Feeling cooped up, he went outside to sit on the porch and pet the dogs, but they weren’t anywhere to be found. “Probably at the ranch house,” he muttered. “Since women came onto the ranch, they’re gettin’ plumb spoiled.”
So are you. Ezra’s voice was back in his head. Since them girls came around, you’ve gotten spoiled to having company all the time.
“Maybe so,” Rusty agreed. “So what?”
Ezra didn’t have an answer for that.
Rusty walked from the bunkhouse to the ranch house and found the dogs lyin’ on the porch—right where he figured they would be. Martha opened one eye and yipped one time. Vivien and Polly didn’t even bother to do that much.
“I’m going to the Sugar Shack,” he announced and headed back to the bunkhouse to get dressed. “Maybe I’ll feel better after a few beers and when I dance some leather off of my boots.”
* * *
Bonnie’s thoughts all through the day had been constantly on the ranch and the insane attraction she’d felt for Rusty. It seemed even stronger since they were the only ones left on the ranch. She had no intentions of ever doing anything about it, so why wouldn’t it just disappear? Too bad there wasn’t a delete button for times like this, or for just time in general. Push the button and the chemistry she felt for her foreman would disappear. Push it again, and a whole year would disappear. She’d be on a beach somewhere in a cute little bar—hell, she might even own the bar—drinking a margarita and dancing with handsome beach boys.
She’d been restless after she finished cutting hay all day, so she’d gone to the grocery store in Claude to buy food for the week. She was pushing her cart toward the checkout counter when the message came over the PA system saying that the store would be closing in fifteen minutes. “Bring your purchases to the front of the store, please.”
Evidently she was the last remaining person in the store, because no one else was pushing a cart toward one of the three cashiers. Bonnie unloaded her cart onto the conveyor belt and then stuck the ranch credit card into the machine to pay for everything.
“Been a long day,” she said in way of conversation.
“Yep, and I can’t wait to get home, get my boots on, and go to the Sugar Shack for some excitement,” the woman said. “The place don’t get hoppin’ until about nine, so I’ll get there at just about the right time.”
Bonnie just nodded. No way did she have enough energy to go to the Sugar Shack this evening, and besides, the last time she had gone there, she had had Shiloh with her. Going alone just didn’t sound like much fun.
On the trip back down into the canyon, her thoughts went back to the Malloy Ranch again. “I’ve got to get away from the forest so I can see the trees, as Mama used to tell me when I was fretting about something. Maybe I will go to the Sugar Shack, have a beer, do a little line dancing, and not think about anything but having a good time.”
Now that’s my girl. That pesky voice that sounded like her mother’s was back.
“You’ve always put having a good time ahead of everything else,” Bonnie muttered as she turned off the highway and down the lane to the ranch. She just shook her head when she passed the cemetery where Ezra was buried. “How on earth the two of you ever got together is a mystery that I’ll probably never understand.”
She parked her truck and unloaded the groceries. The dogs were all waiting on the front porch, so she promised them that she’d bring out a surprise in a few minutes as she headed into the house. She put away the perishables, kicked off her shoes, and put on her only pair of cowboy boots. When she’d tucked the legs of her jeans down into them, she picked up a package wrapped in white butcher paper and took three big soup bones out to the dogs.
“See, I didn’t forget you ladies,” she said. “Y’all are welcome to carry these back to the bunkhouse. Rusty might even let you bring them inside if you promise to keep them on the floor.”
She balled up the butcher paper and threw it into the bed of her beat-up truck. Then she got behind the wheel and headed back down the lane, made a right-hand turn out onto the highway, and traveled a few miles before making another turn. The Sugar Shack was in an old wooden building with a wide front porch, and the whole place looked like it had been sprayed down with that pink medicine Bonnie’s mama had given her for a stomachache when she was a little girl. She could hear the jukebox music blasting away before she even got out of her vehicle. Tips of cigarettes flared red as a row of cowboys leaned against the front of the building and sucked in a drag.
