Slim Pickings in Fat Chance, Texas

by Bonaduce, Celia

“In three weeks,” Fernando said dramatically, “I will be opening my new restaurant. You’re all invited to the grand opening in Fat Chance.”

  There was a confused silence as the patrons looked at one another.

  “Fat Chance?” a cowboy asked. “You mean . . . the ghost town?”

  “Yeah! That’s right, I heard about y’all,” a cowboy said. “You guys still trying to keep that town going?”

  “We are keeping the town going,” Fernando said. “Don’t forget, in three weeks, my grand opening. I’ll keep you all posted. Come for a visit, stay for the Cowboy Food.”

  Everyone clapped, with the exception of Dodge. The party atmosphere dissolved with the last bite of brisket. Fernando turned back to Dodge.

  “That will be a hundred and twenty dollars,” Dodge said. “In case that slipped your mind during your little show.”

  “Oh! Here it is!” Fernando said as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “It was here all along.”

  “What a surprise,” Dodge said, running the card.

  “I hope we’ll see you there, Dodge.” Fernando returned his card and sales receipt to his wallet.

  “I’ll probably stop by,” Dodge said. “Three weeks? It will almost be time to take Rocket back. Might be good to see how he’s doing.”

  Pappy had managed to wander over toward Meriwether during Fernando’s performance. He studied her. Thirty years ago, Meriwether Murphy was a sturdy, tanned, spirited widow. The woman in front of him seemed not only physically frail, but fragile as well. Maybe that’s what a second widowhood did to you. Pappy started to speak, but hesitated. They hadn’t parted on bad terms, but they didn’t exactly part on good terms either. Pappy had just disappeared into Fat Chance. Until Cutthroat’s beneficiaries came strolling into town last year, he’d almost been a hermit. It wasn’t personal, his bailing on Meriwether. But he wouldn’t be winning any awards for breakup etiquette. He’d tried to carry off his surprise that she was so hostile toward him all these many years later, but he was dismayed to hear how antagonistic she actually was. He certainly would never admit it to any of the men in town—except maybe Titan—but he actually was happy to have a chance to speak to her. To apologize. He couldn’t explain his actions, but he could apologize for them.

  He stood looking over her shoulder as she read the ingredients on a jar of peanut butter.

  “Still eating those peanut butter and banana sandwiches?” Pappy asked, smiling.

  Meriwether looked up and tilted her head to the side.

  “Do I know you?” she asked.

  Pappy’s smile faded. “Uh, well . . . ,” he stammered.

  “You look sort of familiar,” she said. “I take that back. You don’t look anything like the man I’m thinking of. He was much younger and didn’t look like a bum. But you sort of sound like somebody I used to know.”

  “Now come on, Meriwether. You know damn good and well it’s me.”

  Meriwether put the peanut butter back on the shelf. “To answer your question,” she said without looking at him, “no, I don’t eat peanut butter and banana sandwiches anymore. I made a concerted effort to give up things that weren’t good for me.”

  She brushed by Pappy, then looked around. “Hank?” she called out. “Where are you?”

  The young man who had accompanied Meriwether into the store appeared from another aisle.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “You ready to head back to the farm?”

  “I am.”

  “Did you get your peanut butter?” Hank asked, noting her empty hands. “I thought you came in for peanut butter.”

  Meriwether slapped at Hank’s shoulder and strode out the door, the confused young cowboy at her heels.

  CHAPTER 20

  After Fernando’s little show, Powderkeg wandered outside. He sat on a bench on the general store’s porch, his long legs stretched out and feet up on the railing. He took a long draught of a Big Red. Closing his eyes, he put his head back. His hangover was wearing off, but his brain still felt as if toy army men were marching through it, poking into its recesses with their plastic rifles.

  He opened one eye to see Meriwether and her young ranch hand leave the store. Hank was beside her as Meriwether muttered something about seeing “that damn fool.” Apparently Pappy had made contact. Powderkeg pulled his hat over his eyes.

  When he opened them, he looked down the steep stairs, expecting to see Jerry Lee waiting patiently for the Fat Chance crew to retrieve him. Instead, he saw Mikie scratching Jerry Lee’s ears. The mule looked like he was in heaven.

