“They do have an opening for a third-grade teacher,” Jamie said.
“Promise you will think before you jump,” Mama Rita said. “You tend to let your heart rule your mind.”
“I promise,” Jamie said.
She slipped the paperwork back into the folder, now all neat and organized so that the newest documents were on top. At midmorning she was on her third cup of coffee and was chewing up the last of her half of the orange crackers when a middle-aged woman entered the office.
She swallowed quickly and covered her mouth with her hand. “May I help you?”
“I’m Paula Greeley, the principal here at Bootleg Elementary.” She stuck out her hand.
Jamie shook it, hoping the whole time that she didn’t leave orange stains on Paula’s hand. “I’m pleased to meet you. It’s been quiet here this morning, so I’ve gotten half this drawer organized. This needs to be done before I can work on that pile of papers or start doing anything on the computer.”
“Thank you!” Paula dropped into a chair and fanned herself with the back of her hand. “It’s going to be another scorcher out there, and us chubby people take a while to cool down. Victor says that he’s been talking to you about teaching here this fall.”
“Do you know who I am?” Jamie eased down into the chair behind the desk and ran her tongue around her teeth.
“I know exactly who you are. The whole town of Bootleg knows about you three women, and we commiserate. What a nightmare! But nothing that man did surprises us, not after Iris. No one here is going to hold that over your heads.” Paula grabbed a tissue from a box on the desk and wiped sweat from her forehead, then pushed her salt-and-pepper hair back behind her ears. “Are you even interested in the position?”
“I’m not sure,” Jamie answered.
“Moving here would sure enough be a cultural shock from inner-city Dallas,” Paula said, “so I imagine you’d have to give it a lot of thought.”
Jamie smiled. “Yes, it would, but I’m amazed at how much my daughter is thriving here. You are right, though, it’s something I need to think about.”
“So far we don’t have any applicants, so you’ve got time. But about the first of August, they’ll come out of the woodwork. All the plum jobs will be filled and people will be looking for anything, even if it means teaching at a little backwoods school like we have, so let me know if you decide to apply.” Paula stood up. “Until then, thank you for taking on this part-time job for us.”
“Thank you for the consideration and for giving me a summer job.”
Paula smiled. “From the looks of that drawer up there, we both got a good deal.”
Kate expected Jamie and Gracie to have gone to school that Monday morning when she awoke, but she was surprised to see that Amanda’s vehicle was also missing. That meant for the first time she had the place to herself. She stuffed a biscuit with leftover bacon and grape jam and carried it to the porch.
After she’d eaten it and finished a second cup of coffee, she began to pace from one end of the porch to the other and back again. Still nothing from the lawyers, and the idea of not sharing the letters was weighing on her heart. The other two had every right to know what was going on. There might even be something in them to help Waylon.
She picked up her phone and called the lawyer. While it rang, she crossed her fingers like she’d done as a child when she really, really wanted something. The angels who granted wishes must’ve been on strike that day, because the news was that they hadn’t found anything out yet.
She could go home and let the dust from all the drama settle. She’d go to court and get her maiden name back, and since she’d be the new president of Truman Oil, no one would dare voice out loud anything about the Conrad scandal. She’d about talked herself into packing her bags and leaving when her phone rang.
“We’re about ready to go to the hay field,” Waylon said.
“Were you serious?” she asked.
“Pays minimum. Work until we can’t see anymore. No dress code. You can work barefoot if you want in the truck,” he said.
“Where’s your place?”
“The ranch is easy to find. Take the county road out of Bootleg toward Wichita Falls. The ranch is about three miles down that road on the right. You’ll see a big metal sign above the cattle guard that says ‘Double Back Ranch.’ Turn there and follow the path. I’ll meet you in the front yard. How long until you can get here?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“You’ll drive an old work truck with no air-conditioning, so you might want to pull that pretty blonde hair up in a ponytail,” Waylon said.
