by Laura Drake
Chapter Eight
Allie hummed as she made her way to the kitchen that Friday morning. She was sure she and Deke could finish the roofing that day. Rays of sun poured into the foyer through the window in the door and the aroma of fresh coffee floated from the kitchen. The humming stopped when she saw Lizzy sitting at the table. Their kitchen wasn’t as big as the one over at the Lucky Penny, but their dining room could match it for size. Most of their meals they took in the kitchen unless they had company and then Katy set the table in the dining room.
Allie liked the kitchen better with its bright yellow walls and white woodwork. It brought cheer into the house on the darkest mornings. But the dining room, with its paneled walls and heavy curtains, told a different story. It said to sit up straight and be nice, there was company in the house.
“It’s your morning to make breakfast,” Lizzy said coldly. “I made coffee, but I’m not helping cook, not if you won’t go with me and Mitch and Grady to dinner tonight.”
Allie filled her father’s favorite mug and sipped it, hoping that holding his old cup would give her the strength for yet another fight with her sister.
“Aren’t you going to say a word? You know I’m right. That bad boy next door isn’t for you, isn’t interested in you other than maybe a quick romp in the sheets, so wake up and smell the bacon,” Lizzy said.
“What makes him a bad boy?” Allie asked.
“Sharlene and Mary Jo have been over there already and he’s been flirting with them. I heard he even called Dora June sweetheart and she’s sour as rotten lemons. If she smiled more than twice in a year, she’d probably drop dead. Sharlene says that she intends to bed and wed him by the end of the year and you know how wild that girl is. Only a bad boy would take her eye,” Lizzy answered.
“What I do or do not do with the cowboy next door is my business. I’m old enough to take care of myself.” Allie sipped the steaming-hot coffee. “Besides, who died and made you God?”
“Don’t blaspheme!” Lizzy raised her voice.
Irene shuffled into the room with Katy right behind her. “Don’t yell in the house.”
“Mama, talk some sense to your oldest daughter.” Lizzy rolled her eyes.
“God is a hell of a lot farther away than the ceiling, so you might as well not be lookin’ up there expecting him to leave important work to settle your fight.” Irene went to the cabinet, poured a cup of coffee, and took it to the table. “Is Allie cooking this morning? If she is, I want pancakes.”
Allie began to gather the ingredients from the refrigerator and pantry. “I’m tired of this fight, Mama. And yes, Granny, we are having pancakes if that’s what you want.”
“We need to get this settled,” Lizzy said.
“Sounds to me like it is settled,” Irene said. “Lizzy, you need to stop your whining and carryin’ on like a two-year-old. Allie don’t like that rascal Grady and neither do I. He’s got wandering eyes and probably hands that match.”
“Granny, he’s a youth minister!” Lizzy protested.
“That don’t mean shit, girl. There have been men since the beginnin’ of time that wasn’t worth a damn and Grady is one of them. His ancestors probably spent a lot of time in this very house back when Audrey was doin’ what she could to keep soul and body together,” Irene declared with a frown. “And you can wipe that grin off your face, Allie. Ain’t no good ever come from the Lucky Penny so you need to be careful, too.”
Lizzy exhaled so loudly it bordered on a snort. “I thought you’d want her to be involved with a decent man rather than someone who’ll just run off and break her heart again.”
Irene scratched her temple. “If you two want to fight, then take two butcher knives to the backyard but remember, the one who comes back in the house had better have the strength to dig a six-foot hole because I’m not helping you. And remember, too, that the ground is cold and harder than a mother-in-law’s heart.”
Lizzy pushed her chair back. “I’m going to the store. I don’t want pancakes.”
Irene grabbed Lizzy’s arm. “You are not going anywhere. You are going to sit down and behave yourself and when Allie has breakfast ready, you are going to ask the blessing on it this morning. God needs to soften up your spirit or you’ll never make a preacher’s wife.” Irene blew on her coffee and then sipped it loudly. “And it wouldn’t hurt you to learn how to make decent pancakes. Allie’s are light and fluffy. Yours are like shoe leather. If your marriage depends on your pancakes, Mitch will throw your ass out in the cold within a week.”
