My Give a Damn's Busted (3 page)

“Just a seat belt bruise.”

“Hurt anyone other than the deer?”

“Woman in a Mustang behind me landed in the ditch but her car wasn’t hurt and she seemed fine. I told her to call me if there were any problems,” Hank said.

The truck hit the ground with a thump and Luther detached all the chains. He took off his leather work glove and extended his hand. “I’m Luther Mason.”

Henry shook his hand. “I’m Henry Wells, Hank’s dad. What do I owe you, son?”

“Not a dime. Come on down to the beer joint sometime and buy me a beer, and we’ll be even up. Got to get home and get cleaned up for my second job. Hope next time I see you it ain’t in this kind of way.” Luther got back into the truck, turned it around, and left a dust cloud in his wake as he headed back down the lane.

“Nice kid. Big as a barn, ain’ he?” Henry said.

Hank pointed at the truck. “I ain’t never seen a barn that big. We going to fix it or junk it?”

“I’ll work on it in my spare time. Give me something to do other than watch reruns on the television at night after you’re gone,” Henry said.

“I’ll buy you another one,” Hank offered.

“I reckon you would and could. Reckon I could buy three to replace it if I wanted to, but I don’t. That old truck has some memories in it. Be like tradin’ in a grandpa on a stranger. There’s trucks around that we can use while I work on that one so don’t worry about it. I’m glad you didn’t kill nothin’ other than a deer. Did you call the game warden?”

“Luther did.”

“We better go on in the house and tell Oma what happened and that you wasn’t hurt. If she looks out here and sees the truck, she’s liable to have a fit.”

Hank nodded. “I’ll be back in a minute. We should’ve had Luther take it on out to the barn.”

“Boy already brought it home for the price of a beer. That’s enough. I’ll fire up the tractor and hook onto it. Won’t take but a minute to get it down in that barn where we keep the implements. You can tell me all about how it happened while we walk back,” Henry said.

“I figured you’d have a cussin’ fit,” Hank said.

“Guess I’m gettin’ too old for fits. They take a lot of a man’s energy. I’m just glad you’re alive, son. Someday you’re goin’ to slow down and appreciate livin’,” Henry said.

“Maybe.” Hank threw an arm over his father’s shoulder.

Larissa was surprised to look up and see Hank right across the bar from her that night. She figured he’d be home in his recliner moaning and groaning about the seat belt burn. His wife would bring him beer and potato chips and maybe even run his bath water that night while the kids played with grandpa. She hadn’t been so physically attracted to a man in years. Maybe not ever, and he wasn’t even her type. She usually went for someone a lot less rough around the edges. But something about those eyes and the shape of his face, not to mention all those muscles, sent her hormones into overdrive. She hoped he
was
married because the kind of white-hot heat she felt when he was around wasn’t healthy. At least if there was a wife at home, he’d be permanently off limits. If he wasn’t married and he visited the Honky Tonk every evening for a week she’d be nothing but a blubbering basket case.

“Hello, again. What are you doing back in this part of the county? I figured you’d have gotten enough of Mingus this afternoon,” she said.

“Thought I’d come down and see what all the fuss was about. My friends say this is the best place in the state for old music, cold beer, and dancing,” he said.

“They’re damn right. What can I get you?” Who were his friends and when had they been in the Tonk? Were they the preppies over at the closest table with a bucket of beer and a pitcher of tequila sunrise in front of them? Or were they the cowboys circling the jukebox deciding which songs to play? She decided they were probably the cowboys but then he said he only spent a little while in Palo Pinto County each year so maybe it was the preppies.

“Two bottles of Coors,” he said.

She set two bottles of beer in front of him, picked up the ten dollar bill he’d laid on the counter, and made change. She was careful not to touch his hand when she dropped it into his palm. If his touch was as hot as his smoldering eyes she would fall down on all fours and follow him around like a little lost puppy with her tongue hanging out. Her reaction earlier that evening was supposed to have been an adrenaline rush brought on by a near death experience. It should have passed when her nerves settled down. What happened?

Good God Almighty, get a hold of yourself, girl. You’ve seen good lookin’ cowboys before. You’ve been on every continent in the world. What makes this one so special anyway, other than the fact that you’ve been too busy for even a long passionate kiss the past six months?

Justin Langley, a Monday night regular at the Honky Tonk, sat down beside Hank. “Hey, Larissa, I need a place to sleep for my eight hours of down time. Can I use my regular trailer space?”

She pulled a chart out from under the counter. “It’s empty. I’ll write you up for it. Want a beer?”

“Just one to help me sleep,” Justin said.

“Comin’ up,” Larissa told him.

Justin turned to Hank. “Who are you? Ain’t seen you in the Honky Tonk before. You just a stranger passing through or did you move to this area?”

Hank stuck out a hand. “Hank Wells. Trailer space?”

