He jumped to a stand to greet her.
“You okay?” he asked. Just as quickly, he sat back down, looking woozy.
“Fine. But are you okay?”
“Just got up too fast, is all,” he said.
She walked to the bathroom as fast as possible, but felt his eyes follow. D’Anne looked up before going inside. He smiled and made the most sinfully disturbing nod she’d ever seen. It knocked the breath from her lungs and made a shocking reaction quiver between her legs.
Bear snorted and rolled over in oblivious sleep on the pullout bed. Ricky-Bob, lying on the dinette/bed, shifted away from the bathroom light coughing and sputtering through a dream.
Unable to speak, D’Anne offered a nervous wave with wiggling fingers, and went inside to recover. She stood leaning against the door with her hands behind her back for several seconds, until her heart quit quaking and her breath returned.
She came back out to pitch dark. Feeling immensely grateful she didn’t have to see Tyler again, D’Anne tiptoed back to her room and shut the door.
****
Tyler had been right. Every weekend chef in the county plus their families turned out for the Chili Super Bowl. He stayed behind at the RV so Dee could go off by herself for a while, but worried she only wanted to get away from him. He used the time alone to rework the bridge to “Star Spangled Heart” in anticipation of the young music promoter who mentioned she might come out to hear them again. Distracted with thoughts of Dee, he fished through his pocket for an extra pick, discovering he already held one between his teeth.
He shook his head and looked at Dexter to commiserate. The dog turned his head and lifted his ears.
It was useless to try to banish the woman from his thoughts. Every damn thing she did drove him crazy. She alienated his musicians, offered her two cents whether anyone asked or not, and forced a near starvation diet on him. Maybe that’s why he’d been feeling dizzy lately. Hell, she even tried to influence the type of songs he wrote. But wait, that turned out to be a good thing. Confused, Tyler chose to focus on the negatives, and then decided to get his blood pressure checked in the next few days.
He picked the new melody out on his six strings and smiled. Dee sure felt good, though. He strummed a few more chords. And he’d gotten used to smelling that special body lotion she used. He really liked that. He played a bluesy riff on the strings and twisted the last note for all it was worth. She felt sturdy and womanly when he had her in his arms. He liked the female shampoo smell in her hair, too. He played a three-chord progression. Yeah, she really felt great. He stood the guitar on his lap, rested his chin on it and wrapped his arms around the crafted wooden middle.
And the kiss—well, he wouldn’t let himself go there.
He went back to playing, tapped his foot to the beat, and let his fingers do the walking on the hot afternoon.
Yep, everything she did drove him crazy.
Tyler was about to lounge back and think more on Dee when he caught a glimpse of a certain SUV with the distinctive tent trailer pull into a distant parking spot. What the hell are they doing here?
Tyler didn’t feel so great about leaving Dee on her own all evening knowing those two bozos were around, but he had no choice. The band was set to play at seven o’clock that night.
“Dexter? You look after Dee, ya hear?”
****
D’Anne didn’t expect to hear from Dean again so soon, but he called when she had her mouth full of the powerful chili of contestant number twenty-seven.
“Haro?” she said.
“Mom?”
She swallowed. “Hi Dean, I’m at the Chili…”
“We gotta talk, Ma. I’ve come across some files in Dad’s computer. It looks like some weird business deal.”
D’Anne stopped her casual stroll and froze.
“And the last withdrawal was just before you guys left L.A. back in April. Where would Dad get half a million dollars? Is that how you bought that deluxe RV?”
D’Anne choked and coughed. “I’m okay,” she said to chef number twenty-seven. He handed her a paper cup of water. She took a sip and cleared her throat.
“No! We used the equity from the house for it.” She went still. “Talk to me, Dean.”
“Well, from what I can tell, it looks like some sort of investment deal where they gave Dad money, then he worked it in the market and made incredible profits.”
“Does it say who the investors are?”
“No names, Ma, just numbers.”
