by Dixie Cash
Edwina jammed her fists against her hips. “Well, I’ll be go-to-hell. If I’d told her to pay us in chicken-fried steak, you’d be the first in line for that, wouldn’t you?”
“Only if there’s lots of peppered country gravy, Ed. Lots of peppered country gravy. And only if there’s enough to share with Buddy.”
QUINT GLANCED AT his watch again. He was an hour behind schedule. A long-winded auctioneer at the Abilene cattle auction had kept him cornered too long. He had intended to leave the auction early enough to get to Salt Lick and sit down with Debbie Sue before meeting his date. Now he was out of time. He plucked the cell phone from the dash and keyed in her beauty shop’s number.
A voice answered on the first ring. “Domestic Equalizers. Don’t get even, get evidence.”
That twangier-than-usual Texas twang would belong to Debbie Sue’s zany friend and partner, Edwina. He identified himself.
“Why, as I live and breathe,” Edwina drawled. “Quint Matthews. The last time I saw you, sugar, you were squiring a redheaded piece of arm candy around Las Vegas.”
The skinny brunette cackled louder than a flock of guinea hens and Quint had to hold the phone away from his ear.
Shit. He would never live it down, especially with people like Edwina, who was as full of bull as any woman he had ever met. “Is Debbie Sue around?”
“Sure, sweet lips. Just hang on. To the phone, that is.” She guffawed again.
While Quint waited for Debbie Sue to come on the line, his mind spun backward to two years ago and the reason for Edwina’s raucous laughter. He had made Debbie Sue an offer she shouldn’t have been able to refuse, but she had turned him down and gone back to her ex-husband. On the rebound, Quint had involved himself in a very public affair with a gorgeous redhead named Janine Grubbs. The spotlight’s glare generated by a rodeo cowboy dating a Las Vegas beauty was blinding.
The glorious publicity distracted him from the fact that she kept putting him off when it came to sex. At the time he had given that part of their relationship little thought because for him, finding sex had never been difficult. But good press and photo ops were rare as duck lips. In his mind, the front-page exposure made up for missed opportunities for fornication.
Thinking of the experience, he cringed. Janine had not been a sweet, cream-filled bonbon. Instead, he/she/it turned out to be a sugar-free, artificially flavored surprise, complete with nuts. In the testosterone-steeped world of rodeo competition, an affair with a transsexual was more disastrous than having a bad case of diarrhea when you had drawn a rank bull.
“Quint, is that you?”
Debbie Sue came on the line at last. “It’s me, darlin’. I’m running late.”
THE DARK BLUE sedan followed Quint’s red pickup as they breezed past the Salt Lick city-limits sign that rose bravely from its arid surroundings. Oh, no! Quint was turning into the Styling Station’s parking lot. If the two hairdressers who worked there came outside, remaining undetected would be impossible. Those women probably knew every car and truck in Salt Lick. They just might take notice of an unfamiliar one. Attempting to look nonchalant by reading a map or a newspaper or talking on a cell phone would stand out like a rain cloud in the West Texas sky. Even amateur detectives would recognize the ruse.
“Just stay out of sight,” the sedan driver mumbled. “Don’t talk to anyone and wait for the right moment.”
REACHING SALT LICK, Quint began to think of his blind date for the evening, Allison Barker. A question formed in his mind. Was someone he had met on the Internet really a blind date?
From the very first e-mails they had exchanged, he’d had doubts about their compatibility. Though sweet and demure might be desirable attributes for preachers’ wives and schoolteachers, such traits didn’t excite Quint Matthews. But she had seemed to be in such awe of him, his ego had overtaken his good sense, as it often did, he privately acknowledged, and he had arranged to meet her. After what he had been through, he reasoned, hero worship might be just what he needed.
She had a twelve-year-old daughter. Children weren’t high on Quint’s list of requisites. He had to consider, though, that having a kid proved she had the right female parts, an asset of which he was acutely aware these days. Not that they’d had a conversation about anatomy. She had been unwilling even to discuss sex and that intrigued him. Perhaps she was just inexperienced. If that were the case, it was a deficiency he was able and eager to remedy.