  Who wouldn’t be?

  Powderkeg stood up and made his way down the steps. “Hey, Lacey. I mean, Mikie.”

  “Hey back,” Mikie said, focused more on the mule than the man. “Thought you guys would be gone by now.”

  “Fernando and Pappy are still conducting some business,” Powderkeg said. “I saw your plane go by earlier. You flying an Annie?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Powderkeg knew he had her attention now. “An Annie,” he said. “An Antonov An-2? Russian plane? Sold cheap after the Cold War ended? Ring any bells?”

  “Yeah,” Mikie said, pushing her baseball cap back to get a better look at Powderkeg. “How did you know that?”

  “I was in the Air Force in ’Nam. Took down an Annie in a Huey.”

  “I’m impressed.” Mikie regarded Powderkeg solemnly. “I gotta say, you don’t look old enough to have fought in Vietnam.”

  “I barely was. Squeaked in by the skin of my teeth.”

  “Thank you for your service,” Mikie said, catching Powderkeg off guard.

  “Oh! Well. My pleasure.”

  “And thank you for leaving enough Annies in the sky so Mr. Honeycutt could buy one for the ranch. She’s a clumsy bird, but I love her.”

  Powderkeg turned to look up the stairs. Pappy and Fernando were heading down with their supplies.

  “You know anything about Annies?” Mikie asked. “Their engines, I mean.”

  “A little something. Yeah.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a second opinion on something. I mean, if you can spare the time.”

  Pappy and Fernando joined them before Powderkeg could answer.

  “Hey, Mikie,” Pappy said as he started to load up Jerry Lee’s saddlebags. “What’s happening?”

  “Not much. Thinking about having Powderkeg here take a look at my plane, if you can spare him.”

  “I don’t know about that, Mikie,” Pappy said, casting a devilish grin in Powderkeg’s direction. “I got this new fan belt that needs installing.”

  “I’ll run him over in the truck before dark, I promise,” Mikie said. “This won’t take long.”

  “That’s what she said,” Fernando said under his breath.

  Pappy and Fernando finished packing the saddlebags and headed back to Fat Chance as Mikie and Powderkeg split off toward the east of the Rolling Fork Ranch. The conversation between Powderkeg and Mikie was easy, smooth, and flirtatious.

  When they arrived at the plane, Mikie swung easily into the cockpit. She turned over the engine.

  “Do you hear that missing in the engine?” she yelled.

  “Yeah,” Powderkeg said. “I think you might want to check your fuel lines.”

  “I will.” She turned off the engine. “Thanks. It’s always good to have backup when you’re making decisions about an old plane.”

  “Why an An-2?” Powderkeg asked. “I’m not an expert on vintage war machines, but this old girl is expensive to run, I know that much.”

  “True,” Mikie said. “But there are trade-offs. She flies low and slow, which is perfect for chasing strays on a ranch.”

  “You feel safe up there in this thing?” Powderkeg peered doubtfully at the nine-cylinder radial engine.

  “Very,” she said. “I was born to be up there.”

  Powderkeg stopped looking at the plane and looked at Mikie instead. “I used to say that same thing,” he said.

&n
bsp; “What happened?”

  “Life.” He shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Life has a way of going full circle,” Mikie said, looking up at the clear sky.

  “I guess maybe you’re right.”

  “I know I’m right.” Mikie leaned against the leading edge of the lower wing, her hands in her jeans pockets. “I’m always right.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Hey, it’s getting late. I better get you over to Fat Chance.”

  “Right again,” Powderkeg said.

  “So you were Air Force,” Mikie said. “That’s cool. I like a man in uniform.”

  “I’m not in uniform anymore.”

  “That’s OK,” she said, stepping closer. “I like a man out of uniform too.”

  Dymphna was standing in the yard, the sun casting late afternoon shadows. The goats were playing a Capra-esque version of tag, scattering the chickens as they chased each other. Usually Thud joined in, but this afternoon, he stood quietly by Dymphna’s side, shaking his wrinkled coat anytime a goat got too near. Dymphna, holding the duckling, reached down and petted the dog.

