DARN GOOD COWBOY CHRISTMAS (Oct. 1, 2010)
It was just a white frame house at the end of a long lane.
But it did not have wheels.
Liz squinted against the sun sinking in the west and imagined it with multicolored Christmas lights strung all around the porch, the windows, even in the cedar tree off to the left side. In her vision, it was a Griswold house from The National Lampoon’s Christmas that lit up the whole state of Texas. She hoped that when she flipped the switch she didn’t cause a major blackout because in a few weeks it was going to look like the house on that old movie that she loved.
Now where was the cowboy to complete the package?
Christmas lights on a house without wheels and a cowboy in tight fittin’ jeans and in boots—that’s what she asked for every year when her mother asked for her Christmas list. She didn’t remember the place being so big when she visited her uncle those two times. Once when she was ten and then again when she was fourteen. But both of those times she’d been quite taken with the young cowboy next door and didn’t pay much attention to the house itself. The brisk Texas wind whipped around ferociously as if saying that it could send her right back to east Texas if she didn’t change her mind about the house.
“I don’t think so,” she giggled. “I know a thing or two about Texas wind, and it’d take more than a class five tornado to get rid of me. This is what I’ve wanted all my life, and I think it’s the prettiest house in Montague County. It’s sittin’ on a foundation, and oh, my god, he’s left Hooter and Blister for me. Uncle Haskell, I could kiss you!”
The wind pushed its way into the truck, bringing a few fall leaves with it when she opened the truck door. Aunt Tressa would say that was an omen; the place was welcoming her into its arms. Her mother would say that the wind was blowing her back to the carnival where she belonged.
The old dog, Hooter, slowly came down off the porch, head down, wagging his tail. Blister, the black and white cat, eyed her suspiciously from the ladder-back chair on the tiny porch.
Her high heels sunk into the soft earth, leaving holes as she rushed across the yard toward the yellow dog. She squatted down, hugged the big yellow mutt, and scratched his ears. “You beautiful old boy. You are the icing on the cake. Now I’ve got animals and a house. This is a damn fine night.”
The key was under the chair, tucked away in a faded ceramic frog, just where her Uncle Haskell said it would be when she talked to him earlier that afternoon. But he hadn’t mentioned leaving the two animals. She’d thank him for that surprise when she called him later on.
She opened the wooden screen door and was about to put the key in the lock when the door swung open. And there he was! Raylen O’Donnell, all grown up and even sexier than she remembered. Her heart thumped so hard she could feel it pushing against her bra. Her hands were shaky and her knees weak, but she took a deep breath, willed her hands to be still, and locked her knees in place.
“If it’s religion you’re sellin’ or anything else, we’re not interested,” Raylen said in a deep Texas drawl. He’d been pouring a glass of tea in the kitchen when he heard a noise. Hooter hadn’t barked, so he figured it was just the wind, but when he opened the door he’d been more shocked than the woman standing there with wide eyes and a spooked expression on her face.
She wore skin-tight black jeans that looked like they’d been spray painted on her slim frame. Without those spike heels she would’ve barely come to his shoulder, and Raylen was the shortest of the three O’Donnell brothers, tipping the chart at five feet ten inches. Her jet-black hair had been twisted up and clipped, but strands had escaped the shiny silver clasp and found their way to her shoulder. Her eyes were so dark brown that they looked ebony.
“Raylen?” she said.
Her voice was husky, with a touch of gravel, adding to her exotic looks. It made Raylen think of rye whiskey with a teaspoon of honey and a twist of lemon. He’d heard that voice before. It had been branded on his brain for eleven years, but she couldn’t be Haskell’s niece. Liz wasn’t supposed to be there until the first of the week at the earliest.
“That’s right. Who are you?” he asked cautiously.
“I happen to own this place,” she said with a flick of her hand.
“Liz?” Raylen started at her toes and let his gaze travel slowly all the way to her eyebrows. She’d been a pretty teenager, but now she was a stunning woman.
“Surprise! I guess this chunk of Texas dirt now belongs to me. What are you doing here?” she asked.
Could Raylen really be the cowboy Santa was going to leave under her Christmas tree? He’d sure enough been the one she had in mind when she asked for a cowboy. She’d visualized him in tight fittin’ jeans and boots when she was younger. Lately, she’d changed it to nothing but a Santa hat and the boots.
His hair was still a rich dark brown, almost black until the sunlight lit up the deep chestnut color. His eyes were exactly as she remembered: pale icy blue rimmed with dark brown lashes. It all added up to a heady combination, enough to make her want to tangle her hands up in all that dark hair and kiss him until she swooned like a heroine in one of those old castle romances she’d read since she was a teenager. Speaking of kissing, where in the hell was the mistletoe when a woman needed it, anyway?