For a reason he couldn’t name and for the first time in a long time, he felt happy and relaxed. All week he’d had a feeling something good was on the horizon. In fact, just today, before leaving Abilene, he felt so upbeat he had dared to stop at Luskey’s Western Wear and had given the Luskey’s employees and customers a chance to see a three-time world-champion rodeo star up close and personal.
What his fans would never know was that turning into Luskey’s parking lot had taken the guts he used to call on back when he straddled two thousand pounds of pissed-off bull in the rodeo arena. Why? Because the last time he had been in Luskey’s, on the life-size cardboard cutout of him that usually stood tall in the boot department, someone had painted eye shadow on his eyelids and lipstick on his lips. They had even drawn earrings on his earlobes.
Today, to his relief, the vandalized cutout was gone, replaced by a newer one in pristine condition. He had even signed a few autographs for the folks milling around the store. Yes, sir, it was starting to feel good again to be Quint Matthews.
ALLISON SLIPPED HER arms into yet another blouse. “How’s this one?”
Jill shook her head. “No, Mom. With that dumb collar, you look like a nun.”
Allison thought the navy long straight skirt and white long-sleeved blouse fit her well. She thought all the other outfits had looked fine, too, but Jill had vetoed every one of them. Now she didn’t know if she was dressing to impress or repel. This whole evening had taken on a surreal feeling, as if she were auditioning for a reality TV show.
“I’m going to go see what Grandma has in her closet,” the twelve-year-old said.
“Oh no you don’t. I’m not going out in my mother’s clothes…Besides, they won’t fit. I’m four inches taller than Mom and my boobs are bigger and…well, I’ve tried most of them on already. They’re too small.”
“But her clothes are cool. I’ll bet I can find something.”
“No, I’m wearing this. I’m tired of trying on. This skirt and blouse are fine. There are worse things than looking like a nun.”
Jill groaned. “Then can I help with your hair? Add a little gel? Fix it like Edwina does when you go see her?”
Allison’s hair was her best attribute, a thick swath of lustrous auburn. Kept trimmed to chin length by Edwina at the Styling Station, it required little additional help. Running a brush through it was mostly all Allison ever did. But Edwina could improve any hairdo and did so when Allison went to see her. “Okay, I’ll let you do that and I’ll even wear those dangly gold earrings you gave me for Mother’s Day.”
“Those are perfect. Oh, Mom, you’re going to be so beautiful. Even if you are dressed like a nun.”
JUST AS QUINT feared, the Styling Station was dark and the Closed sign hung behind the glass in the front door. He was glad he hadn’t scheduled a time. Debbie Sue would have waited for him and showing up late would have meant a tongue-lashing. He had never known a woman who could dish it out like Debbie Sue. That had always been part of her appeal. She took no b.s. from him.
After driving another block, he slowed as he approached the dress shop of the woman with whom he had been communicating for the past month. Almost the Rage. Catchy name for a dress shop. Funny, but in all of his trips to Salt Lick, he had never noticed the shop. Not that he had been looking for women’s clothing, but he had a keen eye, and in a town of less than two thousand, seeing all of Main Street didn’t take many trips.
The front of Almost the Rage looked as if it had been freshly painted. Pale yellow. A dark blue-and-yellow striped awning
shaded the two large display windows on each side of the entrance. The clothing, displayed without mannequins, looked stylish. Being a clothes horse, Quint considered himself an excellent judge.
But the most important thing was that the business really existed and was really located there on the main street of town, just as Allison had told him. So far, so good.
He gave a quick glance at his sideview mirror and noticed the dark blue Neon again. He had spotted it earlier on the highway and it had stayed with him all the way from Abilene. Was he being tailed? Shit. Not again. He tapped his brake and slowed, watching in the side mirror for the Neon driver’s reaction.
The sedan slowed, too, turned left onto a residential street, then disappeared in a cloud of caliche dust. Relieved, Quint chuckled at himself. He didn’t want to become one of those paranoid losers who saw someone lurking in every shadow, but what the press had put him through gave him justification. For months after the Janine Grubbs fiasco, the ever-prying reporters had hounded him, as if there were no other celebrities to fill the pages of their sleazy tabloids.