“See you soon,” she said before she changed her mind.
She picked up a cooler from the kitchen and stopped by the convenience store in Bootleg to buy bottles of water and a six-pack of cold Coke. The thermometer in her Caddy said that it was 101 degrees, and driving a truck with no air-conditioning would make for thirsty work. She had to stand in line to pay and noticed a rack of baseball hats for sale. She picked out a pink camouflage one, removed the price tag, stuck it on her head, and pulled her ponytail out the hole in the back. Then she saw the sunblock and picked up an extra bottle of that.
She paid for her items, followed his instructions, and drove up in the front yard twenty-two minutes later. He was leaning against a flatbed truck, a bottle of water in his hands and sweat glistening on his arms and face.
“Sorry I’m late, I had to make a stop, and there were five people ahead of me,” she said.
“I don’t count two minutes as late, darlin’,” he drawled. “I like the hat. You ever driven a stick shift?”
Her mouth went dry at the endearment, and all she could do was nod.
“Well, this truck is your Caddy for the afternoon, and I’ll gladly give you all the work you want to do,” he said. “We’ll be in the hay several days a week for the rest of this month, so anytime you want to come out here and take a look at country life, you are welcome.”
“I learned to drive stick in my dad’s reconditioned ’55 Chevrolet.” She set her little cooler in the back of the truck. “Here’s some water and Coke so no one dies of thirst.”
“Beautiful and smart. A woman after my own heart.” He grinned. “Your dad really was a trusting soul to let you drive his vintage car.”
“Oh, he never did let me drive the ’63 Corvette that Mother bought for their twentieth anniversary, even though he did leave it to me.” She grinned.
“You own a ’Vette?” he asked.
“And the ’55 Chevy and his pride and joy, a ’32 Ford Deuce.” She grabbed the cooler and carried it to the truck.
“Like Abby’s on NCIS?” Waylon asked.
“Her car is red. Mine is black. Daddy said that it might have been a moonshiner’s car at one time. You driving out to wherever you are hauling hay, or do I need to give you a demonstration of my skills?”
“Where are those cars?” Waylon asked.
“In a special climate-controlled room at the oil company. I drive them every so often just to keep the cobwebs blown out. You want to see them sometime?” she asked.
“Can I drive that Deuce?”
“That depends on lots of things. For now who’s driving this rig, me or you?”
“Why did you decide to drive for me today anyway?”
“Trouble in paradise. Inheritance does bring out the claws.” She settled into her seat and reached for the seat belt, but there wasn’t one.
“Fightin’ over the cabin?”
“Looks that way.”
“And since you are the one with the biggest bank account, they are taking sides against you?” he asked.
“Nope, I’d say we’re all pretty much standing on our own rocky soil.”
He started the engine and put the truck in gear. “I’m kind of glad to hear that. If y’all were getting along like sisters, I’d continue to think you were putting on a show to cover something up.”
“We might argue and even come to blow
s someday, but I’ll stake my oil company on the fact that not a one of us had anything to do with Conrad’s death,” she said.
“That’s pretty positive. How can you believe in those other two that strongly?”
“Jamie might have been thinking about divorcing the son of a bitch, but she would never kill Gracie’s father. Amanda, bless her heart, will bitch and moan, but she wouldn’t have the nerve to pull the trigger, and besides she was still living in that first year of bliss,” Kate answered.
“And you?” Waylon stopped the truck at the edge of a field.
“I didn’t give a damn. To kill someone, you have to care. I would like to have my maiden name back and have it cleared from all doubt. Other than that, I was over Conrad a decade ago. Are those guys going to work with me?” She pointed to four teenage boys waiting under a shade tree.
“That’s your crew. What you do is drive this truck at about five miles an hour. Two will be on the ground throwing bales up to the catcher, who will toss them back to the stacker. When the truck is full, you’ll go back to the barn, where they will unload it and then start all over again,” Waylon said.
