The Convent Rose (The Roses)

by Lynn Shurr

  Laughing, Eve led the way.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Wake up, Miss Fancy Pants!” Bodey’s voice boomed in Eve’s ear. He gave her a playful swat on the rear. “We have time for a ride before breakfast, and it’s a glorious mornin’ out there.”

  “I don’t seem to be wearing any pants,” Eve said sleepily. She yawned and stretched, then realized Bodey had ripped the sheet off her naked body and was enjoying the show entirely too much. Eve curled into a ball covered mostly by her hair. “You’re very pleased with yourself today. What time is it?”

  “Six-thirty in the a.m. The horses are saddled and ready to go. I figure you need to learn to ride western style if you’re gonna be livin’ on a ranch.”

  Too groggy to argue, Eve stumbled into the bathroom and shut the door. She washed her face with cold water and used a warm, soapy cloth between her legs, not that Bodey or the horse would care. She twisted her own long mane into a single braid and secured it with rubber bands at the top and bottom. This was going to be a morning without makeup. She expected to see the face of woman over thirty and badly in need of concealer when she looked in the mirror, but the face staring back had shining eyes, pink cheeks, and a smile on her face. All the little lines seemed to have vanished under the glow of happiness.

  Eve found the worn jeans and faded pink T-shirt she’d thrown on for a night visit to the Three B’s stable when she’d had no intention of staying over and covered her body. She searched for the old sneakers with holes in the toes that she’d kicked off somewhere in the bedroom.

  “Don’t bother. You need boots.” Bodey threw open his closet. “We may have to stuff the toes with something.”

  Eve looked astounded. “How many pairs of boots do you have?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe fifty. A lot of them are promotional items companies pay me to wear. Good thing Big Ben had almost as many, or I wouldn’t have all these nice slots to put them in.” Bodey took a pair from the rack and gave them a sniff. “These have never been worn—because I wouldn’t caught dead in ’em. Too rhinestone cowboy for me. You keep ’em when we’re done with our lesson.”

  The boots were white and had elaborate gold stitching forming roses on the sides. Eve tried them on. Not a bad fit at all, but a shock that she had feet nearly as big as his and a few inches on him in height when he didn’t wear boots, not all that often really. She felt a self-deprecating need to point this out. “I guess you’ve noticed my feet aren’t exactly dainty.”

  “Honey, I never noticed your feet at all. We’re about the same height when I have my boots and hat on so it goes to figure.”

  Eve regarded herself in the mirror. “If I had spangles across my chest, I could be taken for a University of Texas drum majorette.”

  “Now we’re talkin’. Remind me to buy you the whole outfit someday. Come on now, Rocky and Bullwinkle are waitin’.”

  Bodey had tied the two horses by the kitchen door. He let Eve grab a cup of freshly brewed coffee and a slightly stale Danish on the way out. She finished her impromptu breakfast while Bodey gave her riding instructions.

  “Remember you neck-rein a western horse, put pressure on the side opposite of where you want to go. It’s not so much about tuggin’ on the bit unless you want to stop.”

  Eve sat her coffee mug down on the edge of a flowerbed. “Let’s give it a try then.” She grasped the horn, put a foot in the low-hanging stirrup, and swung a leg over the saddle. “Hey, I can mount up myself, but I feel like my legs are dangling.”

  “No, I got the stirrups about right for you. Give the Bull some boot and away we go.”

  Eve kicked her mount’s side and woke him from an early morning doze. Bodey steered Rocky alongside Bullwinkle, and they ambled by the fence line for a mile or two admiring the dawn and the blooming white Cherokee roses that had taken over since Big Ben’s time. Bodey got down and unlatched a gate into a pasture where placid Black Angus cows with three-month-old calves by their sides were spread out grazing on the spring grass.

  “Let’s pick up the speed some. And none of that up and down posting stuff. Just hang on with your knees and enjoy the ride.”

  Bodey let Eve go ahead. When they reached the far end of the field, Bodey increased the pace, and they galloped around the perimeter upsetting the mama cows who called to their young to huddle at their side and bunch up into a herd.

  “Want to have some fun? We can cut a few cows,” Bodey suggested.

  “That sounds cruel.”

