by Kim Redford
She could easily imagine staying in one of the iconic cabins and enjoying every minute of it. Wildcat Bluff County impressed her more all the time with its historic buildings and creative residents. She was glad the Buick Brigade had encouraged her to spend an evening at the Hall.
Rowdy nosed his pickup into a narrow place fairly near the entrance and glanced over at her in triumph. She wasn’t only appreciative of his parking place. He’d shown up in a fancy new truck all dark blue with loads of chrome and a big cowcatcher in place of the front grill. He must have borrowed the vehicle from a friend, and she appreciated his effort on their behalf.
The honky-tonk had a side garden with twinkling lights in the trees above a dozen or so wooden tables with benches. Folks sat, stood, sauntered, chatted, and nibbled on goodies and drank from to-go cups. Big barrels that served as outdoor firepits had been placed strategically here and there to add light and warmth to the evening.
“What do you think?” Rowdy glanced at her as he turned off the engine of the truck.
“So far, I’m really, truly impressed. It’s just lovely here.”
“I’m glad you like it. Folks have been coming here since 1884, well over a hundred years now.”
She looked more closely at the honky-tonk itself. She loved the style of horizontal wood slats painted white with a Western false front, a high-pitched tin roof, and side flaps for open-air dancing. The double front doors and tall windows allowed plenty of circulation with screens that had black-painted slats. A side door led to the outdoor garden.
“Reminds me of Gruene Hall in the Hill Country. I always enjoyed going there to listen to country bands.”
“And dance?”
“Right.”
“Wildcat Hall can’t compare to fancy honky-tonks like Billy Bob’s Texas in the Fort Worth stockyards with 100,000 square feet of boot-scooting space, but we’re pretty content with our own 4,000 square feet.”
“That’s not shabby at all.”
“Fern Bryant and Craig Thorne own Wildcat Hall now. They’re both musicians, and they love the place. They’re working to make our honky-tonk a major destination attraction and music venue like Gruene Hall.”
“That’s exciting. How’s it coming along?”
“They’re slowly building a bigger audience with promotion and entertainment from up-and-coming as well as established artists.”
“That’s wonderful.” She clapped her hands together in excitement. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”
“You want to dance…eat…drink?”
“Well, yes, all of those, but I could promote Wildcat Hall in my Lulabelle & You newsletter.”
“That’d be really helpful.”
“Beyond that, I’m thinking it’d be a fabulous location shoot for my summer line. Do you think they might agree?”
“I can’t imagine why not. It’s the kind of cross-promotion that ought to work well. At least, I’d think so.”
“I think so, too.” She took a deep breath to settle her excitement. She hadn’t thought to reach out to the community in this way. It was just the kind of real-life situation she’d hoped for but never dreamed of actually getting without creating it all on her lonesome. Wildcat Bluff County was turning out to be a blessing in disguise. She felt so lucky.
“Uh, I ought to say…” Rowdy glanced over at her, appearing a little concerned about something.
“What is it?”
“Well, you being a stranger and all…folks might be a little standoffish at first…I mean, just until they get to know you better.”
“Do you mean they won’t all be like the Buick Brigade?”
“Those four are in a world of their own.”
“Oh.” Belle felt her enthusiasm deflate. She knew small towns and communities could be clannish, but she’d been so welcomed by Doris and the others that she’d felt she could easily become part of this special world.
“Don’t get me wrong… It’s not that they won’t like you…it’s just that—”
“It’s okay.” She squared her shoulders. “I have no intention of pushing myself on anybody. I won’t mention the photo shoot. I won’t mention the party. I won’t even mention Daisy Sue.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He reached over and squeezed her hand.
She felt his comfort go straight to her heart and ease the sudden ache of rejection before she’d even had a chance to make her case with local folks.
He threaded their fingers together. “Don’t you dare be anybody but you. They’ll love you. How could they not? I… I mean, I… I’ll help you.”
“That’s not what you started to say.”
“Let’s leave it at that.” He squeezed her hand again and then let go. “You’re Belle Tarleton. You’re Lulabelle & You. You could be the best thing that ever happened to this county.”
“Thanks.” She clasped her hands together, feeling cold now that he was no longer touching her. “I don’t want to be a problem for you, but I appreciate all you’re doing for me.”
He stiffened beside her. “Let’s go inside and see what’s what and who’s who.”
“Okay.”
Mindful that the Buick Brigade might have eyes on them, she waited for Rowdy to walk around the front of his truck, open the door, and help her down. He shut the door but kept hold of her hand, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. And it felt that way. He was coming to mean a lot to her. Good or bad, she wasn’t sure, but she wanted the feeling, wanted the companionship…simply wanted him. She thought he felt the same way, and yet there was a barrier he kept between them, and she didn’t know why. Maybe tonight on neutral ground it’d finally come down.
As they walked toward the entry, she glanced at him. He’d cleaned up real good. He wore a fine Western-cut suit in dark blue with a pale-blue, pearl-snap shirt and a turquoise bolo tie. He’d put on classy ostrich cowboy boots and wore them as if they’d been made to order special for him. Tonight he fit with the pickup, the clothes, the attitude as if he’d been born to them…not borrowed for the evening.
