by Lynn Shurr
****
Bodey’s daddy called at the end of June. A top bull named Black Tuesday was being retired and put out to stud. Patrick O’Shea thought the animal could be purchased for the right price, but he wanted Bodey to come have a looksee. Anything to take his mind off of Eve, Bodey thought, and packed his bags.
“So, what do you think, son?” Pat asked as they observed the black bull, his only white markings around the eyes and muzzle, circling in a paddock.
“Oh, Black Tuesday and me have met before. He still looks in top shape. He was a twister away from my hand as I recall. Never needed to spur Black Tuesday much to get points. That bull needed no encouragement to spin like a tornado. I’d like to try him out again.”
“Now that would be sheer foolishness, boy. That beast just retired. You’ve been out of the ring for over a year.”
“They got a chute here?” Bodey asked the ranch manager. “I brought my own bull rope.”
While the wranglers dealt with the dangerous business of moving the bull from the paddock to the chute, Pat argued with Bodey. “I don’t want you to end up like me—and on some whim, too.”
“Look, Dad. I got all this tension in my life right now. I can’t think of a better way to forget Eve than eight seconds of sheer terror on the back of a bull. I’m not that out of shape, either.”
“Do what you must then, but don’t die on me.”
Patrick O’Shea in his wheelchair prepared himself to view the ordeal through two slats of fencing. Bodey, bulked up in a borrowed safety vest, pulled on his glove, straddled the chute and adjusted his bull rope, then dropped on to the back of the critter. The chute opened and Black Tuesday charged into the ring, twisting left and bucking high the way Bodey had predicted.
A crowd of ranch hands from wranglers to the cook gathered around the ring and counted off the seconds. Eight of them passed, then ten with Body showing perfect form, sitting straight up, solidly centered, one arm high in the air. At ten seconds, Black Tuesday bunched his massive muscles and shot straight into the air. He came down with a jolt, and Bodey slid one leg over and dismounted, landing on his feet. Patrick let out his breath a moment too soon.
Two-thousand pounds of animal anger bumped Bodey to the ground. For a second, he lay there, not moving. Clyde climbed over the fence and waved a saddle blanket. He hooted and taunted the bull. As Black Tuesday turned his horned head away from the downed man, Bodey rolled to his feet and began backing toward the rail. The bull pawed and charged toward the tiny blanket. Clyde tossed the cloth aside and slid up on the railings. Bodey did the same. Black Tuesday took out his frustration by stomping and tearing the saddle blanket to shreds.
Shaking hands with Clyde for distracting the bull, Bodey made his way back to his father. “Great bull, print out a bill of sale,” he remarked.
Pat unclenched his hands from the arms of his wheelchair and spun it to face his son. “There are ways to forget a woman that are easier on my heart, boy.”
“But for a good minute there, I didn’t think of Eve once. You ever been in love, Pop?” Bodey gave him a dirty-faced grin.
“I fell in love with one of my nurses. Doesn’t everyone? A redhead like your mom, one of my weaknesses. But, what did I have to offer her? For all I knew, she’d think I just wanted free nursing care for life. By the time I got my education and a job, she’d married someone else. Eileen Sullivan, that was her name.”
“Not so easy to forget, is it?”
“No, but next time try a different remedy.”
“Don’t tell me time and prayer will accomplish miracles. I’ve been there, done that, got the T-shirt printed up to wear to church. It ain’t working.”
“I was going to say hard work, whiskey, and women, but those last two can be almost as risky as bull riding. Take care, son. Take care.”
Chapter Nineteen
Eve put the finishing touches on another seascape and turned to the sink to wash away the ultramarine paint of the water and the titanium white of the wave caps from her brushes. Her father’s house in the islands proved to be that a little bit of paradise he promised. She could paint four different views from the deck surrounding the building and do close-ups of the brilliant tropical flowers filling the garden.
