Love Drunk Cowboy

chapter 9

Black clouds covered the sky all morning on Monday. The seeds already in the ground could use a good soaking but muddy fields would keep them from finishing planting that day. Austin listened to country music loaded on her iPod when it was her turn to drive the tractor from one end of the field to the other and back again. The Judds were telling her about love that morning. She kept time with her thumb on the steering wheel and wiggled her head a few times when Naomi and Wynonna sang about moving the moon and stars above.

She’d made the turn at the end of the field and started back toward the road when her phone rang. She pulled it from the bib pocket of her grandmother’s striped overalls, popped the music from her ears, and held the cell phone with one hand while she steered with other one.

“Hello.”

“Austin, what is that noise? What are you doing?”

“Planting watermelons. This is my second day. I’m getting the hang of this tractor. I can even turn it around without tearing up half the field.”

“You are what?!” Her mother’s scream made her jump and she had to grab the wheel to keep from swerving out of the ruts.

“I’m planting watermelons. I decided to do this rather than use my time to pack. Just a minute. I’ve got to lay the phone down a minute to turn this thing around. It takes both hands.”

She slipped the phone back into her pocket, turned the tractor around, and dug it out again. “Okay, I’m back.”

“Have you lost your mind? I swear the closer a person gets to the Red River the more brain cells they lose. Get off that tractor and come home. I’ll pay someone to go down there and take care of the packing,” Barbara said.

“Actually, I’m having a helluva lot of fun. I met this handsome hunk who lives across the road. Remember me telling you about Rye, the older gentleman across the road who I talked to on Thursdays for an update about the place?”

“Yes, what about him?”

“Well, I thought he was old and wondered how in the world an old man and I could talk every week and enjoy it so much. He’s not old. He’s thirty-two and handsome as hell. He’s so sexy, he’d even melt Aunt Clydia’s underpants and I’m not even sure she’s straight.” Austin laughed.

“Damn it all to hell!”

“Momma, ladies do not swear.”

“Well, they don’t drive tractors or plant watermelons either. I worked my whole life to keep you out of that place and all Verline does is die and you get on a damn tractor. If you aren’t home by dinnertime I’m coming after you.”

Austin couldn’t control the giggles. “Bring some work clothes. You can help plant watermelons. I don’t think Granny’s overalls will fit you. They’re doing a fine job for me. I even wore her capris and a shirt from her closet over to Rye’s for steaks, down to the Peach Orchard, and to the river for a picnic last night. He makes this most incredible bread you’ve ever eaten.”

“Are you teasing me?”

“No, ma’am. I didn’t bring anything but my spike heels and my running shoes down here. That wasn’t too smart, was it? Anyway, my feet are a size bigger than Granny’s but she has a whole bunch of those rubber flip-flops that fit me. Are you really coming down here? You’d love it in two days’ time. It’s so peaceful and you sleep like a baby at night.”

“No, I’m not coming down there. I hate that place.”

“I did too, but I’m learning to love it. With all this exercise I can eat like a horse and not worry about my weight one bit.”

“Promise me you’ll come home immediately. We’ll fly anywhere in the world you want to go. Want to go to Paris and shop for next season’s clothes?” Barbara’s tone softened.

Austin giggled again. “How about we go to Nocona to the western wear store and buy some boots and jeans and throw all our power suits in the river?”

Barbara gasped. “Are you on drugs?”

“No.” Austin bit the inside of her lip to keep the giggles at bay. Not unless there was a brand new drug out there called RO, short for Rye O’Donnell.

“Did you sleep with that cowboy?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you coming home?”

“Not until I have to. Good-bye, Mother. Talk to you later.” She hung up, finished out the row, and looked up to see Rye sitting on the side of the road in his truck.

“Hey,” he called out the window. “I’ve got to drive to Nocona for some more barbed wire. Want to go with me and have lunch at the Dairy Queen?”

She looked at Felix.

He checked his watch and nodded. “It is dinner and siesta time. We’ll start again about two o’clock.”

“I’ll be back by then.” She pulled off her brown cotton work gloves and tossed them on the tractor seat and got into the truck with Rye.

To Rye she was far sexier with that little bit of dirt on her face than she had been in that fancy black suit the first time he saw her. The woman might shape up to be a farmer after all.

“Well?” she asked. “Are we going or are we going to sit here all day?”