Lizzy threw up both palms defensively. “Hey, why is this pick-on-Lizzy Friday? I don’t think Mitch is going to leave me because my pancakes aren’t perfect.”
Allie pulled a cast iron skillet down from the hooks in the utility room and set it on the stove to heat while she mixed up the batter. “I remember when you used to make pancakes for us girls at breakfast. And in the hot summer you let us pretend the big tub upstairs was our swimming pool and you let us take our Barbie dolls swimming.”
Irene’s thin mouth broke into a lovely smile. “Remember when you played beauty shop and cut all their hair off, Allie?”
Lizzy raised a hand. “I do. I hated her for weeks for making my dolls look like boys.”
“Boys?” The light went out of Irene’s eyes as suddenly as if someone had flipped a switch. “I hear there’s a new boy over at the Lucky Penny.”
Allie crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her grandmother. Maybe a hug would bring her back for a little while. “Yes, there is, Granny. His name is Blake Dawson. You’ve met him.”
Irene shook her head. “His name is Walter, not Blake. That’s not a first name. It’s a last name.”
“Let’s talk about my wedding. I think you’d look lovely in a dark purple dress since the bridesmaids are all wearing orchid,” Lizzy said.
Katy wore her robe and slippers to the kitchen that morning. She poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the head of the table. “I think you’d look lovely in a dark purple dress, Mama.”
“I thought you picked out pink for your wedding. When did you change your mind to purple? I’ve already bought my dress. Now what are we going to do? Besides you know I hate purple. Always have,” Irene said.
Katy patted her mother’s shoulder. “Lizzy is mixed up. Of course she’s using pink for her wedding.”
“Good. I’m going to the bathroom to wash my hands. Will my pancakes be ready when I get back?”
“Yes, Granny,” Allie answered.
“It was good to have her for a few minutes.” Katy sighed.
Allie stacked three pancakes on the side of a plate and added as many sausage patties on the other side. “Mama, I’ve figured out the triggers that send her backward in time so fast these past few days. It’s when we talk about Lizzy’s wedding and the Lucky Penny. She keeps thinking about this Walter guy who lived there when you were planning your wedding and getting times all jumbled up in her mind.”
“Makes sense,” Lizzy said. “You shouldn’t mention the Lucky Penny in front of her and you shouldn’t take that job. Which is more important? Having the money from the job, which you don’t even need, or having Granny lucid for a little bit each day?”
“Then you shouldn’t get married to Mitch. Which is more important to you? Marrying a man who’s going to expect you to be this little submissive wife who bows to his every command, or having Granny lucid?” Allie shot right back at her.
“I’m marryin’ Mitch whether you like him or not.” Lizzy tilted her head like she used to do when they were kids and she knew she was wrong but all the angels in heaven couldn’t get her to admit it.
One of Allie’s worst fears was realized in that moment. Lizzy was arguing too hard for Mitch. She had always been levelheaded when it came to business and relationships, seeing opportunities in business, knowing when a relationship was headed in the wrong direction. Her sister was marrying that snake-in-the-grass because she wanted to be married and any man would d
o—even a self-righteous prick who would make her life miserable in the end.
“And I’m going to work at the ranch next door,” Allie said. “So I guess Granny is going to have lots of bad days.”
Allie was on Blake’s mind that Friday evening as dusk settled on the Lucky Penny. He was in one of the spare bedrooms gazing at more unopened boxes, when someone rapped hard on the front door. Hoping that Toby had decided to surprise him by showing up that weekend, he turned around so fast that he had to catch himself on the wall to keep from falling over Shooter.
Shooter raced him to the door but he wagged his tail when Blake threw it open to find Deke.
“Come right in. What’s going on?”
Deke was dressed in creased jeans and a pearl snap plaid shirt, and his boots were shined. “Let’s slip up over the county line and go have some barbecue.” He winked.
“There’s food in the house. We don’t have to go out and buy more.”
