by T. S. Hill
She stood perfectly still with a blank look on her face. She stared at me, first in one eye and then the other, and then in both. Finally, she lowered her head slightly and dropped her eyes.
“Yes.”, she simply said, “Yes, you seriously have a chance with me.” My pulse picked up and my heart soared. She had brought her hands up between her beautiful breasts, and was looking at her fingers, as she fidgeted with them. Hesitantly, she began to speak again.
“So,” she said in almost a whisper.
“Yes?”, I offered, trying to pry more from her.
“Do I have a chance with you?”, she barely whispered.
“Fuck yes!”, I responded loudly. Then before I could move to embrace her, she turned and started out of the room.
“Fucking cowboy!”, she blurted.
“That’s my Lori!” I whooped. And, without thinking I smacked her ass.
“Ow! Fucking shit!”, she yelled. “Dumb assed, fucking, cowboy!” I laughed and started pulling my boots off to get dressed. Yeah, I was thinking to myself, she was going to be my Lori.
After getting dressed in the room with the saddle rack, I looked the room over, and spied a box of matches on the shelf beside the jar of udder cream. “So that’s how she lit those lanterns.”, I muttered. I took them both with me, and then taking one last look around the room to fix it in my mind, I blew out the lanterns, closed the door behind me, and headed back to the front of the barn. I knew this experience was another that my memory would never lose.
Chapter Seven
Prepping for the Fire Pit
Knowing what your resources are, and what you want to accomplish with them, improves the probability, and heightens the degree, of your success.
By late afternoon, we had packed everything in the truck that we wanted to take with us, save the clothes we had on, and the two Colt’s that I carried in my back waist band. We had even packed several jars of the canned food from the cellar into three crates that we had found in the barn, all the glass jars, of course, separated by old newspapers that we had found in the fourth trunk. The crates had been tied securely into the back of the bed of the truck, up against the cab. Lori had picked us out clothes that she said would let us pass as farmers or ranchers. In these parts, she said, there really wasn’t any difference.
I hadn’t figured out just yet what other farm items were available to put in the bed, that would help camouflage us as ranchers and farmers. I had been thinking that Lori may be better at making that pick than me. But, while Lori was preparing the pot, for the stew she planned to cook that night, I took a look around the farm.
I walked out back of the barn to see what might be available for the fire that Lori would need after dark. Amazingly, there was already a small fire pit there. I hadn’t any idea what it had been used for, but thought that with everything about the farm life that Lori seemed to be familiar with, maybe she would know.
Spotting a wood pile over near the burned down house, I brought several arm loads of the split wood over to the small fire pit. I also noticed some kind of strange vine growing all over a mound out behind the barn, right next to an area laid out in rows with some kind of crude trellis constructed along each row. I made a mental note to ask Lori about those also.
Both of us had drank the water from the home-made shower, and we weren’t dead yet, so I figured that it must me alright to drink. However, when I brought my survival bag from the Mustang into the barn, I had pulled out the aluminum water bottle and filled it at the shower, and tossed in a purification tablet from the survival bag, just in case.
I thought that Lori might be getting thirsty about then, and took the bottle with me to find her in the barn. I found her at the front of the barn pouring different things from the canning jars into the big stew pot we had found in the trunk earlier.
“Can I help?”, I asked.
“Please don’t.”, she quipped back. Then smiling at me she offered, “You know what they say, too many cooks?”
“Actually, I don’t.”, I replied, “but I’ll rely on your expertise.”
“Did you find some stuff to help us with a fire?”, she asked me.
“Actually, yeah.”, I answered, “There’s a small fire pit already out back of the barn, and I brought over some split firewood I found over near the burned house.”
“Probably a fire pit for hog killing time.”, she replied. “I would have no idea, but I will yield to your experience on the matter.”, I proffered.
“Did you find something to haul in the back of the truck to make us look like farmer-ranchers?”, she asked.
