Cowboy Sing Me Home (7 page)

            As
soon as the thought coalesqued in his mind, it brought all other thoughts to a
screeching halt.

            What
did
he have in mind?

            Surely
he, who knew for a fact there was no such thing as happy ever after and
love-you-forever, hadn’t even subconsciously entertained the notion of anything
more than a good time with Dusty while she was in town?  The image flashed
through his mind, of Dusty and him sitting at the breakfast table twenty years
down the road, facing each other with the same expressions his parents wore
when they faced each other.  Was
that
what he’d hand in mind?

            He
picked up his mug and took a deep swallow, told himself it was just his pride
that was hurt.  He was used to making a bigger impression than this, that was
all.  If she wanted to set the rules, that was fine.  But he was definitely
going to play.

            “You’re
throwing off my game here.  I’ve been imagining a few more slow dances with
you.  And dinner.  Bringing you flowers.”  He set his glass down and stepped
toward her, watching for some sign, some signal that he was getting under her
skin.  Some sign that her cool composure was slipping, just a little.  “And
then, during dinner, I would wonder if you’d let me kiss you.  And when I
did
kiss you if I’d do it slow, ease up on you.  Or just do it.  Sudden, full
force, fill my hands with your hair and pin you up against the wall. 
Then
we’d go to your place.”

            If
he’d meant to shake her, his plan backfired.  Suddenly he wanted her so
intensely he could feel it, could see and feel and taste how it would be
between them.  The electricity that sparked between them on stage would be
there, between them in bed.  It crackled now, setting every nerve on end and
making it nearly impossible for him not to reach out for her.

She held her ground, matching his stare with one of her own.  He thought
something shifted in her eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. 

“Okay, in the first place, this isn’t high school, with us meeting across
a malted in the soda shop.  And second, you don’t have time to woo me,” she
said calmly.  “You have too many rehearsals.”

            He
laughed lightly and shook his head, backing away.  “Well, I guess that’s the
way it has to be, then.”

            “Look,
Ace, if you want a good little Aloma County girl, go get you one.  If you want
me, you have to take me like I am.”

            “Ahh,
yeah. I want you.”  He’d never wanted anything so much in his life.

            “Okay
then.”  She took a deep breath and reached for her guitar, hoisting the strap
over her head. 

            He
smiled when he saw her hand shake as she fiddled with the strap.  She wasn’t as
composed as she’d have him think.

            “Okay
then.”  He grinned.   “Tonight and tomorrow night I have to sleep at the jail,
since we have a prisoner.  But Friday night….your place, after the first
dance.  And I won’t bring my PJs.”

            Dusty
set the box of microphones and cords down inside the foyer and took an uneasy
look around.  It had been a long time since she’d seen the inside of a church,
but the feeling was pretty much the same as she remembered: hushed silence,
muted colors from stained glass windows, an indefinable smell that mixed fruit
punch, old lady floral perfume, delusion and desperation. Or maybe that was
just her. She shuddered.  She couldn’t get out of this place too soon.

            She
took a quick look around the sanctuary, but it didn’t take long to see there
was no one present save her and that trusty old holy ghost.  She moved toward
the only other door she could see, at the front of the sanctuary, her footsteps
absorbed by the thick green carpet.  She pushed open the door gingerly and
peered around the edge.  She could hear a piano and singing, but couldn’t see
anything except another hall.  She felt like she was walking into someone’s house
uninvited. Which, in a way, she supposed she was.  

“Hello?”  Her voice came out wavery and timid.  That irritated her; she
was here for a legitimate purpose.  She may not be a card-carrying member of
the church, but she had as much right to be in this hallway as anyone else
did.  “Hello!”

No one heard.  Instead she stood there feeling like a fool.  With a sigh,
she advanced down the hallway.  Taking a right, she met another hallway,
leading away from the muffled strains of the banging piano.  She started to
turn back, but out of the corner of her eye saw a man in a white t-shirt
outside a window.

He was replacing it.  Good, she thought.  A custodian or handyman or
something.  In other words, a normal person instead of a churchy person, who
could tell her where to leave the microphones so she could get out of here.