Deke chuckled. “Frankie’s is way back in the woods and it’s more than barbecue, but in order to get a drink, which is illegal as hell right there, you have to buy some food.”
“A bar! Hot damn! How far is it from here?”
“Maybe nine miles. Got to warn you, it’s not a country bar. How fast can you be ready?”
“Give me ten minutes. Does it serve beer?” Blake was already on the move toward his bedroom at the end of the hallway.
“Yes, they serve beer but you’ll want to try Frankie’s special brew and have some barbecue before you start lookin’ at the ladies.” The crunch of tires on the gravel outside brought Shooter’s hackles back up for the second time. “Go on. I’ll get the door. It’s most likely Herman asking how early he can be here tomorrow morning. He was up around Archer City all day cuttin’ wood or he would have been around sooner. He’s real interested in getting all the mesquite he can to sell at his wood yard.”
“He could have called. I put my number on the flyer.” Blake’s excitement level jacked up from the bottom of the barrel to cloud level in the time it took him to find a decent pair of jeans, dust off his boots, and change shirts.
Blake was on his way to the living room when Deke opened the door and said, “Come on in here out of the cold. Blake and I are about to take a ride. Want to go with us?”
“No thanks,” Allie answered. “I came to do some measuring for supplies if that’s okay,” she said. “I can do it tomorrow though if y’all are going out.”
“You’re running away from family.” Deke chuckled.
“Maybe…But I do need to measure the rooms to get an idea of how much drywall to buy.”
“You might as well go with us if you are running from family.” Blake grinned.
“And maybe Grady and Lizzy will get the message if they figure out you’d rather be with us as with them.” Deke chuckled.
“I didn’t come over here to crash y’all’s party,” she said.
He’d always seen her in cargo pants and paint-splattered knit shirts, but tonight she wore skinny jeans, cowboy boots, and a knit top that stretched over her breasts and cinched in a tiny waist above well-rounded hips. Her hair, usually worn in two dark braids with a stocking hat stuffed down over them or a ponytail, hung to her shoulders in soft waves.
“I’m not taking no for an answer. You can measure tomorrow morning. We’re going for a ride. Besides you’re dressed up. Be a shame to waste all that beauty.” Deke placed his hands on her shoulders and ushered her out onto the porch. “I’ll drive, Blake, since I know the way.”
In minutes Allie found herself wedged between two big cowboys in the front seat of Deke’s truck, heading north out of town. The sun was dropping quickly behind the gently rolling hills and the moon had already made its appearance. Stars would be popping out soon, but right then that lazy part of the evening called dusk had settled in and she didn’t care where they were going as long as it took her away from Grady.
Deke turned the radio on to the country music station but she couldn’t concentrate on the songs that played one after the other. Not with Blake sitting so close that she could practically feel his pulse and especially not when they hit a bump in the road and it sent her sliding even closer to him.
She righted herself and listened to Lizzy’s voice in her head lecturing her about how foolish she was to even go for a ride with those two bad boys. She pushed the voice away about the time they passed from Throckmorton County over into Baylor County, and her eyes widened, grew dry when she couldn’t blink, and then she gasped.
“My God, Deke, are you headed for Frankie’s?”
“I am.” He grinned. “How do you know about Frankie’s?”
“Everyone knows about it, but…” she stammered.
Deke patted her knee. “But no decent folks go there, right? Matter of fact, if Frankie don’t know you pretty good, then you don’t get anything but barbecue. He’ll tell you that the beer and the liquor is for his personal use and isn’t for sale. Don’t worry, darlin’. Frankie knows me and if I vouch for you two, he won’t toss you out on your asses.”
“What is this place, anyway?” Blake asked.
“Private barbecue club, but I have a membership since Frankie buys his beef from me. Don’t know who he gets the pork from but they’ve probably got a membership card, too.”
“Have you ever been there?” Blake asked Allie.
“Hell, no!”
Deke made a left turn and then a right before the road ended in a rutted trail that led another quarter of a mile through thick mesquite and scrub oak. Finally, he parked in front of a weathered old two-story house with dim lights showing through the downstairs window. “Well, y’all are going tonight. We’re going to have some of the best ribs in the world and then we’re going to have a few drinks and maybe dance to the jukebox.”