The staff with their friendly, white smiles and dark faces had to be told not to bother her with offers of mint tea or platters of fresh-cut mangos while she worked. Eve sighed and went outside to flop on to a chaise lounge upholstered in a print of parrots and hibiscus. Immediately, one the servants appeared to ask if she desired to have lunch now. Desire, the only thing she desired was Bodey Landrum. She nodded even though she had no appetite.
Four weeks—and not one word from Bodey. She’d sent him postcards galore—at first, ones describing her dad’s house and what she painted, how she relaxed and enjoyed the beach on her first real vacation since she’d finished high school. All were signed with the very corny and trite, “Wish you were here,” but she meant it.
So, why didn’t he come to find her? The man wasn’t stupid. He could track down exactly the kind of livestock he wanted to buy on a computer. True, she couldn’t divulge her father’s address in case the Feds still looked for him, but every postcard did have a postmark. Once he got to the island, all he had to do was ask for Rich Kuhl’s charter boat service. She’d sent him the new e-mail address her father insisted on in case the Feds listened, inserting it in a letter written on borrowed hotel stationery in case he couldn’t get away from the ranch to seek her. She’d apologized for their parting argument, though most of it had been his fault, his lack of understanding. He could find a father he never met, who’d done nothing for him, and love him to death, but no, she shouldn’t give a man who’d always loved her a second chance.
Eve Burns had her own web site for her art where clients could leave messages for heaven’s sake. Why didn’t he try that? Perhaps, Bodey still deluded himself with jealousy over foreign princes or had scared himself off with his own strange idea that she wanted to have twelve children. Who knew? They were too different. Their minds didn’t work the same.
The maid set the table out on the deck and returned with a tray holding a plate of shrimp salad stuffed in a pineapple half, the fruit neatly cubed for easy eating. The tall, brown woman put down a glass of iced tea and a basket of croissants that instantly reminded Eve of Bodey trying to elbow Evan out of her life during the al fresco lunch on her porch back in Rainbow. A twinge of homesickness made Eve put down her fork with a shrimp halfway to her mouth. She took a long sip of the tea instead to get rid of the lump in her throat.
The commotion of servants that always signaled her father’s arrival started by the front door and followed his progress across the house and out onto the deck. His face florid from too much time out on the water, Rich Kuhl took a seat opposite his daughter and ordered the same lunch with the addition of a gin and tonic.
“You certainly are painting up a storm here. I’ve never seen so many canvases piled up in one place before. The islands must have given you new inspiration,” he said.
“Yes, it’s wonderful here.” Eve did not want to add that without students to teach, tables to wait, and Bodey Landrum to love, she was becoming bored, but her dad must have caught on from the tone of her voice.
“I have a charter this afternoon, an English chap, as they say. Might be a duke or a count or a rock star. Want to come along?”
“No. Last time out on the ocean, I burned pretty badly.”
“So, what did you think of Prince Ali? I could see he liked you that day.”
“Yes, he did. He said he had no wives or concubines as tall, as fair, or as blonde as me. I believe he was going to approach you about a proper settlement for my sexual services when I informed him that being well over twenty-one and capable of making up my own mind, I had no intention of joining his harem even on a temporary basis.”
“Oh, that explains why he cancelled the next day and told me I had to exert better control over my daughter
. I can understand why you were upset, but this next guy is a real Englishman, an earl or a software magnate or something. He’ll know how you should be treated, Princess.”
“Dad, this visit has been great, but I think it’s time I went home.”
“Baby, this is your home. You said you would stay all summer at the very least. Believe me, you won’t have to wait tables ever again or teach a bunch of rich, little bitches how to paint or ride.”
“I was steamed at Bodey when I said I’d stay for three months. He laid this sudden fit of jealousy on me like he couldn’t hold his own with any man. The truth is, I miss him and my friends in Rainbow. I’ve made a place for myself there.”
Rich Kuhl sucked up his gin and tonic and gestured for another one. “Didn’t you say just yesterday that you hadn’t heard from the cowboy? My guess is he has already moved on to someone else. Men like him don’t go without sex for more than a week. If he cared, why isn’t he here?”
“He has a ranch to run, a business to set up.”
“If he loved you half as much as I do, he’d come for you.”