  “Are you protecting Crash?” Dymphna asked. “Who’s the good dog?”

  Thud looked up with his permanently melancholy expression and wagged his tail in the dust, as if to say “That would be me.”

  Dymphna sat on the ground, holding Crash in her hands. He was surprisingly strong and tried to wiggle away from her.

  “Hang on, little guy. Let me introduce you to everybody before I put you down.”

  “Think he’s ready for gen pop?” came a voice behind her.

  She didn’t need to turn around to realize it was Tino. She could feel the smile spreading across her face and nuzzled into the duck’s down to hide it. Thud was already demanding his attention as she stood up, duck in arms, and faced him.

  “Gen pop?” she asked.

  “General population,” Tino said. “You know, like in prison.”

  Dymphna’s smile froze. Prison?

  “I’ve never heard that term,” she said. “I’ve never been to prison.”

  “You also don’t watch much TV, I guess.” Tino smiled easily. “That’s where I get all my tough-guy lingo.”

  Dymphna relaxed. She loved the fact that talking to Tino was effortless. She held up the duck for inspection.

  “When I went into the bathroom this morning, he was sitting in the sink,” she said. “Obviously he no longer wants to be a tub duck. I thought I’d see how he does with the other animals and decide what to do then.”

  “He might try to escape, you know,” Tino said. “He still can’t fly—but he doesn’t know that.”

  “I know. I’ll watch him.” Dymphna kissed the wiggling Crash in her arms. “But the day will come when he can fly—and I’m ready for whatever he decides. He’s welcome to stay but free to go.”

  “You really mean that too, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” she said, startled. “Is that unusual?”

  “Apparently not in Fat Chance. Mind a little professional help?”

  “No! I’d love it,” Dymphna said, “I was flying by the seat of my pants and hoping for the best.”

  “I’m sure Crash will be fine, but I might start him out with the chickens and work up to the goats.”

  “Sounds good.” Dymphna turned to Thud. “Thud, get the goats into the barn, please.”

  Tino watched in amazement as the bloodhound started barking happily. He bounded around the yard, ears swinging. The goats stopped their game and looked at him. As if on cue, the goats pranced into the barn.

  “That’s amazing,” Tino said. “I mean, bloodhounds are bred to hunt, not to herd.”

  “Thud’s a lover, not a fighter,” Dymphna said, walking to the barn. Tino followed.

  The goats looked up at them. She handed Crash to Tino. The duckling took this as an opportunity to attempt an escape, but Tino knew what was coming and held on securely as Dymphna closed the barn door.

  “Sorry, guys,” Dymphna said to the goats, who looked solemnly at her as the barn door closed. “This won’t take long.”

  She turned to see Tino smiling gently at her with those emerald eyes. She suddenly felt shy. It was a familiar feeling; she’d been shy as long as she could remember. Life in Fat Chance had given her much more confidence, but she had to admit that shyness wasn’t completely behind her. She felt it in Spoonerville or when she took her knitted accessories to the co-op artisan shop in Dripping Springs. She still felt shy when trying to have a conversation with Professor Johnson, but she thought she’d probably get over that when—if—he ever came back. And now, here was Tino and his disconcerting eyes. Thank God there was Crash to discuss.

  “OK,” she said, trying not to sound breathless. “Goats are secured! Now what?”

  “What about Thud?” Tino asked.

  Dymphna and Tino turned to look at the bloodhound panting up at them.

  “What about him?” Dymphna asked.

  “He’s a big guy. You might want to put him in the house.”

  “Oh no. Thud will be fine.”

  “I know Thud will be fine,” Tino said, holding the duck up. “I meant he might scare Crash.”

  “He won’t.” Dymphna took Crash from Tino.

  She placed the duckling in the center of the yard. Crash shook himself and scratched his back with his bill. He looked up at Dymphna and Tino and let out a little peep. Thud sat panting. Tino looked concerned.

  “Thud will behave, I promise,” Dymphna said.