  “From the herd, Eve, not with a knife. How did I end up with a city girl like you? Show ole Bullwinkle which pair you want and go after ’em, but watch out for sudden moves.”

  Bullwinkle for all this lackadaisical air when he was standing still went after the cow and her baby like a hound dog after a coon. He pushed the bawling animals away from the herd and countered their every attempt to return to the group with his neck snaked out and a steady eye on the quarry. The gelding drove them toward the gate where Bodey waited. When Eve finally pulled him up and allowed the frantic cow to go back to her friends, she felt as if she’d just been along for the ride.

  “Well, what an experience for both me and the cow,” she gasped.

  “You didn’t lose your seat. You’ll do just fine on a ranch.”

  “Bodey, let’s not assume anything right now.”

  Eve led the way back to the barns where she unsaddled and groomed her own horse beside Bodey and Rocky. After letting the horses out for grass, Eve heaved the heavy saddle off the side of the stall where she’d placed it and asked Bodey where it belonged.

  “Tack room’s over here.” He opened the door with a flourish.

  Eve blinked. The spacious room was festooned with glossy pictures of Bodey riding bulls and broncos. Ornate unused prize saddles sat on forms against the far wall. Gold buckles filled a glass case. Gaudy chaps embossed with enough endorsements for a NASCAR racer spread out as wall hangings along with an assortment of braided ropes and cow bells. The place smelled of new leather and old, as well as dust from the rodeo ring.

  “Ah, where should I put this?” Eve said of the plain, practical saddle she held.

  “The workin’ stuff goes up front, right there by you.”

  Eve relieved herself of the saddle and took another step into the room. “You’ve accomplished a lot since you left Rainbow, Bodey.”

  “Got more of this stuff at my place in Texas.”

  Eve moved to the back of the room and fingered the braided ropes. “And these are…?”

  “My favorite bull ropes. Let me show you how they work.” Bodey took down one of the straps and hung a cowbell from it. He tied it around Eve’s body and let the bell dangle down between her legs. Slowly, he backed her up against one of the prize saddles.

  Eve swore she could feel the cold of the metal bell through her clothes pressing against the parts of her that were growing hot. Eyes closed, she arched back over the saddle. With a single tug, Bodey released the bull rope. The bell fell to the floor with a clank, and her jeans followed it. Eve stayed spread-legged where she was. Bodey picked up a loose end of the rope and rubbed it lightly back and forth between her thighs until she moaned. He unbuckled and dropped his own pants down to his ankles, at this point no sense in doing anything more. He pushed inside of Eve, and she bucked against him. He rode her hard to the end until they were both draped across the saddle more or less holding each other up.

  “Still think we ain’t compatible, Miss Fancy Pants?” Bodey asked, feeling his heart pumping hard the way it did after his best rides.

  “I think I’m willing to give this relationship a try, cowboy, but I do have conditions.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Here they sat again at the eleven o’clock Mass on Sunday, attendance being one of Eve’s conditions for continuing their relationship. The church meant a great deal to her, and she’d expect him to convert and raise any children they might have in the religion. Honest to God, Bodey didn’t think he’d ever be
much of a churchgoer, regardless of his Irish genes. The Catholic church had way too much upping and downing, singing and standing in line for dry, papery wafers, not that he and Eve had been doing that last part. She’d skipped confession ever since Bodey returned from Texas with the mean cows, a fact the canny old nuns obviously noticed but did not mention. Still, Eve dragged him to Mass where he often dozed off during the sermon, especially if they had been up all night making love.

  Across the aisle, Rusty Niles smirked at his friend as they hit the kneelers yet again, Noreen and Jesse in perfect unison with him, and little Katie stashed in a nursery somewhere. Bodey closed his eyes. He had only one thing to pray for, that Eve would accept his second proposal, so he concentrated on that goal during the quiet times when he wasn't required to mumble along with some hymn or recite a creed.

  Time and prayer, the old nuns had told him. They continued to repeat this advice at the café’s Sunday buffet where he took them each week at Eve’s insistence. This should have been awkward on the Sundays Eve worked the tables, but not really. The Sisters, at least Sr. Nessy, could talk horses. Both had charming stories to relate about Eve’s time at the Academy, and some not-so-charming things to tell about her family, though this news to Bodey was never said in an ugly way.