“I’ve written him again—on the hotel stationery like you asked so no one would figure out our real location. If he should show up at the resort, they will tell him where to find me. Mail it for me on your way out, will you?”
“Anything my princess wants.” Rich Kuhl dug into his shrimp salad with gusto.
Chapter Twenty
Bodey tried the work cure first. He saw to his own stock, worked with Fancy who only reminded him of Eve, and helped Rusty around his place. Being worn out guaranteed a good night’s sleep until dawn, when he woke from dreams of Eve mounted over him and a woody that wouldn’t go away until he hit the cold shower. He supposed he should take down the two pictures of her—his primitive version and Evan’s detailed masterpiece flanking his bedroom door—but that would be admitting weakness. The paintings were fine art, nothing more, even if his decorator said they didn’t go well with the southwest color scheme of adobe with turquoise accents.
Two weeks before the Academy was due to resume classes, the Sisters said they hadn’t heard if Eve planned to teach art and riding again the coming semester. When he took them to the Sunday buffet, he noticed the bar mirror at the Rainbow Café festooned with postcards from the islands received by all the staff from Ja’nae to the busboy. Bodey felt particularly low every time he went in the place.
All that Mass going and praying with no results got him down, too. The Sisters had started introducing him to other Academy old girls, unmarried ones, and that was the most depressing part of all. If the nuns had given up on Eve’s return, why shouldn’t he?
The private detective he’d hired by phone on the island where all the cards were postmarked, so far had come up with nothing about Eve. Rich’s charters picked up passengers, went out to sea, and returned to the docks. No sign of a tall blonde woman with them. On his own, he’d found a web site for Kuhl’s Deep Sea Charters and sent message after message to Eve in the contact box. Once, he’d made up an assumed name—Lord Godfrey Blackham—and tried to charter a boat simply to get directions to the business, but Rich Kuhl was no fool. His clients were picked up at the airport by the captain, himself, and whisked away to deep sea adventure off the coast of a privately owned secret island, or so said the advertising blurb. One look at Bodey and the captain would be certain his guest went overboard while out at sea.
He considered dressing up like an Arab sheik, but didn’t think he could pull off the disguise with his Texas accent. What if he did discover the island holding Eve, and she didn’t want him? There he’d be clothed in one of those long, white dresses with a rag on his head and sandals on his feet. She’d laugh her head off. Even a poor, bastard cowboy like himself had more pride than to do that.
Or did he? Going to the islands seemed like the only way to find and confront Eve, tell her how he truly felt. He’d need help. Only one man he could trust in any situation. He called Rusty and invited himself over with a six-pack of beer and a large, greasy bag of Mama Tyne’s pork cracklings. Unfortunately, Noreen had put the kids to bed and settled in right beside her husband. She began to laugh almost immediately as he laid out his plans.
“You, Bodey, with that Texas drawl, trying to pass as an Arab? And those blue eyes, how are you going to explain those?” She laughed so hard the beer she purloined came out her nose, and she had to stop long enough to wipe it.
“I tell you I’ve thought it all out. I can get brown contacts easy, and I’ll wear shades the whole time. I’m tan enough now, I think, but I can lay out by the pool to get darker. My hair is black. I’ll let my beard grown in and cover the cleft in my chin. We’ll just say I don’t speak much English and Rusty is my interpreter.”
“Oh no, you don’t, Bodey Landrum. You will not draw my husband into this. What if Rich Kuhl has armed guards? He seems paranoid enough for that.”
Bodey considered for a minute. “Nope, he runs a charter fishing service. He isn’t running drugs or anything. At least, I hope not for Eve’s sake. Might have his own gun, but I can carry one, too. Those robes would make concealment pretty easy.”
“You can’t take one on an airplane.”
“So I’ll get a weapon there. Look Noreen, this is between Russ and me. You got no say.”
Rusty finished crunching a crackling. He took a slow, deliberate swig of beer before he spoke. “Shows how little you know about women and marriage. Why don’t you go in the kitchen for a minute, Bodey, and let me talk to my wife.”
