A Different Kind of Blues

by Gwynne Forster

  “It won’t. That is, not unless that’s what you want,” she said, letting him know that it was up to him, because she had no qualms about an involvement with a married man. If Krista joined the group, Jada wouldn’t have a choice but to leave him alone.

  However, Jada had other plans for Goodman. When she went for a man, she got him. She meant to lure Goodman Prout into a relationship and get herself a cooperative apartment. In her view, a young and beautiful woman shouldn’t have to get what she wanted by the sweat of her brow. That was what men were for.

  “I’m gonna see what he’s made of, and soon,” she promised herself. “He’s used to getting what he wants, but so am I.”

  “Does your wife work?” Jada asked Goodman.

  “She owns a restaurant, a very nice one.”

  “Really? Which one?”

  He had no intention of telling her where she could find his wife. He took his gaze from the traffic long enough to glance at her. “It may have been foolish of me to give you a ride this evening, but stupidity is not something that any thinking person would associate with me. Don’t forget that.”

  “Not to worry,” she said airily. “I’m a quick study. She doesn’t interest me; you do.”

  He stopped at her house, aligned the car with the curb, put it in park, and slid his arm along the back of her seat. “You’re a reckless woman, and you’re after something. There are nine men in that ensemble. Why’d you pick me? And you did. You made up your mind the minute I walked into that room.”

  “I liked what I saw. From head to foot, you’re a man. Isn’t that reason enough?”

  “Not really. Be careful you don’t find yourself on the left side of a bell-shaped curve.”

  Jada fanned herself. “Whew! Get outta here! Imagine me sliding my butt up anything.” She leaned toward him. “Kiss me, and go on home.”

  He stared down at her slightly-parted, beautifully shaped mouth, and frissons of heat surged through him. An open invitation to trouble. He put his right hand behind her head and his left one on her breast and singed her mouth with his lips. When she attempted to suck him into her, he broke the kiss. “Do you have a man in there?”

  “I woulda thought you were smarter than that,” she said. “Why would I sit out here and kiss you where he could see me? No, I don’t.”

  “I’d better be going. Good night.”

  She opened the door, looked back at him, and said, “I live alone. Good night.”

  Goodman drove off with less speed and deliberation than usually characterized his driving. What had he started and why? That woman was not the type to back off. He thought of Carla and how they related to each other. He was happy, wasn’t he? True, Carla nagged him to join her in the restaurant with the view to opening at least two more, but he didn’t know the restaurant business and wanted nothing to do with food other than to eat it. The smell of frying grease always made him think of blisters.

  He looked at his long slender fingers as he clutched the wheel of his Lexus and laughed. An emery board was the most dangerous thing to which he expected to expose his fingers, fingers that were meant to caress piano keys and pick guitar and violin strings. No knives, fire, and scalding hot water near his hands.

  Music was his world, but Carla didn’t seem to understand that. Never had. To her mind, he should have music as a hobby, something to distract him, but the restaurant was something he could pass on to his children. He meant to expose his children—all three of them—to the better things in life: music, art, travel, literature, sports, and humanitarian pursuits, and let them make their own choice.

  He walked into his house, greeted Paul, his younger son, who lounged in the family room watching Law & Order on television. “Where are Peter and your mother?”

  “Mom took Peter to a cooking demonstration.”

  “Did she now?”

  A few minutes later, the other members of his family arrived. Carla hugged Paul, and Peter rushed to greet him, after which Carla said, “I think I’ll turn in, hon.”

  Goodman glanced at his sons, hoping they would leave the room. When they didn’t, he said to her, “Stay and have a drink with me. I…uh…I need to unwind.”

  “Thanks, but not tonight,” she said, and he understood that that “no” covered any other suggestion he might make.

  Frustrated and suddenly angry, he looked at his older son. “Remember that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” He heard her steps falter in the midst of her rush up the stairs and knew she got his message. He was also aware that she hadn’t learned how to reverse herself.