She walked through a haze of smoke on the way into the bar and got a few catcalls and offers from guys who were willing to put out their cigarettes if she’d dance with them. She’d grown up around folks a lot rougher than these cowboys, so she just ignored them, paid her cover fee, and went inside. Most of the place was dimly lit, but the bar area was at least semibright. She located an empty barstool and slid onto it, not paying a bit of attention to who was sitting in the one right next to her.
“What are you doin’ here?” Rusty asked.
“I decided that I’ve been thinkin’ about serious things way too much. I just need to have some fun, so here I am.” She motioned for the bartender to bring her a beer. “What about you? You lookin’ to get lucky tonight?” Saying the words caused a shot of jealousy to shoot through her heart.
“Maybe,” he answered. “Are you?”
“Never know what beer and dancing might cause,” she answered with a shrug.
The bartender brought her beer, and she tipped up the bottle and took a long drink.
A good-looking dark-haired cowboy tapped her on the shoulder. When she looked up, she recognized him as one of the guys who worked over on her brother-in-law’s ranch.
“Want to dance?” he asked as Jason Aldean’s “She’s Counry” came on the jukebox.
“Sure!” She handed her beer to Rusty. “Finish it before it gets warm.”
“Don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Lake, and I work for Cooper.” He took her hand and led her out onto the dance floor. He swung her out a way, then brought her back to his chest and began a fast two-step and swing dance combination. “This song sounds like it’s about you,” he said. “You ain’t afraid to stay country like you was born and raised.”
“I’m glad you noticed,” she teased with a hip wiggle when he spun her out the next time. She glanced over at the bar to see if Rusty was even watching, only to see nothing but empty barstools. With a quick glance over Lake’s shoulder, she saw that Rusty was on the floor hugged up to a cute little brunette so tight that air couldn’t get between them.
The next song was “Down to the Honkytonk” by Jake Owen. One of the lines said something about him having a girl that went bat shit crazy on tequila.
“Do you get silly on tequila?” Lake asked as he kept Bonnie on the dance floor.
“Honey, I could drink you under the table any day of the week,” she answered.
Before Lake could disagree with her, Rusty tapped him on the shoulder and took his place with Bonnie.
“Why’d you do that?” she asked.
“He’s a player,” Rusty said. “You don’t want to get mixed up with him. He’s only interested in one-night stands.”
Rusty was by far the smoothest cowboy she’d ever two-stepped with. When that song ended, he took her by the hand and led her back to the bar. Having her hand in his caused little shots of desire to run through her body, but that didn’t surprise her so much. Dancing with him was one more thing she’d have to be careful about.
“You’re not the boss of me,” she protested.
“Nope, I’m not,” he said. “But I will warn you of danger when it’s right under your nose.”
“Like a big brother?” she asked.
“Something like that,” he chuckled.
* * *
Rusty wondered if Bonnie felt the heat between them like he did. He’d been attracted to her wild, free spirit from the first time he saw her, and that had grown through th
e months. He’d never let her know that though—not when he had to run her off to even get a chance at the ranch.
She was staring right into his eyes and then a woman touched him on the arm. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Rusty Dawson. You snuck out of the house without even tellin’ me goodbye last month, and you never called me. I’m not just a one-night stand. I’m a good woman, and you’re a bastard. I’ve waited four whole weeks to hear from you.”
“You’re drunk, Sandy,” he said.
“Yeah, but I’ll be sober tomorrow, and you’ll still be a bastard.” She turned her attention toward Bonnie. “You’re one of Ezra’s daughters, ain’t you? Well, honey,” she draped an arm around Bonnie’s shoulders, “Rusty is just like Ezra, bastard to the bone. Don’t let yourself get mixed up with him.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Rusty said.
“I agree,” Bonnie said.
