Cowboy Sing Me Home
Read Cowboy Sing Me Home Online
Authors: Kim Hunt Harris
COWBOY, SING ME HOME
by
Kim Hunt Harris
Text copyright 2012 Kim Hunt Harris
Contents
Funny how a few hundred yards can change a man’s entire perspective. Luke
Tanner drove down the highway in his state-issue Aloma County Sheriff’s Department
pickup, getting more depressed with each mile he passed. Fields that should be
green by now with cotton plants two feet tall were either barren and brown, or
looked at best as if they’d been sprinkled with a bit of parsley. Nothing like
the thick healthy plants the area economy depended on. Heat shimmered off the
blacktop; it was 10 o’clock in the morning and already 97 degrees. Irrigation
systems worked practically nonstop, and Luke was sure he wasn’t the only one
who thought he could hear the sound of the aquifer below them being sucked dry,
like the sound of the world’s biggest straw sucking at the bottom of the
world’s biggest empty cup. Not a hint of a cloud graced the white hot sky.
In other words, bad. Bad bad bad.
He topped a hill and saw a pickup and RV pulled to the side of the road
at the bottom of the hill. That in itself was interesting; he’d stopped two
days ago in almost the same place to help a guy change a flat, and ended up
arresting him on an out-of-state warrant. If that happened again, Aloma
County’s two-cell jail would be at capacity.
Whoever it was, though, it wasn’t a local. Tanner knew everyone in the
county and what they drove. It was a big deal when someone got a new car, and
practically made the paper if someone got an RV.
Maybe somebody coming into town for the upcoming Rain Fest, he thought
with a slight surge of hope. He signaled that he was pulling over.
He picked up his handset and started to call in the stop. He broke off
because suddenly there was no air in his lungs
This wasn’t just any motorist. This was a drop dead gorgeous woman. With
long legs, long blonde hair and…he pulled closer. Yep, with a flat tire, too. He
shook his head and grinned. And here he was, to save the day.
In other words, good. Good good, oh
so
good.
Luke Tanner loved to help people. Always had. Not just beautiful female people,
either. He was idealistic enough to admit to himself that
that
was why
he went into law enforcement – to help people. True, he didn’t get to be the
hero nearly as much as he got to hand out speeding tickets, but the occasional
opportunity did present itself.
He did a quick teeth check in the rearview mirror and exited the pickup,
already mentally checking his calendar for the next few nights. He lifted his
hat in the vain hope of coaxing a quick breeze against his sweating scalp. He
did have band rehearsal until eight every night, but if the damsel in distress
appeared agreeable, he might just suggest a drink and dance after.
That turned out to be a big “if.” The damsel in question didn’t appear
agreeable in the least. In fact, the moment her eyes met his, the temperature
around him dropped a good ten degrees.
It caught him off guard. Generally, women were glad to see him,
especially ones that needed help. But this woman stared daggers at him, the set
of her jaw square and her green eyes fierce. That was why, no doubt, he was
thrown enough to say the idiotically predictable, “Got a flat one?”
To her credit, she didn’t come right out and
call
him an idiot.
Just continued to glare at him, then slowly lifted her long blonde hair off her
neck to cool it. “My jack is busted.”
“Not a problem, I have one in my truck. We’ll have you back on the road
in a jiffy.”
Good lord, he said to himself as he pulled the jack from the back of his
pickup. A
jiffy
? Could he get any more lame?
She had rattled him, though. She was just in a bad mood about the tire,
he told himself. The heat. She had
not
taken an instant dislike to him.
After all, what was not to like?
He came back with the jack and fresh resolve. He stuck out his hand. “Deputy
Luke Tanner.”
She gave his hand a quick shake and said, “Nice to meet you, Deputy
Tanner. I can work the jack myself, I just need one that’s not broken.”
“Don’t be crazy,” Luke said, noticing that she’d not given him
her
name. “My mother would slap me upside the head if I stood by and let a
beautiful girl change her own flat tire.”
She took the jack from him and rolled her eyes slightly. “What about an
ugly girl?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Well now, I don’t know.
I don’t think I’ve ever actually
seen
an ugly girl. I’ve heard about
them, of course, but they’re not very common around here, that’s for sure.”
That earned him a quick look that might possibly have been a smile way
deep, deep down. It was gone quicker than it came. She placed the jack on the
ground and reached for the wrench that worked it.
He drew it back, out of her reach. “Nuh-uh. Sorry, but I was serious. I
can’t let you change your own tire. That’s not the way we do things around
here.”
She took an appraising look around, clearly not impressed with
around
here
. “Suit yourself.”
He crouched, fit the end of the wrench into the notch and spun the jack
handle. He decided that it was okay if she didn’t like him. But she didn’t need
to be turning her nose up at his home town.
He looked around while he spun the jack. “You traveling through, or are
you planning to stay for a while? We’re having a big festival next week. Gonna
be fun.”
