She went inside and phoned Vanessa.
‘Your Aunt Abigail has never forgiven your mother for leaving your father,’ Vanessa explained. ‘And she wants to take her anger out on you. Ignore the photos. Ignore your silly Aunt.’
After the call, Ruby studied the colour photograph. The faces of her mother and father meant nothing to her; they were strangers. Yet, she couldn’t help but ask:
What had happened to blow this family apart?
*
At seven o’clock, Karla arrived with a dead deer slung over his shoulder. He mistook Ruby’s shocked expression for one of stunned admiration. ‘Shot it myself,’ he boasted. He deposited it at her feet. Mum’s cat, Princess, did the same sort of thing, but usually with something much smaller. And like Princess, Karla was only being generous.
Molly arrived carrying a cardboard box. She wore a fringed suede skirt and cowboy boots, and stepped over the deer as if she’d done it a hundred times before. ‘Yours?’ she asked Karla.
‘Yep.’ He slung the deer over his shoulder. ‘Garage this way?’
Rowdy, who was becoming accustomed to rump steak and pork chops, happily trotted behind; assuming this was dinner. After admiring the Cadillac, Tracy hung the deer on a hook between the hedge trimmer and chainsaw.
How could Ruby explain the deer to Edward?
‘Thought I’d put you on The Protein Diet.’
‘Let’s have a barbeque and invite Kansas City.’
Ship arrived in a monster-truck perched high on enormous wheels. He wore an army jacket and deer-stalking hat. Mackenzie pulled up on her motorbike with a roar and the smell of burning tyres. She wore a tiny skirt, fishnet tights and black leather jacket two sizes too big. Rick, who had taught Ruby to hot-wire a car during their last encounter, parked his Harley Davidson and came up the front path, rolling up his shirt-sleeves to reveal tattooed arms.
Ruby smiled, recalling Claire’s dictum: “The guests must be chosen as carefully as the wine.”
Molly organised the meal; hot dog sausages straight from the can and stuffed into bread rolls and squirted with mustard. Rick gave Ruby a CD. It was evidently not The Sound of Music because the cover showed a grave stone. After they had eaten, they had a few beers and dislodged the foundations with The Devil’s Breath at full volume.
Ruby could barely hear the telephone was ringing. She answered it, having to shout above the music. ‘Hello?’ She waved to Rick to turn off the music. In the silence, she continued. ‘Sorry. Who is this?’
‘Professor Oldroyd. Sandra kindly gave me your telephone number. I am searching for a file: “Decoupling of Tokamak Plasma Response to Asymmetric Magnetic Perturbations”.’
‘Professor Oldroyd!’ she exclaimed, astonished to hear from her old boss. ‘How are you? How’s Imperial College?’
‘Speaking for myself: well, thank you.’
He was evidently not phoning for a chat. ‘Have you looked in the filing cabinet under “D”?’ she suggested.
‘Yes.’
‘Have you looked in the box files in your office?’
‘Yes.’
‘How about the Asymmetric Magnetic Perturbations category in Professor Billinghurst’s filing cabinet?’ Ruby’s friends had stopped talking. They had their heads cocked at an angle, looking just like Rowdy had when she squeaked a rubber ball at him for the first time.
‘It’s not there, either,’ Professor Oldroyd said.
Ruby took a slug of beer. ‘Isn’t anyone enforcing my signing-out scheme?’ This telephone conversation was not doing much for her Street Cred.
Professor Oldroyd sighed. ‘We have a temporary girl who makes a lovely pot of tea but doesn’t know an omicron from an upsilon.’
And he wasn’t saying that to be funny. ‘Sorry, Prof, I really can’t help. But good luck.’
She replaced the phone and grinned at her friends. She’d certainly come a long way from Imperial College of Science and Technology. More than that, she didn’t give a toss that her filing system had been ruined.
Deciding to go to Bronco’s, everyone piled out of the house. Ruby, sitting in the front seat of the monster-truck with Ship, stared around in astonishment. The division had suddenly become a dazzling Santa’s Grotto with every house illuminated in Christmas decorations. Lines of silver lights framed windows; icicles hung from trees and bushes, glowing Bambis leapt across garage roofs. On the lawns stood giant-sized snowmen, Father Christmas’s, elves, Snow White and her seven dwarves, all grinning and waving.
