My Give a Damn's Busted

by Carolyn Brown

  “I been haulin’ hay with my dad,” he said. “Friend of his down in these parts only needed a few of the little bales so I hauled them down here on the back of the flatbed out there. Air conditioner went out in it years ago but the damned old engine is like the Energizer bunny. It refuses to die.”

  “Sounds like hot work. Have a seat over on the porch under the shady part. I’ll be right back,” she said.

  She refilled her jar and pulled a cold beer from the refrigerator, popped the cap off, and stood at the kitchen window a few seconds staring at his back. It was thoughtful of him to check on her. A friend would do that and Larissa liked the friends she’d gathered around her in Mingus. There was always room for one more and Hank seemed lonely. Maybe he was looking for friendship too. She picked up her tea and his beer and carried both out to the porch. He’d taken his straw hat off and was fanning with it while Stallone watched warily from the edge of the garden. Her heart skipped two beats and then set about trying to thump out of her chest when she saw him sitting there with sweat pouring down the back of his sunburned neck, black hair flattened against his head, and those light brown eyes looking up at her.

  When did I begin to like working cowboys? My preference in men never did include tight jeans, belt buckles, and straw hats. That’s why I figured I was safe from the Honky Tonk curse.

  He tilted the bottle up and enjoyed a long, wet drink. “Thank you. This hits the spot.”

  “Nothing like cold beer on a hot Texas day.”

  He nodded toward the plot with knee-high corn, okra, beans, and tomato plants. “So you makin’ a garden?”

  “Tryin’ to. It’s my first attempt. Mingus don’t offer a Gold’s Gym so gardening is my exercise, plus I get food for my efforts that has no preservatives and tastes much better than store bought,” she said.

  God, please shut my mouth. I sound like a commercial for natural fertilizer.

  “My dad makes a garden every year. Hated picking beans when I was a kid but love the food,” he said.

  She liked him. Yes, he was sexy as hell but it went beyond that. He’d picked beans for heaven’s sake and he liked garden fresh food. He’d stopped by just to see if she was all right. That could easily translate into a good friend if nothing else.

  The phone rang again and no amount of ignoring it made it hush.

  “Guess I’d better get that. Excuse me,” she said. She took her time getting into the kitchen in hopes that whoever was so persistent would give up but it didn’t work. She’d far rather be out on the porch in the hot steaming sun getting to know Hank better than talking to anyone she knew on the blasted telephone.

  She picked up the cordless receiver and walked to the kitchen window where she could look her fill of him as she talked. “Hello,” she said impatiently.

  “Larissa Morley, please,” a masculine voice said.

  “This is Larissa. Whatever you are selling, I’m not interested.” She started to hang up.

  He began talking very fast. “Miss Morley, I’m not a salesman. I’m not trying to give you credit cards or sell you stock in a time-share. This is Wayne Johnston. I work for Radner Incorporated.”

  “Who?” she said icily.

  “Radner Incorporated. We would like to arrange a meeting to discuss buying the Honky Tonk beer joint from you. We have come up with…”

  “Hush right there. I’m not selling my business. Get that through your head once and for all and don’t call here ever again. I don’t give a damn if you offer me a third world country in exchange for the Tonk. It’s not for sale,” she said.

  “But…”

  “Not butts or asses. That’s the end of the discussion, Mr. Wayne Johnston of Radner Incorporated.”

  “Miss Morley, you live in a rundown house and work six nights a week in a cheap beer joint. I’m willing to offer you enough money for a much better lifestyle. Why won’t you sell it to me?”

  “You may squat in a bed of poison ivy and fall backwards in it, Mr. Johnston. How do you know where I live or who I am, and why do you want it so bad? Have you been stalking me? Well, darlin’, you can damn sure come around and I’ll tell you the same thing to your face. And why doesn’t Hayes Radner come see me in person if he wants my business so badly? Is he a sissy that hides behind big business? If he wants my business, tell him to come talk to me in person. Is there gold hiding under my beer joint or something?”