  In that respect, Carla and Petra were alike. “I’m getting tired,” Petra acknowledged to herself, “but I’m not going back till I see everything I want to see. Except for being tired and a headache now and then, I feel fine.” As tired as she was, Petra had an urge to keep moving. “How far am I from Phoenix?” she asked the porter in the bed and breakfast hotel in which she stayed near Sedona’s midtown.

  “Two or three hours by train. Less, if you catch an express. I’d leave here on the six A.M. express, if I were you, miss. You can see the sunrise along the way. It’s like a changing painting. You never saw anything so spectacular. This time of year, it’s not as great as it is midwinter, but it’s still a sight.” She took his advice, and when the train sped toward Phoenix, she sat aboard it, gazing out of the window at the breaking day and the rising sun. However, as beautiful as it was, the miracle of it escaped her.

  “Spectacular, isn’t it?” a waiter said as he walked through the car offering coffee.

  “I guess you could say that,” she replied. “I’ve seen so much recently that it’s hard for me to enthuse about anything.”

  “Lady, this view would make a wild horse stop running.”

  She took a good look at the man, accepted the coffee, tipped him, and turned her face to the window. Damned if I’m going to argue with a man whose four top front teeth are gold, two front bottom ones are missing, and who smiles as happily as if he had thirty-two perfect white teeth.

  “They’ve got some nice bridle paths in Phoenix, miss, and some of the sweetest mares” (the word came out like a whistle, Petra noticed) “you ever saw. Enjoy your stay.” She thanked him, though she only spared him a glance, lest she give in to the laughter that bubbled up in her.

  She’d never ridden a horse. To her mind, they were handsome creatures, with especially beautiful eyes, but they were big, and as much as she liked them, she feared them. However, as she entered the tourist office in Phoenix, she recalled her joy and excitement gazing down from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon in spite of her fear of heights.

  I’m supposed to be having new experiences, seeing and doing things I’ve always wanted to do. Maybe I can ride a horse? What can I lose? I’ve only got another couple of months, anyway.

  “Good morning, sir,” she said to the clerk in the tourist office. “I’ve heard you have wonderful horses here, and I’d like to try riding one. What can you recommend?”

  “Do you ride?”

  “I’m embarrassed to tell you that I’ve never been on a horse.”

  “Then I know just the place.”

  Armed with the address, she made her way to Phoenix Stables. “I don’t know how to ride, but I want to try,” she told a groom.

  “Yes, ma’am. We have gentle mares that are very patient with neophytes. If you’ll wait about ten minutes, I’ll get someone to ride with you. It’s much better than riding alone. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  He returned with a man who appeared to be a cowboy, although admittedly, movies and television had formed her opinion of what constituted a real cowboy. “Are you a genuine cowboy?” she asked the man.

  Except for his Stetson, boots, and stirrups, he could have been a New Yorker, and a mesmerizing one at that. Clean shaven and with an aura of elegance, the man stood out like a sore thumb. She didn’t trip over men, but…She told herself to remember why she was in Arizona.

  His voice se
emed to come from someplace deep inside of him. “Do I work on a ranch? When I’m not on vacation, yes.”

  She put her hand up to shade her eyes from the sun. “How long have you been on vacation? I mean how temporary is this vacation?”

  His laughter reminded her of a growl. “You’re a clever one. Since I own the ranch, I vacation when and for as long as I please.” The mischievous twinkle in his eyes gave her some confidence that he was a good guy, but she didn’t like being laughed at.

  “Put your left foot in there,” he said, motioning to the stirrup, “and swing your right leg over the horse.” She did as he told her, gazed down at him from the back of the animal, and grinned. He tipped his Stetson, half bowed, and got on his own horse. “Good girl!”

  “How do I make this animal stop walking?”

  He cocked an eyebrow, and a grin creased his face. “Tell her to stop?”

  “You mean it’s a her?”

  “This is your first time on a horse. Do you think anybody in Phoenix would be stupid enough to put you on a stallion?”

  “But I wanted one, because—”

  He didn’t wait to hear the rest. “You mean to tell me you couldn’t tell the difference?”