“Sorry, I was admiring the scenery.”

She blushed. She’d been afraid it would be awkward between them with fall-out from the almost-sex but it wasn’t. She didn’t feel like there was an elephant in the truck with them. She glanced at him from her peripheral vision. His jeans had grass stains on the knees where he’d been kneeling to fix fence. His shirtsleeve had a tear up near the shoulder where the barbed wire had won at least one fight. Would that tat keep her out if she decided to make a run for his heart?

She’d never made out with a man with a tat until now. Just looking at the thing was exhilarating. The next time her mother called she fully well intended to tell her about it. If she was reduced to unladylike cussing when she found out Austin was driving a tractor, just think what kind of words would flow from her mouth when she found out her daughter was having lunch at the Dairy Queen with a rancher with barbed wire tattooed around his arm.

They passed the school on the right. The children were out on the playground, running from swings to merry-go-round and playing chase and tag. Kids were the same at that age, whether they were playing in a schoolyard with five hundred of their classmates or ten.

“What’s the school population these days?”

“It stays between fifty and sixty from what I hear from Kent. He’s got a first grader and a second grader. Both boys. Wild as Apache Indians.”

“That’s for the whole school?”

Rye slowed down at Highway 81 intersection and looked both ways before turning left. “First through eighth grade. High school is bussed up to Ryan.”

“That’s only about seven or eight kids to the grade.”

He nodded. “Kent’s two are in the same grade. Teacher has first and second grade in the same room. I feel sorry for her. Those two boys could tear up an army tank with a chicken feather.”

“I’d like to meet these two wildcats.”

“You’d be taking your life in your own hands. Last time they came to my place even the rodeo bulls were hunting a place to hide.”

“Oh, come on, they can’t be that bad.”

“Invite them to a play day but don’t tell Felix. He and the boys will leave you to work a watermelon farm by yourself. I’m telling you those boys are ornery as hell.” He crossed the river bridge into Texas.

“Two mean little boys who could tear up a John Deere tractor with a feather and who make big old mean rodeo bulls climb trees to get away from them. Maybe those two bulls broke the fence trying to outrun them.”

I know they didn’t! I’m convinced that it was Granny keeping me from having sex with you. I haven’t figured out why yet but I will before I leave this place.

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. They probably snuck out of the house and chewed their way past the barbed wire fence to get at my bulls.”

“That’s bullshit.”

His laughter filled the truck and she smiled. She’d never worked so hard or played so hard in her life and it felt so damned good. It wasn’t going to be easy to give it all up.

They listened to the radio without talking on the twenty-minute trip to Nocona. Rye ushered her to the Dairy Queen with a hand on the small of her back. A thick layer of denim, a cotton shirt, and even cotton underpants didn’t keep the touch from sending sizzling tingles up her spine.

“Hey, Rye, heard two of your rodeo bulls got out the other night. They didn’t get hurt did they? I’m bankin’ on ridin’ one down in Mesquite this summer,” a cowboy said as they passed a table with eight chairs around it.

“They was hell to get corralled. Don’t know why they broke the fence. Could’ve been a pack of coyotes feelin’ their spring oats,” Rye said.

“You goin’ to be stingy or you goin’ to introduce us to your lady friend?”

Rye threw his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to his side. “This is Austin Lanier. She’s been helping get a watermelon crop in the ground. And this is Rick and that other rodeo feller over there is Henry.”

“Mighty pleased to make your acquaintance. Lanier? You’d be Verline’s granddaughter, right?” Rick asked.

“That’s right.”

“Your granny was a fine woman. You goin’ to keep runnin’ that farm or are you goin’ to sell it?” Rick asked.

“Thank you. I haven’t decided when or what just yet. Right now I’m just getting the crop into the ground.”

“Well, you decide to sell, don’t let Rye have it before you talk to me. I’ll beat his price by a hundred an acre,” Rick said.

Rye shot him a dirty look. “Why would you buy that land? Your ranch is here in Nocona.”

“Maybe I want to dabble in watermelons. See if there’s as much money in them as Verline always said.”

“Lot of work is what there is in watermelons,” Rye said.

“Hell of a lot of money in them too. Good crop can bring in a hundred thousand on good ground in a year.”

Austin had seen the figures and Verline’s ground beat that most years. By the time she paid her help and paid for machinery upkeep, she still had a nice income. Add that to her wine income and she made more than Austin did as an oil executive.

