“Would you believe that she goes into town once a month and they’ve got a computer at the library where she checks out books and checks for emails from me? And that I grew up in a double-wide trailer with eight brothers all older than me who work in the coal mines?” she asked.
“And where would that be—in Rome or Paris?” Hank asked.
Larissa giggled. “In Hickory Holler, Tennessee, right next to Loretta Lynn’s old home place. Momma works at her dude ranch.”
“What’s your momma’s name?”
“Why are you so interested and why would you believe that rather my original story?” That itchy crawly feeling on her neck was back.
Hank chuckled. “Hey, we’re just joshing and I’m just making conversation.”
“You going to look my mother up or something?”
“Is she as beautiful as you? I might look her up myself. I ain’t never been to Hickory Holler, Tennessee.”
“Mother is absolutely stunning. Why, when she puts on her best jeans and western shirt, she’s the belle of any barn dance,” Larissa teased. If Hank wanted to joke around he’d met his match.
“I bet she is, darlin’,” Henry said. “She got a feller? I might be interested in going to one of them barn dances and talkin’ her into a two-step or two.”
“Mother always has a feller,” Larissa said honestly.
Hank clamped his mouth shut. Her mother sounded like a hooker. Even with a name, he’d never find her in the backwoods hills of Tennessee. That story sounded much more probable than a mother who jet-setted around the world.
***
Larissa drove the hay truck on the first trip. Sweat flowed from her forehead to her neck and on down into her bra. What in the hell was she thinking when she agreed to this deal? If she drank on the job, she’d bet that Hank had drugged her drink before he started talking about hay.
When she had a full load backed into the barn she grabbed a set of hooks and began to stack it as Hank threw it off. It was twice as hot inside the barn as it had been out in the field. What little breeze blew out there was shut off in the barn. The hooks felt like they’d been wiped down with Vaseline by the time she’d hauled four bales off the truck.
“Here, you might need these.” Hank threw her a pair of brown cotton work gloves.
“Thanks. I should’ve remembered to bring gloves.” She put them on and kept working.
When they finished unloading, she swiped the moisture from her forehead with the back of her hand and hopped up on the back of the truck and waited.
He wiped sweat from his brow. “What are you doing?”
“It’s my turn to load and yours to drive. I’m not a pansy. I’ve hauled hay before,” she said.
“For sassing in Tennessee, right? Did you live on a farm?”
“You think coal can’t grow under the ground and hay on the top? We didn’t call it a farm or a ranch or a plantation. It was just home.”
Hank shook his head. “I can’t let you load and me do nothing but drive the truck. It just flat out ain’t right even if it is the fair thing. You drive and then help me unload. Dad would scalp me with a butter knife if I sat in a truck and let you sling bales.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You still have to help me scrape the house. I’m not as nice as you. I won’t give you the easy job just because you let me off the hook.”
He grinned.
Her pulse did a fast two-step.
He put his hands on her waist to help her from the back of the flatbed truck and she gave a little hop. When she was firmly on the ground he didn’t move his hands. She looked up to see his eyes go soft. They were even sexier with that bedroom look. Then his lips found hers and the whole hay barn heated up to seven times hell’s temperature, which wasn’t supposed to be possible.
The sheer passion in the lingering kiss made her knees go weak and her blood pressure shoot out the tin roof toward the wispy white clouds in the summer blue sky. When Cathy and Travis got married they danced their first dance to “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis. The tune ran through her mind as Hank broke the kiss and started another.
Larissa refused to fall in love with anyone, especially Hank Wells, a man she knew next to nothing about. But her feet wouldn’t move in that direction and her body kept leaning in as the next kiss deepened.
Elvis’ voice in her head said that only fools rush in. Larissa was not a fool. She finally pulled back only to have him hug her tightly.
“What was that?” she asked.
“A damn fine little making out session. Now let’s go finish bringing in the hay. It’ll take at least a week to get it all in so I reckon I’m going to owe you a week of painting,” he whispered into her hair.