  “How was I supposed to know?”

  “What’s your name, miss?” She told him. “Ms. Fields, you distinguish a mare from a stallion the same way you tell the difference between a baby girl and a baby boy. You got that?”

  She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Very clever.” She could do without his grin, but he insisted on covering his face with it. “I grew up in the city.”

  “You mean they don’t have babies in the city you grew up in? Gosh, what kind of city is that? What do you easterners do for recreation?”

  He was laughing at her, and it was beginning to irritate her. “We don’t insult visitors for the sport of it,” she said between clenched teeth.

  “Aw, come on. Where’s your sense of humor? I was only being friendly.” The horse looked back at her, and he immediately said, “Whoa.” Both horses stopped.

  “Why did they stop?” she asked him.

  “Because I told them to. I think we’ve gone far enough. This is your first ride, and if you’re at it too long, you’ll be sore tomorrow morning. Let’s go back now.”

  “I was enjoying it, but I’m sure you know best. How far is your ranch from here?”

  “Not far. Six and a half miles. Ever been on a ranch?”

  “No, and I’d like to visit one. I’ve seen a lot of them in the movies, and I really want to go to Tombstone to see the O. K. Corral. I’ll never see Arizona again, so it’s now or never.”

  “That story’s had the guts dramatized out of it, Ms. Fields. The Wyatt Earp/Doc Holliday battle against the Clantons and McLaurys in the infamous gunfight at the O. K. Corral didn’t take place there but in a vacant lot behind it. Nothing there now but a wall and a sign, but if you want to go, I could fly you down there in about forty minutes. You’d be back here in Phoenix within two hours.”

  She was about to thank him when a thought flashed through her mind, and she voiced it. “If you own a ranch, why would you rent a horse to ride on a bridle path in the middle of the city?”

  “I didn’t rent a horse. That’s my riding stable. When Jones, the groom, said you hadn’t ridden before, I decided to go along with you.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Rich, good-looking, and probably married. She didn’t mind a fling; in fact, she’d enjoy one so long as the person didn’t get serious, but not with a married man. “Thanks for the offer, but, no thanks.”

  “Why?” he asked. “There are no strings. If you’re nervous about my company, I’ll ask my dad to join us.”

  Somehow, that didn’t add to her sense of security about a jaunt with him. “How old is your dad?”

  The man laughed outright. “Seventy-one.”

  “That’s not too old to be stupid. If you’d said he was ninety-one, I’d say, let’s go.”

  His laughter seemed to take possession of him, changing his entire demeanor. After he calmed himself, he said, “My dad is so circumspect that what you’re suggesting would make everyone who knows him laugh. He barely bends to pray.”

  Now it was she who laughed. “You shouldn’t speak that way of your father.”

  His shoulder flexed in a shrug. “Why not? It’s true.”

  “When can we leave? No…. Wait a minute. What’s your name?”

  “Preston McKay, and we can leave in forty-five minutes.”

  “Are you going to pilot the plane?”

  His teeth showed in a wide grin. “Unless Dad wants to do it.”

  They returned to the riding stable and, because she wanted to verify McKay’s story before she went anywhere with him, she paid careful attention to his interaction with the groom.

  “I hope you enjoyed your ride, miss,” the groom said to Petra, then looked up at her companion. “How’d it go, Mr. McKay?”

  “She did extremely well for a first-time rider. Would you get my car, please?”

  McKay took out his cell phone, dialed, and waited. “Dad, I’m going to take a lady down to Tombstone, and I’d like you to join us. Fine. Tell Cullen to get the Cessna ready. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Twenty minutes later, Preston McKay drove through an iron gate and onto his property. “Now you can say you’ve been on a ranch,” he said. “My father’s waiting for us at the plane, and I’ll be your pilot.” He drove up to the plane, stopped, parked, and got out.

  “Dad, this is Petra Fields. She’s seeing the Wild West. Ms. Fields, this is David McKay, my father.”

