Love Drunk Cowboy (10 page)

He nodded.

“Fifteen minutes.”

He tossed a kitchen towel toward her. “Then you’ve got time to dry the breakfast dishes and put them away.”

She caught it midair. “And here I thought you’d make someone a perfect wife. Breakfast. Easter eggs and you wash dishes. But then you blew the whole picture by making me dry the dishes.”

“Is that a proposal?”

“Hell, no!”

“Good, because I won’t marry anyone who doesn’t get down on one knee and who doesn’t have a little velvet box with a ring inside,” Rye teased.

Austin set her jaw and kept the blush creeping up her neck from materializing on her cheeks. The man was handsome, funny, and his kisses would knock a holy woman off the wagon. Mercy, if he ever showed up at a sex addict anonymous meeting he’d break up the whole party. Even a seasoned old gal, who’d been celibate for ten years, four months, seventeen days, and six hours would start peeling her shirt up over her head.

The image that produced made her laugh out loud. Her laughter filled the room like a sweet country song in an old honky tonk beer joint. One minute there wasn’t anything but smoke and conversation and then someone put a quarter in the jukebox and Blake Shelton was singing “Austin.”

“What are you thinking about? You’ve got a funny expression,” Austin asked.

“Austin.”

“Yes?”

“No, I was thinking about Blake Shelton’s song, ‘Austin.’ Are you a country music fan?”

She nodded. “I lived in a divided home. Daddy liked country music. So did Granny. Momma liked Coltrane when she listened to music. She’s not much for music. I still listen to the old country stuff more than the new because that’s what was around. Daddy got a big kick out of that song when it came out since my name is Austin.”

“Your laughter reminded me of country music.”

She frowned. “How?”

“It’s a good thing so stop scowling. When you laughed I got a flash of dancing to that song in a honky tonk.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had anyone compare my laughter to that. Momma says I laugh like a truck driver instead of a lady.” She hung the drying cloth on the side of the dish drainer. “You can load all those eggs while I’m dressing.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He saluted sharply and clicked his boot heels together. “What were you laughing about anyway?”

“No wonder Granny liked you. You’re crazy! And I’m not tellin’ you what I was laughing about.”

“Oh?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“No, I am not. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She hurried away before he coerced her into telling him what had been so funny. She took a quick shower, washed her hair and quickly dried it with a blow dryer, ran the straightening iron over it a few times, and dressed in her khaki capris and a bright orange knit shirt.

“Eggs are loaded. Is the Easter bunny ready?” he yelled from the living room.

“One more minute,” she yelled back, but she mumbled, “If he’s really got a pink bunny outfit up there he expects me to wear I swear I’ll find that damned wine making business all on my own.”

She had brought high-heeled shoes and her running shoes from Tulsa. Granny’s feet were a size bigger than hers, so she couldn’t even tap her closet for a pair of sandals. Somehow rubber flip-flops wouldn’t work for a family reunion and her black heels were still a mess from the memorial at the river. So she pulled out the brown leather three-inch multi-strapped sandals and sat down on the edge of the bed.

She couldn’t hide eggs in those things. There’d be quarter inch sized worm holes all over the community building yard if she did. And falling into Rye’s arms yesterday had proved high heels and dirt did not mix. She picked up her running shoes and shoved her feet into them and carried her heels out along with her purse.

He looked up from the table where he was waiting. “Wow! The Easter bunny is beautiful all dolled up!”

She held up the spike heels. “Not in these shoes but I’m changing after we hide the eggs.”

He glanced down at them and imagined her in nothing but those shoes. He shook his head like he was ridding it of a pesky mosquito.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He thought fast and said, “Gemma will try to steal those from you.”

“Thanks for the compliment about being dolled up but I’d fight Saint Peter for these shoes so she’d better be a fast draw or a real fast runner. Are we ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stood up and opened the door for her, wishing she’d worn the shoes in her hand so she’d tumble into his arms again.

His black truck was parked behind her Corvette and she could see dozens and dozens of colored eggs in the bed when she reached the passenger door. He opened it for her and shut it behind her when she was settled into the seat.