  Mr. Johnston’s tone turned icy cold. “Mr. Radner is a busy man. No, there isn’t oil under the beer joint. Radner Corporation wants it to incorporate it into their amusement park. We will own that town eventually.”

  “Don’t get too damn comfortable if owning Mingus is the thing that’s going to write your paycheck. You might find yourself moving from the penthouse to the outhouse. Good-bye and don’t harass me again.” She slammed the receiver down with enough force that she hoped it gave him a major migraine.

  She inhaled deeply several times before she went back out to the porch. Hank had set the empty bottle on the porch step. Stallone slowly inched over toward the porch and sniffed the tip of Hank’s boot.

  “I think he’s trying to decide whether to trust me or not,” Hank said.

  So am I. My flight mode tells me to run away, but this blasted heat between us creating sparks that are hotter than a barbed wire fence in the middle of hell says to stick around. Slow down, girl. Easy does it. He might turn out to be involved with someone else and only interested in friendship, like Luther.

  She sat down and pulled her knees up. “Folks say that you can’t fool kids or dogs. I don’t know if that includes cats or not.”

  “My dad has a barn full of cats. When I came out to the ranch as a kid I loved it when there was a bunch of kittens out there. I used to name them. One year they were Sesame Street characters, then they were race car characters from a cartoon I liked. Then I got old enough for a pony and the kittens took a backseat.”

  “Be careful, Stallone; he’s a fickle friend. Man that would turn his back on kittens for a danged old pony can’t be trusted,” Larissa warned the cat.

  “Is that the voice of experience I’m hearing?” Hank grinned.

  “It is. We had kittens and when I got my pony I’m afraid I was a fickle friend too.” She smiled at the memory of that first pony her grandfather brought home.

  The cat stuck his tail straight up and strutted back to the garden where he laid down and eyed Hank from a distance.

  Hank smiled. “Looks like he’s the one who’s fickle. He was warming up to me until he heard about the pony. I won’t tell him that you’d trade him in for a horse if you got the chance.”

  She giggled. “He hasn’t got a thing to worry about. I’m past the love of horses stage in my life. It only lasted a few weeks anyway. First time the critter bucked me off into a mud puddle, I was finished with him. Cats don’t treat you like that.”

  “I’m glad to see you laugh. You looked like you could chew up railroad spikes and spit out staples when you came out after that phone call. I hope it wasn’t bad news.”

  “Not at all. A telemarketer trying to buy something that’s not for sale and never will be.” The smile vanished and her tone turned from toasty warm to frigid.

  Hank cocked his head to one side. “That’s strange. Most telemarketers are trying to sell, not buy.”

  “Some fool from Dallas has been trying to buy the Honky Tonk for a couple of years now. Guess he thought since ownership has changed he’d have a chance at it. Idiot doesn’t realize that I’d have less reason to sell than any of the previous three owners. But that’s not important. I told him no and now it’s over. Sorry sucker thought he could sweet-talk me into a deal by offering me a fortune. Radner Corporation ought to fire his sorry ass. If that’s the best they’ve got then they ain’t got much.”

  “Why would you have less reason to sell it?” he asked. His conscience was yelling at him to fess up and be honest with the woman but he shoved it away.

  “Ruby Lee built it and she w
ouldn’t sell it because it was her baby. She wouldn’t have sold it to God for a front row seat in heaven. Daisy wouldn’t because she didn’t give a damn about the money. Cathy wouldn’t because she didn’t need the money. I won’t because it’s where my heart found a home. That whole bunch of Radners, be it two or fifty, can kiss my naturally born stubborn ass.”

  “I see.” Hank chuckled. “Well, I reckon I’d better get the truck on back or Dad will be sending out the militia. I’m surprised that he even let me drive another one of his vehicles after that deer accident. He’s got a soft spot for every one of his old trucks.” So much for sweet-talking her or befriending her into selling the Honky Tonk. He’d have to find out more about her and see if there was anything in the world that would make her give it up.

  “I understand completely. I got a soft spot for my beer joint,” she said. “Come back if you’re in these parts. Me and Stallone don’t venture out very far in the daytime. I’ve always got cold beer and iced tea. But if you ever preach any nonsense to Stallone that involves trading him in for a horse, I’ll…” she hesitated.