‘You Americans take Christmas very seriously,’ she remarked.
‘We sure do,’ Ship said. ‘I notice you’ve got nothing up.’
‘Oh, we British are far more conservative.’
*
Bronco’s was heaving, the air thick with cigarette smoke. When the band started up a crazy, toe-tapping tune, Molly whooped and joined the crowd streaming onto the dance floor.
‘You comin’,’ Ship asked Ruby.
‘I’ll sit this one out, thanks Ship.’
The wild beat of guitars and banjos ignited the line of dancers into synchronised foot stomping and heel-smacking. For the past hour, Ruby had been trying to follow the intricate steps; now she was thankful to take a rest. When a man stopped at her table to ask for a dance, she politely turned him down. She loved the way men stared at her in open admiration. With her short, blonde hair, stunning eye makeup and tight shirt, she knew she looked sexy.
Above her head, a ceiling fan barely stirred the pall of cigarette smoke. The building was old with barred windows set high in the walls. Perhaps it had been a gambling den, or a warehouse storing leather hides to be taken down the Missouri River by paddle steamer.
The dance ended and everyone headed for the bar. A man stepped up to the microphone, pursed his lips and hooted, loud and long; immediately the fiddlers and guitarists broke into a rhythm. All at once, she realised what she was hearing: a freight train. She could identify the chug-a-chug of the engines, the melancholic blare of the horn. The tune was very short and soon began to fade away, as if the train was disappearing into the distance. Then, in the sudden silence, the musicians burst out laughing, as if it had all been a joke. But for Ruby, the haunting refrain lingered.
I’m going to miss America, she thought. Mellow with beer, and knowing Paris was a certainty, she could indulge herself in maudlin fancy.
She would be extra sweet to Edward when he came home to make up for her bad behaviour. In fact, she would phone him tomorrow to apologise. She knew he wasn’t having an affair with Donna. He simply needed to be babied - and Donna needed to baby.
Ruby imagined her future home: an eighteenth century apartment in Quartier Pigalle with delicately-scrolled wrought-iron balconies shaded by platane trees. Edward would be the director of the agency; she would be a published poet. All very civilised and culturally rewarding; she would at last find her renaissance.
She glanced about. She just wished she could replace the Parisians with all these lovely Kansas people. Then Paris would be perfect.
As she lifted her bottle of beer to her lips, she noticed three tall cowboys enter. They sat at a table at the front and took off their Stetson hats. With a jolt, she realised who she was looking at: Gephart. Thankfully, she was sitting so far back, he wouldn’t see her.
But she could see him.
A slim girl with long red hair slipped onto his lap in one fluid motion and lifted his beer bottle from the table. Immediately, he snatched it off her, put his hands round her waist and stood her on her feet. Although the girl was arguing, Gephart was grim and silent. Grasping her by the wrist, he pulled her towards the door, and they disappeared.
‘Well, he certainly likes them young,’ Ruby muttered. She’d seen how his hand had held the girl’s wrist. Ruby knew how it felt; the strength of him. She felt a low tug of desire, her body suddenly flushed and hot.
Wanting air, she pushed through the pack of bodies and out into the cool night. Karla and his buddies sat beside their m
otorbikes, rolling joints and chatting. Normally she would have gone over for a chat but she wasn’t in a sociable mood; instead, she turned left and strolled up the street, passing the huge flashing arrow and the sign: Bronco’s. The old building vibrated with music and feet-stomping. To her right, she glimpsed the Missouri River, black as ink. As she turned back, a bunch of laughing girls walked past, wearing flashing Christmas ear-rings and plastic reindeer antlers.
Yes, she would have the house ready for when Edward came home. Edward didn’t think a real fire was necessary, not with the gigantic furnace heating the whole house, but a pile of pretty yuletide logs on the hearth would make the place cosy.
She was trying hard not to think of Hank, but it was impossible. Who was the red-headed girl? And why had Hank treated her so roughly?
‘Ruby!’ Karla shouted. ‘Git yer ass over here, gal.’
She wandered over, aware that he was more stoned than usual. He grabbed her hand and tugged. ‘Come on, Ruby-Ruby; tell us more about the Tower of London.’
