful daughter make her way toward them. Her hair was streaked gold and fell in fashionably tousled lengths to her shoulders, her elegant black pantsuit made her look like a movie star, or like those women in the magazines with perfect lipstick and jewelry and fingernails. “She’s too thin.”

  “You always say that.”

  “It’s always true. She works too hard.”

  “We’ll fatten her up,” Gert promised. “I made cinnamon rolls this morning.”

  Martha frowned at her mother. “In this heat?”

  “I got up early. Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Too much excitement,” Martha declared, leaning down to make sure her mother didn’t look too tired. No, Gert looked pleased, a woman who had reached the age of ninety and lived to tell about it. The blue-flowered dress with the pearl necklace looked good on her and the pink lipstick had been a nice touch. Too bad her mother wouldn’t agree to getting her hair done yesterday.

  “Go rescue her,” the older woman said. “Joey will talk her ear off.”

  “He always liked her. I don’t know why she didn’t give him a chance. Now he built that nice house south of here and—”

  “The feeling wasn’t mutual,” Gert said, giving Martha a little push. “I’d do it myself but it’ll take me too long to get out of this chair. This crowd’s got me blocked in.”

  “All right,” Martha said, needing little encouragement to greet her child. “Joey doesn’t look as if he’s making much progress.”

  “Ha,” Gert sniffed. “It’ll take a stronger man than—oh, hi, Esther. Thank you for coming.”

  Martha left her mother talking to one of her longtime friends from church and, careful not to get any punch spilled on her as she walked through the crowd of Beauville residents, went to her daughter.

  “Mom!” Kate waved and said something to Joey, probably promising to stop by his store this week. As if Kate wouldn’t prefer to buy her fancy jewelry in New York.

  “Kate, I’m so glad you’re finally here. I was so worried,” she said, giving her daughter a quick hug. “You’ve lost more weight.”

  “You always say that,” she said, sounding exactly like her grandmother.

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late. We had a problem with the show and I had to fix it before I could leave, and then my flight out of Kennedy was delayed two hours because of rain and—”

  “They work you too hard,” Martha said, leading her toward Gert, who was presently surrounded by well-wishers and unable to be seen through the crowd. “You need this vacation.”

  “I can’t wait,” she said. “I’m so glad to be home and—”

  “Martha? You look terrific, as always.” She turned to see Carl beaming at her. Not a tall man like her Ian, Carl was at eye-level. It was somehow comforting, not to have to look up to see into a man’s eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said, trying not to sound flustered. “You know my daughter, don’t you?”

  He shook Kate’s hand. “Of course. Kate. Your mother tells me all about your TV show and your life in the big city.”

  “Oh?” Her eyebrows rose, but Kate was as polite as she always was. Not many people could tell what Kate was thinking behind those calm hazel eyes. “I’ve heard about your plans for the drive-in, too.”

  “Not plans anymore, Kate. Reality. We’ve poured the foundation.” Carl moved closer to Martha, which thrilled her more than a little, though she didn’t want Kate to get the wrong idea.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Kate said, “I need to wish my grandmother a happy birthday.”

  “You just arrived?” Carl asked, standing so close to Martha that their arms touched.

  “Yes.” Kate gave her mother a questioning look. “Are you coming, Mother?”

  “Of course. We’ll see you later, Carl,” she said, patting his arm just a little bit before she followed her daughter to see Gert.

  “Welcome home,” he called after them.

  Kate paused. “Mother, is that man—”

  “Here, honey,” Martha interrupted, not about to discuss her personal life in a hall filled with everyone in town. And Kate used “Mother” when she had something serious to discuss, another reason to hurry her along. She nudged her daughter through the crowd of senior citizens that surrounded Gert.

  “Grandma,” Kate said, smiling down at her grandmother, whose face lit up with matching happiness.


  “Well, well, come give me a hug,” Gert said, struggling to rise out of her chair. Several people hurried to help her, so for a moment there was some confusion until Kate was in her grandmother’s arms and embracing her. Martha blinked back tears. It was so good to have her daughter home again. If anyone could talk sense into Gert, it would be Kate. After all, she was the smartest person in the family, the most successful and the one with all the answers. If Kate said, “It’s time to move to town,” then that’s what Gert would do. She and Martha could have side-by-side suites at the Good Night complex.

  “Did I miss the birthday cake?” Kate asked.

  “You think I’d blow out ninety candles without my favorite granddaughter here to help me?” She motioned to Martha. “What do you think? Can we do it now?”

  “I’ll get it started, but it’s going to take a few minutes to light.”

  Kate moved toward her. “I’ll help.”

  “No.” Martha shooed her away. “See if you can find Jake. I saw him a little while ago, but his wife looks like she’s going to have that baby any time now, so I imagine she’s sitting down.” Martha scanned the room, then pointed to the west corner of the building. “I see him.” She tried to catch his attention, but her nephew, deep in conversation with a group of men, didn’t see her wave. Well, Kate would take care of it. The cousins—half-cousins, actually—always seemed glad to see each other, and Gert’s other grandchild needed to be in on the birthday cake presentation.

  Martha hurried toward the kitchen, picking up volunteers along the way, along with compliments about Kate’s appearance. Her girl had done well. And gotten what she’d wanted. Martha missed her, but that was the way life was. Children grew up and moved away, and mothers made their own lives.

  Their new lives.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SHE WAS HOME. Turning cartwheels in the middle of the grange wasn’t an option, though tempting. Her black pantsuit, with its fashionable amount of spandex fabric, could withstand the exercise but she didn’t know if her mother’s heart would tolerate the shock. As a child, she’d been notorious for turning cartwheels any time that joy overtook her and she could no longer keep all the happiness inside. As an adult, she had to be content with smiling. She was home, in Beauville, where everything was safe and familiar. Including her handsome cousin who turned, waved and headed over to meet her in the middle of the room.