  “You will what?” His eyes twinkled.

  “You don’t even want to know,” she said.

  ***

  Patsy Cline was singing and the dance floor was filled with two-steppers when Luther shut the doors behind Hank that night at the Honky Tonk.

  “Evenin’, Hank,” Luther said.

  “Looks like business is hopping. I was lucky to get in, wasn’t I?” Hank said.

  “Yes, those behind you will have to wait until someone leaves. We’re at max capacity. She really don’t dance with customers. She ain’t just bein’ mean to you. Thought I’d clear that up,” Luther said.

  “That’s good.” Hank waved as he cut around the edges of the hardwood dance floor. Tammy Wynette was singing “Your Good Girl’s Gonna Go Bad” when he claimed the last empty bar stool. Was Larissa a good girl or a bad girl? Hank would gladly help her go bad if she gave him half a chance. He’d tried to keep the job in perspective but he kept seeing her in those cutoff jean shorts every time he blinked.

  Merle gave him a long look. “So you came back? Why didn’t you bring Henry?”

  Hank came back to the present with a jerk. He wondered when she had sat down beside him. Or had she been there the whole time and he sat down beside her? Larissa had definitely gotten under his skin. “He was tired. He hasn’t got the stamina to put up hay all day and dance all night anymore,” he answered.

  Merle smiled and leaned around him. “Old age, gravity, and time gets us whether we like it or not. Tessa, this here is the son of an old friend of mine and Ruby Lee’s. Remember, I told you all about her. Well, this is Hank Wells, his son. I didn’t even know he had a son until last night.”

  Tessa smiled brightly. “So do you dance, cowboy?”

  “Afraid I’ve got two left feet,” he said.

  “Too bad, but everyone has one fault. Guess yours is that you haven’t got rhythm. See that big old bouncer back there? Big as he is, he’s light on his feet when I can talk him into a dance, which is what I’m about to do. Do you shoot pool?”

  He shook his head.

  “Guess you’re just eye candy, then.” Tessa hopped off the stool and motioned to Luther to dance with her to an old Bill Anderson tune.

  Tessa was a brunette with green eyes that were even bigger through the lenses of her black-rimmed glasses. She had rounded hips that were slightly larger than the top half of her body. But there were no sparks when she touched his arm as she was leaving. Not a single hot vibe shot through his veins like it did when Larissa handed him a beer and touched his fingertips.

  “Evenin’, Hank,” Larissa said. The attraction she had for the man heated up her insides until they were little more than a conglomerate of aching desires. “What can I get you?”

  “Larissa.” He nodded. His mouth went so dry that he craved a beer worse than if he’d been dancing for an hour. How about a romp in the hay? Or at least a long, lingering taste of those lips?

  He roped in his wayward thoughts and said, “Coors, please.”

  She set a bottle on a paper coaster in front of him. He handed her a bill and deliberately let it fall so they’d both grab at the same time. When their skin touched it was as if fire had jumped from hell and scorched his palm. It wasn’t fair to be attracted to the only woman that he should not look at once much less twice with lust in his heart and soul. She owned a beer joint. She lived in a sorry looking house that wasn’t as big as his closet in Dallas. She was the job. So why in the hell did he want to take her to bed?

  “Sorry about that,” he said hoarsely. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way. Who was Larissa Morley and why in the devil wasn’t there any more information on her? Hells bells, his people could find everything on Luther and Merle and even Larissa’s friends Betty, Janice, and Linda and their husbands. He had pages and pages on all of them, from where they were born to what their finances looked like. But prior to Larissa coming to Mingus there was nothing. And to top it all off he liked the woman. She was hardworking and a hoot to sit and talk to. He could spend a whole week just talking about gardening or cats on her back porch.

  She shoved her hand in her pocket to let it cool off. “Did you get the hay all baled and in the barn?”

  “The little square bales went to the barn. The big round ones are drying in the field. You ever done any baling?” he asked.

  “You asking me to take on another job?”