She’d dressed up, too. She’d chosen a flirty little knee-length skirt in blue denim that would whirl around her body when she danced to something fast. She’d paired it with crimson tights and blue cowgirl boots. For a top, she’d gone a little sexy with a form-fitting sweater that had a ribbed bottom that hugged her. And she’d chosen it in bright crimson to go with her tights.
All in all, she and Rowdy fit as a couple…in looks, in clothes, even in closeness. And it was the first time she’d felt that total natural convergence between them. She liked it. She wanted more of it, and she was willing to put a lot on the line to get it. But then she was used to taking chances. Rowdy just might be worth taking a big chance with her heart.
She clasped his hand when they walked into the front bar, and he squeezed her fingers in return. She could tell right away that this room was the heart and soul of Wildcat Hall. It had a long wooden bar with a black cast-iron footrail, a pressed-tin ceiling accented by ceiling fans with schoolhouse lights, and floor-to-ceiling windows in front. A big, red, professional-size fire extinguisher lay on its side, as if ready for instant use, across one end of the wooden bar.
The decor was minimal. Rusty metal beer advertisement signs had been tacked around the walls along with sepia-toned photographs of cowboys on horseback and country music legends. A framed Lone Star State flag hung in back of the bar, while a rack of deer antlers loomed above the front doors. A flat-screen monitor above the bar was the only contemporary touch, but it could mostly be ignored if it wasn’t turned on. Hand-hewn, scarred-wood tables with high-back chairs filled the area.
Folks sat in the chairs and stood several deep at the bar. Laughter and talk and music filled the air along with the scent of coffee and cookies, beer and pretzels, sarsaparilla and peanuts.
She simply stood
still for a long moment, savoring the atmosphere and imagining how beautiful and evocative this room would be as a backdrop in a photo shoot with her clothing designs worn by models who would fit perfectly into the honky-tonk.
“Come this way to the dance hall,” Rowdy whispered in her ear and then led her through the throng to a short hall and turned left.
She stepped with him through an open doorway into a large room with rows of long, narrow, hand-hewn wood tables with matching benches placed on each side of the dance floor in front of a wall of screened windows that were open to let in the cool night air. Revelers filled the benches or stood on the sidelines while others danced to the sounds of a country band. It was a scene in a riot of color and scent and sound that excited all the senses.
Once more, she could imagine the dance hall as a backdrop to a photo shoot. It was simply a marvelous visual to accentuate the beauty of her clothing line. She squeezed Rowdy’s hand in appreciation that he’d brought her here. He threaded their fingers together and gave her a slow smile.
She looked to the right where a band played on an old-fashioned, recessed, raised stage with a hand-painted backdrop of crimson curtains trimmed with gold pulled open to reveal a pastoral scene of cowboys herding longhorns. She glanced up at the high ceiling with exposed wood rafters that held black ceiling fans, hanging light bulbs, a sprinkler system, and a row of stage lights.
Again, she was enthralled by the sheer perfection of the setting and wished she could take photographs of it right that moment. When she returned to the ranch, she’d be able to consider lighting and angles that would work best for a photo shoot. But she was getting way ahead of herself. She was here to enjoy the evening, not make business plans.
She glanced from the stage to the other end of the dance floor at the long bar that served drinks and munchies. Two open windows allowed bartenders to serve customers on the dance hall side and on the front bar side at the same time. She liked the practical setup just like everything else about Wildcat Hall.
She looked once more toward the stage, where a beautiful singer with ash-blond hair and vivid green eyes strummed an acoustic guitar and sang with a pure, sweet voice to the accompaniment of a man playing bass guitar beside her. He wore his long chestnut hair to his shoulders and looked at the singer with adoration in his hazel eyes. They both wore fancy, colorful Western wear of shirts, jeans, and boots.
Rowdy leaned down close to her ear. “That’s Fern Bryant and Craig Thorne.”
“They’re the owners?”
He nodded in agreement.
“Wait. Isn’t she that famous chanteuse who was involved in helping to save Storm Steele from her kidnapper last Labor Day? It was on all the news.”
“She’s the one…but Fernando was the real hero who saved Storm.”
“That’s what I heard.” She smiled up at him. “I’m beginning to think there’s never a dull moment in this county.”
“Not so you’d notice.” He nodded toward the dance floor. “Do you want to dance?”
“Yes, let’s do.”
As he led her toward the dance floor, the music ended, and people faded away, leaving them almost alone at center stage.
Craig grinned as he leaned toward his mic. “Folks, we already told you that we’d be starting a poetry night right here in Wildcat Hall.”
People clapped and whistled in appreciation.
“Well, I’ve got good news for you.” Craig pointed at Rowdy. “Our very own local cowboy poet named Rowdy is right here.”
More clapping and whistling filled the dance hall.
“That’s right,” Craig said. “Let’s let Rowdy start our poetry off on the right foot…right here and right now.”