  More like, “Eve’s father doted on her, of course, not a good thing for a young woman. At least, her mother had enough wisdom to place Eve here where she could develop some character regardless of family circumstances. But, Eve’s mother wasn’t so much wise as non-maternal, not a nurturer, willing to leave her daughter’s upbringing to others.”

  “Too busy nurturing her resentments against the father, I’d say.” Sr. Inez put it bluntly.

  “You shouldn’t say, Sister. I’ve often wondered about the father, though. Did he really die at sea? No, no, he loved Eve too much to desert her.” Sr. Helen raised a bite of pecan pie to her lips on a trembling fork. Lent had passed, and Easter come and gone during Bodey’s stay in Texas.

  The Sisters, Bodey realized, made up Eve’s family now, much as if they were two beloved maiden aunts. He treated them kindly and learned all he could to understand Eve. His own now confirmed daddy approved of Bodey’s choice for a wife, too, once he had been pried from the bull-raising business and coaxed for a visit.

  Watching Bodey work with Miss Fancy Pants, the woman, not the horse, Patrick said, “You can see she’s quality. She has an inborn gentleness and style.”

  When Eve called them to come in for a dinner she had put together from Bodey’s meager groceries, Pat waved her way and added, “That’s quality, too, son. Good choice.”

  The recessional blared on the organ and jolted Bodey from his reverie. He stood and followed Eve out into the May sunshine. The temperature stood in the mid-eighties, and he thought Eve might enjoy a swim after her shift at the café. He could rub down her white skin with lotion and…

  “Bodey, would you help Sr. Helen to my car? I want to tell Amanda and Hardy we’ll be coming to their renewal ceremony next week. I won’t be long.” Eve hurried off to catch the couple who walked arm-in-arm followed by all four children, eighteen, sixteen, fourteen, and twelve, son, daughter, son, daughter.

  Bodey put on the white Stetson that had been taking up a place on the pew and flipped a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. He offered an arm to Sr. Helen and watched Eve speak to Hardy. Red Courville gave not one hint that he had ever hit on his woman. Red smiled and drew his wife closer.

  Rusty, his arms holding copper-curled Katie, sidled up to Bodey. Clearly, he was cracking up at seeing the great Bodey Landrum with two elderly nuns on his arms instead of a couple of rodeo buckle bunnies. Their creeping procession halted when the Sisters indicated they wanted to speak to Noreen. Young Jesse, bored, bolted off to play in a nearby fountain despite his mother’s shouted warning not to get wet.

  “My, my, my, six weeks straight attendance at Mass. You gonna keep that up after you marry Eve?” Russ chafed. “Course, you’ll have to set a good example for the dozen kids Eve wants.”

  “I don’t know about Mass. I’m not sure Eve will have me. She stays over some nights, but sitting next to her in church is about as much of her company as I get, otherwise. She has her ridin’ lessons, her art classes, her commissions to work on, and her waitressing. I keep sayin’ she should move in with me, save her rent, and give up the job at the Rainbow Café, but I honestly think she’s worried about what the nuns might say. And who said anything about a dozen kids? I’d like some, sure, but a dozen?” Bodey shook his head.

  “Here, get some practice.”

  Rusty handed over Katie, whose fingers were a sticky red from some I’ve-been-good-in-Sunday-school treat. She went right for Bodey’s hat. He whipped it off and held it down near the ground with his free hand. Katie protested with a wail.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t torment Bodey with the baby, Russ. You know he isn’t used to children,” Noreen fussed, breaking off her conversation with the nuns. “Go get your son out of that fountain.”

  Taking Katie back, Rusty whispered, “Walk along. It seems Cousin Renee told her mama over the phone that Eve scared off that artist fellow by telling him she wanted nothing less than marriage and a big family, a dozen kids at least. Renee, on the other hand, has found her calling in being Evan’s muse. I think that means she’s posing nekkid for him. She sold a few of her own pictures, too. There’s a huge market for male nudes in San Francisco, evidently.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Bodey answered. “Eve never mentioned wanting children, let alone how many, just that I should get used to going to church and being nice to nuns.” He frowned. “Why would she tell Evan and not me?”