Justin shook it. “Justin Langley. I drive a semi and stop in here on Monday nights for a few beers before I turn around and head down to Galveston in the morning. Yep, she’s got twenty of them out back of the Honky Tonk. Someday she’s going to marry me and we’re going to see the world from the cab of my truck. It’s just a matter of time. Owners of the Honky Tonk always fall in love with a customer and he’s always a cowboy. I’m a cowboy who rides in a truck rather than on a horse’s back. She’ll come around someday.”

Larissa made it back down the bar in time to catch the last remark. “Darlin’, I will marry you when angels sell rainbow snow cones in hell. Besides, you’ve got a girlfriend so stop teasing me.”

“And what about this magic charm thing all the women talk about? That one where the owner of the joint ends up married to a cowboy?” Justin asked.

“That’s not a charm. It’s a curse and it’s ending with me,” she said with false bravado.

Hank disagreed. The Honky Tonk had to have a charm of some kind. Daisy wouldn’t sell the place but gave it away to her cousin. Cathy wouldn’t sell either, but gave the Honky Tonk to Larissa Morley. Now she was determined to never leave. What magic did an old weathered building and two jukeboxes have, anyway? Had the wood been passed through a voodoo queen’s blessing or something? Had an ancient witch put a curse on the women who ran the place?

“So where you from, Hank?” Justin asked.

Hank forgot about curses and voodoo and answered, “My dad has a spread up around Palo Pinto.”

“Cattle or oil?”

“Angus.”

“Always thought I’d like a ranch when I settle down. Hey, Larissa, you want to raise Angus when we get married?” he yelled above the jukebox noise.

“Keep dreaming. Listen to what’s on the jukebox,” she said.

Dancers were out on the floor forming long line dances to “My Give a Damn’s Busted” by Jo Dee Messina. Twice in one day she’d heard that song. Was there supposed to be a message in it?

Justin grabbed his chest with both hands. “You are breaking my heart. Is your give a damn really, really busted?”

“Busted all to pieces,” she said.

“Is it just busted or plumb broke?” Justin pushed on.

“What difference does it make?” Hank asked.

“If it’s just busted we might find parts to fix it. If it’s plumb broke we might as well go on home,” he said.

“Don’t forget your hat,” Larissa said.

“Sounds to me like you got some persuading to do,” Hank said.

“Ah, Larissa is just playin’ hard to get.”

Larissa had searched the ends of the earth looking for a place to hang her heart. When it found a home in Mingus she fought it for weeks. When it decided it wanted to own and operate the Honky Tonk, she’d thought about extensive psychotherapy or else an MRI to find out if she had an acute brain tumor. But the heart will have what the heart wants or else it will pine away to nothing. It wanted to live in Mingus and run a beer joint and Larissa gave it what it wanted. Now she owned the Honky Tonk and had been happy as a drunk trapped in a wine cellar.

She made her way from one end of the bar to the other and stopped in front of Hank with renewed purpose to put a vice clamp on the physical attraction. “Need another beer?”

“I’m still workin’ on this one. I took the other one to Luther for payment for his help today. How long have you owned this place?” Hank knew exactly how long Larissa Morley had owned and operated the Honky Tonk. His file on her was slim but it was accurate from the day she moved to Mingus. Before that she didn’t exist.

“Moved here last winter,” she answered.

“Like it?”

“It’s home.”

“Want to dance?”

“Don’t dance with the customers, but thanks.”

“Buy you a beer or a drink?” Hank asked.

“Don’t do that either. Thanks.”

Justin patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t feel bad. I’ve been tryin’ to talk her into the same thing since last spring. Women! Can’t understand them. Can’t live with ’em and it’s against the law to shoot ’em. Ever hear of that book that says they are from a different planet than men folks?”

Larissa left them to discuss the impossibility of getting along with women and made her way down the bar, waiting on customers as she went. Monday nights used to be slow until word got out there was a quaint little beer joint just over the border into Palo Pinto County with a jukebox that still played old records at three songs for a quarter. The Internet and blogging had opened up whole new avenues of word-of-mouth advertising and now the place was hopping every night. Sometimes Luther had to turn the customers away at the door to wait on the porch or in the parking lot until a few got tired and left.

“Hey, Larissa, here’s our song. All you got to do is tell me that you love me and the next time it won’t be so hard.” Justin pointed to the jukebox where “Say It Again” by Don Williams was playing.

She shook her head and frowned.

“You really in love with her?” Hank asked.

“Naw, I just like to tease her. I got a girl in south Texas who can shoot the eyes out of a rattlesnake at fifty yards. I wouldn’t dare fall in love with another woman. She’d shoot me, throw my carcass out for the coyotes, and never look back. She’s one of them country girls that songs are written about and I’m so much in love with her it ain’t even funny. We’re gettin’ married at Christmas time and I’m settlin’ down to an office job.” Justin picked up his beer and headed to the pool tables.

