The Hard-To-Tame Texan

Indignant, he reminded her, “I let you go in to San Antone twice a year to shop.”

“You go along and shake your head over anything I put on!”

“That’s how well you make a rag look when it’s on your body. I’ll not have you wearing rags.”

She was patient. “If they look good on me, then they’re not rags.”

And he said, “Oh,” as if he’d learned something.

“Why are you clutching my breasts? Do you think you’re going to fall off the stool? You had it made so that you wouldn’t.”

“I’m being helpful.” He breathed on the back of her neck and his hands cupped her breasts closely. “It’s nice you have two. One for each hand. No quarreling of hands. Each is content.”

She sighed with some drama. “You’re groping me again.”

That shocked him for her lack of understanding. “No, no, no! I’m keeping them from jiggling!”

“How kind.” Then she told her husband, “I can’t think of anything else to do with him.” She didn’t even have to say the name of Andrew Parsons.

So her husband solved everything. “Let’s take him back out on the tableland and just dump him. We could shoot a horse to put on top of him.”

“Not any of our horses.”

He accused, “You’re picky.”

She moved her mouth around as if she was searching out food caught in her teeth, then she sighed impatiently, “He’s human.”

“No! Really?”

And they were then silent. He relished her body and neck. She went on winding up every damned little curl.

She mentioned, “Your parents will be here in about three more days.”

Her husband chuckled in his throat.

“Why do you laugh?”

“How young they are. My daddy’s just barely twenty years older. My momma is only twenty-one years older than you. They really hurried. I was born exactly nine months after they were married!”

“—and your daddy was in Europe, fighting in that awful war.”

“Yeah. He didn’t think he’d get back.”

“I’m glad he did.”

“Me, too.” Then he looked at her in the mirror, and they smiled at each other. But he told her, “I have only one eye.”

She was patient He did that all the time. She told him, “Move your head over to your right. You will see that you have two eyes.”

He did that and exclaimed in lousy surprise, “Glory be!”

He continued sitting astraddle her hips, and he gently moved his evening beard on her shoulder giving her erotic goose bumps. But he was very diligently holding her breasts to keep them from wiggling.

When she finally finished winding her hair and had captured all of the curls on her head, he asked, “Ready?”

“For what?”

“Me.”

“Don’t joggle my hair.”

He chided, “I never have! The hair on your head isn’t one of your sexual lures.”

“I’ll take out the pins.”

“Naw. I’d never notice.”

“You just like my body.”

“I like you, your body, your essence, the way you laugh, and that sneaky little smile when you want me.”

She was indignant. “I have never wanted you. I’m just a used sex slave.”

“Wow.” He laughed. “How come you clutch me and writhe and move around and gasp.”

“Endurance.” But she licked her smile with a naughty tongue and her eyes were wicked.

So two days later JoAnn Murray drove up to the Keepers’ door with two suitcases, which she judiciously left in her car. She was redheaded. That meant that she was independent. Redheads always are.

Redheaded people had to endure a lot of discussion about the color of body hair, and teasing. That sort of thing solidifies their character. They’re unique and they live as they damn well choose.

After greeting Mrs. Keeper, JoAnn said, “Mother ruthlessly sent me here to cope with your obvious problem and get rid of him. I am skilled in getting rid of males. Mother loves you. This will clear her books with your kindness in helping her. She underlined that. You are to agree with her clean record now, before I do anything about this leech you’ve acquired.”

Mrs. Keeper replied, “Well, hello, JoAnn. How is your dear mother?”

“Dramatically relieved you’ve asked me to do this and not asked her. She says she’s too old to deal with young men anymore. She only watches them in the Soaps.”

“Your mother is dear to me.”

JoAnn was tolerant. She advised in a mature manner, “We all have our moments. Tell me about this male burden who made you send out an S.O.S. for the first time since mama’s known you in college. She is so curious.”

As the two women of different ages talked, they entered the house and went into a side room downstairs. There, they were served tea as Mrs. Keeper had directed the kitchen crew before JoAnn’s arrival.

JoAnn sipped some, then more and closed her eyes as she tilted her head and smiled. “Ahhh. It’s perfect... as usual.”

Mrs. Keeper didn’t make tea. She slept with Mr. Keeper and that was about all she did. Of course, the crew was her choosing.

If someone had made lousy tea, Mrs. Keeper would have isolated them with their cook until the newcomer knew exactly how to make tea. No one was ever fired. They were turned over to the head cook, or the head butler or the head gardener, and on occasion to her and was instructed more widely.