Her throat went dry. She took another sip from the paper cup. “Don’t say anything to anyone, Dean. Maybe someone will approach you. Whoever it is, you let me know.”
“If you say so, but why?”
“We need to figure this out before we go full disclosure. Don’t you think?”
“I’ll check around,” he said. “See where some of these investments went. Do you think he was laundering money?”
“Of course not!”
Did she even know the man she’d been married to for twenty-five years anymore? He’d hidden money in the RV and killed himself. Who the hell was he?
****
Tyler and the band took the stage a few minutes late. Even though it was still hot and muggy, a crowd of several hundred spectators stood before him filled with chili and beer, and ready to dance. They opened with “Honky-Tonk Heart” and watched several people, mostly women and a few brave men, line up to cut a rug, or in this case, grass. The old song never failed to set feet a-stompin’. He was glad for that. His voice sounded strong, the music felt good, and he wished Dee were there to watch the show. He felt the urge to show off for the lady.
Earlier that afternoon, during rehearsal, he’d pointed out the two unwanted visitors to the guys and told them to keep their eyes open. When they showed up again, just before the show, Bear, in his less-than-subtle way, stepped on the shorter one’s toes with his heavy boots before mounting the stage. Tyler pretended not to notice, but swore he could hear the cussin’ from a mile away. Shortly after the first song, he lost track of them.
****
“What’s the matter, boy?” D’Anne sat at the dinette painting her toes with bright pink polish. She’d turned on the radio and blasted country music. Shania Twain gave her the idea for the pedicure. With one foot raised and resting on the table, she tried out some new moves doing her own version of a chair dance to Shania’s beat. Dexter growled again. It made her stop what she was doing, turn down the sound, and peer out the window into the yard. Nothing. Dexter continued to growl and added a yap. She locked the front RV cabin door and headed to her closed-off bedroom to lock the back door, too.
When she swung open the door, the room went dark. Something was thrown over her head. She screamed, but a hand flew to her mouth. D’Anne tried to bite the fingers through the blanket. She kicked her feet when she couldn’t flail her arms. Another set of hands grabbed her ankles and tied them with twine. She heard Dexter barking and growling and one of the men cuss. The dog must have latched onto his pants, or his leg. She prayed.
Dog claws scratched and slipped on the linoleum. Dexter yipped. He must have gotten kicked away. D’Anne tried to scream and gasped for air when something slipped around her mouth over the fabric. They yanked it tight and tied it behind her head. The dog got booted out the back door, where he whimpered in pain. They finished by tying her arms snug to her waist then threw her onto the bed. She lay there twisting, writhing, and crying.
The door slammed to her bedroom. Panic overtook her when she heard the men tearing the RV cabin apart. Her pulse pounded in her ears. The humid heat of the night and the blanket over her head made D’Anne feel faint. Sweat ran down her face. Her mouth went dry from the gag. Adrenaline poured from her gut and her breathing grew rapid and shallow. The blood drained from her head and her pulse grew thready. Dizziness overtook her when she heard two voices.
“It’s got to be here somewhere,” said the first. “Rip everything up,” said the second.
>
D’Anne swore she heard Reese’s urn crash to the floor right before she lost consciousness.
****
“You sounded great,” a cute little redhead named Pauline said with adoring eyes, when she looked up to Tyler. “Let’s talk, shall we?”
Preoccupied and edgy, Tyler tried to look cordial for the young woman from Dallas who could quite possibly hold his future recording career in her well-manicured hands.
“Sure,” he said. “Can I buy you a beer?”
When they walked to the restaurant bar, he caught Bear’s attention. “Check on Dee.”
Bear nodded and strode away.
“I’ve got to tell you, Tyler White, that “Star Spangled Heart” is going to be a hit.” She smiled with glistening, painted lips. “I’d like to sign you and get into the recording studio as soon as possible.”
“Two beers,” Tyler ordered from the bartender, feeling elated. Things were finally going his way again.
The only scent stronger than her perfume in the crowded and noisy room was cigarette smoke. It hovered in the air making Tyler crave a puff. Just one, he rationalized to himself, to go along with the beer, the babe…and the business deal.