“Looks like it’s our turn to order. See you at the rodeo. Old Diablo will give you a run for your money,” Rye said.

“I’m lookin’ forward to it and, Austin, you remember what I said.”

Rye steered her to the counter where he ordered a double meat, double cheeseburger, large fries, and Coke. She just told the waitress to double it.

“While you find us a booth, I’m going to wash up,” she said. “I came right out of the field.”

He nodded and reluctantly took his arm away. He waited to find a booth until she was out of sight, watching her move between tables and catching glimpses of men, old and young alike, staring at her as she passed.

She felt his gaze as she crossed the smoking section and went right to the sink in the ladies’ room. Knowing that he was watching her put an extra spring in her step and a smile on her face that she was almighty glad he couldn’t see. The smile faded quickly when she looked in the mirror and gasped. She hoped she didn’t smell as bad as she looked. Dirt on her face. Strands of hair had escaped her ponytail and stuck to a sweaty neck. A rim of dust had settled between the cuff of her long-sleeved shirt and where her gloves had stopped. She peeled off a handful of brown paper towels and did the best she could to make herself presentable. Without a purse, all she had to comb her hair with was her fingers but she managed to get it all back up in the ponytail.

Her mother would do more than cuss if she saw her daughter out in public with no makeup and wearing running shoes that looked as if they’d never been white with a cute little pink swoosh on the side.

“It’s a good thing that six hours separate us right now,” she said to her reflection before she left the bathroom.

She found Rye already in the booth, talking across the room to another bunch of men who’d arrived since she left. She slid into her place and took a long drink of the Coke in a Styrofoam cup. It wasn’t watermelon wine or even Coors beer but it was pretty damn good.

“This is Orville Johnson and his brother, Rich,” Rye made introductions. She’d washed the dirt from her face and redid her hair but he thought she had been just as pretty with the smudge of dirt on her nose.

“Glad to know you. Knowed Verline my whole life. I was sorry when she died last winter. Heard you might put her farm up for sale,” Orville said.

“It’ll be fall at the earliest before I put it on the market,” Austin said.

“It’s a good farm. Lots of people want that land so you shouldn’t have any trouble sellin’ it. Well, Rich, you ready to go collect them women at the drugstore? I reckon they’ve had enough time to have lunch with their Sunday school class,” Orville said.

“If they ain’t, then they can gossip on the phone. I’m ready to go home and get these boots off,” Rich said.

“I’m wondering why our paths haven’t crossed in the past ten years?” Rye said when the old fellows were gone.

“Mine and yours?” Austin asked.

He nodded.

“Probably because I only came on weekends in the summer. Granny said you rodeo during that time. I loved Granny and wished she would come to Tulsa to live with us when I was a kid or at least in one of the houses on our block. When the house next door came up for sale, I begged Dad to buy it for her.”

“Did you ever learn to like Terral when you came to visit?” Rye reached across the table and took her hands in his. Her fingers were long and slim and so, so soft.

“The summer I was thirteen. Granny and I had so much fun that year I didn’t even care if my friends all got to go to a dude ranch. For the next three years I looked forward to coming to Terral. Then when I was sixteen I got a job at the dealership. From then on it was hit and miss and for some strange reason, Granny and I got closer with the passing of each year.”

She looked around at the décor. Coca-Cola trays were hung on the wall everywhere. She wondered where in the world they’d found so many.

“Did you ever even one time entertain notions of living here?” Rye pressed on.

She shook her head. “My mother would drop dead of an acute cardiac arrest if I even thought such a thing. She called this morning. She’s ready to fly down here, use Main Street for a runway, and haul me back to Tulsa just because I told her I was driving a tractor.”

“Your mother flies a plane?”

“No, Dad liked to fly. She has a stand-by pilot who can fly Dad’s plane. It’s nothing big. Just a little four-seater but it scoots her around when she has to go somewhere. She hates to drive or ride.”

The waitress brought their food. She set a bottle of ketchup in the middle of the table and asked, “Anything else?”

“I forgot to ask for a side of gravy,” Rye said.

“Bring it right out.”

Austin snarled her nose and slipped her hands from his so she could eat. “Gravy?”