Hank turned around on the bar stool and watched the dancers fill up the floor in a slow two-step as Merle Haggard sang a slow ballad. He was reminded of Toby Keith’s “I Love This Bar.” Toby mentioned hookers, lookers, bikers, and preppies in the song. Hank saw women who could be hookers in their tight fitting jeans and low cut blouses; those who were lookers in their high-dollar designer jeans and boots and hundred dollar haircuts; bikers over there at a table with their tattoos and earrings; preppies in their pleated slacks and dress shirts; and more hats and boots than he’d seen in one place since the last time he attended a cattle sale on the Lazy R Ranch up in Palo Pinto, Texas.

The Honky Tonk was a weathered gray building with a wraparound porch with a flashing neon sign atop a three-tiered façade. Inside it was one big room with two pool tables in the right corner, a few tables pushed around the walls with chairs surrounding them, a bar across the entire back side, and two jukeboxes.

Sitting on the stool and taking stock of the place, Hank couldn’t figure out why anyone wouldn’t sell it for ten times what it was worth. But the previous two owners had turned down million-dollar offers for a piece of Texas dirt and a building not worth a tenth of that. If there wasn’t a curse on the place, then what would it take to make Larissa sell?

His heart clinched up in his chest when he looked up and caught her looking at him. Something stirred but he was in the Honky Tonk on a mission and he would not be deterred by a sexual attraction that could be satisfied with one night in a cheap motel. He held up his empty beer bottle and pointed at it. She popped the top on another and brought it to him.

“So you don’t dance with customers or let them buy you a drink. If a customer asked you out to dinner would you go?” he asked.

“I work six nights a week. Only day I have off is Sunday.” Larissa hadn’t been on a real date in six months. Hank Wells rattled her nerves like a marble in a tin can just sitting on the bar stool. She couldn’t imagine spending a whole evening with him with no one else around.

Rattled her nerves, hell! Whatever sexy vibes he threw out set them on a roller coaster that took her breath away.

“Then Larissa Morley, will you go to dinner with me next Sunday? I will pick you up at noon. What’s your favorite restaurant? Or if you want a home cooked dinner, tell me what your favorite food is and I’ll ask Oma to make it for you. It’s payment for almost totaling your car today,” Hank said. In spite of the job, he would really like to spend more time with her. Getting to know her was part of the job, but she was all the things he liked in a woman. Strong. Independent. Sassy. Funny. Kind. Well, that last one might be up for debate but she had given him a jar of iced tea while they waited on the tow truck.

Her heart wanted to say yes but the little crawling itch on the back of her neck said something wasn’t right. He had mesmerizing eyes. He was sexy as the devil in disguise. He made her little heart jump around like a kid in a candy store. But… and there was that little three letter word getting in the way. Until she could look at him and see no buts, and she dang sure didn’t mean butts, she wasn’t going to succumb to all the heat between them.

“Thanks but no thanks. I’ve got plans for this Sunday,” she said.

Justin poked his head between two customers halfway down the bar. “Hey, Larissa, fix up a bucket of Coors. Me and Julio and Patrick got us a hot game of eight ball going back there.”

“You must’ve lost the first round.” She set a galvanized milk bucket on the bar, shoved six bottles of cold Coors down into it, and topped it off with two scoops of ice.

Justin picked up the bucket and carried it back to the tables. “Yep, I did.”

Larissa made her way down the bar, filling orders and jars. When she got back to Hank he still had half a bottle of beer so she didn’t stop until he spoke.

He nodded toward the jukebox. “Who’s that singing?”

“That’s the great Emmylou Harris. You didn’t grow up on old country music, did you?” she asked.

Maybe that was the wrong thing about him. He didn’t belong in the Honky Tonk and was an impostor. The previous Honky Tonk owner, Cathy, used to say that her “bullshit” radar went off when something wasn’t the absolute truth and when Larissa had worked as a bartender long enough she’d find her radar. Evidently she’d worked there long enough because it was sending red lights and a whining noise that only she could see. The prickle on her neck and the way he looked at her with a veil over those strange colored eyes had set it off big-time.

“Sure I know Emmylou. I just didn’t recognize that song,” Hank said.

Merle Avery claimed the stool next to Hank. She was an expert pool shooter and had seen more groups come and go in the beer joint than anyone in the county. She wore snug fitting blue jeans and her designer western shirt had red roses embroidered on the back yoke. She always carried a special case for her custom made cue sticks and never touched the freebie sticks on the wall. That night she set her case on the floor between the bar stools and studied Hank for a full minute.

“Do I have something on my face?” he finally asked.

“No you don’t, but I’m old enough that I can stare and not give a damn if it’s rude. I’m deciding whether I’m going to like you. Who are you?” she asked Hank.

He hadn’t planned on getting the third degree from everyone in the state of Texas when he decided to drop by the Honky Tonk, but he put on his best smile and said, “I’m Hank Wells, ma’am. Who are you?”

“Name is Merle Avery. You one of the new crowd that heard about the place on one of them Internet things?”

“No, ma’am. Just word of mouth. Friend said that the Honky Tonk was the hottest place around on Monday nights. I’m the one who hit the deer this afternoon and sent Larissa into the ditch,” Hank said.