  “Who knows?” Rusty pulled his son up by the collar of a white church-going shirt wet to the elbows. The knees of the boy’s khaki pants were stained a mossy green. “Your mom doesn’t want you swimming in front of the church, boy. Maybe Uncle Bodey will invite you over to use his pool this afternoon. It’s hot enough.”

  “You’re welcome to come, Jesse, all of you. Eve won’t be free till around three. Maybe she could bring some ribs over, or I’ll throw some steaks on the grill.”

  “Sounds good, buddy. We’ll come over around two. Noreen will bring some sides, beans or something.” With the group reassembled, the Niles family moved toward their SUV.

  “Bye-bye, Unc Bodey.” Katie, red curls bobbing, waved over her daddy’s shoulder.

  Troubled, Bodey helped the nuns into Eve’s Toyota and rode shotgun to the Café. As usual, he helped the Sisters with their plates while Eve hurried to the back to slip into her waitressing clothes. Settled at a table, Bodey, scowling, pushed his corn maque choux into his smothered potatoes and stirred them together. He took a bite and put down his fork.

  “Sisters, do you think Eve wants to have a family some day?”

  “Certainly. I don’t think she’ll ever join our order now,” Sr. Inez answered.

  Bodey had the grace to look embarrassed, but he wasn’t easily put off. “She ever say anything about wantin’ a dozen kids?”

  The nuns appeared startled. “Eve is getting a bit old to try for that many children, but whatever the Lord sends,” Sr. Helen said carefully.

  “Why wouldn’t she tell me somethin’ like that?”

  “Time and prayer, Bodey.” Sr. Inez flew back to that old advice like a crow to a corn crib. It seemed other little birdies released into the wild were coming home to roost, too.

  “But how much time and how much prayer?” Bodey asked.

  “Lord knows,” said Sr. Helen.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The week before the Courville’s renewal ceremony, Eve had an opening at a gallery in Dallas. Bodey felt he had been of some use to her there. For one thing, he’d gone over all her prices and doubled them.

  “Honey, if you don’t do this, you won’t have nothin’ left once the gallery takes its thirty percent of any sales,” he advised. He had a head for business. Eve, like many artists, did not. No
t that he’d ever say those words aloud, but he did point out her notecards should be ten dollars a pack, not five, especially in Dallas where things weren’t valued unless overpriced.

  Now, he was doing his best for her at the reception by standing near his portrait, which had been arrestingly hung on a short wall space between icons of the angels, Michael and Gabriel. He supposed the colors complemented his picture because he sure wasn’t anyone’s guardian angel. Bodey took a sip of the sour white wine, crunched his Havarti cheese and water crackers, and waited for someone to notice him. Finally, the arts reporter saw the resemblance and had her photographer take a snapshot. Bodey supplied her with a quote. “I plan to buy this likeness of myself. It will be my second Eve Burns. She is highly collectible, and this ole cowboy will fit in just right with my holdings in western art.”

  His art buyer spouted stuff like this when he wanted Bodey to make a purchase. Regardless, Bodey turned down the things he thought were butt ugly or totally incomprehensible. After that, he got one of the gallery attendants to red dot his portrait and went forth to mingle.

  Eve framed the doorway to the larger display space with two of her big icons, one of the Virgin and Child and another of St. Paul, but once inside, Eve’s landscapes filled the walls with the Texas oak tree mural dominating the rear of the room. The mural, appropriately labeled The Glory of Texas, belonged to the collection of Mr. and Mrs. Frances “Frank” Huntington the label noted. Mrs. Got Rocks stood nearby to interpret her commission to anyone who couldn’t figure out the scenes of Texas, past and present, and to inform everyone her mural had larger dimensions than the one in Lafayette, as it should be. Eve posed in her borrowed black dress with her patron for the society page photographer.

  Bored beyond calculation, Bodey wandered toward the exit. He thought he’d seen a good barbecue place down the block when they arrived. Instead, he bumped into a cluster of women entering dressed in their Sunday best as opposed to artsy black or Texas rich couture. The small white-haired woman in the center of the group scanned the gathering of drifting art lovers.