My Give a Damn's Busted (6 page)

“Don’t get too damn comfortable if owning Mingus is the thing that’s going to write your paycheck. You might find yourself moving from the penthouse to the outhouse. Good-bye and don’t harass me again.” She slammed the receiver down with enough force that she hoped it gave him a major migraine.

She inhaled deeply several times before she went back out to the porch. Hank had set the empty bottle on the porch step. Stallone slowly inched over toward the porch and sniffed the tip of Hank’s boot.

“I think he’s trying to decide whether to trust me or not,” Hank said.

So am I. My flight mode tells me to run away, but this blasted heat between us creating sparks that are hotter than a barbed wire fence in the middle of hell says to stick around. Slow down, girl. Easy does it. He might turn out to be involved with someone else and only interested in friendship, like Luther.

She sat down and pulled her knees up. “Folks say that you can’t fool kids or dogs. I don’t know if that includes cats or not.”

“My dad has a barn full of cats. When I came out to the ranch as a kid I loved it when there was a bunch of kittens out there. I used to name them. One year they were Sesame Street characters, then they were race car characters from a cartoon I liked. Then I got old enough for a pony and the kittens took a backseat.”

“Be careful, Stallone; he’s a fickle friend. Man that would turn his back on kittens for a danged old pony can’t be trusted,” Larissa warned the cat.

“Is that the voice of experience I’m hearing?” Hank grinned.

“It is. We had kittens and when I got my pony I’m afraid I was a fickle friend too.” She smiled at the memory of that first pony her grandfather brought home.

The cat stuck his tail straight up and strutted back to the garden where he laid down and eyed Hank from a distance.

Hank smiled. “Looks like he’s the one who’s fickle. He was warming up to me until he heard about the pony. I won’t tell him that you’d trade him in for a horse if you got the chance.”

She giggled. “He hasn’t got a thing to worry about. I’m past the love of horses stage in my life. It only lasted a few weeks anyway. First time the critter bucked me off into a mud puddle, I was finished with him. Cats don’t treat you like that.”

“I’m glad to see you laugh. You looked like you could chew up railroad spikes and spit out staples when you came out after that phone call. I hope it wasn’t bad news.”

“Not at all. A telemarketer trying to buy something that’s not for sale and never will be.” The smile vanished and her tone turned from toasty warm to frigid.

Hank cocked his head to one side. “That’s strange. Most telemarketers are trying to sell, not buy.”

“Some fool from Dallas has been trying to buy the Honky Tonk for a couple of years now. Guess he thought since ownership has changed he’d have a chance at it. Idiot doesn’t realize that I’d have less reason to sell than any of the previous three owners. But that’s not important. I told him no and now it’s over. Sorry sucker thought he could sweet-talk me into a deal by offering me a fortune. Radner Corporation ought to fire his sorry ass. If that’s the best they’ve got then they ain’t got much.”

“Why would you have less reason to sell it?” he asked. His conscience was yelling at him to fess up and be honest with the woman but he shoved it away.

“Ruby Lee built it and she wouldn’t sell it because it was her baby. She wouldn’t have sold it to God for a front row seat in heaven. Daisy wouldn’t because she didn’t give a damn about the money. Cathy wouldn’t because she didn’t need the money. I won’t because it’s where my heart found a home. That whole bunch of Radners, be it two or fifty, can kiss my naturally born stubborn ass.”

“I see.” Hank chuckled. “Well, I reckon I’d better get the truck on back or Dad will be sending out the militia. I’m surprised that he even let me drive another one of his vehicles after that deer accident. He’s got a soft spot for every one of his old trucks.” So much for sweet-talking her or befriending her into selling the Honky Tonk. He’d have to find out more about her and see if there was anything in the world that would make her give it up.

“I understand completely. I got a soft spot for my beer joint,” she said. “Come back if you’re in these parts. Me and Stallone don’t venture out very far in the daytime. I’ve always got cold beer and iced tea. But if you ever preach any nonsense to Stallone that involves trading him in for a horse, I’ll…” she hesitated.

“You will what?” His eyes twinkled.

“You don’t even want to know,” she said.

***

Patsy Cline was singing and the dance floor was filled with two-steppers when Luther shut the doors behind Hank that night at the Honky Tonk.

“Evenin’, Hank,” Luther said.

“Looks like business is hopping. I was lucky to get in, wasn’t I?” Hank said.