  The chickens took Crash’s introduction into the yard as a nonevent, but Waddle, the rooster, marched over. Crash seemed to sense aggression from the fierce red comb and black beady eyes headed his way. Dymphna held her breath. Tino took her hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. If Crash was going to fly away, now would be the time.

  Crash watched Waddle advance. Crash ran, a panicked peeping escaping his tiny beak. The sound seemed to infuriate Waddle, who gave chase. Crash circled Thud, who lumbered to his feet but didn’t leave his spot. Waddle slowed as Crash raced between Thud’s front paws. Thud stared down at Crash, then over at Waddle. The rooster flapped his wings menacingly, then turned around and returned to his brood. As soon as the rooster was gone, Crash started exploring the yard, stopping at a water pan. Dymphna watched as a few drops of water worked their way down the duckling’s throat. The chickens ignored him. He ignored the chickens.

  “That went well,” Dymphna said. “I think.”

  “It did,” Tino said. “But I wouldn’t push my luck. I’d keep Crash inside another night or two if I were you.”

  “I will,” Dymphna said. “Thanks.”

  Crash continued his exploration. Thud was watchful of his every move.

  “That’s an amazing dog you have there,” Tino said. “You must be very proud.”

  “I am proud. And he is an amazing dog. But I can’t take credit for him. He was raised by my . . .”

  Tino raised an eyebrow—and waited.

  “He was raised by Professor Johnson.”

  “Then are you fostering Thud?”

  “No, oh no!” Dymphna said, alarmed. Fostering sounded so . . . impermanent. “He’s staying with me until Professor Johnson gets back.”

  “Then what happens?” Tino asked, pushing a strand of hair off her neck.

  Dymphna looked up into Tino’s emerald eyes.

  “I have absolutely no idea.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The delicious smell of breakfast wafted up to the farm. Dymphna tried to ignore the rumble in her stomach as she continued to coax Crash into playing with the chickens. She felt sorry for the goats, who had to stay in the barn while she spent time with the duckling and the chickens. While she had hoped they would all get along, it appeared she would have to settle for them hanging out in different areas of the yard, but at least they weren’t attacking each other.

  “What do you think, Thud?” Dymphna asked the bloodhound, who was slobbering over Crash. “
Time to introduce Crash to the goats?”

  Dymphna could read no clues in Thud’s furrowed brow, but she felt the time was right. She opened the barn door and the goats came bouncing out. Crash took one look at the animals and jumped into the air. Not exactly flying, but a valiant effort, Dymphna thought. The goats came over to Crash to investigate. The older goats circled the duckling, then took a cue from the too-cool-for-school chickens and went their own way. Dymphna sat on the ground with Thud’s head in her lap as she watched the two little kids, now christened Lilee and Albert, poke at Crash. The duckling flapped his wings and the kids backed away. As soon as Crash stopped flapping, the kids returned. Crash tired of the game and waddled over to Dymphna. Thud sat up, leaving room in Dymphna’s lap for the duckling.

  “Okay, you,” she said. “That’s enough for today. Back in the house.”

  Dymphna put Crash back in the bathroom, then she and Thud headed into town. From her vantage point on the hill, she could see Rocket grazing on a slope behind the forge, looking content. She could see a tiny black dot moving down Main Street—that must be Fancy heading back to the forge after walking Titan to breakfast. She saw Fernando come out of the café and forcefully clang the breakfast triangle from the porch of the Cowboy Food café. No other townsfolk were headed toward the café, so she guessed that she and Thud were the only missing guests.

  On the way down the hill, she thought about yesterday’s visit from Tino. On the one hand, she was struggling with her own guilt over her attraction to him and was worried she was sending a confusing message. On the other hand, Tino was sending his own mixed signals. She had been sure Tino was going to kiss her, but the moment faded on the evening breeze. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if he had kissed her. She was both grateful and disappointed that he hadn’t. She looked down at Thud, who was heading purposefully toward the café, and she wondered if there was someone hovering around the edges of Tino’s mind too.

  From the porch of the café, Dymphna could hear Old Bertha.

  “I think Elvis needs to have his teeth floated.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Pappy said, sounding exasperated. “He’s too young. Stop believing everything you read.”