“To dip my fries in. I like it better than ketchup. I got a call this morning. They’ve rescheduled the board of directors meeting in Mesquite tonight. I’ll be gone until Thursday night. It’s something I do every year but I’m so sorry that it’s this week. Last week was the rodeo and this week the board meeting and I really don’t want to go, Austin. I meet with the Resistol Arena for the rodeo season down there. I supply the bulls for them each year and we have to go over the contracts, meet with the other stock suppliers and all that stuff. Want to go with me?”

“You know I’ve got watermelons to plant. Did Granny ever go with you?”

“She always said the exact same thing you just did. ‘You know I’ve got watermelons to plant.’ But Gemma and I talked her into going with us to the rodeo pretty often. She was a hoot. You should have seen her the year that George Strait put on the post-rodeo concert.”

“She loved country music and George Strait was one of her favorites. Don’t tell me she was a groupie and hung on the edge of the stage.”

“No, but she bought everything she could from the vendors. While you are going through her things you’ll find a mug, a calendar, a shirt, and every CD they had for sale that night. She said it was the highlight of her whole summer.”

Disappointment washed over Austin. She didn’t want Rye to be gone three days of her last week in Terral. Hellfire and damnation! If she’d known that she would have drank less wine and done more than fall asleep under the stars the night before.

Austin pushed the fries to one side and picked up her hamburger. She bit off a piece and changed the subject before the tears welling up behind her eyelids spilled over the dam and wet her cheeks.

“This is so good,” she said. “I know it’s not socially acceptable to talk with food in your mouth but it really is good.”

“Do you like Blake Shelton?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve heard him sing but I’m not a groupie type person for any singer. Why are you asking about him? I thought we were talking about George Strait.”

“He’s playing one night down at the rodeo this summer. If you were around you could go hear him in person.”

The waitress set a bowl of gravy in front of Rye but didn’t tarry. Every table and booth was full and there were people waiting outside the door. Austin wasn’t a bit surprised to hear two truckers in the next booth talking about how glad they were they’d gotten in when they did.

“When he played in Tulsa I went to his concert. Did you know that he has a ranch over near Tishomingo?”

“Had no idea.” Rye dipped his fries in the gravy. “Help yourself. Beats the devil out of ketchup.”

She did. “Mmmm, you are right. This is good.”

“I’ll be back Thursday night. Friday is date night.”

“Okay.” She reached to dip a fry at the same time he did and their hands got tangled up together. He dropped his potato on the top of her hand.

“Oops!” He picked up her hand and brought it to his mouth where he ate the fry from her hand and then licked the gravy off.

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from moaning out loud right there in the Nocona Dairy Queen. Good God, didn’t he know how he affected women? Or how his mouth on the back of her hand made her insides go all oozy and hot? Another minute and she’d have thrown the paper towels and tartar sauce off on the floor and had sex with him right there in front of truckers, ranchers, and even school kids on their lunch break.

“It’s even better that way. Want to do it again?” he asked.

“I don’t think so, cowboy.”

“I’m going to miss you like hell these next three days. Seems like everything gets in our way. Bulls, kids, wine,” he said softly.

I hope to hell it’s not an omen, she thought.

***

Rye sat through meetings, signed new contracts, and took tours of the stockyards where he’d be keeping his animals. He had dinner with the board of directors at the club. He called Austin every morning, sometime in the afternoon when he had a break, and at night just before he went to bed. He felt like they were slipping back into the Thursday night telephone world and he hated it.

He hated being away from her, loved talking to her, and couldn’t wait to get home to do more than talk. It was going to take some fancy footwork to keep her in Terral and more than just a few kisses.

If he hadn’t been busy from noon on Tuesday until Friday evening he would have driven back each day just to see her for a few minutes. But finally Thursday night rolled around and he could look forward to the last affair, a dinner at the club with a live band and dance afterwards.

He was having a beer at the bar after dinner when a tall redhead perched herself on the barstool beside him. “So what’s going on in your neck of the woods?” Delilah McMurry asked.

“Just work,” he answered. “I figured you’d sell off the buckin’ broncs when you married that fancy-pants lawyer. I was surprised to see you here.”

“I started to after last year but caught the husband with those fancy pants at the foot of the wrong bed. Decided I like cowboys better than lawyers after all. Want to come to my room for a drink after dinner? I promise I’m not lookin’ for husband number five. The lawyer broke me from suckin’ eggs.”

“Thanks but no thanks,” Rye said.

