I heard the meeting got sort of exciting after that. Least that’s what the newspaper said.
School let out and I took a few days off to take Brodie camping and fishing. This time we loaded the truck and drove along the bank till we got to a place we liked. We set up camp, and tied a few trot lines along the bank. We set around the fire, sipping RC Colas and eating MoonPies. Every hour, we’d check the lines. On Friday night, we caught so many catfish, neither of us ever went to sleep. When the sun broke the skyline, we had filled a cooler full of fish.
Brodie was buttering a biscuit next to the campfire at breakfast when he said, “Dad?”
I was cleaning fish. “Yeah.”
“I saw Miss Sam yesterday.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded, and spoke with a mouthful of biscuit. “She asked about you.”
“What’d she say?”
“She just wanted to know how you were doing, what you were up to. Just little stuff.”
“Oh.” I let that set a few moments. “Anything else?”
He sucked through his teeth, buttering another biscuit. “Not that I can remember.” He swallowed. “Oh, she did say something like she wondered why you were so stubborn that you never came back and asked her to marry you.”
I looked at him.
He wasn’t looking at me, but he was smiling, eyeing his biscuit.
“She really said that?”
“No, no she didn’t. I made that up. But, I’ve been wondering it just the same.”
I wiped my hands and sat down on the log next to him. “Really?”
He looked at me. “Yes, sir. I’ve been wondering why you don’t marry Miss Sam.”
“Well, I thought you—”
He shook his head.
“I mean—”
He shook his head again.
“You don’t—?”
He put his arm around my shoulder. “Dad, you’re pretty good at being a Ranger, but you’re kind of dumb when it comes to girls.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Yep. Now Miss Georgia said that if you had any balls at all—”
“When did you talk to Miss Georgia about this?”
“Oh, we’ve talked about it several times.”
“You have?”
“Yep. And she said if you had any, you’d quit being so damn stubborn and marry that girl.”
“When did you get old enough to cuss?”
He smiled. “About thirty seconds ago.”
I pulled his hat down over his eyes and pushed him off the log. He started laughing.
“So, you’re okay with… me and Miss Sam.”
He pushed his hat back on his head. “Yes, sir.”
“That would kind of make Hope your little sister.”
He nodded. “Yep. Got that, too.”
“When did you get so smart?”
“Dad, I watched you drive into a burning building to save a man that meant a lot to you. You been doing that your whole life. For everyone. Me, included. I don’t know what Mom’s problem is but it’s her problem. Not yours. I love Mom, but I think she is selfish and I think you are not. You should be happy. And Miss Sam does that. Matter of fact, I like her a lot. I reckon that’s all we need to say.”
I put my arm around his shoulder. “You’re going to make one helluva lawman.”
He nodded. “What makes you say that?”
“You see black and white. Very few shades of gray.”
“Dad, I see what is, and maybe sometimes, what shouldn’t be, and what should.”
“Come on, let’s get all this cleaned up. I can’t go into Georgia’s salon smelling like this.”
“Wait, I got something for you.” He ran to the truck and came back holding a brown bag. “For you.”
I opened it. Inside I found a black, hand-braided, horse-tail hat band. He said, “Dumps helped me. We measured your hat when you weren’t looking. Thought you’d like it.”
“Son, I can’t. You should—”
“We made two.”
I slid it on my hat, smiling. I didn’t know what to say. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“I think Mr. B would be real proud.”
“Me, too.”
We packed up, drove home, and while he put what we caught into freezer bags, I showered and tried to get the smell of fish off my hands. I shaved, rubbed on that aftershave Georgia gave me. It was too hot to wear a jacket but I slung one over my shoulder just in case.
Brodie gave me two thumbs-up and Dumps smiled, showing the absence of his front teeth. That meant he liked the looks of things. I stepped out of the house looking like the Ranger that I was. Polished boots, ironed jeans, Milt Sparks belt, Milt Sparks holster, and a Les Baer 1911. A starched oxford, Resistol hat with the best-looking hat band in Texas, and a shiny star pinned across my heart.
I drove to town. My mind lost in what to say. When I looked down I was going ninety-seven miles an hour. When I looked up, I saw two flashing blue lights behind me. I pulled over, stepped out, and bumped into my friend the highway patrolman I’d last seen at the prison riot. He stepped out of the patrol car with his hand pressed to the back strap of his Glock. The sun was behind me so he was looking into it. He squinted and began hollering. “Step back and put your hands on the car.”
I did as instructed, which exposed both my badge and 1911. He started stuttering and stammering and apologizing as soon as I took off my sunglasses. I had about six inches on him so he had to look up to see me. “Oh, sorry, sir. Didn’t know it was you. The new truck threw me.”
“I ’magine I was going a little fast.”
“Where you headed?”
“A date, I think.”
“You think?”
“Well, I reckon I’ll find out when I get there.”
He nodded. “I hope it turns out the way you want it. Can I do anything for you?”
“No, thanks. I’ll slow it down.”
“Yes, sir.”
He started walking off. “Son?”
“Sir?”
“You ever thought about a career with the Rangers?”