“Yes, those behind you will have to wait until someone leaves. We’re at max capacity. She really don’t dance with customers. She ain’t just bein’ mean to you. Thought I’d clear that up,” Luther said.

“That’s good.” Hank waved as he cut around the edges of the hardwood dance floor. Tammy Wynette was singing “Your Good Girl’s Gonna Go Bad” when he claimed the last empty bar stool. Was Larissa a good girl or a bad girl? Hank would gladly help her
go bad
if she gave him half a chance. He’d tried to keep the job in perspective but he kept seeing her in those cutoff jean shorts every time he blinked.

Merle gave him a long look. “So you came back? Why didn’t you bring Henry?”

Hank came back to the present with a jerk. He wondered when she had sat down beside him. Or had she been there the whole time and he sat down beside her? Larissa had definitely gotten under his skin. “He was tired. He hasn’t got the stamina to put up hay all day and dance all night anymore,” he answered.

Merle smiled and leaned around him. “Old age, gravity, and time gets us whether we like it or not. Tessa, this here is the son of an old friend of mine and Ruby Lee’s. Remember, I told you all about her. Well, this is Hank Wells, his son. I didn’t even know he had a son until last night.”

Tessa smiled brightly. “So do you dance, cowboy?”

“Afraid I’ve got two left feet,” he said.

“Too bad, but everyone has one fault. Guess yours is that you haven’t got rhythm. See that big old bouncer back there? Big as he is, he’s light on his feet when I can talk him into a dance, which is what I’m about to do. Do you shoot pool?”

He shook his head.

“Guess you’re just eye candy, then.” Tessa hopped off the stool and motioned to Luther to dance with her to an old Bill Anderson tune.

Tessa was a brunette with green eyes that were even bigger through the lenses of her black-rimmed glasses. She had rounded hips that were slightly larger than the top half of her body. But there were no sparks when she touched his arm as she was leaving. Not a single hot vibe shot through his veins like it did when Larissa handed him a beer and touched his fingertips.

“Evenin’, Hank,” Larissa said. The attraction she had for the man heated up her insides until they were little more than a conglomerate of aching desires. “What can I get you?”

“Larissa.” He nodded. His mouth went so dry that he craved a beer worse than if he’d been dancing for an hour.
How about a romp in the hay? Or at least a long, lingering taste of those lips?

He roped in his wayward thoughts and said, “Coors, please.”

She set a bottle on a paper coaster in front of him. He handed her a bill and deliberately let it fall so they’d both grab at the same time. When their skin touched it was as if fire had jumped from hell and scorched his palm. It wasn’t fair to be attracted to the only woman that he should not look at once much less twice with lust in his heart and soul. She owned a beer joint. She lived in a sorry looking house that wasn’t as big as his closet in Dallas. She was
the job
. So why in the hell did he want to take her to bed?

“Sorry about that,” he said hoarsely. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way. Who was Larissa Morley and why in the devil wasn’t there any more information on her? Hells bells, his people could find everything on Luther and Merle and even Larissa’s friends Betty, Janice, and Linda and their husbands. He had pages and pages on all of them, from where they were born to what their finances looked like. But prior to Larissa coming to Mingus there was nothing. And to top it all off he liked the woman. She was hardworking and a hoot to sit and talk to. He could spend a whole week just talking about gardening or cats on her back porch.

She shoved her hand in her pocket to let it cool off. “Did you get the hay all baled and in the barn?”

“The little square bales went to the barn. The big round ones are drying in the field. You ever done any baling?” he asked.

“You asking me to take on another job?”

“Maybe. You interested?”

“Could be. I like learning new things,” she said.

Merle shook her head emphatically. “Rissa, do not let this cowboy coerce you into baling hay. Girl, that’s the hottest, dirtiest work in the world.”

Larissa smiled slyly. “It’s okay, Merle. I baled hay one time in my life and I know how hard the work is. Tell you what, Hank. I’ll bale hay for you but you have to work for me if I do.”

“Doing what?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

She wiggled her own dark brows. “Something really sexy. You interested?”

“I might be.”

“I need someone to help me paint my house.”

He groaned. “I hate to paint. Dad made me paint a barn one summer for punishment.”

“What’d you do?”

“What did you do to have to bale hay?” he asked right back.

“Touché, Mr. Wells. Someday I might tell you but tonight I’ve got work to do. So are you going to help me paint or not?”

“How many days for how much painting?” he asked.

“Hour for hour. I’ll drive a hay truck or use a pair of hooks and stack the hay but you have to help me paint an hour for every hour I help you get the hay from the field to the barn.”