“No,”, I answered, “but I did find a large mound of some kind of strange vines, and several rows of trellises laid out in the back of the barn. What do you think that’s all about?”
“I’ll look at your mound of vines when we go out back to cook our stew, she replied, “And, I’ll have to see what’s there on those trellises. “There’s nothing on the trellises.”, I informed her. “Then they could be anything, and they aren’t anything.”, she cryptically answered.
“What the hell is that supposed to... Never mind,”, I said, “You can explain it when we go around back.”
“You didn’t happen to see some salt or any onions on your ramblings, around did you?”, she inquired.
“No.”, I offered, “but I do have some salt in my survival bag.”
“Oh, wonderful!”, she almost cheered, “Would you go get it? This stew can make it without an onion, but without salt, it’s going to die!”
“Well,”, I stated with an air of sophistication, “I wouldn’t want to eat dead stew, I don’t think. So, yes! I’ll fetch it now, ma demoiselle.”
“You can stick that French up your ass, Stan. I don’t have any fucking use for it.”, she said in the coldest tone that I had heard her use yet.
“So much for my entertainment value!”, I sputtered.
“Get the salt!”, she answered.
“Would you like some water?”, I asked, holding up the aluminum bottle.
“Just get the salt, Stan.”, she sighed, taking the water bottle in her hand, “Just get the fucking salt.”
After dropping the salt off to Lori, and making a mental note to never speak French around her again, I went back outside to ramble some more over the grounds. Just on a whim, I headed toward the old burned out house.
Seeing in daylight that the only remains of the house were black ashes and rock underpinning, had a melancholy effect on me. The twin rock chimneys, were like two silent memorial statues, left to guard the forgotten memories. I had no idea who had lived there, what they were like, or even what the house had been like, but for some reason, I felt a mild sadness at them being gone.
As I mused, I strolled around the perimeter of the stone foundation, to what would have been the back of the house. There I noticed a raised plant bed, with a knee-high fence around it. In the bed were lovely plants, many with tiny flowers.
I stepped over the low fence, and began picking a variety, gathering together a bouquet. I don’t know why I started picking the plant stems, but I must have subconsciously been planning to give them to Lori as a peace offering, because, it wasn’t until I had half of a handful, that the idea consciously occurred to me.
I picked the stems with great care, trying to keep them in their pristine state. You would think that I had found precious diamonds growing on those stems, that I planned to present to a princess. Once I had a nice fist full of the blooming stems, I headed back to the barn.
When I entered the barn, Lori was standing next to the work bench, with her arm extended down into the cook pot that we had found. Empty and half empty canning jars were scattered around the bench top. I quickly hid the flowering plants behind my back.
When she looked up, she looked a little embarrassed. “I hope you don’t mind a little Lori seasoning in your stew.”, she remarked, pulling her arm from the pot. Her forearm and hand were covered with the soupy contents of the pot. “I couldn’t find a
spoon or anything to stir this with, so I just used what I’ve got. Me!”, she announced.
I reached for her soupy arm with my free hand and brought her hand to my lips, then placing my mouth over her index finger, I closed my lips over it, and slowly pulled it through my lips. “Mmm.”, I moaned. Then, smacking my lips, I told her, “I think I really like Lori seasoning!” She smiled, and I quickly brought the flowering stems from behind my back, and held them out to her.
“Oh Stan!”, she sounded off, as a smile grew across her mouth, and spread to her eyes, “Where did you find these?” Then before I could answer, she continued, “Look! You’ve got, rosemary, thyme, marjoram, chive tops! Oh, thank you! This is wonderful! You’re wonderful!” Before I could open, my mouth, she leaped at me, throwing her arms around my neck, soup and all, and planted a big kiss on my lips.
Turning back to the work bench she spread the flowering stems out on its surface, picked up a knife and started chopping them. I wasn’t sure exactly what was up with that, but still didn’t say anything. I am sure though, that puzzlement, and a little hurt, were growing on my face. Before I knew it, she had scooped up a handful of the chopped flowering stems and threw them into the stew pot.