The beers were handed over and Tyler directed the little lady to a cozy table in the corner.
“I’ve got another couple weeks commitments yet,” he said when they sat. Tyler took a hit off his beer.
She offered him a cigarette. He didn’t take it. “We’ll be in Vegas in a week and a half; I’m opening for Tanya Lockwood. Why don’t you bring the contract there?” He tried not to look into her heavily made up eyes. They were too direct and the last thing he needed was a woman complicating his career.
He laughed to himself and took another drink. Hell, he already had that with Dee.
“Tanya Lockwood? Well, well, well, my little ol’ recording company just happens to be the sponsor.” Her saccharine voice competed with her brazen eyes and slanted brows.
Pauline persisted with sultry false-lash glances and obvious cleavage adjustments, getting her point across real good. She kept bumping his thigh with her knee while they talked. He worked hard not to catch her drift by switching the subject back to music. She smiled brightly and grazed his calf with her foot, up and down, up and down. He straightened in his chair, pulled his leg back, and finished his beer.
Bear broke into the room and came bounding up to the table with huge, wild eyes. “Ya gotta get back to the RV, quick.”
****
Ricky-Bob sat with a mussed up and fragile-looking Dee at the picnic table. Tyler felt overcome with concern, which quickly changed to red, raging anger when he saw marks on her face and wrists. Bear had filled him in while they trotted back to camp. Tyler kicked himself for leaving her alone.
“We’ve got to find out who those jackasses are,” he said when he ran up to her. “Did you see them, Dee?” He sat next to her on the bench and took her hand.
She shook her head. He pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her, hating himself for leaving her alone. Wanting to protect her from any more harm, it occurred to him how familiar she already felt in his embrace.
“I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry.” He kissed her hair, rocked her, looked up and noticed Ricky-Bob and Bear staring at him. He made an effort to tone down his reaction. He cleared his throat, loosened his grip. “Where’s J.T.?”
“He’s looking for Dexter,” Bear said.
Dee piped in, “They kicked him out the door, the bastards.” Her hair was flying every which way. Mascara smudged under her eyes. Perspiration beaded on her upper lip. She smelled wilted and felt sticky.
Tyler cupped her face in his hands and delved into her flaring green eyes. “They do anything else to you?”
She solemnly shook her head. He felt awash in relief, then patted her hair into place. “They find anything?”
“Nope,” she snuck a victorious smile meant only for him.
He fought an urge to kiss her.
Bushes crunched and rustled behind them. J.T. broke through carrying Dexter. “He’s okay. Just scared,” he announced.
“Well, join the club,” Tyler said, when he stood and reached for his dog.
“I found him hiding in a corn field.”
“We’re all a little shook up, buddy.” Tyler rubbed Dexter’s ears and got him some fresh water and a treat.
They spent the next couple of hours cleaning up the mess inside the RV, mending slashes through the furniture and captain’s seats with duct tape. What was left of Reese got swept back up into a dustpan and put inside an extra large empty mayonnaise jar.
The only thing that had been left undisturbed was the magnetic Indian School Calendar on the refrigerator.
“Any of you see those two guys I pointed out before we played earlier, you have my permission to beat ’em up. That is, after you find out who the hell they are,” Tyler said while they worked.
“What do they effing want?” J.T. asked.
Tyler shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t rightly know.”
When no one but Dee was looking, his gaze drifted to the ceiling. It was intact. He winked. She nodded with a twinge of a smile.
“Do you know what they want, Dee?” Tyler asked.
“Noooo,” she said, exaggerating the headshake.
After the scare she’d given him—hell they could have smothered her, and Lord only knew what else…the thought made his gut sick—he vowed not to let Dee out of his sight.
****
The next morning, Tyler drove I-20 to the US 84 toward Lubbock through the south plains panhandle of Texas. He’d lined up a couple of gigs there, a sleazy cowboy roadhouse for that night, and later in the week the Buddy Holly Birthday Festival. Traffic was heavier than usual due to the Labor Day Holiday weekend and a rain shower.