She walked up to the window and smiled.  The man smiled back and motioned
for her to lift the window.  She did, with some effort.

“Good,” he said when she got it open.  “It didn’t fall out.  That’s a
good sign, don’t you think?”

“Definitely.”

He stuck his hand through the window.  “Hi, I’m Mark.”

“Dusty,” she said as she shook his hand.  “Rodney asked me to bring the
microphones and speakers for the big shindig this weekend.”

“Oh, good.  The choir has been waiting for those.”  He scraped a putty
knife along the edge of the window and scooped up some gray goop.  Then he bent
and crawled through the window.  “Ahh.  Ten o’clock in the morning, and already
it’s sweltering.”

He wiped his hands on a dirty towel, then used it to dab at the sweat
along his browline.  “You’re Dusty Rhodes.  I saw you at the barbecue.  Thanks
for bringing the equipment, and be sure and tell Rodney thanks for loaning it.”

“No problem. Kind of surprised me, you know, a church using equipment
from a bar.”

Mark tilted his head and gave her a puzzled smile.  “Oh?”

“You know. Den of iniquity and all that.”

“It’s sound equipment,” Mark said with a laugh.

Dusty shrugged.  “I know that and you know that.  But you know how church
people can be.”

“Boy, do I ever.  But luckily right now all anyone’s interested in is
having a successful Jubilee.  Where’d you leave the stuff?”

They walked back toward the sanctuary, and as they did the music from the
other end of the hallway grew louder. 

“That’s the choir, obviously.  They’ve planned quite an extensive
program.”

Dusty figured as custodian, he must keep up on all the happenings of the
church. As they passed the choir room door, someone inside hit the mother of
all sour notes.

A few voices faltered, but the pianist banged gamely on.  Dusty cast a
sideways glance at Mark.

He was failing at his attempt to hide a grimace. 

“They need a bit more practice, I suppose.”

That was being generous, Dusty thought, but kept it to herself.  Whoever
hit that note needed a muzzle.

What the woman lacked in talent she made up for in volume, though.  Dusty
had to give her that.  The warbling voice followed them back through the
sanctuary, and even carried faintly as they moved to the back of the large
room.

Dusty showed him the microphones she’d brought, all the while trying to
ignore the painful strains emanating from the choir room.  “I brought some mike
stands, too, in case they needed them.”

He followed her out to her pickup and carried the stands in.  When they
re-entered the foyer, she saw him wince at a particularly unpleasant note from
the choir room.  He threw her a pained smile.  “Okay.”  He took a deep breath. 
“Do you have time to show me how to hook this all together?  The Jubilee’s
going to be on the courthouse square, where the barbecue was last night.  But
if you could show me how…”

“Sure.  What’s the setup?  A soloist, a trio, just straight choir?  A
mixture of all the above?  Oh good Lord,” she said when the voice in the next
room warbled to a fever pitch.  “She isn’t going to be one of them, is she?”

Mark made a face.  “Afraid so.  That’s Mavis, our lead soprano.”

“I don’t believe amplification is what is called for here.  Geez, has
anyone told her how awful that is?”

He sighed and inserted a microphone into a stand.  “It is pretty bad,
isn’t it?”

“Bad isn’t even the word.”

“And all these people coming for the festival…”  He shook his head.  “But
it doesn’t matter, of course,” he said, as if to remind himself.  “What matters
is that everyone has a great time. It’s about rallying the troops, you know.
Not about talent.  Thank heavens.” 

“If you say so.” 

The “music” stopped.  Dusty breathed a sigh of relief.

“It
is
an awkward situation,” Mark said as he strung cord across
the dais.  “No one wants to be petty and small-minded. But at the same time, I
can’t help but think about all the people who will be here, and how nice it
would be to have a truly outstanding choir.  Everyone’s doing their best to
pull out all the stops for this thing.  All four denominations in town are
joining together to put on great shows, all eight nights.  That in itself is a
miracle.  Hours and hours of work have gone into this.  I’d hoped that with the
combined voices, maybe Mavis would be… blended a little.  But she just sings
louder to carry over the rest.”