“What’s her name?”

“Who?”

“Rye O’Donnell, I’m not used to men flat out turning me down. Only reason they do is there’s a filly and it’s serious. So what’s her name?”

“Austin.”

“Well, she must be one hell of a cowgirl. Good luck with her. Here comes the rest of the crew. Maybe I’ll find a lonesome old cowboy among them.”

“Good luck,” Rye said.

***

The days went by like a blur to Austin until Friday when it started raining early that morning. Felix showed up on her porch to tell her that they couldn’t plant in the rain and the fields would be gumbo the rest of the day. He said he and the guys would be in the big implement barn down by the hog pens if she needed them. They’d use the day to service the tractor engines and make sure everything was oiled, greased, and ready to go on Monday if the rain stopped.

Austin packed all morning, stopping only long enough to heat up a can of tomato soup and make a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. She talked to Rye as he drove home twice during the morning and he called again while she was eating.

She loved sharing news of the watermelon planting, what she’d found out that day about making wine, and everything in her life… except Tulsa. Neither of them brought up the fact that this would be her last weekend in Terral. She banished that thought and let her mind go to the date they had that night. She’d think about leaving when the time came and not let it ruin today.

After she ate she took a quick shower, donned her black suit and high heels, and took the time to straighten her hair. When she looked in the mirror she was looking at a stranger.

“This is the real me,” she told her reflection. “I’ve gotten too damned comfortable in that farmer Jane look. And I look forward to Rye’s calls three to ten times a day entirely too much. Leaving here on Sunday is going to be horrid.”

She drove to Ryan in her Corvette, did the banking, and sent the guys’ paychecks to their families, put their spending money into envelopes, and made it to the drugstore by two o’clock. Molly and Greta were waiting at the first table beside the ice cream counter. She pulled up a chair and slipped off her spike heels under the table. She’d gotten so used to wearing Nikes or flip-flops that the high heels pinched her feet.

“You are still here. That’s a good sign,” Molly said.

She wore a muumuu-style dress with big yellow roses printed on an electric blue background. Her flip-flops had the yellow silk daisies at the top of the piece that went between the toes. Her wispy gray hair had been permed that morning and Austin could still smell the solution.

“Yes, I’m still here and I love your hair.”

“Well, darlin’, there ain’t much to love these days. It’s thin and finer than what grows on a frog’s ass but my poor little hairdresser does the best she can. Not everyone can be blessed with beautiful gray hair like Greta. Some of us are beautiful and smart instead.”

“Hey, now, just because you got those five hairs on your head to do something today don’t give you the right to be sassy,” Greta said.

She was as scrawny as Molly was plump. All of her calories and fat grams went into making a thick mop of curly gray hair that looked like a wig. Her face looked like she’d just taken a nap on a chenille bedspread and her mouth was thin but her blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

“If I get up in the morning and my feet touch the ground and I can sit up to the damned table and eat my breakfast then I’ve got the right to be sassy,” Molly said.

Austin looked at Greta. “What gives you the right to be sassy?”

“If I can eat all the rich ice cream I want and not get the walking farts until I get home,” Greta said without missing a beat.

Austin giggled. “I’m going to grow up and be like you two.”

Molly shook her head emphatically. “Oh, no! You are going to grow up and be like Verline. She was the only one that could keep us from scratching and biting each other all our lives. She and Pearlita stepped between us so many times in our cat fights on the playground that we’d have to take off our shoes to count them.”

Greta motioned for the waitress. “We’re ready to order. I want a scoop of each one. Vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate all lined up on one of them fancy long boat things. Then top it all off with chocolate syrup and whipped cream. No banana.”

“I’ll have the same with the banana,” Molly said.

“Make mine like Molly’s,” Austin said. “Now tell me more about these cat fights.”

“Greta picked on me,” Molly said.

“I did not! She was a whiny kid that was spoiled rotten at home and when she came to school she expected everyone to wait on her hand and foot. I come from a big family of boys and I had to be tough so I never could abide her whining. Good thing she married a man who was half deaf,” Greta said.

Molly pointed a long freshly manicured bright red fingernail at Greta. “Let me tell you about her. She was meaner than a junkyard dog and whooped the biggest boy in the class the first three days of school. After that nobody picked on her but me. She’d call me a sissy and I’d call her a bitch and the fight would be on. Pearlita would get between us and Verline would hold her back to keep her from killing me. But when the teacher asked us what was going on we always said it was just a game we were playing.”