“Is that right?” Dusty Rhodes crossed her arms over her chest and watched
the Coca-Cola cowboy make his weak attempt at impressing her. Yes, okay, he was
handsome. Taller than she, which she considered a plus; she was 5’10” and it
wasn’t as easy as one might think to find men tall enough. And he had those
deep brackets around his mouth when he smiled that crooked, charm-the-pants-right-off-you
smile. Lean. Wide shoulders. Nice butt. She supposed most women would be
attracted to a guy like that.
But she‘d seen enough drugstore cowboys to last her a lifetime.
The cowboy was rattling on about the big festival in town next week. She
forced herself to appear interested. He was, after all, changing her flat and,
unnecessary as his chivalry was, at least he was trying to be nice. She could
make an attempt to be civil. But not enough to encourage him.
“People just need something to look forward to, you know? Something to
give them some hope.”
She made a noncommital noise.
“I think it’s helping, actually.” He grunted as he lifted the tire off
and stood, heaving it into the back of her pickup. He lifted the spare down and
let it bounce on the ground, gaging how sturdy it felt as it bounced.
Apparently he was satisfied; he crouched again to lift it onto the wheel. “I
mean, obviously we’re not working up any rain or anything. But the point of the
whole thing is to give people some hope, remind them that we’re a community,
more than just a bunch of people living in the same area. We help each other
out, you know? We stick together and we stick it out and we hang in there
through the ups and downs.” He spun nuts onto bolts one by one.
He was just one pat cliché after another, she thought, knowing that it
sounded mean even in the privacy of her mind.
“Anyway, you’ve got to come, as long as you’re here. Everyone in the
county is getting together for this. We’ve got bands playing, a street dance,
a carnival for the kids. All four churches in town are getting together for
special prayer services all week. It's a big deal. We even have some hotshot
musician coming in for a week-long gig at Tumbleweeds.”
She cast a quick glance at him. Her eyes were the darkest green he’d
ever seen, so dark they almost didn’t look real, but she didn’t look the type
to wear tinted lenses, either. She looked the type who’d tell you to kiss her
butt before she’d give a flip what you thought.
Glad to have her attention, he elaborated. “Some joker named Dusty
Rhodes is supposed to be here sometime this afternoon. Pretty lame, huh?
Usually when I hear a cheesy stage name like that, I think it’s a crutch to
make up for a lack of talent. But maybe he’ll be okay. He’d better be a damn
virtuoso, to keep up with his ego. He sent a list of instructions for the
house band that’s as long as my arm. Learn all these songs, have this
equipment, yadda yadda yadda. I want this in my dressing room, I want all
smokers this far from the stage.” He rubbed his arm against his mouth to rub
off the grin that might look a little too smug. “I’m in the house band at
Tumbleweeds. Play the guitar.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and kept up the deadpan look.
A horrific thought crossed his mind. “Uhhh…” he said.
Very eloquent,
Tanner
.
“Uhhh,” she said back.
“I just stepped right in it, didn’t I?
She lifted an eyebrow. “Hip deep.”
He frowned and looked away, then back up at her, squinting against the
sun. “What say we rewind about the last ninety seconds or so?”
She picked up the jack pieces and handed them to him. “Dusty Rhodes,
pleasure to meet you. And that’s not a stage name, that’s the name my parents
gave me. They were a hoot.” Her expression dared him to make a smart remark.
“And I
am
a virtuoso.”
Luke stood in the middle of the highway and watched her drive away, then
slowly climbed back in his truck and drove to the courthouse. He entered
silently, his mind still reeling. Inside, he dropped to the torn Naugahyde
chair and rested his elbows on his knees.
Toby Haskell, the sheriff of Aloma County and Luke’s best friend, studied
him. He looked at Adam, the newest deputy, who sat at the desk nearest Luke.
“You okay, Tanner?”
“Somebody check and see if hell has frozen over, would you?” He sat back
and rubbed his face and hair till it stood on end. “I think I just met the
woman I want to marry.”
“Talk me up. Make me sound good.”
“Relax,” Toby said as they walked into Tumbleweeds. “By the time I get
through with her, she’ll think you’re a cross between Willie Nelson and Sir
Galahad.”
Luke spotted her, then took a deep breath and waited for his heart to
turn back over in his chest. She stood beside the stage, hooking up microphone
cords and giving orders to Stevie, the steel guitar player. Stevie looked like
he had died and gone to Heaven, and wasn’t quite sure how to deal with his good
fortune. “Yep. That’s her.”
“Pretty.”
“Keep your eyes to yourself. I saw her first.”
“And I’m married,
remember? Don’t sweat it. I want to meet the woman who has the legendary Luke
Tanner saying the “m” word.”
“Make me sound good. Make it up if you have to.” Luke watched Toby walk
up to Dusty and strike up a conversation. He took his acoustic out of the case
and fiddled with tuning it, but his concentration was more on the way Dusty was
laughing at whatever Toby had just said.
She had a deep, throaty laugh, one that evoked images of smoky bars and
shared secrets in the dark of the night.
Evidently, it was having the same effect on Stevie. He sat at his
guitar, staring slack-jawed at Dusty. “She is a goddess,” he said definitely.