“What happens if a bird flies over the eggs on the way?” she asked when he was behind the wheel.

“Granny and I throw away whatever eggs get splattered with bird crap. We always check them and then argue about being wasteful. She says we ought to wipe it off and hide them anyway because the kids would peel them. But my vote goes to putting them in the trash can.”

“Yuk!”

“She didn’t waste anything. My grandma is like that too. Guess the Depression made pack rats out of everyone.”

She was even cute with her nose all snarled up thinking about bird crap on Easter eggs.

“So the Depression is what I’ve got to blame for that house full of junk,” Austin said.

“
Cháchara
!” he said.

“That’s what Felix called it. I haven’t seen them in two days. This is Easter weekend, but they work on regular weekends?”

“Until noon on Saturday. Then they get their laundry done and on the line to dry. Granny bought a secondhand washer and dryer for the trailer but they don’t use the dryer. Felix says it’s a waste of sunshine. Sunday they borrow Granny’s old work truck and go to church, come home, and rest up for the week. They work from daylight to dark and you won’t find any better or harder workers than that crew.”

“You don’t have to sell me on them. Granny’s told me for years that she had the best crew in the state. I gave them the keys to the truck and told them to use it when they wanted.”

“Good idea. I’ve been telling Granny to do that for years.”

“Why didn’t she?”

He shrugged. “She liked to be in control. Just because she was getting older didn’t mean she wasn’t still the boss. They’ll be in and out a lot starting Monday. Felix will give you a daily report every evening if you don’t go to the fields to help. They’ve been plowing. Tomorrow they’ll start planting the watermelon seeds. That’ll take about two weeks. That way the first crop will be ready for harvest, then the next one will be ready in a day or two and right on up the road for three miles.”

“How do you know so much about it?”

“Learned it all from Granny,” he said.

He drove slowly all the way into town, the trip taking ten minutes when it should have taken three or less. He parked behind the white building across from the school and hurried around the truck to open the door for her.

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

“The plastic ones are in the building. Folks put them there before church and leave it unlocked. We’ll grab a sack each and start hiding. Save the real ones until the end so we don’t step on them while we’re working with the plastic.”

The community building was a long white frame structure with two back doors. The one Rye opened and held for her led into a room with a kitchen on the west end and enough tables and chairs to seat close to a hundred people.

The bar closest to the kitchen was laden down with sacks of plastic eggs filled with candy. She followed Rye’s example, picked one up, and headed out the door. “What now?”

“Hide eggs.”

“Where?” She looked around at the flat yard surrounding the building. The grass was about six inches tall but even that wouldn’t provide much cover for brightly colored eggs.

“Anywhere. Over there at the stage is always good. Beside the fence posts. You are a cute little bunny. Hop around and find places. Oh, and remember the little tots hunt over to the east side, the three- to five-year-olds on the west, and the bigger kids in the front.”

By the time she finished the third bag she was already out of hiding places and had begun to put two at a time in clumps of grass. When they started on the real eggs she started putting a real egg in among two plastic ones.

“There’s enough eggs here for the whole state of Texas,” she said.

“The kids will have full baskets,” he laughed.

“How many of these things are there all total?” she asked when they’d lined the last six real eggs up around a tree on the east side of the building.

“We usually have about six or seven hundred,” Rye said and stepped on two plastic eggs. “Well, shit!”

“No, it was eggs. I heard them crunch under your boots. And that’s chocolate on your boots, not shit.”

He wiped the chocolate off on the grass and bent over to pick up the shattered plastic. “If it had been real eggs, it wouldn’t have made this much mess. What are you grinning about?”

“Nothing. Seems to me like you ought to dye an extra dozen for all the ones you ruin. And your boots look like you’ve been wading in the cow lot instead of hiding Easter eggs.”

She took a step and felt two real eggs squish under her feet.

He brought a trash bag over and picked them up. “You were saying?”

“This place is a like a field of enemy land mines. We’ll have to watch every step to get out of it.” She started picking her way around eggs and back to the edge of the lawn.

