by Dixie Cash
“Baloney was the only sandwich stuff I had in the fridge. You never did get around to eating dinner at the joint last night.”
Quint peeled the remains of the sandwich from his cheek and tossed it to the salivating animal.
Tag guffawed. “Matthews, you’re just the picture of class and good breeding.”
“I am, ain’t I?” Quint sat up and looked around. He felt a serious need for a shower. “What happened to Allison? Did she get to eat supper? Did I pay for it? She’s not here, is she?”
“The meal’s no problem. We took her home last night. Then I drove you back here. She said to tell you she had a good time.”
Quint had wanted to make a good impression on Allison. Judging from his rumpled, slept-in clothing, someone other than himself driving her home, and now, waking up on an unfamiliar couch, he felt sure he had made one hell of a bad one. “She’s a nice gal. Guess I better give her a call.”
The aroma of brewing coffee wafted from the kitchen. “I hope that’s fresh coffee I smell. If I’m gonna eat crow this early in the morning, I need something to wash it down.” Quint got to his feet but failed to gain his balance and fell back on the leather couch’s soft cushions.
“Just sit tight. I’ll get it,” Tag said.
As he walked to the kitchen Tag was troubled by what Quint had said about giving Allison a call. Not that Quint shouldn’t apologize for getting drunk, leaving the woman he had brought with him stranded, and, in general, acting like an ass, but Allison Barker was the only woman who had aroused an interest in Tag in a long time. In fact, she interested him enough for him to remember her last name. He didn’t like the idea of a cock hound like Quint having further contact with her.
Jake had followed him into the kitchen, so he opened the back door and put the dog outside to amuse himself chasing chickens from the backyard.
As Tag reached into the cabinet for a mug his mind took him back to last night and how he had enjoyed Quint’s date’s company. It had been a long time since he’d had that feeling of connecting with a woman. Allison was so down-to-earth, he could have talked to her all night. She looked into his eyes when he spoke, actually listening and holding on to his every word. She had a way of crinkling her nose when she laughed and she did that often. Laughter was so important. Too weird that she lived in Salt Lick. That close all this time, yet ushered into his life by an old friend. Unfortunately, as the date of an old friend.
He poured a mug of coffee for Quint, refilled his own mug, and reentered the family room. Quint was still sitting on the couch holding his head in his hands.
“You really like this woman, do you? What I mean is, she sounds like more than just a little poontang you picked up.” Tag didn’t mind speaking frankly. Quint’s reputation with the ladies was what it was and they both knew it. He handed Quint the mug of coffee.
“Yeah, I like her. She’s got some ambition and spunk. I like that.” Quint blew on the coffee and sipped. “But she’s got this kid. Twelve years old, I think. That, I’m not crazy about, but I guess it wouldn’t be so bad. Twelve’s more than half-grown. She’ll soon be out of the house and on her own.”
Tag remembered how Allison’s face had brightened when she talked about her daughter. The kid was clearly the center of her universe and he felt an annoyance at Quint for not appreciating this. He only wished he had seen his ex-wife just once with that expression on her face when it came to talk about kids. He had always assumed all women had strong maternal instincts, but his ex-wife had taught him different.
As he looked out the window at Jake playing in the big grassy backyard, for the first time in a long time he envisioned kids playing in it, too—a little boy and a little girl running and romping with Jake, their mom nearby watching and laughing.
With Allison nearby watching and laughing.
He blinked away the image. Whoa, hoss. You haven’t known this woman twenty-four hours and you got her giving birth to your kids.
And don’t forget, you’ve given up women.
This attraction to Allison was nothing more than a little old-fashioned lust. It had been too long since he had given in to the lust.
And at the end of the day, wasn’t the lust all he had ever pursued? Was he any better than Quint?
Though the question and its answer made him feel guilty, he readily acknowledged that anything more than a little physical gratification could prove disastrous to him. His phobia against commitment had formed a shell that protected his heart. In the past, when he’d had these harebrained attractions, an old cowboy adage had always seen him through: There never was a bull that couldn’t be rode, never a cowboy that couldn’t be throwed…
…And, he had added, there never was a commitment to a woman that you didn’t regret.