“Ain’t no way I’d be the schoolyard rat,” Greta said.

“She tried to get rid of me but I married her brother and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do but suck it up.”

The waitress bought their ice cream and set it down.

“Can you hear that singing? It’s my fat cells jumping around inside this big old floppy dress and getting ready for the first bite,” Molly said.

Greta picked up the spoon and set about eating. “Austin didn’t come in here to listen to us old hens fussin’ about the past. She come for advice, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

“What?”

“Advice,” Greta said.

“About what?”

“You are still here. You’ve had dinner with Rye and you’ve been plowing and planting. You’ve packed a few boxes and you’ve found her wine cellar, which intrigues you,” Molly said.

“How’d you know all that?” Austin’s eyes widened.

“Honey, you can’t fart in Terral without Oma Fay calling Pearlita and telling her what you ate for dinner and we talk to Pearlita every night on the telephone. Remember we told you that Oma Fay is Kent’s momma and he stops by there on his way home every day to pick up his boys. God, them is some wild kids. If anyone ever wants to bring them to your house tell them if they do you’re goin’ to drown them in the Red when they do,” Greta said.

“Good Lord!” Austin shoved the melting ice cream into her mouth.

“Last time I checked He was good,” Molly laughed. “So what do you want advice about? Staying? Leaving? How to get Rye to propose?”

“None of the above,” Austin said. “Why would you even think that?”

“Look under the table,” Greta said.

“What’s on the floor?”

“Your bare feet. No hose today and those pretty shoes are hurting your feet after you’ve got used to work boots or sneakers or whatever it is you wear out on the tractor,” Molly said.

“You mean you can’t tell me what brand of shoes I wear? Oma Fay must be falling down on the job,” Austin teased.

“Some kind of sneakers. I expect they’re them fancy kind but Oma Fay didn’t know the brand.”

“Nike,” Austin said.

“Aha!” Greta grinned. “Now we know something that she don’t. Tell us more so we won’t be the poor white trash cousins.”

“What?” Austin giggled.

“Oma Fay is the queen because she knows more than us. Pearlita is the princess because Oma Fay talks to her because they’re cousins. Me and Greta is third in line. So tell us something to make us more important.”

“Like what?”

“Well, we know you went to the river with him for a picnic and a bunch of kids came up and you went to sleep. We got that because one of the kids had to take a leak and found you sleepin’ and saw the picnic stuff. He’s Oma Fay’s nephew and he told Kent so Kent could tease Rye when he gets back from Mesquite. We want to know if Rye kissed you yet or if you been to bed with him. That would be a real biggy that them other women don’t know because Rye wouldn’t tell Kent jack shit,” Molly said.

“Good girls don’t kiss and tell,” Austin played coy.

“We don’t give a damn about good girls. Did you sleep with him yet? I’d love to be the first one to know that bit of news. Oma Fay would have a shittin’ hemorrhage if we found out when you sleep with him before she does. I bet if you do you don’t ever leave Terral, not even for one day.”

Austin fought the grin so hard that her mouth hurt. “I did not sleep with him. But I’ll tell you something so you won’t be the white trash cousins. We have a date tonight. We’re going to eat Chinese and go to a movie up in Duncan.”

“Don’t wear that outfit,” Molly said seriously.

“What should I wear? I only brought this, two more suits, and some capris,” she said.

Greta pointed toward the back of the drugstore. “Go on up the road toward Waurika. Over on the left hand side of the road is a consignment shop where you can buy some decent jeans and shirts. Might even be able to pick up a pair of broke-in cowboy boots and a hat. Stuff is cheap enough that if you only use it this next week and then trash it, it’ll be worth it.”

Austin raised an eyebrow. “A consignment shop?”

That’s one thing she sure wouldn’t tell her mother. If she ever found out her daughter had bought a wardrobe out of a secondhand store she would have her committed for sure.

“Yeah, it’s a red barn place. Everyone in these parts calls it the red barn but I think it’s got a name like the Clothes Closet or something like that. I forget what it is in the phone book. I buy lots of things in there,” Molly said.

“She could shop in New York City with all the money she’s got, but she’s so tight, she squeezes her pennies so hard, it makes Abraham Lincoln cry,” Greta said.