  “I see the resemblance,” she said. “I’m happy to meet you, Mr. McKay.” As they boarded the plane, she remembered that riding in any plane smaller than a jumbo jet petrified her. “At least it would be quick and painless,” she said to herself, settled in, fastened her seat belt, and looked forward to the next crazy episode in her life.

  About thirty-five minutes later, McKay set the plane down in the small Tombstone airport. “I’d say that was as smooth a job as you’ve ever done,” David McKay said to his son.

  “I had to be at my best,” Preston said. “I didn’t want to frighten her.”

  “And you didn’t,” she said. “I enjoyed it, and I was only nervous when I looked straight down.”

  After a short drive into town, referring to the noonday meal, Preston said, “It’s dinner time, so I suggest we stop for something to eat.” He chose a steak house, and Petra got an example of how the average western man eats: Preston’s platter bore a steak, pork chops, grilled sausage, a baked potato, turnip greens, and an ear of corn, and his father tackled a meal nearly as hearty. She had a small steak, French fries, and string beans.

  “How tall are you?” she asked Preston.

  “I’m six-five, but that has nothing to do with this; I love to eat.”

  “Are you married?” she blurted out, causing David McKay’s head to snap up.

  “No, but I’m open to suggestions,” Preston said.

  She frowned, and tried to erase whatever impact the frown may have had by saying, “Would you get upset if I said I think you’re nuts?”

  “It’s possible, though I doubt it. Where are you headed after you leave here?”

  The words “I don’t know” were on the tip of her tongue when she stopped herself. Saying that would require an explanation. She told Greta, but she didn’t plan to tell any other person. Why dump that on anyone else? Listening to the woes of Tom, Dick, Harry, and Jane would soon be Greta’s life, so she wasn’t sorry to have burdened her friend with her tragedy. But not these folks!

  “I’m going to drive down the Pacific Coast,” she told him and was rewarded with his look of apparent skepticism.

  They left the restaurant, crossed the street, walked down the block, and stopped at a wall beside the Fly Photography Gallery. “This was once the entrance to the O. K. Corral,�
� David said. “Earp and Holliday killed Clanton and his pals right over there.” He pointed to a spot. “Or so the legend goes.”

  “I didn’t expect such a modern place. Was Holliday really a doctor?”

  David shrugged. “Who knows? Back then, anybody could use that title and peddle snake oil and boiled herbs. Would you like a tour of the town? You can see everything of importance in less than an hour.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “As long as I don’t have to walk. I get tired in this dry climate.” In less than an hour, she saw the town and was back at the airport.

  “I told you we’d be back in Phoenix in two hours, and I aim to keep my word,” Preston said as he taxied for the takeoff.

  When they were back in Phoenix, Preston drove Petra to the hotel at which she stayed, parked, got out, and walked around to the front passenger’s door to open it. “Do you have to leave tomorrow morning?” He slouched against the car.

  She hadn’t expected that question, because he hadn’t shown a personal interest in her. “I…Yes. I have a few more places to go before I…before this trip is over.” His facial expression was such that she knew better than to joke.

  “Before you do what?”

  “Preston, you don’t want to know. Before you ask, I am neither married, engaged, nor spoken for otherwise, but I may as well be.”

  He knocked his Stetson to the back of his head. “What the dickens do you mean by that?”

  “If I was in a position to start anything, I certainly wouldn’t pass you up. Thanks for far more than you could ever imagine,” she said, reached up, kissed his cheek, and turned to run into the hotel.

  But Preston McKay moved faster, gripped her arm, and spun her around. “You’ve got some explaining to do, miss. What kind of double talk is that? And I don’t for a minute believe that a good-looking, intelligent woman like you would ordinarily traipse around with strange men she doesn’t know anything about. You got into my car with me as comfortable as you please and rode with me to my ranch not knowing where the hell I was taking you. You let me fly you to Tombstone, a place you’d never been, and I could’ve been taking you to Mexico, for all you knew. Don’t you know what a risk you took? I could be Preston the Ripper. Now, you’re suddenly playing it safe. You’re hiding something.”