She was not at all alarmed by his manner. Although he was built like King Kong, he was a pussy-cat. But she was in no mood for a chat. ‘Nah, I’m going back inside,’ she said, making a half-hearted attempt to disengage herself.
‘GET YER HANDS OFF HER!’ The voice cut through the night air.
Hank Gephart was striding towards them, his face murderous.
Karla was on his feet, hands bunched: ‘You talking to me?’ he growled, unaware that he was threatening a cop out of uniform.
‘Yeah, I’m talking to you.’
Karla stepped forward, chin thrust out. ‘What I do with her ain’t none of yer business!’
‘It’s alright!’ Ruby cried, grabbing Hank’s sleeve to restrain his threatening punch. This was a mistake. With his arm held back, Hank was unable to defend himself and took the full force of Karla’s fist in his face. Hank let out a yell and fell back clutching his nose.
Ruby spun to Karla. ‘You idiot! Why on earth did you do that?’
Karla, startled by her verbal attack, didn’t see Hank’s fist coming. It cracked against his jaw, sending him reeling back.
Appalled, she turned angrily to see Hank going in for another punch. ‘STOP IT!’ She jumped between them and held out her hands. ‘THIS IS ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS!’ Goodness, she sounded like the Queen.
It worked, though. The combatants stared at her with a “what-the-hell-was-that?” look.
Karla’s girlfriend arrived on the scene, wobbling on spiked heels and screeching. Everyone was making a fuss over Karla, yet no-one cared about Hank, who was bent over, cupping a hand under his bleeding nose. Ruby’s fury turned to pity. She picked up his Stetson.
‘Come on,’ she said, putting a hand on his back. ‘Let’s go inside and I’ll clean you up.’ She steered him towards the entrance, along the corridor and into the ladies lavatory. ‘You shouldn’t have hit him,’ she said, sitting him on a stool by the sink and taking the tube of Savlon from her bag. Apart from a pair of tweezers, the rest of her emergency medical supplies had long been abandoned to make space for makeup and perfume.
‘You were in trouble.’
She began filling the sink with hot water. ‘I wasn’t in trouble.’ Hank was so close; she could feel the power of him.
‘Didn’t look that way to me.’
‘Karla’s my friend. He was just being silly.’ She yanked paper towels from the dispenser, soaked them in water, squeezed them out and began to wipe the blood from Hank’s face. He was staring at her but she refused to meet his gaze. Being so close, she could smell him, the beer on his breath, the smoky smell of hickory wood from his hair, the warm scent of male sweat; musty yet inoffensive. She could see the kink in his noise where it had broken, the crows’ feet at the corner of his eyes.
In the dance hall, the band finished their song with a rousing roll of drums. The roar of chattering voices filled the sudden silence. It was the interval. Females began filing in to the lavatory and, seeing Hank, rushed forward, squeaking their sympathy. ‘Hank, sweetheart, does it hurt?’ ‘Can I help?’
When a hand reached out to touch his cheek, Ruby slapped it away. She was shocked at this base action. She quickly collected herself: ‘Ladies, please!’ That voice again. ‘We need space.’ Throwing her cautious looks, the females backed off.
Why had she slapped that girl’s hand? Shame-faced, Ruby soaked another fistful of paper and began cleaning the side of Gephart’s nose. All around was the sound of flushing loos, the spray of perfume, and the click of lipsticks. Then the room went silent as everyone left. From the dance hall came the plaintive sound of a woman singing:
‘Let me ride through the wide open country that I love. Don’t fence me in. Let me be by myself in the evening breeze, listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees, send me off for ever but I ask you please, don’t fence me in …’
When Hank spoke again, his tone was low, dejected. ‘What happened to you at Shady Acres? I was waiting with a bunch of flowers to say thank you.’
She felt a twinge of guilt. He’d bought her flowers. ‘I’m sorry, Hank. I must have gone out the wrong door.’
‘You were running from me again, weren’t you?’
Her glance flickered over his blue eyes and quickly away.
‘Was it because I called you Sweet Cheeks?’
She was silent for a moment then a tiny laugh escaped. ‘Possibly.’
He stared at her. ‘You’re the most beautiful woman I ever did see.’