“Lorie?”, I hesitantly called her name.
“What is it cowboy?”, she responded.
“You going to cook those flowers in the stew?”, I asked.
“Sure!”, she piped back. “They’ll be just fine.”, she cheerfully assured, as she grabbed another handful of the flowering stems and resumed chopping.
I didn’t know what to think. “I’m sorry,”, I said, “I thought you would like them.” She turned, looking at me, and must have instantly read everything on my face. She dropped the knife on the work bench, and raised both of her hands to cover her mouth and nose.
“Oh Stan!”, she said, sounding shocked, “I am so sorry!” You were giving me flowers, weren’t you? And, you really don’t understand, do you?” She took her hands down from her mouth and grabbed my arm, like I was going somewhere, and then spoke to me, “Stan, the flowers were lovely, and I truly appreciate them. I really do. But there is something that you don’t know.”
Evidently so!”, I snipped back at her.
“Stan,”, she continued. “These flowers are all herbs, and just exactly the herbs that go with a stew like this. They are perfect! But, you brought me flowers, and I love that. I just didn’t understand, and, you didn’t understand, and..”, her voice trailed.
“I don’t cook!”, I blurted testily. “I don’t know anything about that stuff.” I felt embarrassed and sort of stupid.
“Oh Stan, I’m so sorry. I was so involved in cooking, and you brought herbs, and, and...” She seemed stalled for words. But I understood what she was saying, and my face must have conveyed it. She began to talk again, “I’ll tell you what, Stan. Why don’t I do the cooking, and you do the driving? Deal?”
“Deal!”, I quickly answered. “You may have to start picking your own damn flowers though.”, I said, giving her a quick kiss on the lips, as I started moving off toward the truck.
“I hope not, Stan.”, she quickly answered, “because, you really do know how to make a girl feel special.” I froze in my tracks. By the tone of her voice, I wasn’t sure which way she meant that comment. “Stan.”, she called out in a serious tone of voice.
“Yeah?”, I answered, as I turned to look into her eyes. “I’m not being a fucking smart ass. I really mean that.”, she said in a serious tone. Then she smiled. Who could resist that smile? I turned back toward the truck before I answered.
“I know you do.”, I replied. “I meant the flowers too.
“And, I love that.”, she called out.
“Damned if I don’t learn something new about you every day girl.”, I stated flatly.
“Hey cowboy!”, she called out in a sassy tone.
“Yeah.”, I answered looking back at her.
“It’s only been one day.”
“I stand corrected.”, I replied flatly, turning back toward the truck, before she could see the grin growing on my face. I then corrected my previous comment, “Damned if I don’t learn something new about you, every minute.!” I heard her giggling.
If I live to be a million years old, I will never understand women, but I will never stop trying. After wiping stew juice from my neck, I spent the next hour, or so, double checking the truck and everything on it, even the spare tire. That night I would enjoy some serious stew for dinner. Tomorrow, I would have some serious driving to do.
Twilight came to the farm that evening, quicker than we had realized that it would. Lori came to find me still double, and triple, checking the truck over.
“When do you think it will be dark enough to start the fire out back?”, she queried.
“It’s probably dark enough now.”, I replied, closing, then latching one of the side opening panels on the truck hood. “By the time we get the fire going it will be completely dark. This old truck is older than I thought.”, I pointed out, keeping to the subject to which I had been focused, “It’s actually an early forties model, with a way later model engine. Probably early seventies engine.”, I said aloud, as much to confirm to myself, as to inform Lori.
“You mean forties as in nineteen forty?”, she asked, sounding somewhat amazed.
“Exactly.”, I responded.
“Wow! My grand pa was born in the early nineteen forties, and my dad in the early sixties. Gee! This truck is fucking old! And, you want to swap that brand new stang for this poss?”, she asked.