Good God, a week to work with him on this and another of painting. My nerves will be a quivering bowl of jelly by the time we get both jobs done if he kisses me every day.
***
When the Honky Tonk opened that evening Larissa’s fanny was dragging so bad it was a wonder it didn’t get splinters from the wood dance floor. Hopefully her body would adjust to the hard work and each day would be less tiring. If not, she fully well intended to make Hank pay up when they started working on her house.
Linda, Janice, and Betty were among the first in the joint and ordered a bucket of beers to take to their table. Their husbands, J. C, Elmer, and Frank, had claimed both pool tables. Elmer and Frank were cueing up for a game on the back one and J. C. had Merle cornered at the front one.
“So how did the hay business go?” Betty asked. She wore creased jeans, boots, and a red sleeveless western shirt that evening. Her gray hair had been brushed back and held with a bright red headband.
“We’ll be hauling hay every day for a week, which means he owes me seven days of painting. He’s going to scrape and paint until his little fingers bleed when it’s my turn because I’m so tired I could fall down in a heap and sleep for a week,” she said.
“What’s he look like? He must be hotter’n one of them guys on the front of Betty’s romance books to make you go to the hay field two days in a row, much less a whole week,” Janice said.
Hank sat down at the end of the bar. “Whose fingers are going to bleed and who’s on the front of a romance book? Please set me up with a quart of Coors tonight. Not the light stuff either.”
“Hank, meet my friends Janice, Betty, and Linda,” Larissa made introductions.
“Pleased to meet you, ladies. Y’all from here in Mingus?” He knew all of them, had pictures of them in the files along with where they lived and how much money they made on last year’s tax return.
“Yes, we are. You interested in painting more than one house?” Linda winked.
“No, ma’am. If Larissa hadn’t been such good help today I wouldn’t even be painting hers. But she sure knows her way around a hay barn. Truth is I didn’t believe her when she said she had hauled hay but she handled those hooks like a pro. Y’all ever been to her house in Tennessee?”
Linda shook her head. “You from Tennessee, girl? We all thought you was from up north.”
A smile turned up one side of Larissa’s mouth. “I’m from lots of places but one of them had hay in the field and it’s like riding a bicycle. Once you’ve worked in it all day, you are a pro.”
“Come on, girls; we got to keep beer in our men’s hands or they’ll be whinin’ to go home before midnight,” Janice said.
Betty waved a hand over her face when she was far enough away that Hank couldn’t see her. Linda rolled her eyes and Janice pretended to wilt. Larissa’s half-smile turned into a full-fledged grin. They’d only seen the outside of the package. Once they saw how sweet and kind Hank was, they’d be trying to marry her off to the man.
Larissa put the Mason jar of beer in front of Hank and made change for his five dollar bill.
“So are they friends of your mother’s?” Hank asked.
“Hell no! My mother has never met those three but she might when she comes to visit me next fall,” Lari
ssa said.
“From Tennessee?” Hank asked.
“If her flight takes her through Nashville. Why are you so interested in where I came from anyway? It’s not important.”
“I like you and I’m just making conversation,” he said.
Hank felt like he was butting his head against a brick wall. His intentions were to glean information about the bartender, but the more he dug the less he knew, and the more he was around her the more he liked her. And he had absolutely no right to like her or lead her on.
It hadn’t taken ten minutes in the beer joint that first night for the customers to bring up the fact that a man by the last name of Radner was trying to buy up the town and that Larissa wasn’t selling. They said the last owner had turned down a million and a half for the old beer joint and Larissa was even more stubborn. Add that to the day when he’d been sitting on her porch and the icing was on the cake; Larissa wouldn’t sell her beer joint until angels opened a brothel in a holiness church.