“You’ll wish you’d listened to me”—Sandy slurred her words—“because I know what I’m talkin’ about. He might marry you, but it’ll only be to get the ranch. He’ll never be faithful. Every time your turn your back, he’ll be lookin’ to get some on the side. You mark my words.”
“I’m so sorry about that,” Rusty said as he walked across the parking lot with her. “She was drunk off her ass. I took her home, put her to bed, and left. She got the impression that we’d slept together, but we didn’t.”
“Hey, you don’t owe me any apologies,” Bonnie told him. “We all make mistakes.”
“Tell me about yours.” He grinned.
“I would if we had some of Ezra’s moonshine, but that’s all gone, so…” She shrugged.
“It’s not Ezra’s, but I’ve got a pint of blackberry ’shine in the bunkhouse. Want to share a few shots with me, and talk about all our mistakes?” He caged her with an arm on each side of her against the door of her truck.
“Are you flirtin’ with me?” she asked bluntly.
He removed his hands and shook his head. “Nope. With all the noise around us, I had to lean in real close so you could hear me.”
“You really think gettin’ me drunk would make me tell all my secrets?” she giggled. “Honey, I’m not one of them sad drunks who talks about how the world’s not treating her right. I’m a happy drunk, one who don’t give a damn what she says or does.” She was remembering the night that she and her two sisters had gotten drunk on the last of Ezra’s ’shine. Or at least Shiloh and Abby Joy did—she herself had enough ’shine sense to take a few sips and leave it alone, being as how she’d made the stuff herself back in Kentucky, and she knew what a kick it had.
“I like a happy drunk.” Rusty smiled.
“Well, then, let’s just get to it.” She ducked under his arm and came up on the other side. “I’ll follow you to the bunkhouse. In the morning, if you can make it to the house, I’ll sure enough brew up my hangover cure for you.”
“Who says I’ll have a hangover?” he teased.
“You will have one like you’ve never had before when I get finished making you a couple of real blackberry bombs.” She got into her truck and slammed the door shut.
When they arrived at the ranch, all three dogs followed their vehicles to the bunkhouse. Once inside, Martha flopped down on the cool floor in front of the sofa. Vivien followed Rusty into the kitchen, and Polly headed for the rug in front of the fireplace.
“I guess they’re our chaperones.” Bonnie followed Rusty into the kitchen.
He got the blackberry moonshine and two shot glasses down from the cabinet, set them on the table, and started to pour.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” She hip-bumped him out of the way. “If we’re going to have a real drink, then I’ll do the mixin’.” She reached for a bottle of tequila. “Looks like you’re about out of this.”
“That and this pint of ’shine and six beers in the refrigerator is all that’s left in the bunkhouse. I don’t keep any alcohol in here when the summer help arrives. They’re mostly underage, and I sure don’t want to get tossed in jail for giving liquor to a minor,” Rusty said.
“Then let’s do this up right.” Bonnie poured a cup of moonshine into a blender, added all of the tequila, and a twist of lemon. She put a few cubes of ice into the blender and punched chop, then hit stop when its contents were smoothie texture. She carried the blender and the two glasses into the living room.
“We were going to talk about mistakes. You go first.” She settled down right in the middle of the well-worn sofa, set the blender on the coffee table, and poured two shots.
He took one of the glasses from her, threw back its contents like a shot of whiskey, and held out his glass to be refilled. “I ran away from the last foster home when I was fourteen and went to work on a ranch. I wish I’d finished high school and taken some business courses. Ezra took care of the finances, and it’s been a struggle for me to learn how to operate the computer and do all that. Your turn.”
She drank her bomb and said, “I got in with a bad group in eastern Kentucky. We got caught growing pot.”
“Did you do jail time?” he asked.
“No, it was worse than that,” she told him.
“I’m listening.” He refilled her glass.