Merle threw up her hands in disgust. “You are both crazy. I’m going to go find someone to whip at eight ball.”

“I really hate to paint,” Hank said.

“I really hate to sweat,” Larissa said.

He inhaled deeply and let it all out in a whoosh. “You got lots of beer at your house? Painting is a hell of a hot job.”

She grinned. “Do you have lots of beer at your ranch? Haying is a hell of a hot job too.”

He stuck his hand over the bar. “Starting tomorrow at noon when the dew is dried?”

She hesitated so long that he was pulling it back when she reached out and shook with him. Neither was prepared for the blistering fire that glued them to each other. When he let go she quickly made an excuse to grab a cold bottle of beer to put out the burn in her palm.

Betty, Linda, and Janice were on Larissa’s back porch when she opened the door to let Stallone in the house that morning just before noon. She still had sleep in her eyes and a nightshirt that barely reached her knees. She yawned and motioned them to come in even though they didn’t wait for an invitation and plowed right inside. Betty had a short mop of gray curls and enough wrinkles to prove that she was past sixty-five. Janice had a deal with Miss Clairol that kept her hair dyed a muted shade of blond but the wrinkles around her eyes proved she could run Betty a close race on age. Linda was a couple of years younger and had salt-and-pepper hair she wore in a chin-length bob. All three of them wore jeans, T-shirts, sandals, and a worried expression.

“So when did y’all get back from Vegas? And why the long faces? Did you lose your shirts at the slots or your husbands to those fancy dancers?” she asked.

Betty started a pot of coffee.

Linda set a platter of cookies on the table.

Janice got down the cups and saucers.

“We got back yesterday. Linda probably gained twenty pounds and Betty got drunk off her ass and it’s a damn good thing that she’s too old to get pregnant because Las Vegas always makes Elmer horny. I came home with fifty more dollars than I left with so I’m the lucky one,” Janice said.

Betty pushed the button on the coffee pot and sat down at the table. “Long faces don’t have anything to do with Las Vegas. Last night we all three got a phone call from Wayne Johnston, the henchman from that Hayes Radner company. He’s getting serious now, Larissa. He says that Hayes will own Mingus before it’s all said and done and we’ll lose our chance to make big bucks. His offers only stand for one week. Elmer is all fired up about selling and retiring out west with our kids.”

Janice sat down in one of the four chairs surrounding the table. In the thirties houses were built about the same around Mingus. Good sized living room that opened right into an equally large kitchen. Two bedrooms off to the side separated by a bathroom in a short hallway. Larissa’s kitchen cabinets had so many coats of white paint on them that the doors did not shut all the way. The brown and yellow linoleum on the floor should’ve been replaced back when Moby Dick was a minnow.

Larissa had plans to remodel the whole interior eventually. She wondered if Hank Wells was any good at interior carpentry work. Did he hate it as much as painting? Could she barter for his services? What could she entice him with for that kind of work? Her hands went clammy when she thought about just how she could pay him.

“So?” Betty said.

Larissa blinked away enough naughty thoughts to earn her a backseat in hell on a barbed wire fence for eternity. “It’ll have to be an all-or-nothing deal. If one person in Mingus holds out, he can’t put in an amusement park, can he? He’s teasing us with big money to get us all worked up and ready to sell. But when it comes time to put our name on the line it won’t be much more than market value. Anything else doesn’t make a bit of business sense.”

Betty stood up, leaned on the cabinet, and waited for the coffee to drip. “I figured that out but Elmer is flipping back and forth. One hour he says he’d never sell his great-grandparent’s home; the next he’s saying that when we are dead and gone our kids will sell it and won’t get a tenth of what the Radners are offering if we sell first.”

“Well I ain’t sellin’,” Linda said. “And I own a whole block of Main Street. If he wants to build a park around my land that’s fine and dandy. I may put in a hog farm on my lots if he does. Let the city slickers get some real good country aroma.”

“What’s J. C. say about that?” Larissa asked.

“He don’t give a shit what I do. It was my momma’s land and before that it belonged to her daddy. J. C. says he wouldn’t move for half the money in Fort Knox. He’s a damned old pack rat and he’s too lazy to pack it all up. That’s the real story. Truth is I don’t give a damn why he won’t sell because I don’t want to leave Mingus. It’s home.”

