Cowboys and Cabernet

“You don’t want me at your place, do you, Jodie?” she asked sadly. “You been there for months, livin’ on your own, an’ you never let me step inside. I call that real mean.”

“A person is entitled to their privacy,” Jodie said with her usual air of impenetrable calm. “I don’t let anybody into my place, Mama. Except Tyler,” she added with a small faraway smile. “Anytime Tyler likes, he can come into my place.”

“Tyler McKinney has never once set foot in that shack of yours,” Marg said, her voice rising. “An’ you know it, Jodie.”

“He’ll come,” Jodie said dreamily. “When his son is born, he’ll come and bring me flowers.”

“More likely he’ll bring you a summons for tellin’ lies about him.” Marg hesitated, gazing unhappily at her daughter’s pale withdrawn face, searching for words to bring the girl back to reality. But the bus was pulling in, its dusty sides glinting in the fading afternoon light, and there was no more time.

Reluctantly Marg climbed on board, handed her ticket to the driver and found a seat by the window where she could see Jodie. But the girl didn’t even linger for a parting wave, just turned and headed briskly up the street without a backward glance.

Marg settled back against the soiled upholstery with a troubled sigh and closed her eyes, hoping to snatch a few minutes of welcome sleep before she got home.

JODIE HEARD the rumbling growl behind her as the bus pulled out and lurched around the corner, heading for Lampasas. She felt a surge of relief, though her pretty face remained impassive. It was getting increasingly awkward when her mother visited, with all her stupid questions and warnings.

Her mother didn’t know anything. How could Marg Hiltz give advice about Jodie’s life? Only Jodie knew.

And Tyler…

Jodie’s pale eyes glistened and she began to quicken her steps, ducking through a gap in the ragged hedge and running around behind the drugstore. In the vacant lot at the rear of the store was an old building, originally a stable, then a garage and storage area. Recently, hoping to attract an employee who would stay a while, the drugstore owner had converted this ramshackle building to a small self-contained living area with an old couch that doubled as a bed, a sink, toilet and hot plate, and an old bar fridge beneath the makeshift counter.

With a glow of proprietary pride, Jodie took the key from her big colorful handbag and let herself inside the old building, then switched on the naked light bulb that hung from the ceiling.

She glanced around with satisfaction at the small shuttered space where she lived. The single room was very neat, and attempts had been made to brighten the rough interior with plastic flowers, a couple of travel posters on one wall, a few stuffed animals on the lumpy ancient couch.

There was one window opposite the bright posters, heavily muffled with cheap drapes, and the other two walls were covered with pictures and newspaper clippings featuring Tyler McKinney. Most of the pictures were Polaroid snapshots, like the one that Jodie now took from her purse and tacked carefully on the peeling mildewed wall.

The photographs showed Tyler in a variety of candid poses, getting in and out of vehicles, striding along the street, sitting at the cattle auction, riding his horse on the ranch, even whirling through the steps of a square dance. It was obvious in all the pictures that he hadn’t realized he was being photographed, though the images showed a degree of rudimentary skill in the matters of framing, timing and composition.

But the success of the pictures was clearly accidental; it was obvious Jodie wasn’t concerned with technical issues. She stepped back and gazed at the new picture with cold narrowed eyes, then, removing it from the wall, she went to a drawer, took out a pair of scissors and cut away the image of the slim woman in the white suit who stood next to Tyler on the street.

With quick savage strokes Jodie slashed the woman’s face and body to ribbons and tossed the scraps of paper in the wastebasket. Then she moved slowly back across the room and replaced the photograph, her pale eyes dreamy with love, touching Tyler’s face in the pictures and reading the yellowed newspaper clippings.

Some of the clippings were originals, cut from recent issues of the local paper and describing the comings and goings of the McKinney family, their prizes at the stock show, the awards won by their quarter horses, J.T.’s recent wedding.

Others were older, photocopied from past issues of newspapers at the library, going all the way back to Tyler’s days as a high school athlete and his brilliant college career.

Jodie’s special favorite was a clipping that dated from about the same time Tyler McKinney had first held her in his arms, three years ago at a community square dance. They’d been doing a circle dance called Sadie Hawkins, where all the men danced in a ring looking out and the women circled them in the opposite direction, facing the men. When the music stopped, you grabbed the man directly in front of you and he was your partner for the next dance.