“Where is this barn?” she asked.
“The guys will give you directions. There’s a bathroom in the tack room if you need it. You’ll have a few minutes while they unload and stack in the barn.”
“I think I can remember all that,” she said as she slid across the bench seat. “Now give me the wheel. Does the radio work?”
“Like a charm. It’ll probably still be working when this thing finally bites the dust, but the air-conditioning went out years ago.” Waylon opened the door and hopped to the ground. “And thanks, Kate. This is a big help. It frees up a man to throw or stack.”
“Hey, I’m doing this for money, not thanks.”
He chuckled as he slammed the door shut. “And what are you going to do with your huge paycheck?”
“Buy tickets to Six Flags if Gracie doesn’t win them at the festival,” she said. “If I work all week, she and I might even send out for pizza from down at the convenience store one night. And if Jamie and Amanda are still bitchy with each other, we won’t share with them.”
“Beautiful, smart, and funny.” He shook his head as he walked away.
Waylon would never know what those three words did for her ego that day. She smiled as she shifted into low gear, let out on the clutch, and eased forward with a single lurch. A young cowboy hopped up on the back and two others started throwing bales up to him as she inched the truck along.
She turned the knob on the radio, and a country music station came in loud and clear. Maybe those cowboys liked her kind of music; maybe they liked rock or rap. But she was the driver, and as such she had control of the dial.
“Hot enough for you folks?” the DJ asked when the first song ended. “Well, turn up the air conditioner and enjoy the Monday madness. We’ll play ten of the most popular songs from last year in a row. At the end of the ten songs, the thirteenth caller who can tell me what month these were on the list will win two tickets to Six Flags Over Texas. First one is Carrie Underwood’s ‘Heartbeat.’”
“Was it February or March?” Kate asked as she kept her foot steady on the gas pedal. She’d listened to country music every day on the way to work at the oil company, on the way home, while she took her shower, and sometimes while she did extra work at night so she wouldn’t be behind the next morning.
When they made trips to the barn to unload the hay, she got out and helped stack the bales, but she kept the engine running so they could hear the music. By the time Waylon sent a text calling it a day, she’d put away four of the Cokes and six waters and was still thirsty. Never before in her life, not even at the gym, had she sweated so much or felt so grimy. Lord, she’d have to have her Caddy detailed and fumigated by the weekend if she rode home in it every day smelling like hay, sweat, and dirt.
She drove the loaded truck to the barn and parked it, bailed out, and headed for the bathroom. Using brown paper towels from a dispenser, she cleaned up as best she could with cold water. By the time she returned, Waylon was helping the guys unload the last of the hay.
“Good job. The guys say that you can drive for them anytime and that they like your music,” Waylon said. “Would you like to stay for supper? I’ve got a couple of steaks laid out to throw on the grill.”
“I’m filthy dirty,” she said.
“So am I.” He smiled.
Her stomach growled—a steak did sound really good. “So you can cook?”
“You bet I can. It’s not far to the house, so we’ll walk. Do you cook?”
“I can make soup from a can and a mean ham and cheese sandwich,” she answered.
“You any good at putting together a salad?”
“I can manage in a pinch.” Her long legs matched his stride with no problem.
He opened the gate for her and stood to one side. The yard sported a big pecan tree on each end and a nice wide screened-in porch.
“Kick off them shoes. We don’t stand much on ceremony. We’re pretty laid-back out here in the hinterlands.” Waylon sat down on the back porch steps, yanked off his boots, and padded barefoot over to a garden hose curled up in the yard. He turned on the water and sprayed the dust from his feet and then leaned over and wet down his dark hair. “Damn, that feels good. Come join me.”
When in Rome, Kate thought as she removed her sandals and set them on the porch. The polish on her toenails was badly chipped, and her feet looked like she’d walked a mile in a sandstorm. Thank goodness she’d washed her face in the barn bathroom or it would probably look the same. But then she was on a ranch, not going to a fund-raiser.