Cowboys have roots, not wings. Don’t get involved with one or you’ll smother to death in a remote backwoods farm or else die of boredom. Her mother’s voice whispered so close to her ear that she turned to make sure Marva Jo Hanson hadn’t followed her to Ringgold, Texas.
Raylen stood to one side. “I came to feed and water Hooter and Blister. Haskell asked me to do that until you got here. We met when we were kids, remember?”
“I do,” she said. How could she forget? She’d been in love with Raylen O’Donnell since she was fourteen years old.
“Haskell said that if you didn’t like it here, he’d sell me your twenty acres.” Now that was a helluva thing to blurt out, but he couldn’t very well say that she’d grown up to be the most exotic creature he’d ever laid eyes on. That he’d thought she was cuter than any girl he’d ever seen when she was about fourteen or fifteen, but he hadn’t realized that she’d only been the bud of the rose. The full-blown flower was standing before him right then, making him fidget like a little boy.
“I’m going to live here. Uncle Haskell said if I like it he’ll deed the place over to me in the spring. The place isn’t for sale and won’t be,” she said.
“And do what? Ringgold isn’t very big.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Pet the cat. Feed the dog.”
“That won’t make a living, lady,” Raylen said.
She popped both hands on her hips. “I don’t reckon what I do for a living is one damn bit of your business, cowboy. Do you intend to let me come into my house?”
Why in the hell was he arguing with her? Never in all the scenarios that she’d imagined did he cross her. He’d kissed her. He’d swept her off her feet and carried her to a big white pickup truck and they’d driven off into the sunset. He’d smiled and said that he remembered her well and she’d grown up into a beautiful woman. But he hadn’t argued.
Raylen motioned her into the house with a wave of his hand. She brushed across his chest as she entered the house and was acutely aware of the sparks dancing all over the room but attributed it to anger or disappointment, maybe even a bitter dose of both. She’d had Raylen on a pedestal for more than a decade and he didn’t even recognize her. He was probably married and had three or four kids too. That was just her luck!
When she fanned past him he got a whiff of a sensuous perfume that went with her dark, gypsy looks, and he wanted to follow after her like a lost puppy dog.
THE LADIES ROOM (Oct. 10, 2011)
If I wiggled again Great Aunt Gert was going to sit straight up in that pale pink coffin and give me an evil glare like she used to do when I was a child and couldn’t sit still in church. Not even in death would she abide wiggling at a funeral, especially when it was hers. She’d been an outspoken, caustic old girl the whole time she was alive and there was no doubt she could resurrect at the faintest whisper of queen sized panty hose rubbing together as I crossed and uncrossed my legs.
I should have gone to the ladies room before the services began. But four cups and a thirty-two ounce Coke on the way didn’t make it to my bladder until the preacher cleared his throat and began a eulogy that looked as if it would go on until six days past eternity. If the poor man was trying to preach Aunt Gert through the Pearly Gates we’d all starve to death before he finished. Thank goodness there was a Snicker’s candy bar and a bag of barbecued chips in my purse and twenty extra pounds of pure cellulite on my thighs. At least I wouldn’t be the next one knocking on Heaven’s door.
I crossed my legs. I concentrated on what the preacher was saying to take my mind off the pressing matter. Nothing worked after two minutes. The space between the far end of the pew and the wall was just barely passable for an anorexic teenager so I had to walk sideways. It was unforgivable enough that I was leaving in the middle of the funeral sermon but to trouble ten members of the congregation to get to the center aisle would have had Aunt Gert doing more than sitting up. The tirade she’d have produced would’ve withered my poor bladder into a dried out raisin.
I trotted all the way to the ladies room. By the time I was inside one of the two stalls, I already my tight black skirt jerked up. I grabbed the top of the ultra-control panty hose and tugged hard enough to push my thumbnail through the fabric. I thought that stuff was made with the same thing used to construct space shuttles and blistering fire couldn’t destroy it.
I was carefully pulling up my ruined hose when the door opened and Marty and Betsy, my cousins, rushed into the small room. I recognized them the minute they began to talk. They’ve smoked since they had to hide behind the barn to do it and their voices proved it plus they smelled like they’d walked through the fires of Hades and kept the smoke on them.
“We’ll just blend in when the service is over like we got there late and sat on the back pew,” Marty said.
How stupid was that? Everyone would know they weren’t at the service. Of course, they’d also know I’d left in the middle of the sermon but at least I’d been there though part of it. I wished I had the nerve to really fuss at them for being late and hiding out in the bathroom but I couldn’t. Not at a funeral. Not even in the ladies room. It wasn’t the place or the time. I had my hand on the stall lock when I heard my name mentioned. I quietly put the lid down on the toilet and sat down.