Janice ate a cookie while she waited on the coffee. “Frank says that he was born in that house we live in and he reckons it’ll do to die in. We’re three couples and one beer joint owner. Think we can sway everyone else to sit tight and refuse to sell?”

“I reckon we can have us a town meeting and ask everyone to attend,” Larissa said.

Betty poured coffee and the women gathered around the table. “Sounds like a good idea to me. Why don’t we invite Hayes Radner to come to the meeting? That way he can see that we don’t intend to do business with him and he can get his sorry ass on up the road to the next town he wants to raze and take over.”

Larissa nodded. “I had a call too and I put him going but I think a town meeting would be just the thing. It would show those people that money don’t always get its way. How about a month from now? We can put up fliers down at the Smokestack and around town, maybe even get someone to write it up in the newspaper. I’ll take care of all that and we can have the meeting at the Honky Tonk. There’s plenty of room and it’s empty in the daytime,” Larissa said.

Janice figured days in her head. “Today is the fifteenth. How about Saturday, July 31. That’ll give us a couple of weeks and a few days past that. If you drag it out a whole month, the community will lose interest. If we hit ’em hard and fast and keep talking it up we can fire everyone in town up real good. We ought to have it at the City Hall. There’s a big oak tree where we can string up him and his henchman, Mr. Johnson, if things get out of hand.”

“Can’t get enough people in there. The religious folks will just have to suck it up and repent later for going into a beer joint. We can put a little note at the bottom of the fliers that the bar will not be open during the meeting. And if things get out of hand I’ll just poison the bastard’s punch. Ain’t no use in dirtying up a good rope,” Larissa said.

Linda dipped a cookie into her coffee and got it to her mouth just before it fell apart. “That ought to give us enough time to get everyone all worked up. I reckon I can light a fire under the ladies’ asses in my Sunday school class. J. C. can talk it up to all the folks in the feed store and down at the Smokestack when he goes for coffee. Give them men something new to fuss about other than politics and Monday night football.”

Larissa stood up and pushed her chair under the table. “I’ll get on the computer and make fliers and start getting the word out to all the customers at the Honky Tonk over the Internet. You’d be surprised how many have asked me to be their friend on Facebook. But right now, I’ve got a new friend and we’ve made an agreement. I have to haul hay today for him to help me paint this house. Maybe I’ll invite him to our meeting too. He’s new to these parts but he’s pretty impressive. He might help put old Hayes’ nose out of joint. Y’all put Stallone out before you leave. I’ll see you tonight, right?”

“Hauling hay? Are you crazy, girl? Don’t that beer joint make enough money that you don’t have to take on a second job?” Janice asked.

“Y’all ever hear of Henry Wells?” Larissa asked.

“Hell, yeah. He’s got the biggest spread in the county. Up north of Palo Pinto. Back when Ruby Lee first built the Honky Tonk, he used to come in pretty often. He was one smooth dancer. If I hadn’t already branded Elmer, I might’ve gone for him,” Betty said.

“Did you know his son Hank?”

All three shook their heads.

“I heard Henry got married to a rich bitch and it didn’t last until the honeymoon was over but I didn’t know about a son,” Linda said.

“Well, me and his son made a deal. He stopped by to see if I was all right after our little wreck incident and I think we’re going to be pretty good friends. He’s been by the Honky Tonk a couple of times and I’m going to haul hay and he’s going to help paint my house.”

“Is he pretty?” Janice asked.

Larissa placed one hand over her heart and fanned her face with the other. “But even better, he’s a good old hardworking cowboy. He don’t care about impressing a girl with flattery or fancy duds. He’s just plain old Hank and I like that.”

“Then get on out of here and go get all hot and sweaty with the man. Wish I was thirty-five years younger and I’d go with you, but gravity got my boobs and ass years ago,” Betty said.

Larissa could hear them giggling as she backed the car out of the carport.

***

Hank had parked the hay hauling truck and was on his way into the house for dinner when he noticed a puff of dust following a vehicle on the way down the lane. When Larissa stepped out of her car he lost his ability to talk and was very glad for sunglasses so she couldn’t see his eyes. She wore faded jeans, work boots worn down at the heels, a chambray shirt opened to show a skin-tight red tank top underneath, and a bandana wrapped around her forehead.

“You ready to haul some hay?” She was surprised that her voice came out normal. He looked like something from one of those old Marlboro cigarette commercials. All he needed was a horse instead of a flatbed truck. The burning embers blazing between them had nothing to do with the hot Texas summer wind. He had trouble shutting up that niggling voice that said he had no right to feel like he did when he hadn’t been honest with her.