If everyone jumped off the cliff, would you follow them? I told you to get a mani-pedi two weeks ago. I can’t believe you are wearing sandals when your toenails look like that. Her mother’s voice in her head faded quickly when Waylon squirted her feet and all the way to her knees with cool water.
She could practically feel the cold stare of disgust if Conrad had seen her washing up with a garden hose. He’d expected her to maintain the image that he wanted. She banished him from her thoughts and concentrated on getting as clean as possible.
“Hey, did you find anything out about that girl you asked us about. Stella?”
“Estrella,” Waylon said. “We checked on her after I called and leaned on the florist again. Conrad sent flowers to her address once, but they were for her sister. Both the sister and Estrella had a rock-solid alibi, so that didn’t pan out and that’s more than I should be saying. Want your hair done?” He changed the subject.
“I’ll pass on that, but my hands and arms won’t.” She held them out.
He squirted the water up to her elbows and then turned off the hose. “There are paper towels on the porch.” He motioned for Kate to follow him. “Want a cold beer while we get supper going?”
“I’d love one.” She dried her hands and arms with paper towels and tossed them into a trash can.
Cool air greeted them as he opened the door into the house. He went straight to the refrigerator, took out two cans of icy-cold beer, and handed one to Kate. “Bottoms up.”
She pulled the ring at the top and drank deeply. “Tastes great after a long hot day.”
“Nothing like it.” Waylon nodded. “Have a seat and catch your breath. I made a little hash brown casserole, and it’ll take five minutes to heat it in the microwave.”
“I need to make the salad,” she told him. “I’ve been sitting all day, remember?”
“Then we’ll get to it.” He nodded. “I got to admit that I was surprised when you showed up. I expected you to be some hoity-toity city gal who didn’t know the gear shift on a hay truck from the back end of a cow.”
“Or from the underside of a bull?” Kate asked.
Waylon spewed beer all over the tabletop. He grabbed a towel and wiped up the mess. “I was damn sure wrong about you, Kate.” He whistled as he lit a gas grill in the middle of the stove b
urners.
“As a person or as a killer?” she asked.
“As a person for sure. The jury is still out on the killer issue, but my gut says that I might have been wrong there, too. Time will tell,” he answered.
“Well, we got that hoity-toity business out of the way and maybe a step away from me being one of the bad guys you chase. Now, where do I find the makings for a salad?”
“Left bottom drawer in the refrigerator,” he said.
When she opened the fridge, he reached around her to get the steaks, and his hand brushed her side. Sparks flew, but she attributed them to hunger, not attraction.
“How do you like your steak, Kate?” he asked. “Oh, and while we are cooking, we’ll have jalapeño poppers for an appetizer.”
“Medium rare. I love poppers,” she answered.
The small pan of cooking oil heated quickly, and he dropped four poppers in, waited until they floated, and dipped them out. He added four more and nodded toward her. “They are best when they’re hot. Help yourself.”
She picked up one of the poppers and bit off the end. Just the right amount of cream cheese and bacon mixed with a spice that she didn’t recognize. Was that chili powder?
“These are amazing, Waylon. It’s so smart to have that grill right on the stove,” she said.
“Mama insisted on it. She loved having it inside the house where she could fix the rest of the meal at the same time.” He bit into a popper and smiled. “Got plenty of chili pepper in this batch, didn’t I?”
“Just the right amount.” She reached for a second one.
“So are you coming back tomorrow?”
“Maybe.” She glanced through the archway to the dark living room. It reminded her of the little place she’d had before Conrad—cozy and comfortable.
“It’s not a big house, but we didn’t need anything else.”
She tore lettuce into small pieces and then added a diced tomato and cheese cubes to the bowl. He leaned against the counter and watched. Strangely enough, it didn’t make her the least bit uncomfortable.
The Barefoot Summer Page 12