“Did Trudy come to this thing?” Betsy asked.
“Of course Trudy is here. God knows she’ll do what’s right. Good old dependable Trudy. She’s never rebelled and never will. She’ll be the good child to her dying day. Only reason I’m here is to hear the will.” Marty said.
“What if Aunt Gert leaves that house to you? What are you going to do with it?” Betsy asked.
“I’ll hire a bulldozer to raze the thing and sell the lot to pay the bill. I wouldn’t go through all that old junk in that house for a one night stand with Brad Pitt.”
Betsy giggled. “If she leaves it to me, I’m callin’ an auction company. They take a healthy cut of the money but they do all the work. I’m going to auction everything off in one day. Then when I get my share, I’m going on a cruise.”
I heard the flicker of a cigarette lighter before Marty commented. Thank goodness there were no windows in the bathroom or lightning would have zig-zagged in and zapped her dead for smoking in the church house.
“That place won’t bring enough for a cruise anywhere unless you want to hire fishing boat on Lake Texoma. But it’ll either be me or you or Trudy. We’re the living heirs, except for Trudy’s mother. And she’s got Alzheimer’s so Gert wouldn’t leave it to her.”
“Poor Trudy. Bless her heart,” Betsy said.
I leaned forward and strained my ears until my head hurt. It would be too awkward to open the door now. There would definitely be a confrontation and I hate that kind of thing. Besides I wanted to know just what I’d done to be poor and blessed.
“It’s sad, isn’t it? But she’s always been that way. Even when we were kids we could convince her of anything. She’s so blind. She’s like an ostrich with her head in the sand and that big bubble butt in the air,” Marty said.
A lump caught in my throat. I swallowed a dozen times before it went down. If they hadn’t been so intent on talking about me they’d have heard the gulps.
Betsy giggled. “Maybe not blind. Just naïve. Hasn’t got a clue as to what really goes on around her. She actually liked Gert.”
“Anyone who liked that salty old witch deserves to be running around in the dark. Let her live in ignorance. They say it is bliss. Besides Trudy always had it all and I’ve been jealous. She deserves to have to get her hands dirty. If she gets the place she’ll work her chubby little rear end off getting it all organized. There won’t be a doily or an ugly knick knack that she doesn’t categorize,” Marty said.
My face burned because that’s exactly what I’d been thinking since I heard she was dead. It might not bring much but it could be given to a good charity.
“That’s Trudy. Her head so far into good deeds she doesn’t see what’s right before her eyes.” Betsy chuckled. “Give me a drag off that. Does God strike people dead for smoking in a church? We’ll have to go out and blend in with the crowd in a minute and it’ll be an hour before we can smoke again.
My skin prickled with hives. Was I that predictable?
“God won’t strike me dead for smoking but Gert would have. Maybe Drew will talk sense to Trudy and make her bull doze the place,” Marty said. “He’s a smart lawyer. Guess Trudy don’t care what she has to put up with for that fancy house and all that money.”
Cigarette smoke drifted under the toilet stall door. I clamped my hand tightly over my mouth to keep from coughing. Talk about a disaster. It would be the beginning of a family war for sure if I got caught now. Aunt Gert would rise up out of that coffin if we got into it in the bathroom while her funeral was going on.
“Do you think she knows about Drew and Crystal or has her head been in the sand so long she’s never coming up for air?” Betsy asked.
“If she doesn’t know, she’s dumb not blind. Everyone knows about Drew,” Marty answered. “How could she not? It’s been goin’ ever since the week after he married her.”
My eyebrows drew down so tight I felt the birthing of a dozen new wrinkles on my forehead. What was it that everyone except poor Trudy, bless her heart knew about Drew?
Marty lowered her voice slightly. “Remember when Trudy did the overnight sleepover in Dallas with Crystal and her little friends on what was it? Her seventh birthday so they could go to the see Disney on ice? Lori Lou came over to my house and borrowed my casserole recipe for hot chicken salad. I caught her coming out of his house the next morning when I delivered the morning paper.”
My stomach did thirty-nine flip-flops before it settled down to plain old nausea. If I got sick they’d hear me and then I’d have to endure a gazillion apologies with excuses about how they should have told me but really thought I knew and was ignoring it to keep my marriage intact. Hearing the words was so much worse than the niggling little suspicions I’d had through the years. My two cousins had turned on the lights and showed me exactly what Drew was and now I had to deal with it.
I wished I had that little twenty-two pistol from my nightstand. When they came to clean the church bathrooms after the funeral dinner there would be my two female cousins, one bullet for each. If only I’d had the good sense to carry a gun in my purse instead of candy bars.