Ruby knew from the heat in her cheeks that her face had turned the fiercest red. She was panicking, unable to cope with these sexual feelings raging through her body.
‘How kind,’ she said coolly, trying to re-assert control of her emotions.
She sounded like Claire. Good. Now she had to be Claire.
‘I want you to know I’m more’n just a cop.’ He flexed his right hand - his punching hand - and grimaced. ‘I’m a bull-rider. I’ve won the bull-riders’ championship at Flint Hills Rodeo three years straight, and no-one west of State Line can rope a steer as good as me.’
‘Evidently, you are not a man who sits at home in a smoking jacket listening to Schubert.’ She was using biting sarcasm as a defence and was surprised when he chuckled.
‘Sure don’t sound like me.’ He shifted. ‘I’m building my own house out in Abilene with a veranda looking west to the sunset. And a picket fence that goes all around. Out in the yard there’s a live oak some say was used by Sherman’s scouts.’ He paused. ‘Come out with me, Ruby. No strings. Just you and me. Bottle of wine. Steamboat on the Missouri. Moonlight. Then we can talk, start over. What do you say?’
It sounded appealing, and very romantic. All the pieces fitted perfectly, except one:
Him.
It would be like wanting a cuddly cat and being given a tiger. He was too masculine, too overpowering, too much in charge. If she wanted to rock the security of her world by going off with another man, she would choose Payat. Payat with his gentle manner, his shy dark eyes and, of course, his wildly romantic appeal.
But she wasn’t prepared to go off with another man. Like a filing cabinet, her life was compartmentalised and ordered. Edward was her husband. Payat was a delicious fantasy. And Gephart was the rogue piece of paper that had to go in the bin.
It was time to tell him she was married.
‘Hank … I’m mar-’ She stopped and thought: This man is a cop, a control freak. What if he has the old-fashioned notion that this little lady should be at home with hubbie, and not in some seedy bar mixing with drug-fuelled Hells Angels? What if, in a fit of pique, he tells Edward? Then I’m in big trouble and all “shore leave” will be revoked - permanently.
Hank sighed. ‘Sometimes I get the feeling you don’t like me.’
‘Possibly.’
He grabbed her wrist. Astonished, she found herself staring him straight in the eyes. ‘No, you don’t dislike me, Ruby,’ he whispered. ‘In fact, I bet if I asked nicely, you’d
give me a kiss.’
She had the sensation of standing on railroad tracks and feeling, or imagining, the far-off trembling of something large racing her way. And yet she was powerless to move away as much as a step.
‘Go on, Ruby, I’ve been injured in the line of duty. Give me a kiss.’
‘No.’ His hand felt like a steel band around her wrist.
‘I saved your hide.’ Although his tone was cheeky, his eyes pleaded.
‘Then will you to let me go?’
‘I promise.’
‘Alright,’ she conceded, telling herself that for right or wrong, he was now sitting here because he’d believed she’d needed rescuing. She lowered her head, touched her lips to his cheek and jerked back..
His face was stamped with indignation. ‘What the hell was that?’ he thundered.
‘A kiss.’
‘I meant on the lips.’
She stared down at his mouth. A voice in her head told her to do it, another voice told her to run like hell. But she couldn’t run; not with him holding her. She bent and quickly pecked him on the lips.
‘There! That’s a kiss.’
‘Where I come from lady that was no kiss.’
He stood up abruptly. She sensed what was about to happen and felt the flutter of giant wings open inside her chest. But before she could step away, he pulled her against him, one hand coming around her to hold her arms, the other gripping the back of her head. She was immobilised, unable to turn from his advancing kiss. He lowered his head and slowly brushed his mouth across hers; she could feel his breath coming into her. She felt a dart of hot desire shoot up from between her legs. Then his mouth was on hers, pressing down…
A cheer of female voices and male wolf-whistles erupted from the doorway. Hearing it, Hank lifted his head to his audience, his arms loosening their hold on her. ‘Now that’s a kiss!’ he smirked.
Humiliated, she slapped him across the cheek and strode for the door. Laughter broke over her head like a wave. She shouldered her way through a jubilant crowd of heavily perfumed females and grinning cowboys. The bastard had got a laugh at her expense!
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