“Why would I want them big city clothes? I’m old and shapeless and I’m damned sure not going to punish my fat cells with a girdle. I burned all my Lycra years ago and I’ll be damned if I go buy another one. Them things weren’t nothing but torture. I’m sure a man invented them and the bra,” Molly said.

Greta poked Austin on the shoulder. “In our day no self-respectin’ woman would be caught at a dog fight without her Playtex Living Girdle. You don’t know how good you got it, girl.”

“Okay give me advice, girls. What should I wear tonight?” Austin asked.

Molly laid her spoon down and got serious. “Pair of them hip slung tight fittin’ jeans, boots, and a knit shirt that’s a size too little to make them boobs look bigger and your waist even smaller. A good lookin’ belt with a big buckle that sparkles so his eyes will go to your waist and his hands will itch to undo the belt. Some of them under britches that wouldn’t sag a clothes line even if they was soppin’ wet. What do they call ’em, Greta?”

Greta touched her chin with her finger and made a thinking face. “Not bikinis. Thongs! That’s it. Sounds funny, don’t it, since we call our flip-flop shoes that name. But wear some of them things with a string up in your ass and a little lace patch over Miss Lily.”

Austin blushed scarlet. “Over who?”

“That’s what we call it because we are too old-fashioned to call it by the name in the medical book,” Molly whispered.

“Old-fashioned? You two?” Austin asked.

“We’re old and we can say anything we want and get away with it but some things is too much even for us,” Greta said. “Now you’ve finished your ice cream so get on out of here and run up to the consignment shop and get yourself all dolled up for the night. I can’t wait to get home and call Pearlita and tell her that we know something before she does.”

Austin slipped her feet into the spike heels and paid for all their ice cream on the way out of the drugstore. She backed out of the diagonal parking space and drove a block up the street, made a U-turn, and drove back down to the stop sign. She had no intentions of going to a secondhand store. She might make a fast trip to Nocona, Texas, to the western wear store if she had time. But when the coast was clear she turned left toward Waurika instead of the right toward Terral. It was as if her car and her heart were joined together and overrode all her better judgments.

Ten minutes later her bright red ’Vette was parked in front of a big red barn-looking building. She eased out of her car and went inside the store to find racks and racks of clothes. Bewildered, she stared at the whole place and wondered where to even start since she only had half an hour.

“Could I help you, honey?” the lady behind the counter asked.

“Jeans?”

“What are you? About a seven?”

“With a long, long inseam.”

She pointed to the right. “Racked up by size. Your size will be at the far end. Either try them on or hold them up to your side. Dressing rooms are to the far left. You sure you are in the right place?”

“Molly and Greta sent me.”

“Oh! Well, come right on. I’ll help you,” she said enthusiastically.

Half an hour later there were six pair of jeans, a belt with a flashy buckle shaped like interlocking hearts, two pairs of boots (Barbara would get severe acute diarrhea if she knew her daughter was putting her feet into someone else’s boots, but the lady said she knew the woman who’d owned them and they were good), five knit shirts with different screen prints on the front, and six western blouses. One of the blouses was stretch lace and had flouncing ruffles on the sleeves.

She almost fainted when the lady added it all up and the total price was less than a hundred dollars. She couldn’t have bought the blouse for that amount at the dress shop where she shopped in Tulsa.

“Thank you for all your help,” she said as the clerk ran her credit card through the machine.

“Thank you for the biggest sale I’ve had all day. Tell Molly and Greta hello for me. They send a lot of customers my way. By the way, who are you, so I can tell them that you were here?”

“Austin Lanier. I’m Verline Lanier’s granddaughter.”

“Oh, my! I sure do miss Granny. She did a lot of business with me. Bought nearly all of her overalls in here. I miss her advice. I’d have left my husband if she hadn’t convinced me to give him another chance,” the woman said.

“Really?”

“Yep. She said to give him one more chance and if he went back to drinking then she’d whip his sorry ass for me. I live between Terral and Ryan. She got me the job working here two days a week, too. Verline was a wonderful woman.”

“Yes, she was. Thank you for sharing that with me.” Austin signed the credit card slip and carried her bag outside. She tossed the brown paper bag into the passenger’s seat and giggled. “I’ll have to get those fancy under britches for Miss Lily when I get to a Victoria’s Secret, girls. I’m not wearing hand-me-down underpants.”