He followed behind her enjoying the view of her cute little rounded butt and those legs that went all the way from earth to heaven. His mind went into overdrive and pictured those long shapely legs thrown around his body, with his hands cupping that delectable derriere and he had to press his lips hard together to keep another shit-eating grin off his face.

“It’s twelve thirty. Want to stick around and see the kids find them?” he asked when they were finally out of danger of smashing any more eggs.

“What time is dinner served at your folks’ house?”

“Easter is a late breakfast, dinner on the table at two, and eating the rest of the day. We’ll have plenty of time. Granny and I always watched the kids.”

“Then I’d love to see the kids,” she said.

“We’ll put the tailgate down and sit on it. That way we can see them. Look, the first ones are already here.”

A pickup nosed into a slot in front of the community building. Austin wondered if the low pipe fence had started out as a hitching rail. Terral had been an up-and-coming town in its day with hardware stores, a furniture store slash funeral home, a dentist, a doctor, two drugstores, the Ash hotel, at least one lumber company, a cotton gin, and a feed store. Nowadays the only thing that kept a person from missing the whole town was the two big speed bumps to slow down traffic in front of the school.

She looked across the street at four little girls all dressed up in their pink and white lace Easter dresses and cute white sandals. Pretty soon a whole bouquet of girls gathered up together giggling and pointing at the eggs in plain sight. Boys measured their ties against each other’s to see which was the longest and from their gestures they discussed who was going to fill up their baskets first. Rye watched her with amusement, then she turned to him and he smiled. “Granny and I never hide the prize egg in the same age category two years in a row. It was the three and under age group this year. You like kids?”

“Don’t know. Never been around them very much. I’m an only child. Dad was an only child and Mother has two sisters, both as career minded as she is and neither ever married. How about you?”

“Love ’em. I’m the oldest of five and the mutton bustin’ at the rodeos is my favorite part. You ever seen that?”

She shook her head. “What is it?”

“The little cowboys riding sheep like the big boys ride the bulls. They wrap a rope around one hand, put the other in the air, and try to stay on for six seconds. It’s a real hoot.”

“I think I like those prissy little girls better,” she said.

“Spikes instead of spurs. That’s what Gemma says all time. She says when she has kids she’s having a dozen girls to dress up all pretty. I always remind her that she only wears heels part of the time and that she can put on boots and ride a bull as good as I can.”

A lady dressed in a bright red pantsuit and a fellow in cowboy boots, jeans, and a white shirt set about roping off the three areas with brightly colored crepe paper streamers. When they finished the lady rang a bell on the porch to get everyone’s attention.

The man who’d helped her picked up the cowbell and held it over his head. “Okay, kiddos. On your mark. Get set. Everybody ready?”

Everyone yelled and held up their baskets.

He rang the bell loudly and yelled, “Go!”

It looked like a swarm of bees in a bed of clover as the children took off in a run, gathering eggs into their various colored baskets until they were overflowing.

“Granny got the biggest kick out of watching them. She called them greedy little varmints but she’d laugh and clap her hands. She especially liked the little ones,” Rye said.

A pang of jealousy shot through Austin. Rye had experienced so much more with her grandmother than she had and she had no one to blame but herself.

He touched her arm. “You look sad. This is supposed to be fun.”

His touch sizzled on her skin like cold rain on the top of a sheet metal roof on a hot afternoon. Damn and double damn! How could her world be turned inside out so much in just two days?

“It really is fun. I was thinking about Granny.”

He hopped down off the tailgate and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her so close that she could hear his steady heartbeat. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. She loved you, Austin. Talked about you all the time.”

She fit perfectly into his arms. Short women made him bend so far that it gave him a backache. The few tall ones he’d dated intimidated him. But Austin was just the right height and just the right amount of soft curves and sweet scents and he wished the moment could last forever. He would love to two-step all over a dance floor with her or just stand there and hold her until the sun set that evening. He took a step back before he kissed her right there on the Main Street of Terral and made an utter fool of himself in front of a whole crowd of curious folks.