Even after Dee’s ordeal, J.T. couldn’t quite bring himself to forgive her for invading his tryst two days before, so he talked Ricky-Bob into following behind in the Rabbit. Bear snoozed on the sofa.
It felt cozy in the cabin with windshield wipers keeping a lazy rhythm and Dee sitting by his side sipping peppermint tea and painting the rest of her toes. The RV handled well in the rain and he enjoyed driving something that wasn’t a diesel truck. This time he was on the road for himself and for his career, which seemed to be under his control again.
“You want anything to eat?” she asked.
“I’m not hungry just yet, thanks,” he said while carefully watching the road. A huge crack of thunder broke overhead.
“You look like you’ve lost some weight. Looks good,” she said.
“Must be your great cooking.” He smiled at her and made a quick sweep of her bare legs.
D’Anne put her tea down while she finished the pedicure. “That’s a backhanded compliment if I ever heard one,” she mumbled in deep concentration, oblivious to his gaze.
Her legs looked smooth and firm. Tyler thought how he’d like to apply some of that great smelling lotion to them. Nothing better than some afternoon bedtime during a summer shower. He made a tiny jerk on the steering wheel to jostle Dee and bug her.
“Hey.” She shot him a disgruntled look. “You made me mess up my pinkie.”
He liked her feisty nature and how easily things riled her. “It wasn’t meant to be an insult. You’re a good cook. I feel healthier than I’ve felt in years.” He pushed on the brakes as traffic slowed down, sending a spray of water over the Rabbit, and thought how Ricky-Bob was most likely cussing him out. “Which reminds me, I need to check my blood pressure. I think my medicine is making it drop too low lately.”
Dee put the polish lid back on and jumped up. “I’ve got Reese’s blood pressure cuff in the bedroom. We can check it when we stop for lunch,” she said when she sashayed back toward her room.
He took his eyes off the road long enough to feast on the sight of her, then had to slam on the brakes to make up for it. Another thunder rumble hit overhead. He hoped the Rabbit was a safe distance behin
d and Ricky-Bob was paying better attention than he was to the highway.
She stumbled against the kitchen counter. “Is that your way of letting me know it’s lunch time?”
He made a cocky grin and pretended to have done just that, even though he wasn’t hungry…for food anyway.
“So what’ll it be? Soup? Sandwiches? Both?”
With food being the last thing on his mind, he thought about her long, trim legs. “Both.”
****
The boys opted to eat something deep-fried and smothered in gravy at the truck stop diner, so D’Anne and Tyler were alone. Before they ate, she checked his blood pressure. Their foreheads almost touched while she watched the numbers on the small, digital screen. She felt his breath on her cheek and secretly savored it. He always smelled of spearmint and boot leather and she had grown fond of it.
The reading indicated his blood pressure was too low. She furrowed her brow.
“No wonder you’re getting dizzy.” She picked up his medicine bottle. “This stuff could be too strong for you, like it was for Reese.”
“Didn’t used to be,” he said.
“You know, diet and exercise might be all you need. Drop a few more pounds and your pressure might come down even more. Before you know it, you’ll be in working order again.”
She felt Tyler stiffen and pull back. “What the hell does that mean?”
“You know.” She thought about his little blue Viagra pills and tried to change the subject. “Hey, I’ve got an idea, why don’t you grow one of those sexy Zen patch things under your lip?”
He scowled at her.
“Get your ear pierced?” She removed the cuff from his upper arm and folded it back into its case.
“You think I’m a washed up, over-the-hill, one-hit has-been, just like everybody else, don’tcha?”
“No, I don’t!”
Tyler stood up, walked a few steps away and swung around.
“Well move over Toby Keith, Alan Jackson and Tim McGraw, Tyler White is back on the range. I got a hot-to-trot female record promoter courting me, did you know that?” He challenged her with a determined look.
One for the Road Page 11