“I’m going to have some lunch. Have you eaten?” His words sounded stilted and formal.

She smiled and his heart thumped against his chest. “No, I haven’t had lunch.”

“Well, come on inside and set up to the table with us. Can’t have you working all afternoon on an empty stomach.” He motioned for her to walk beside him.

She was careful not to let her hand brush against his and kept her eyes away from him.
Friendship, girl. That’s all you’re interested in. Toss some ice water on those hormones.

“Where
did
you get that Mustang? I’ve never seen one that old in such good shape,” Hank asked.

“My grandfather left it to me. Sometimes I wish I had the nerve to sell the damned thing. My grandfather bought it brand new back in ’65. I inherited it when he died.”

“Why would you ever want to sell something like that?”

“I said sometimes. There are days when I’d like a small truck. Someday I might buy one anyway. There’s lots of room in the garage out behind the Honky Tonk. I could have both. So do you like my Mustang?”

Not as much as I like you,
he thought
.

He said, “Of course I like it. It’s a classic. You ever want to sell it, call me. I’d be interested in buying it.”

They reached the door and he opened it for her. She stepped inside to wonderful odors coming from the kitchen. “Mmmm, something smells good.”

“Oma made potato soup and quesadillas today.”

“Sounds wonderful. I had four chocolate chip cookies for breakfast. I expect they’ll disappear before the afternoon is half gone and I’ll be plumb faint with hunger.”

He opened the door into the house and stood to one side. “We’ll keep you fed good if you’ll help haul hay. Hey Oma and Dad, we got a guest. Set another plate,” he called out.

“You sure this is all right?” Larissa whispered.

Henry met them at the dining room door that opened off the foyer. “Come right on in here. Hank said he’d made a deal with you. I can’t imagine a little slip of a thing like you haulin’ hay. Did you grow up on a ranch?”

Larissa was in awe. Henry was taller than Hank by three or four inches, had a beautiful mop of thick gray hair, and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen on a man. He reminded her vaguely of the actor Sam Elliott, and his voice was just as deep and southern. If he ever came to the Honky Tonk, she’d have to arm Luther with a two-by-four just to keep the women, young and old alike, from attacking him.

“Yes, sir, I did. Not a big operation like this but I did live out in the country.”

Henry led the way to a dining room table big enough to seat twelve people. A tall, thin woman who’d been blond at one time carried a big pan of soup straight from the stove and set it on a trivet in the middle of the table.

“I’m Oma, chief cook, bottle washer, diaper changer when Hank was a baby, and housekeeper around this place. You remind me of Ruby Lee,” she said bluntly.

Henry grinned. “She does, don’t she?”

“Was Ruby Lee part Indian?” Larissa asked.

“No, she just had dark hair and was about your size,” Oma said. “Well, y’all better get busy on this food. Hay won’t bring itself to the barn and you got to eat for the energy to do the work.”

“I need to wash up before I eat. Y’all go on ahead,” Hank said.

Henry seated Larissa. “Help yourself. Oma will bring in the quesadillas soon as that last fryin’ gets done. Tell me about the Honky Tonk. Did you make any changes?”

She ladled soup into her bowl and had a bite before she answered. “The only thing I changed was that we have old jukebox three nights a week now. We plug it up Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.”

Henry’s heavy white eyebrows drew down into one long length of hair across his forehead. “Old jukebox? You still got one like Ruby Lee put in there? I didn’t know them old dinosaurs were still in existence.”

Larissa shook her head. “Not like it. The exact same one. We still let the customers have three plays for a quarter.”

Henry filled his bowl to the rim and started eating. “I’ll be damned. Just goes to show that bein’ old don’t mean wore completely out, but those records should have worn out years ago.”

Larissa nodded. “I’m sure several have over the years, but there’s a closet full of replacements. Ruby Lee must’ve bought every one she could get her hands on because when one gets scratched up and skips the maintenance man replaces it. He says that the Honky Tonk jukebox is the oldest one in the state that he keeps up. The customers love the old thing. I could’ve sold it a thousand times in the past few months, but it ain’t for sale and never will be, just like the Honky Tonk won’t ever be for sale.”

Oma set a platter piled high with flour tortillas folded over melted cheese, picante, and chopped chicken. “These go right well with potato chowder. You sure you ain’t related to Ruby Lee in some way? You even talk like her. Full of sass and vinegar and not afraid to speak up.”