Fifteen-year-old Jodie had found herself opposite tall handsome Tyler McKinney, and he had come laughing into her arms and swept her across the floor as light as thistledown.

Jodie could still remember the dreamy joy of that night, the marvelous feeling of being in Tyler’s strong arms and drifting through the steps of the dance like a princess.

“Your daddy’s just the most wonderful man,” Jodie whispered to the small bulge of her abdomen, caressing it gently. “Just the most wonderful.” As if he could understand her words, the baby stirred and moved beneath her fingers. Jodie smiled, suddenly radiant with happiness.

She’d first felt this quickening only a week ago. It had come exactly when her mother said it would, just about halfway through the fifth month when the worst of the morning sickness was finally over. Now the baby moved every day, reminding Jodie of the sweet precious burden she carried and how Tyler would want her to take care of their child.

Still smiling, she went to the tiny fridge, took out a carton of milk and poured herself a glass. Jodie sank onto the old couch and drank the cold liquid with deep childlike gulps while Tyler’s handsome face smiled warm approval at her from the crowded walls.

AT ABOUT the same time that Ruth Holden and Tyler McKinney were enjoying coffee and doughnuts at the Longhorn, jealously watched by Jodie Hiltz, another coffee break was under way in the big kitchen of the Double C ranch house.

“Gawd,” Lettie Mae Reese sighed, sinking heavily into a chair and smiling across the table at Virginia Parks. “What a day.”

Virginia nodded agreement, then gazed into the distance with a worried frown. “Lettie Mae, did somebody think to clear all those paint cans and newspapers out of the front closet? I forgot to check if—”

“They’re gone,” the cook said comfortably, stirring cream into her coffee with weary satisfaction. “Just relax, girl. We got it all done as best we could, and not a minute too soon, I’d say.”

“You impertinent child,” Virginia said comfortably. “Almost ten years younger than I am, and you’re still calling me ‘girl.’ Show some respect.”

Lettie Mae grinned and shoved a plate of sliced fruitcake across the table toward the housekeeper. “Seven years younger,” she said. “And I’ll call you anything I like, missy. Especially when you got paint smudges on your nose.”

Virginia gave her friend a rueful grin and rubbed at her small shapely nose. She was an attractive woman of sixty, pleasantly plump, with vivid blue eyes in a sweet gentle face and shining gray hair that she wore in a casual pageboy.

With her fair prettiness, Virginia presented a sharp contrast to thin energetic Lettie Mae. The ranch cook was an arresting woman with a lean alert face, rich brown skin and graying black hair that sprang from her head with the same kind of electric vitality that characterized everything she did.

“Lordy,” the cook muttered, munching on a piece of cake and taking a thirsty gulp of coffee, “I never saw such a hullabaloo in all my days. What was J.T. thinking of, inviting the girl to visit in the middle of all this mess? Miss C.’s just having fits.”

Virginia gave the other woman a brief grin. “Not too long ago you’d have been loving the idea of giving her fits, Lettie Mae.”

Lettie Mae’s vivid face clouded slightly. “I know,” she confessed. “I was awful to her. We all were, Ginny. Funny how things change, isn’t it? When the lady first came, I’d have enjoyed seeing her all worried and flustered like this. Now it just seems to tear at my heart a little bit.”

Virginia nodded and looked wistfully at the rich sliced cake. “I know I shouldn’t,” she said, her face puckered with guilt, “but…”

“But you always do, so stop being silly,” Lettie Mae said cheerfully. “You worked hard today, hauling all those wallpaper rolls around and keeping the tray filled up.”

“The dining room looks nice, though, doesn’t it?” Virginia said. “I really didn’t like that paper at all when Miss C. first showed it to us, but I have to admit it’s perfect with the new furniture.”

“She’s one classy lady, that one,” Lettie Mae said. “She knows what she wants, and she’s got a real good feel for things like that. This old house is going to be a sight for sore eyes when she gets done.”

Virginia’s pretty face clouded and she sipped moodily at her black coffee. “But it won’t even be the same house, Lettie Mae. It’ll be so different in a month or so that Miss Pauline wouldn’t recognize it if she came back.”

“Ginny, Miss Pauline is never coming back,” Lettie Mae said gently. “And life is moving on, and we should move on with it.”

Virginia was silent, munching on her cake.

Lettie Mae stared out the window, her dark face suddenly moody. “But I surely do hate all this ruckus,” she said abruptly. “It’s real bad for Miss C. right now.”