Bodey went, but he didn’t go far. He lingered by the door listening. He knew what hand the man held, what card Rusty would play to win against Noreen’s objections.
“Noreen, my soul mate, Bodey isn’t as lucky as us. He didn’t recognize the woman he loved right from the start like I did, and maybe I got in the way of that. You remember I told you how Eve scorned him on the bridle path the day of this eighteenth birthday? He intended to try again, but I called Renee to come to the party because I couldn’t afford a birthday gift for my best friend.”
Noreen nodded, a little misty-eyed. “Yes, if you hadn’t made that call, we might not have met at all, but I still believe we would have since we were fated to be together.”
“Right, it worked for us, but it’s like I put Renee in his path to true love like ours. I made him swerve away from Eve.”
“Don’t you take the blame for that, Rusty Niles! If Bodey had dated Eve instead, he would have taken advantage of her innocence and then left her to follow the rodeo trail. The life he’s led, the women he’s had, he doesn’t deserve Eve. She’s still very naïve, and he went and seduced her the moment he got into town.”
Rusty took a deep breath and another sip of beer. “Darling, from what Bodey tells me, Eve knew exactly what to do in bed.”
“The two of you discussed her as if she were some cheap stripper—or Renee?”
“Not in detail, only in general. He needs another chance with Eve. I owe him that. He means to marry her. I’ve seen the ring.”
“So you go off on this escapade and leave me here with two small children.” Noreen pouted and consoled herself with a crackling—like dining on bacon only better.
“I promise you I’ll save all I can and take you to the islands for a vacation one day.”
“Oh, Russ, we can’t afford that. I’m worried something bad will happen to you.”
Rusty took Noreen into his arms, held her tight. “I won’t let anything go wrong, and if it does, you know we’ll meet in another lifetime.”
“Can I come back now?” Bodey shouted from the kitchen. “We have to nail down the details of the trip.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but sauntered out and picked up his beer again.
“Looks like we’re going to the Cayman Islands with Noreen’s blessing.” Rusty clinked his bottle against Bodey’s.
“Hardly. If anything bad happens to Rusty, I will never forgive you, Bodey Landrum. I’m going to bed. Make what plans you will. And take
those cracklings with you when you leave. They go straight to my hips.”
Noreen marched down the hallway. Bodey figured she would have slammed the door if the kids weren’t sleeping.
“Good. I’ll make reservations with Rich Kuhl under the name Omar Abu Something-or-other, a rich as Croesus oil well-owning Arab. I already found a place online where I can get authentic clothing. Give me a week or so to let my beard grow out and see about the contacts. We can use the time to decide what you should wear and how we’ll communicate. If this succeeds, I’ll bankroll that trip to the Caribbean for you and Noreen.”
****
Bodey had to say the cotton robes provided a certain airy comfort in the heat and humidity of the islands. His headpiece kept the sun off his neck and his feet stayed nice and cool in the heavy sandals. He’d changed into his disguise stowed in his carry-on luggage in the airport restroom after passing through security. Up till then, he’d still been blue-eyed Bodey Landrum according to his passport—with the addition of a short beard. Though he hadn’t sweated through the armpits yet, Rusty looked damned uncomfortable in the wrinkled white linen suit, pink shirt, and Panama hat he’d worn for the whole trip.
Russ ran a finger around his uncomfortable collar. He rarely wore a dress shirt except for a few hours on Sunday. “You sure Rich won’t recognize me?”
“I don’t think Rich is the kind of guy who notices underlings, especially kids who parked his car fifteen years ago. You’ve grown up, filled out, and got a nice, manly stubble now to cover some of those freckles.”
“Yeah, it’s hot and itchy and Noreen hates the beards, yours and mine both.” Rusty scrubbed his hands over the reddish bristles on his cheeks.
“Well, you only started yours last week. It feels better when it grows out.” Bodey fingered the end of his black beard, close-cut but coming to a point at the bottom of his chin. He hated poking the brown contacts into his eyes. The things you did for women or true love as Rusty might say. “Hush now, here he comes.”