He had best not forget that. His braver friend Quint Matthews could drift into that murky water that was filled with undercurrents and alligators, but Tag Freeman would stay in safety on the bank, holding a life preserver.
AS ALLISON SIPPED her orange juice she reveled in the Sunday-morning solitude. She had the house to herself. Her mom was out of town on a trip with Frank. Still at her friend Susan Kay’s house, Jill wouldn’t be home until noon. She always went to Sunday school with Susan Kay’s family.
The idea of that gave Allison a pang of guilt. She should be taking Jill to Sunday school herself, but, she rationalized, she needed a few moments at some point during the week to get reacquainted with herself. With Almost the Rage open six days a week, Sundays were her only downtime, a day when she could simply shower and wash her hair without styling it, put on an old pair of jeans, and go without makeup. Sometimes she even cooked something great on Sundays.
She placed her glass in the dishwasher and headed for the shower. As she shampooed her hair her thoughts drifted to the extraordinary events of yesterday afternoon and night. Her mother would be ecstatic that she had gone out on a Saturday night with one eligible man and returned home with two. If Jill knew, she would already be plotting her next move and Susan Kay would be helping her.
Would Quint call today? she wondered as she dried her hair. His behavior last night had been off-putting, but in his defense, every time he came close to finishing a drink, someone bought him another one, compliments of a herd of admiring fans.
Despite his drinking, she’d enjoyed herself. She couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, she had been deluged with male attention. And the endless stream of stories from him and his friend Tag had made the lack of luster in her life more apparent than ever. She hadn’t failed to note that any amusing anecdotes from her were centered on something Jill had done or said.
Tag was such an attractive man in a rugged way. Cowboy through and through, but he seemed good-natured and he had been such a gentleman. In fact, he had been so attentive she felt he was interested in her. Was the interest genuine or was he just being polite to his old friend’s date? Probably the latter. He was good at PR. She had learned that much from watching him with his customers.
As wicked as she felt for wishing it, Tag was the man she wanted to hear from. But she might as well forget such a pie-in-the-sky notion. She had watched and listened as Quint teased him throughout the evening about his fear of commitment and his determination to stay single. Tag offered no defense, no examples to prove Quint wrong. He had only laughed and agreed.
It was just as well he had that attitude, she thought ruefully as she pulled on old jeans. A man like him would never find dull Allison Barker appealing. Good grief, he rubbed shoulders with celebrities, had probably dated some, probably knew dozens of people with exciting lives. He was sure to have a bevy of females to choose from. He was simply out of Allison Barker’s league.
Now, if only she could get him out of her head.
AFTER QUINT SHOWERED and shaved, he hauled his duffel from his truck and put on clean clothes, trying to return himself to the land of the living. Mornings like this made him wonder why he didn’t give up alcohol altogether.
Tag
treated him to a breakfast of sausage and cream gravy, freshly baked biscuits, and cantaloupe. Tag Freeman would make somebody a good wife. They spent the afternoon alternately napping and watching the PBR competition from Mesquite on TV and analyzing each bull’s performance. He and Tag were partners in one of the PBR’s current superstars, a big white Brahma they had bred and raised on Quint’s ranch. Quint felt guilty. He should be in Mesquite with his bulls instead of roaming the West Texas highways chasing a whirlwind.
“I like ol’ Double Trouble’s performances more every time I see him,” he told Tag. “He looks a little like Bodacious, don’t he?”
Tag agreed.
“He’s one hell of an athlete,” Quint added. “Riding him’s a real challenge for those young guys. Every time I drew a bull that spins like he does, I knew I had my work cut out for me.”
“And I believe the older he gets, the better he’ll be,” Tag said. “We should start collecting his semen. He’s got qualities worth passing on.”