The bastards were worse than vultures landing on roadkill, tearing meat from the carcass and fighting over the bones. They had dug up information he had long forgotten. One had even been able to solicit a “no comment” from his ex-wife, Christine, who had once been Miss Rodeo America. It was the first time he had known her to keep her mouth shut when asked for an opinion. That uncharacteristic behavior had fueled wagging tongues and even more tell-all articles.
Glancing again at the address he had written on a piece of notepaper, Quint made a quick turn, drove two blocks, and parked in front of the first house on the left. It was just as she had described. Nothing fancy. Low-slung, redbrick, well-kept lawn, and two carved jack-o’-lanterns on the front porch.
He had considered picking up a bouquet of fall flowers as he passed through Midland but decided against it. No point in going overboard. This might turn out to be one of those meetings he would just as soon forget. Besides, showing up with flowers would be overkill. He was Quint Matthews. He always made a good first impression.
four
The driver of the dark blue sedan drove onto a deserted side street, pulled to a stop, and released a great breath. God, that was a close call!
The sudden appearance of Quint’s brake lights and his hard glare reflected in his truck’s side mirror had sent a chill of terror up the sedan driver’s spine. It wasn’t clear which body part was about to give way—tear glands or bladder and bowels.
But the sedan driver couldn’t give up. Too much was at stake. Be calm. All you have to do is be at the right place at the right time and catch the egotistical hero when he falls.
Maybe a different vehicle would be a good idea. If only an Enterprise car rental existed in Salt Lick. The pathetic Dodge Neon could be exchanged for a car of another make and color, as well as one that had more than four cylinders. Compared with Quint’s big diesel, a four-cylinder automobile was a roller skate.
But a car rental business in Salt Lick was wishful thinking to the extreme. Salt Lick was such a small backward place and it was full of hicks. Most of the residents probably didn’t even know how to drive anything but a truck.
Hmm, the sedan driver thought. Before continuing, maybe a trip to Midland or Odessa was called for. Perhaps renting a truck and blending into the surroundings made more sense.
THE SOUND OF the doorbell sent Allison’s blood pressure skyward. Good Lord, he had actually shown up. She had a sudden urge to pee. “Jill, do not open that door until I get back.”
“But, Mom, he’ll leave.”
“If he leaves, he leaves. Do not open that door.”
From the bathroom, she heard Jill shout, “My mom’ll be right out. She had to take a leak.”
Well, that bit of news must have eliminated the possibility of ever meeting this stranger. He had surely bolted. Besides that, even the neighbors must have heard Jill’s yell. Allison closed her eyes and shook her head.
As she entered the living room, through the opaque glass in the front door, she saw a silhouette of a figure wearing a cowboy hat. So he hadn’t left. A mix of relief and dread coursed through her. “Best to just get this over with,” she mumbled.
She opened the door and got her first look at “Desperado.”
He was holding one of the jack-o’-lanterns she and Jill had carved, peering into it. He quickly clapped the top back onto the pumpkin, set it back on the porch, and brushed his hands together. With a huge smile, he swept the hat from his head and held it in front of himself. “Ma’am,” he said.
His self-assurance spanned the distance between them. He looked even more familiar in person than he did in the black-and-white printout from Jill’s computer. But Allison’s mind was whirling and she couldn’t collect her thoughts enough to decide why.
He had a square jaw, sky-blue eyes, and Brad Pitt hair that looked mussed and sexy, even after wearing a hat. “Uh, how do you do,” she managed, and stuck out her right hand.
“You must be Allison,” he said in a rich deep voice with a thick Texas drawl.
Good grief! This stranger, this person on whom she had never laid eyes, knew her name. The reality of what her daughter had done washed over her. What else had Jill told him besides her name? “Allison? I mean, uh…yes, Allison. That’s me. You must be…”
Good Lord, she didn’t know his name.
He laughed, an easy confident chuckle. Charisma. He had buckets of it. In spite of her anxiety, she couldn’t keep from grinning like a loon.