Belle looked around in surprise as the dance hall erupted in more clapping and calls for Rowdy to step up and perform.
“Sorry. I didn’t expect this tonight,” he said.
“It’s okay. Do you need to go up there?”
“Yeah…I’m thinking so.”
“Come on, Rowdy.” Craig gestured for him to approach. “One poem. That’s all we’re asking of you tonight.”
Rowdy gave Belle a quick smile and then turned away.
She watched as he walked up to the stage, mounted the steps, and leaned into the mic on a stand as the room went completely quiet in anticipation. She’d had no idea he had this type of reputation in the community.
“Folks, you caught me by surprise,” Rowdy said in his deep, melodic voice. “I don’t have anything in particular planned, but I’ve been writing a special poem. If you want to hear it…”
Again, the room erupted in clapping and cheers of encouragement.
Rowdy looked right at Belle as he spoke into the microphone.
“A cowgirl dressed in gossamer dreams.
Daytime. Nighttime. Anytime.
A cowgirl blessed with soaring wings.
Daytime. Nighttime. Anytime.
A cowgirl clothed in red bandana.
Daytime. Nighttime. Anytime.
A cowgirl showered with love forever.
Daytime. Nighttime. Anytime.”
And Belle felt his words go straight to her heart.
Chapter 18
Belle simply stood there, caught in Rowdy’s spell…not just his love poem but the look in his eyes as he continued to hold her gaze while the dance hall remained silent around them, for everyone had been captured by the power of his words.
She wasn’t the only one inspired by Wildcat Bluff County or the coming of Christmas. Magic filled the air. Rowdy was living proof of it as a cowboy poet. He was good, really good. And if she was the recipient of his words or the inspiration behind them, then she felt truly blessed.
She’d never dreamed coming here could change her life as much as it already had in such a short time. Rowdy. The Buick Brigade. Homer. And even Daisy Sue. Maybe Belle had been ready for a change…perhaps needed a change to bring back inspiration and challenge in her life. She’d like to give back, if possible, to this incredible community.
Rowdy stepped down from the stage and walked toward her with a determined stride, never looking right or left, never deviating from the path that led directly to her.
She waited for him, feeling the rest of the world fade away until there were only the two of them…and nothing else mattered in this moment outside of time and space.
When he reached her, he stopped—never breaking eye contact—and held out his right hand.
As she placed her fingers against his rough palm, the band started up, and Fern’s sweet voice floated over the dance hall as she sang Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You.”
And then Belle was in Rowdy’s strong arms, her hands on his broad shoulders, his warmth radiating around her. He gently led her in a slow dance that bound them tighter and tighter as he drew her closer and closer until she could feel the beat of his heart against her chest and the warmth of his breath in her hair. She felt softness unfurl deep inside her, as if she’d been waiting a lifetime for this man of all men to take her in his arms and hold her close…promising…promising she wasn’t sure what, but she wanted that promise as much as she wanted him.
“I tried to resist you,” he whispered near her ear. “I tried to be professional.”
She felt him press a gentle kiss to the whorl of her upper ear, and she shivered in response.
“I can’t do it.” He trailed the kiss down the edge of her ear and lightly nipped the lobe. “You’re everything.”
She shivered harder, clutching his shoulders to keep upright because his words and actions were making her weak in the knees.
“Tell me I’m not alone.”
She wanted to tell him something, anything, but her words were frozen somewhere in her mind, and all she could do was twine her hands around his neck and thrust her fingers into the thickness of his hair.
Still she knew—knew only too well—that they weren’t close enough, not nearly close enough, to satisfy the promise that shimmered between them, growing stronger with every beat of their hearts, every touch of their hands, every whisper of their breaths.
“Tell me, please.” He gently pressed his temple to hers, as if by doing so he could read her mind and know the true extent of her feelings.
She tried to take a deep breath and answer him, but her chest felt constricted with so much emotion that she could hardly breath, much less speak.
And then the moment fell away as the music slowly faded into nothingness that left an empty place where soaring emotion had once filled the dance hall.
Rowdy let his hands slip to his sides. “You aren’t going to answer me?”
She put a hand to her heart as she caught her breath, caught by the intensity of his gaze, caught in the magic of the moment. “You’re not…alone.”
He gently placed his hands on her shoulders, leaned down, and kissed her lips. “That’s a promise to us.”
“Promise?” She touched her lower lip with a fingertip in wonder, feeling almost as if she’d never been kissed before this man in this place at this time. Could a person truly start over, letting past disappointments, past pain fall away as if they had never existed at all?
“Yes, promise.” He clasped both her hands. “I’m not my own man right now.”
“No?”
“I’m under obligations.”
“Obligations?”
“There’s so much I want to tell you…so much I can’t tell you, but please believe you can trust me.”
She felt a little chill work its way up her spine. When people asked you to trust them, it usually meant you shouldn’t. She wished he hadn’t used that word. She wished he’d stopped with promise. She wished they could go back to the dance when she did trust him…with her heart. Now she took a deep, steadying breath to fortify herself against what might come.