“High screechy notes carry,” Dusty informed him as she slid a mike into a
stand.

“I noticed that.”

Behind them, a throat cleared.

Dusty looked up to see a tall woman with a beehive of strawberry blonde
hair standing in the doorway.  Her face was much the same color as her hair. 
She sent Dusty a pursed-lip look, then turned to Mark.  She took a deep breath,
her ample bosom puffing up like a frog’s throat.  “Brother Mark, we’re trying
to decide between Bringing in the Sheaves and Up from the Grave.”

“
Brother
Mark?”  Dusty peered at him.  “
You’re
the
preacher?”

“Yes,” he said shortly to Dusty, then turned to the woman with the tall
hair.  “Whatever you think is best, Mavis.  I trust your judgement.”

Mavis sniffed, threw another glare in Dusty’s direction, and swung out of
the room.

After she’d gone, Mark looked at Dusty, a stiff smile pasted on his
face.  “Do you think she heard us?”

“Is her face always that color?”

Mark made a sound between a sigh and a groan and his smile drooped.  “I
only saw her that color one other time, when she and Beatrice Winters got into
an argument over how much sage should be put in the cornbread dressing at
Thanksgiving.”

A moment later, a door slammed.

“I believe that was Mavis, storming out.”  Dusty said as she untangled
cord.  “Why didn’t you tell me you were the preacher?”

Mark continued to look toward the choir room.  “Some people have a chip
on their shoulder about clergymen, and the church in general.  You seemed like
one of those people.”

“I have a chip on my shoulder about liars, too.”

“I didn’t lie.  I misled you.”

“And I’m not a big fan of people splitting hairs.”
            “I guess I should go after her.”

“Why?  Do you want her to come back and ruin your Jubilee?”

“Not especially.  But I like the idea of hurting her feelings even less.”
He made his way toward the door. “Just leave that stuff, Dusty, and I’ll work
it out when I get back.

As he walked out the foyer door toward the parking lot, a group of women
came through the door that led into the hallway. 

“Oh.”  A frail-looking, gray-haired woman froze, then turned back to the
others.  “There’s a girl here.”

Evidently she didn’t come upon girls in the church very often, Dusty
thought.  She nodded at the group.  “I’ll be through here in a minute.”  The
least she could do after running off his “star” soprano was to get the setup
taken care of. 

“We’re not trying to rush you, sweetie.  We’re just surprised to see an
unfamiliar face.”  Another woman stepped forward, her sun-lined face wrinkling
into a smile.  “Especially a pretty young one.  Are you helping Brother Mark
get ready for the Jubilee?”

“I’m setting up microphones.  Brother Mark went to find Mavis.”

“She left in a huff,” the first woman said.  “She was all bent out of
shape over something.”

“Louise, we shouldn’t be talking about it until we know the whole story. 
That’s how gossip gets started.”

“Well Helen, she
was
in a huff,” Louise insisted.  She turned to
Dusty.  “Made some nonsense remark about taking her high screechy voice home,
then she grabbed her purse and stormed out.”
            Dusty waggled her fingers, not liking the tiny bubbles of guilt
that started to form in her stomach.  “That would by my fault.  I didn’t
realize she could hear me, and I… ummm… described her singing in that way.”  No
point beating around the bush.  What were they going to do, sic the Holy Spirit
on her?

Silence greeted her.  Maybe they
were
going to sic the Holy Spirit
on her.

“Well,” the second woman said breathlessly, looking a little faint.

“If that doesn’t…” Another one said behind her.

“I’ve never…”

“It’s about darn time somebody said something,” Louise said.

The women turned to stare drop-jawed at Louise.

“Well, it’s the truth.  And sometimes the truth hurts, but still it needs
to be said.  We’ve been listening to that off-key whining for years.  Nobody
says anything because we don’t want to hurt her feelings.  But the truth is,
that woman can not sing.”

“Louise…” Helen said.

“Don’t ‘Louise’ me, Helen.  You know yourself we’ve talked about how we
wished Mavis could tone it down a little, or maybe get another hobby.  If she
could just find a key and stick to it, it would help.  Or could lower her voice
a little…but she’s just so durned
loud
.”