As evening neared, Quint gave in to Tag’s goading to get up and do something. He found the nerve to crack a can of beer and walked out on the large wooden porch that wrapped around the house. There he found his host checking the heat in a stainless-steel grill that looked bigger and better than a lot of entire kitchens. Two plate-sized T-bones lay on a platter nearby.
Quint looked over Tag’s backyard, mentally comparing it with his own home in Seguin. For shade trees, Tag had only a few puny mesquites, stunted from lack of moisture. In reality, West Texas was a high desert. South Texas, where Quint lived, was semitropical, with low elevation and a lot of moisture. On his ranch, trees grew and the plants and pastures were lush and green. When it came to heat and humidity, hell had nothing on the summers, but the surroundings were pretty to look at.
Still, even if Quint found the Midland landscape lacking, he had to admit he liked the weather. This fall evening was as perfect as you could get. Not too warm, not to cool. Just enough breeze to notice the touch on your skin.
“You look like you’re feeling better,” Tag said. “I told you you’d heal up faster if you moved around.”
“I’m all right. I don’t drink like I used to. It doesn’t take much to get me shit-faced. And it takes me longer to get over it.”
What he didn’t say was that lately he had been taking a long, hard look at his frequent copious consumption of alcohol and made a decision to go in another direction. He had no intention of letting Quint Matthews become one of those cowboy stereo-types. Nobody would ever be able to call Quint Matthews “just another drunk cowboy.”
“Potatoes should be nearly done,” Tag said, poking inside the oven. “Big ol’ Idaho russets right out of the field. I’ve got a friend up there who ships ’em down to me. We’ll load ’em up with all the fixings.”
Quint didn’t know an Idaho russet potato from any other, but he knew Tag did. “Great.”
“I brought some sourdough bread home from the restaurant and some of our specialty peach cobbler.”
That menu might be just plain cooking to some, but coming from Tag’s restaurant, it would be a mouthwatering delight. Quint’s stomach reacted as the steaks began to sizzle. He was hungry as a baby pig. “Sounds good. That’s more food than I usually eat, you know.”
“Who’s doing your cooking and house keeping these days?”
“I got a Mexican woman. She takes care of everything. Cooking, cleaning, the whole thing. The girls in my office pay all the bills. I don’t worry about any of it. And that suits me fine. Only thing is, I don’t get much American food. I eat a lot of tacos.”
Tag laughed like he was amused, but Quint was sure Tag would never be content letting someone else run his personal life to that extent. Tag was a homebody and always had been.
“Listen, thanks for letting me bunk at your house, Dink. I’ve got to go to Salt Lick tomorrow on business. If things go the way I want them to, I may have to stick around for a few days if you don’t mind.”
“Heck, no. You’re welcome to come and go as you please. There’s just me and Jake here.”
At the mention of his name the dog rose from his spot and ambled to his own er.
“You and your animals,” Quint said, squinting in the late-day sunlight and looking at his old friend. “You’ve always had some stray critter trailing behind you. Dog, cat, goat—it was always something lost that needed a home.”
“Well, somebody’s got to take care of the lost ones. Where’d any of us be if we didn’t watch each other’s backs? Ain’t that right, Jake?” The dog rested his body against Tag’s leg and looked up at him with adoring brown eyes. Tag bent over and patted the dog’s head. “You and me just roam this big ol’ house all by ourselves, don’t we, boy?”
As Tag turned the steaks Quint looked back at the two-story house. “I always wondered why’d you buy such a big-ass house for just you? This place must be, what, five thousand square feet?”
“Four thousand four hundred and twenty-seven,” Tag answered.
“Like I said. Why so big?”
“When I had it built, it wasn’t just me. Me and Diann had just got married. I thought we’d have some kids. I wanted a home big enough to live in, entertain in, and eventually grow old in. Something our kids, their friends, and someday our grandkids would all want to come to. She was on board for the entertaining part, but she never bought into the other. When we got divorced, she didn’t even want the house. I bought out her half.”