“In the county I was living in at the time, one family owned the pot business, and no one cultivated marijuana without their permission—and they didn’t give it to kids. They caught us harvesting it, took it all from us, and went to our parents. We didn’t get taken to jail, but our folks had to pay them the equivalent of a fine. Mama had to cough up five hundred dollars, and I had to work as a waitress all summer to pay her back.”
She’d downed that bomb, so he made her another one. “Surely you made more than that in three months.”
Bonnie threw back the drink and held out her glass for more. Memories were stirred up in her mind that she thought she’d buried too deep to ever surface, and they brought about the same hurt feelings as they had all those years ago. If her mother could get her hands on a dollar, she’d figure out a way to rationalize taking it. Bonnie’s feelings or needs seldom if ever played into the grand scheme of anything. “Yep, and she called the rest of the money I made the interest and the lesson—depending on whether she was drunk or high herself. Your turn.”
They switched back and forth with their tales of woe until finally Bonnie leaned her head back on the sofa and began to snore. Rusty gently carried her to his bedroom, laid her on the bed, and covered her with a quilt. She roused up, moaned and threw her hand over her eyes.
He stretched out beside her and whispered, “Shhh…just sleep.”
* * *
Bonnie was jerked awake the next morning when Vivien licked her hand that was dangling over the side of the bed. She opened her eyes wide, looked around, and didn’t recognize a single thing other than the dog that was named for her mother. The light stung her eyes. Her head pounded so hard that she could hear every heartbeat in it.
“Good mornin’.” Rusty brought in a tray with pancakes and coffee. “We’ve overslept. It’s too late to go to church, so evidently we won’t be able to ask forgiveness for our sins.”
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t believe I did anything I have to repent for.” She sat up in bed, checked to be sure she was wearing clothes, and threw back the quilt. “I only had a few sips from a shot of blackberry bomb.”
“I had about three of those wicked bombs you brewed up. You drank the rest of that blender full.” He put the tray over her lap and sat down beside her.
“Well, at least you didn’t sneak out in the middle of the night and leave me like you did that Sandy woman. Are you going to call me?” Her tone was saccharine.
He poured syrup on the pancakes, cut into them, and took a bite.
“I thought this was my breakfast,” she said.
“It’s ours to share, like we did all our mistakes last night.” He handed her the fork and his hand brushed against hers. His gentle touch sent sensations coursing through her body that mad
e her want to throw off the sheet and drag him right back into bed with her.
She took a bite and wondered what in the hell she’d shared with him? Did she tell him about the sorry sucker who’d talked her out of her virginity and then told everyone in high school about it the next day? Did she tell him that she’d never been so glad to go home that evening and find her mother packing the car to move again?
“So, what did I share?” she asked.
“I know about you trying to grow pot.” Compared to all the other scrapes she’d been in, that wasn’t so bad.
“So, we exchanged a few stories, got drunk, and now we’re sharing pancakes. That doesn’t change jack crap about this ranch,” she said.
“Nope, it sure doesn’t. I might make breakfast, but I’m still going to do my best to make you hate this place and leave before Christmas,” he said.
“Give it your best shot, cowboy,” she told him.
Chapter Four
Bonnie was on her way out the door when her phone rang. The noise startled her so badly she fumbled when she tried to fetch it from her hip pocket and dropped it on the floor. Breathless, she finally answered it on the fourth ring.
“Hello, Shiloh,” she said.
“Why weren’t you in church this morning?” Shiloh asked.
“Overslept,” Bonnie answered.
“You’re out of breath. What were you doing?”
I got drunk and had a hangover and woke up in Rusty’s bed, she thought and smiled. But she said, “I was on my way outside when the phone rang. It startled me.”
“Abby Joy and I are going to Amarillo this afternoon. Want to go with us? We’re leaving in about half an hour.”
Rusty walked up behind her. “I’m going out to check the hay we cut yesterday. Want to go with me?”
Sunrise Ranch--A Daisies in the Canyon Novella Page 3