He nodded and smiled. “Most every day of my life.” He stepped into his car, honked, sped around me. I sat staring through the windshield thinking to myself: That was me, twenty years ago.
I drove to town observing the speed limit and pulled up to Georgia’s. There was a big Ford diesel parked in front so I slid in behind. I licked my thumb, brushed my eyebrows back, and put on my coat ’cause I thought it would cover up my pits, which were sweating something fierce.
I climbed the steps, took off my sunglasses, and walked inside.
Georgia, standing over her chair holding a pair of shears, said, “What the hell you want?” The word “hell” sounded more like “hale” and she added two more syllables.
I swallowed. Sam was being helped into her jacket by Shawn Johnson—the owner of the local Ford dealership and the truck parked outside. He nodded at me. “Howdy, Ty.”
“Shawn.”
He shook my hand. “Glad to see you up and around.”
“Thank you.”
“Everyone’s real proud of what you done.”
I nodded.
Georgia raised both eyebrows and leaned on the chair. “And?”
I looked at Sam. “I was hoping to—”
“Well, she can’t talk to you ’cause she’s going on a date.”
I looked at Shawn, then Sam. “Oh.”
I stepped aside. Shawn opened the door and I tipped my hat as Sam walked out into the sunshine. The door shut and I stood chewing on my lip. I heard laughter behind me. I turned around and Georgia was doubled at the waist. She shook her head. “Cowboy, you’ve got the romantic inclinations of a piece of burnt toast.” She laughed. “But, I hear they’re wanting to make you an elder down at the Baptist church. Want to put you on the pastoral search committee.” I nodded and watched the Ford drive off. Then I shook my head and drove home.
When I pulled i
n the drive, alone, Brodie asked, “What happened?”
I told him.
He laughed. So did Dumps.
I didn’t think it was very funny.
I was starting to get angry, so I saddled Cinch and told Brodie and Dumps they could find me at the river. I loaded my saddlebags with ammo, climbed up, hooked one leg around the saddle horn, gave him loose reins, and Cinch walked me to the river.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
The sun hung low and blood red. The earth lay hot and dusty. Come dark, I had the beginnings of a pretty good pity party going. I had cussed everybody that had ever given me advice on love or romance and every stupid thought I’d ever had about the subject. I’d sworn off women, love, even diet sodas ’cause they tended toward the feminine. I built a bonfire and threw wood on top of it until it was too hot to stand within twenty feet. I set up a target on the far bank and, in an hour, put nearly five hundred rounds through my Les Baer. When I finished, the slide was too hot to touch and my feet were mounded in spent brass casings and empty magazines. Empty, and dripping with sweat, I holstered, walked out into the water and sat down. Clothes, boots, hat, and everything. The 1911 made a hissing, steaming sound as the water contacted the hot steel.
It’d been a long time since I was that mad. And the more I thought about it, the madder I got. Somewhere in there I started voicing my opinion on Ford dealerships and the men that owned them and how glad I was that I remained loyal to Mopar. If I’d have been a drinking man, I’d have been too drunk to stand up by now.
I think I was splashing at the water, cussing my hope-filled notions, when I heard footsteps behind me. I was not in the mood for company. “Not now. Not in the mood. Go on and eat without me. I’ll be along directly.”
The footsteps kept coming. The fire on the bank was roaring and was probably registering on satellites in space. I turned around. The fire lit her face with an orange glow and her eyes sparkled like red candles. She passed through the amaryllis blooms, parting them with her arms, and waded in. She’d pulled her hair up and was lifting her skirt above the water.
When she got to me, she spun me, straddled me, threw her arms around my neck, and kissed me. We stayed there a long time.
When she finally quit kissing me, and I finally quit kissing her, she rested her arms across my shoulders, then slapped me square across the jaw.
“What’d you do that for!”
“That’s for making me wait weeks on you and having to go out with all those idiot guys just to make you jealous enough to come get me.”
“That’s not why I came back. I mean, I am jealous, but I didn’t come back ’cause I never wanted you to feel like second fiddle.”
She kissed me again. This time better. “Tyler Steele, you ever do that again and I’ll shoot you myself.”
“But I didn’t think—”
“Well, you thought all wrong.” She shook her head. “All wrong. I been sitting in that apartment, eating Twinkies, waiting for you to walk back into my life. Then I got so sick of them I quit eating altogether ’cause every time I did, it just came right back up.” I thought she looked skinnier but I wasn’t about to say anything. “Then you walk in there today, looking like… like everything good in this world, right when I’m walking out the door with Bozo the Clown and his stupid, hooked-up truck.”
I nodded and smiled. “I do like my Dodge better.”
She slapped me again, this time gentler. “Hush. I’m not finished.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So, we go to dinner and I finally look at him and say, ‘Shawn, you got to take me home.’ So he did. Then me and Hope sat there, waiting on you. But, AGAIN, you never came. So, I drove down here at a hundred miles an hour, scaring Lord knows what out of my little girl, and then I’ve got to walk down here through all the prickly pears and thorns, and into this river to interrupt your pity party ’cause you’re too wrapped up in your own stuff to think of me. Now my underwear’s wet, giving me a wedgie, and you know how I hate wet underwear.”