“Sounds like a bar to me,” Blake said. “But it doesn’t look like a bar.”
“It’s not a bar because half of it is in Throckmorton County and that’s a dry county. The other half of the house is in Baylor County, which is semi-dry. They can sell beer in some parts of it but no liquor by the drink. Truth is the living room is in Throckmorton County. Don’t worry. Nobody messes with Frankie, not even the police. Come on. Let’s go have some fun,” Deke said.
Allie could sit in the truck all evening or she could crawl out and go into a place even more notorious than Audrey’s Place. Frankie’s had been the evil place that teenagers were afraid to say the name out loud for fear the wind would carry it back to their parents and they’d be put into solitary confinement until they were twenty-one years old.
Deke walked onto the porch with confidence, slung open the door, and held it for them to enter before him. “Hey, Frankie, these are my friends, Allie and Blake.”
Allie had always pictured Frankie as someone as big as a refrigerator with a scowl on his face and a shotgun in his hand. She was surprised when a little guy who barely came up to Deke’s shoulder nodded at her. His baby face was round and he wore little round wire-rimmed glasses. There were no wrinkles in his face and his size made it hard to guess his age. She squirmed beneath his dark eyes when they scanned her and Blake.
“Any friend of Deke’s is a friend of Frankie’s but the first three times you come through that door, he has to be with you. Understood?”
Allie nodded.
Blake stuck out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Frankie. I hear you’ve got some of the best barbecue in the state.”
“No, sir,” Frankie smiled as he pumped Blake’s hand a few times and then dropped it. “And I am Frankie, not Mr. Frankie. Mr. Frankie was my grandpa and my daddy was Little Frankie. I’m just Frankie. And son, my barbecue ain’t some of the best. It is the very best. Now what can I get y’all?”
“Ribs,” Deke said. “We’ll all have ribs and French fries tonight and maybe a double shot each of your famous brew. After that we’d better settle with beer since none of us wants to be a designated driver.”
Frankie leaned across the
bar and said seriously, “You get wasted, I don’t take your keys, you remember that. You get lost gettin’ out of here, the coyotes can eat you for breakfast.”
Allie’s eyes adjusted to the dim light and she scanned the room. The bar ran the length of the side where Frankie could watch the front door. A dozen chairs surrounded a couple of mismatched tables pushed up on the other side. It was small for a bar and barbecue combination but large for a living room. She could smell a delicious aroma of smoked beef and pork somewhere at the back of the house.
Everything was spotless clean. She could see the reflection of the bottles of liquor in the top of the bar. The hardwood floor looked as if it had been freshly waxed and there wasn’t a spot of dust anywhere. She’d always expected something a hell of a lot seedier when she thought of Frankie’s, but then she’d painted a very different picture of the owner, too.
She propped a hip on a bar stool in between Blake and Deke. “Not what I expected.”
“Me, either, first time I came here. I thought Frankie would be ten feet tall and bulletproof. I expect he’s still bulletproof even if he isn’t that tall. The place will come to life in about thirty minutes. That’ll give us time to eat and then we can party. I’m taking home a woman tonight. How about you, Blake?”
“How?” Allie asked. “Y’all going to throw them in the back of the truck?”
“I’m just here for some beer and maybe a little dancing, not to take someone home,” Blake answered.
“Why?” Allie asked.
“Lord, you sound like a newspaper reporter.” Deke laughed.
Frankie carried three red plastic baskets to the bar, filled to the brim with ribs and steaming hot fries, and lined them up. “Y’all’s the first customers tonight. Now what weight do you want that special brew, Deke?”
“Peach pie.” Deke smiled.
“You got it.” Frankie chuckled.
“Frankie has several famous brews, but I want you to taste his peach pie first. He manages to make moonshine taste like fresh peach pie right out of the oven. But don’t let it fool you. It’s got a hell of a lot more kick than pie,” Deke explained.