“We never did get around to my name, did we? Quint. My name’s Quint. May I come in?”
She felt like Scarlett O’Hara. What Southern belle, living or dead, had ever been able to resist cowboy charm? What the heck, she decided. She didn’t want to make a snap judgment, but she just might owe her daughter an apology. “Oh, forgive me, Clint. I’m so sorry. Of course, come in, please.” She stood back to allow him entrance.
“It’s Quint, ma’am,” he said, stepping through the doorway. “Not Clint. My name is Quint.”
So much for meeting him and talking to him out on the front porch. Now she worried over how her house must look. She hadn’t had the time or inclination to care earlier. It hadn’t once occurred to her she might want to carry this thing further, but the temptation was now almost irresistible.
He wasn’t a big man, she noticed as he passed in front of her. Only a few inches taller than her five feet eight, but it was hard to tell his exact height when he was wearing a huge hat and…
Her eyes traveled to his feet and full-quill ostrich boots. Oh, yes, cowboy boots. If she knew cowboys, even if he couldn’t buy groceries, he had probably spent several hundred dollars on his boots.
“Oh, Quint. I’m so sorry. I misunderstood. Um, is that short for something?”
Looking closer, she could see he was dressed in the latest Western garb—stiffly starched Wranglers that hugged his muscular-looking legs like gloves, a tan leather jacket that showed off broad shoulders. It partially covered a green-and-tan plaid shirt. His belt buckle was silver with gold inlay. The pale gray hat in his hand appeared to be beaver, no doubt the 100X grade. Her knowledge of fashion told her it had cost more than a monthly house payment. She had no way of knowing if he had money in the bank, but she could see he had made a sizable deposit in his clothing.
“Yes, ma’am. Quinton. Quinton William Matthews. Quint Matthews. That’s me, Quint Matthews.”
Allison arched her brow as she closed the door behind him. He didn’t seem nervous or ill at ease, so why had he felt the need to mention his name over and over? “Uh, please have a seat. May I offer you something to drink? Iced tea, water? Perhaps a cup of coffee?” She had nothing else in the house.
“Coffee would be just fine, ma’am, if you’ve got it made. Evenings are getting a little cooler. Something warm would be welcome.”
Blinking and staring and trying to remember the last time a man had addressed her as “ma’am,”
Allison nodded, then excused herself.
In the kitchen, she found Jill already adding scoops of dark coffee to the Mr. Coffee. The twelve-year-old began to talk in a rush. “He’s cute, isn’t he, Mom? I think he’s real cute. Do you like him? Are you gonna go out? Aren’t you glad I did this now? Did you see what he’s driving? I love his jacket. I’ll bet it’s real leather.”
“Whoa. Keep your voice down. He’s cute, okay? I told you I’d talk to him. I’m not promising anything. Not anything.”
Punching the coffeemaker’s on switch, Jill babbled on, unaffected by her mother’s skepticism. “You could have a country wedding on his ranch. I could be in it. A bridesmaid. And I could wear a long dress. And high heels. And I could wear makeup. Can daughters be bridesmaids?”
Allison stopped reaching for cups and grasped her daughter’s shoulders, forcing her to turn toward her. “Honey. Looks and clothes aren’t everything. You need to know someone’s heart before you give him yours.”
“Well, you have to admit he’s better than that last guy you went out with.”
Allison made a mental sigh. Jill referred to Vernon Hobson, Salt Lick’s only accountant. When Allison had gone out with him, he was newly divorced.
The only good thing that could be said about Vernon was he wasn’t a twin. It hadn’t been so bad that he had taken her to dinner at Hogg’s Drive-in. After all, Hogg’s was a little like a museum and just being there was entertaining. Barr Hogg, the own er, claimed Elvis had eaten there once. The place was filled with Elvis memorabilia and the jukebox played only Elvis’s recordings.
Besides, what choices were there in Salt Lick? Kay’s Koffee Kup had closed, which left the Sunrise Donut & Sushi Bar that an Asian couple from California had just opened. Allison hadn’t yet acquired a taste for sushi and somehow the combination of doughnuts and raw fish seemed unnerving.