I sighed, and began to explain, “The mustang will catch the attention of the wrong people, who will not be friendly to us. The truck is camouflage, so that we can hide in plain site as farmer-ranchers, until we get to where we’re going. This truck is also in really great mechanical condition.
Someone’s spent a lot of money to make this thing very much capable for the road, and off road. All I’ve had to do was change the battery, put gasoline in it, and then check everything out. No repairs needed. Nada, zip, none!”
“Hmm., she mused. You know what cowboy? You keep doing the driving, and I’ll keep doing the cooking. But first, I need you to come start the fire.”
I admit it. I took the bait on this one, and jumped right into it with, “Doesn’t a county girl, cook, like you, know how to start a fire?”
“Why, of course I do!” she sounded surprised, “But why would I, when I have an outstanding specimen of a man, right here, to start it for me?” I had no answer to that.
“I’ll carry the stew pot out back too.”, I said to her, as she walked right past it. “By the way, what’s a poss?”
“P, O, S,”, she spelled out, “Piece of shit!”
“It’s a classic!”, I shot back.
I’m sure that I heard her mutter under her breath, “It’s a fucking, poss, antique!”
When I caught up to Lori with the heavy ass stew pot, that had enough stew in it to feed a village of Mexicans, she was surveying the large mound covered in vines, that I had mentioned to her earlier. Then, she looked down towards the rows of trellises. “What we’ve got here cowboy, is a really nice hill of sweet potatoes, otherwise known as yams. What we’ve got there,” she said, pointing to the rows of trellises, “is trellises. You’ve got some digging to do!”
“What?”, I exclaimed.
“Oh, don’t get your panties in a wad!”, she quipped back, “I’ll help you some, as I can.”
“What,”, I exclaimed, “the hell are you talking about?”
“I’ve got cooking to do. You’ve got digging to do, if you want that decoy truck loaded with something that will pass us off as farmer-ranchers. This vine covered mound is a sweet potato, AKA yam, bed. A truck bed full of bushel baskets of those will pretty much cover us as farmers. The yams grow on the roots of these vines. They have to be dug up. That’s how you harvest them.”
A few seconds of silence passed between us, until I broke it, “I’ve done some heavy duty d
igging in my time, and I don’t care to say why. But, I don’t mind digging them up. Do I need a shovel?”
“A spade headed shovel, out of the tool room, the pointy on the end kind, not flat, and the harvesting fork. It’s only half the length of the spade shovel, and it‘s a fork. And, we’ll need the wheel barrow. We can transfer the yams into baskets in the barn before loading them into the truck. And, oh, bring the flashlight, or those lanterns from where we were earlier.”
“I’ll bring the flash light.”, I responded, “Those lanterns look like a disaster waiting to happen.”
“They probably are, if we use them in the barn,”, she replied. “But their light’s really romantic.”, she finished in a coy, flirty voice. I made a note, in my little man brain, about the lanterns being romantic.
“Is the tool room that room full of junk?”, I asked, as I trudged back toward the side of the barn.
“That’s it!”, she chirped.
“Oh, and I will remind you,”, I said, in a smarmy voice as I grinned, “I don’t have any on!”
“You don’t have any what on?”, she called after me.
“Panties!”, I shouted back, “Panties to get in a wad.” She laughed louder and more robustly than I had heard her yet. It was a full, unrestrained laugh.
Then she called after me, “That was fucking funny as hell cowboy! But, it wasn’t as sexy as when I said it!”
“Then I guess we’re both winners!”, I called back to her as I turned the corner of the barn, grinning to myself.
On my way down the side of the barn, and back to the front entrance, I had a moment of enlightenment. I realized that even though my life had been challenged, and my freedom was at risk, that I was having the time of my life. I knew in that moment, that I had never felt so alive before. Traveling from New Orleans to Mexico, and back to Amarillo, had been totally nerve wracking.