Why? Hank wondered as he sipped the beer and watched Larissa go from customer to customer, filling jars, packing buckets, and making blenders full of mixed drinks. She’d said it was because she had found a home. Why didn’t she have a home before and why wasn’t there a scrap of intel on her? Was she in the witness protection program? Was that why she wouldn’t even think about selling her beer joint? It made more sense than anything else. She’d witnessed something back in Tennessee and Mingus, Texas, was the perfect place to hide. Now she’d inherited the Honky Tonk and it wasn’t that she wouldn’t sell out but rather that she couldn’t.
Chapter 5
“Excuse me, ma’am, but could I talk to you after closing time?” the lady asked Larissa when she reached the part of the bar where she waited.
“Who are you?” Larissa asked in a tone so cold that it would have frozen the hair from the devil’s ears. The woman wasn’t a day over twenty, had red hair cut in a short, over-the-ears, no-nonsense style, and green eyes. She wore a denim miniskirt, a hot pink tank top stretched over boobs that were bigger than her hips, and cowboy boots with sharp toes and a walking heel.
“Sharlene Waverly,” she answered.
“Did Hayes Radner send you in here?” Larissa asked.
Hank was two stools down and leaned forward to listen when he heard the Radner name. The ice in Larissa’s voice could have brought on a snowstorm right there in the middle of July.
“No, but I know who he is by reputation,” Sharlene said. “He’s from Dallas and richer than Midas.”
Hank leaned back but strained to catch every word.
Sharlene went on, “I know that he’s trying to buy all the land in Mingus for an amusement park, that you have a town meeting scheduled, and it’s looking like Mr. Radner is going to hit a brick wall. I might incorporate that into my story, but it’s not the headline. I work for the Dallas Morning News and I want to do a feature on the Honky Tonk. The headline will be Party and Pick Out a Part’ner.”
Larissa frowned. “What?”
“You are the fourth person to own the Honky Tonk. Ruby Lee gave it to Daisy and it took a while but she found her soul mate right here in the beer joint. Then she gave it to Cathy who also found love here. I want to follow your life for a few months and see if you are the third. Plus there’s the Walker triplets, Angel and Garrett, and numerous others who’ve met and fallen in love in this place. Is it blessed?” Sharlene asked.
“More like cursed,” Larissa chuckled.
“Whatever it is, I’d like to shadow you for a while. Would that be possible?” Sharlene asked.
Larissa thought about it a few seconds before saying, “You know how to pull a handle and fill up a Mason jar with beer?”
“No, but I could learn.”
“How often are you going to shadow me?”
“Until I get the story. I’m working on my own on this one trying to show the boss I’ve got enough initiative to work my way out of obits. I get off work on Friday at five. I could work Friday and Saturday nights,” Sharlene offered.
“It’s going to be a dud,” Larissa said.
“A what?”
“You ever light firecrackers on the Fourth of July?”
Sharlene nodded.
“Ever light one that just fizzed and died?”
She nodded again.
“That’s a dud. You can shadow me and help behind the bar but you won’t get a story. Hayes Radner can buy the whole damn state of Texas but he’s not getting my beer joint. Put that in your article and tell him to take the day-old newspaper to the outhouse and wipe his ass with it,” Larissa said.
“When do I start?” Sharlene asked.
“Right now. Come on back here and get a handle in your hands.”
Hank tipped up his beer and drank deeply. When he set it down Larissa was in front of him. It was beginning to look like nothing could shake that woman out of Mingus or the Honky Tonk, but he didn’t give up easily. There just might be a way if he dug hard enough and long enough.
“Another one?” she asked.
“No, I think I’ll have a Grey Goose martini,” he said.
“Never pictured you for a martini man,” she said.
“It’s my mixed drink of choice. You were pretty vocal about Hayes Radner. Ever seen him?”
“No I have not, but I’m sending one of our fliers for our town meeting to his Dallas business address with a note to come out and show his face or stop pestering us. He’s the biggest sissy I’ve ever heard about. I bet he doesn’t even have a set. Anyone with balls would come in here and talk to me in person. We’d just love to have him attend the meeting and figure out once and for all that he’s not buying Mingus for a damned amusement park,” she said.