“Wow.”
She pressed her palms to my cheeks. Drawing me closer. “You understand me?”
I nodded.
She slapped me a third time. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Yes.” I held my hand up blocking my face. “You slap me again and I’m going to dunk your head under this water.”
She kissed my cheek.
I slid off my badge and laid it in her hand.
Tears, or river water, were dripping down her face. I’m not sure, but what’s the difference? “Cowboy…” She held my badge in her hand. “For years I’ve been afraid to give myself, I mean really give all of me, to any man ’cause the only man I ever really cared about left me standing at the altar. Dashing all my dreams. My hopes. You don’t have to change.” She hung my badge on my shirt, running the needle through the small sewn hole. “Don’t be somebody different. Somebody else. You be you.” She rested her forehead on mine. “You rescued me when I thought nobody would. When I thought I wasn’t worth the effort. You gave everything and asked for nothing.” She pressed her face to mine. “If this is life on the other side of the rescue, then I want to live it. With you. But—” She shook her head. “But if you give you to me, then”—she placed her palm flat across my chest—“come heavy.”
The river wrapped around me. She was trembling. Her legs were shaking. She needed an answer. I scratched my head. Shook it. “You can’t live in West Texas without a horse. You do that very long and people’ll think you’re weird.”
She laughed. Wiped her nose on my sleeve. “Then you can buy me a horse.”
I took her face in my hands, brushing away the tears with my thumbs. Our laughter echoed downriver. I said, “Might ought to get Hope one, too.”
She pursed her lips. “Might. Probably should.”
I shook my head. “This could turn out to be an expensive proposition.”
She kissed me. “Yep. Probably will. And it only gets more expensive with time.”
“How so?”
“Little girls grow up. They fall in love.” She touched my nose with the tip of hers. “Somebody gives them away.”
I’d never thought of that. The smile spread across my face. “I’d like that.”
She tapped me on the shoulder. “But don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Samantha?”
“Yes.”
“Like it or not, life is a battle. We wake up in this smoldering hellhole every day, searching scorched earth for—” I held her hand in mine. “What I’m trying to say, and not doing a very good job, is… will you ride the river with me?”
She cried and laughed at the same time. It was a release of emotion she’d been holding a long time. Maybe most her adult life. She nodded and chose her words. She placed her hand on my chest. “Thunder.” Then placed mine on hers. “And rain.”
I set my hat on her head, stood, lifting her out of the water, and carried her back across the river. She climbed up on Cinch. I stood there, staring. Firelight danced across her face. I climbed up, put my arms around her, and we eased toward the house. It was a good picture. One I wanted to remember. I closed my eyes and let it burn itself onto the back of my eyelids. Moonlight cast our shadow across a cowless pasture. A breeze rolled across us. Texas rolled out beneath us. Blue skies in the distance. The smell of rain in the air.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Dear God,
I been thinking and I think you do a pretty good job with all you got going on. I mean, I don’t know how you keep it all straight. There’s a lot going on down here. If nobody’s told you today, you’re doing a good job. There were times when I didn’t think so. Billy Simmons. Mr. B. Cowboy getting all shot up. And I still don’t know why that stuff happens, but even after all that, well, the papers said Billy Simmons is in prison for three lifetimes, which—by the way—doesn’t really make sense. How do you serve the second after you’re dead following the first. Why don’t they send him to prison fo
r the rest of this life? Anyway, Mr. B’s mound is covered in grass and next year Brodie said it’ll be covered in bluebonnets. And, as for Cowboy, well, just look out there.
Momma and Cowboy are riding back from the river on Cinch. She’s sitting up in front of him. Sideways. His arms are wrapped around her. She’s soaking wet. He is, too. They’re laughing. She’s wearing his hat. Looks like Momma found a home for her heart. You can read it on her face. It’s like all the pieces finally fit together. Do you think maybe this time things could work out? Momma really deserves to be happy, and Cowboy, too.
I know I’m young, and that I don’t know all that adults know but I know this—there were times when I looked around and all I saw was bad. Bad stuff. Bad people. Then, for reasons I can’t figure, something happens and Wham! It all turns around. The bad is gone and the good is come.
I know you’re probably tired of all my yapping. My teachers tell me I can talk a lot sometimes. There was a time when nobody wanted to hear me and all they kept saying was “shush.” So, I did. Then when I got quiet, they told me I should talk, open up, express myself, so I did. I opened my mouth and started to make the words again. Now, they’re telling me to “shush.” Control my tongue. They need to figure out what they want. Talk or not talk? Make up your mind.
Anyway, I’m going now. Cowboy just took Momma out on the porch and handed her a sock and Lord only knows why. Now she’s crying. He’s kneeling. I wonder if his leg hurts? Now she’s kneeling, too, and she’s hugging him. That must be some sock.
I got to go. Momma’s calling.
Oh, and God? Keep up the good work. Some of us are paying attention and we appreciate it.
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