Quint looked down and away at the mention of Tag’s ex-wife. Though he and Tag had been friends for years, they had never discussed the reasons for the breakup of Tag’s marriage. Quint had deliberately avoided it. He suspected he knew without being told. Men had always liked Diann Freeman and she liked them back. Long ago, after more Royal Crown than any one man needed, Quint had spent a night with her in a motel in Oklahoma City. He wasn’t proud of it, but the fact that she shared her time with many more than him was the balm he had used for years to soothe the guilt he felt. “What ever became of her?” he asked, hoping the casual tone sounded genuine.
“Last I heard she was working for a music producer in Nashville. She used to call me up when her bed was empty.” Tag laughed. “She hasn’t called me in a while.”
“Right,” Quint said. And amen. He wanted to change the subject and quick.
Tag plated up the steaks and dug the baked potatoes from the oven. Quint walked back into the house and returned with another can of beer. Rodeo gossip filled the next hour. Rodeo people, though not always congenial with one another or functional in their relationships, were a tightly knit family with a common understanding of “the life.” For sure, the ProRodeo community had been Quint’s family.
He and Tag were exchanging notes on who was still married or not and who was sleeping with whom when Tag suddenly asked, “How’d you meet Allison?”
Quint had dreaded that question. Joining an online dating service was beneath him somehow and fessing up to it embarrassed him. In the past he hadn’t had to work at meeting women. He certainly had never paid a service to orchestrate an encounter.
Discussing how he had met Allison would inevitably lead to a conversation about him and Janine Grubbs. Or what ever her/his name was. Though he and Tag had a long trail behind them, that whole story made Quint uncomfortable.
Fidgeting with the remnants of the baked potato he had just devoured, he finally said, “You remember a couple of years ago, that wild story going around about me and a woman that was really a man?”
Tag’s laugh boomed loud enough to make Jake wake up and raise his head. “Yeah, I heard it. One night at the coliseum in Fort Worth I knocked a guy flat on his ass for repeating it. I was curious, but I never would have asked you about it. I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would.”
Quint shook his head. “It was the damnedest thing I ever got into, Dink. After it was over, I was wore out. I didn’t care if I never saw another woman. But eventually I got lonesome, so I decided to give thi
s Internet dating a try. I figured if I got a look at some gal’s picture first and talked to her for a while, I’d be able to tell if she was crazy. If she didn’t answer my questions right, I wouldn’t even let her get in my truck, much less my bed.”
Tag stood, gathered the plates, and headed inside. Quint followed him, watching as Tag began rinsing the dishes under the faucet.
“Then you must have been pretty impressed with Allison,” Tag said. “I can’t believe you came all the way up to Salt Lick just to take her out to dinner.”
“She’s not the main reason I came. What I’m really up here for is to talk to Debbie Sue Overstreet about doing some investigative work. You remember her. She ran the barrels a few years back. Won some titles. She quit the rodeo, you know. Now her and a friend have a detective agency in Salt Lick.”
“The Domestic Equalizers. I read about them and how they got started.” Tag turned off the faucet and began putting the dishes into the dishwasher. “But they claim they spy on cheating husbands and wives. What are they doing for you?”
Quint paced the kitchen and repeated the story about his identity theft and his suspicions, concluding with, “If anyone can locate that woman that played me for a fool, those two can.”
“How does Allison figure in?” Tag asked, bracing a hand on the counter.
“Well, she doesn’t. I just thought that since I was in Salt Lick anyway, I might mix some plea sure with business. Online, she came across as a real nice gal. You know how it is, ol’ buddy. When you get bucked off, you get up, dust off your backside, and crawl back on to ride again. You’ll never be a winner any other way.”
Tag laughed and started back to the porch. “God knows I’ve seen you do that enough times. I just never had that much faith in that process, I guess.”
“Faith and good luck. The keys to success, buddy.”
“That might work for you,” Tag said, “but I sleep better at night with the truth, based on cold hard facts. And I don’t believe in luck.”