“Well, I think I’ll go on home and get a good night’s sleep. We’ll be starting to paint your house bright and early, right?” Hank said.
The smile on Larissa’s face was warm and sweet, erasing the bitter expression that she’d had when she spoke about Hayes Radner. “If you knock on my door before eleven o’clock I’ll shoot you. I don’t go home until two thirty and I’m not pleasant without eight hours of sleep. So come between eleven and noon and we’ll work all afternoon. Kind of like the hay baling hours.”
“But I kept working half the night after you left,” he said.
“And I’ll keep working until two in the morning after you leave.”
“Fair is fair. I’ll be there between eleven and noon.” He waved. Whew! She did get riled easy when Hayes Radner’s name came up. He wondered what she’d do if old Hayes walked into that meeting with a briefcase full of real money. Would the sight of that many hundred dollar bills make her backpedal all the way to the bank?
She watched him until the door closed behind him. They’d worked every day for a week in the hay fields and there’d been a couple of near-miss kisses, but every time there was a split second hesitation. As if he wasn’t sure he wanted to open Pandora’s Box again, which made Larissa even more wary. She could never remember being so attracted to a man and so afraid to wade right into the water to see how deep it really was.
Sharlene set four pints on a tray. “Is that the one?”
“One what?”
“The lucky cowboy who gets to take you out of the Honky Tonk?”
“I told you that your article is going to be a dud. I’m getting free work and you are going to get nothing. Hank is my friend. I helped him haul hay. He’s going to help me paint my house. He is a sexy thing but that much heat would burn out in a hurry. He’s not for me.” Larissa laughed. “So are you married, attached to a significant other, or what’s your story?”
“None of the above. I’m just a hardworking girl from Corn, Oklahoma, who’d love to carve out a place at the Dallas Morning News with an office and a view,” she answered.
“And you think the Honky Tonk is going to give you that kind of edge?” Larissa asked.
“Never know. It’s worth a try. Women buy magazines with articles on how to find the
ir soul mate. Why shouldn’t they pin my article on their refrigerator door and then rush to the Honky Tonk every night? It’s easier than some of those things I see in magazines and it’ll stir up some business.”
Larissa refilled the peanuts and pretzel bowls. “I’m full to capacity several nights a week already. I’m not sure I want to stir up any more business.”
“That song that’s playin’ is the story of my life,” Sharlene said.
“How’s that?” Larissa asked.
“Jason Boland is true country. Not any of this bubblegum rock mixed up in alternative country. Listen to what he’s singing about. Cheap bourbon whiskey and pearl snap shirts are the things that stay the same. That’s me. I’m as pure country as Strait, Jones, and Williams,” she said.
“Then what in the hell are you doing in the newspaper business? Girl, you should be workin’ behind the bar all the time. You want a full-time job?” Larissa said.
“Maybe someday but right now I got this hankering to write. Always wanted to do romance novels but that’s even harder to break into than newspaper. Here they come. Three line dances and they’re thirsty. Get ready,” she said.
Larissa made drinks by the pitchers and singles and Sharlene worked the beer end of the bar. Shadowing her for a story might not be so bad if Sharlene was really willing to work her two busiest nights. But by closing she might decide that shadowing a bartender was even harder work than writing an article about an old beer joint and go on to her next idea for a story that would put her in a corner office with a view.
“Hey, hey, who you got workin’ for you?” Amos claimed a bar stool between two of his biker friends. They were all harmless folks in spite of their tats and pierced skin. For the most part they’d been professional white-collar workers and their only rebel streak was riding Harleys and blowing off a little steam on the weekends.
The previous fall Amos had put an office trailer behind the Honky Tonk with twenty travel trailer hookups back behind that. He moved the trailer at the beginning of the summer, putting the office in a renovated house not far from the post office and city hall. Larissa had leased the acres that the trailer hookups were on and rented them out to travelers and truck drivers.
My Give a Damn's Busted Page 7