  “Maybe. You interested?”

  “Could be. I like learning new things,” she said.

  Merle shook her head emphatically. “Rissa, do not let this cowboy coerce you into baling hay. Girl, that’s the hottest, dirtiest work in the world.”

  Larissa smiled slyly. “It’s okay, Merle. I baled hay one time in my life and I know how hard the work is. Tell you what, Hank. I’ll bale hay for you but you have to work for me if I do.”

  “Doing what?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  She wiggled her own dark brows. “Something really sexy. You interested?”

  “I might be.”

  “I need someone to help me paint my house.”

  He groaned. “I hate to paint. Dad made me paint a barn one summer for punishment.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “What did you do to have to bale hay?” he asked right back.

  “Touché, Mr. Wells. Someday I might tell you but tonight I’ve got work to do. So are you going to help me paint or not?”

  “How many days for how much painting?” he asked.

  “Hour for hour. I’ll drive a hay truck or use a pair of hooks and stack the hay but you have to help me paint an hour for every hour I help you get the hay from the field to the barn.”

  Merle threw up her hands in disgust. “You are both crazy. I’m going to go find someone to whip at eight ball.”

  “I really hate to paint,” Hank said.

  “I really hate to sweat,” Larissa said.

  He inhaled deeply and let it all out in a whoosh. “You got lots of beer at your house? Painting is a hell of a hot job.”

  She grinned. “Do you have lots of beer at your ranch? Haying is a hell of a hot job too.”

  He stuck his hand over the bar. “Starting tomorrow at noon when the dew is dried?”

  She hesitated so long that he was pulling it back when she reached out and shook with him. Neither was prepared for the blistering fire that glued them to each other. When he let go she quickly made an excuse to grab a cold bottle of beer to put out the burn in her palm.

  Chapter 4

  Betty, Linda, and Janice were on Larissa’s back porch when she opened the door to let Stallone in the house that morning just before noon. She still had sleep in her eyes and a nightshirt that barely reached her knees. She yawned and motioned them to come in even though they didn’t wait for an invitation and plowed right inside. Betty had a short mop of gray curls and enough wrinkles to prove that she was past sixty-five. Janice h
ad a deal with Miss Clairol that kept her hair dyed a muted shade of blond but the wrinkles around her eyes proved she could run Betty a close race on age. Linda was a couple of years younger and had salt-and-pepper hair she wore in a chin-length bob. All three of them wore jeans, T-shirts, sandals, and a worried expression.

  “So when did y’all get back from Vegas? And why the long faces? Did you lose your shirts at the slots or your husbands to those fancy dancers?” she asked.

  Betty started a pot of coffee.

  Linda set a platter of cookies on the table.

  Janice got down the cups and saucers.

  “We got back yesterday. Linda probably gained twenty pounds and Betty got drunk off her ass and it’s a damn good thing that she’s too old to get pregnant because Las Vegas always makes Elmer horny. I came home with fifty more dollars than I left with so I’m the lucky one,” Janice said.

  Betty pushed the button on the coffee pot and sat down at the table. “Long faces don’t have anything to do with Las Vegas. Last night we all three got a phone call from Wayne Johnston, the henchman from that Hayes Radner company. He’s getting serious now, Larissa. He says that Hayes will own Mingus before it’s all said and done and we’ll lose our chance to make big bucks. His offers only stand for one week. Elmer is all fired up about selling and retiring out west with our kids.”

  Janice sat down in one of the four chairs surrounding the table. In the thirties houses were built about the same around Mingus. Good sized living room that opened right into an equally large kitchen. Two bedrooms off to the side separated by a bathroom in a short hallway. Larissa’s kitchen cabinets had so many coats of white paint on them that the doors did not shut all the way. The brown and yellow linoleum on the floor should’ve been replaced back when Moby Dick was a minnow.

  Larissa had plans to remodel the whole interior eventually. She wondered if Hank Wells was any good at interior carpentry work. Did he hate it as much as painting? Could she barter for his services? What could she entice him with for that kind of work? Her hands went clammy when she thought about just how she could pay him.