Word Gets Around Part 15

"It's hot." Nate moved the Dr. Pepper can around in his fingers.

"Justin, what were you doing?"

"I bought a barbecue grill." Holding up the melted control k.n.o.b, Justin motioned to a new red plastic cooler sitting beside the grill. "And some steaks, and all the stuff to grill it with." From the cooler, he pulled out barbecue tools, a bottle of sauce, and a bag of jalapenos, and showed them to Nate. "Willie 'n me are gonna grill meat for everybody."

Nate's nose and eyebrows wrinkled together. "You're going to grill steaks?"

"That's what cowboys do. They grill meat." Justin glanced at Willie for confirmation, then added, "Come help us grill some meat, Nate."

Giving the barbecue tools a suspicious look, Nate scratched his ear. "Let me get this straight. You bought your own barbecue grill?"

"Sure," Justin chirped. "At the hardware store just now."

"You didn't stop by the hotel on the way there?" Nate leaned close to his friend, studying Justin's eyes in a way that was filled with hidden meaning. I wondered what was being said that wasn't being said.

Justin drew back. "No, I didn't go by the hotel. Willie 'n me were just talking about steaks on the way over here, and we stopped off to buy some stuff. I didn't know if Donetta would have a grill or not, so I got one. Don't be such a party killer, Nate." He ended with an irritated look, and Nate studied him a moment longer.

Justin turned his attention back to the cooler. "Hey, call that guy at the hardware store and tell him to bring us another grill. This one's screwed up. We've got meat to cook." He looked over his shoulder, then seemed to realize there was no one behind him with a notepad, taking orders.

"We can probably git this one workin'," my father said as he stepped in and took the instruction book from Willie, who was still looking for the page about what to do after you almost blow up your new grill. "Let me look them instructions over. I don't think you got this thing put together right." Sidestepping, he moved closer to Nate. "You know anythin' about these gas kind, there ... uhhh ... Nate?"

"A little," Nate answered.

"I hadn't ever used anything but wood myself." My father turned the instruction booklet so Nate could see it, and Nate was quickly drafted into Project Barbecue, whether he wanted to be or not. Aunt Donetta called to me through the kitchen window, and I went inside to help.

In the house, Aunt Donetta had decided we were in danger of a pie shortage, so she and Imagene Doll were frantically defrosting packages of frozen blackberries and mixing up lemon pudding for an icebox pie. They were debating whether it would jell more quickly in the freezer. As usual, enough food for an army was already cooked, including a ham that was big enough to serve the town all on its own. The culinary conglomeration was slowly growing cold on the table and the old sideboard. In another half hour or so, while we cooked more food, we would begin alternately sticking parts of the original meal in the oven to rewarm.

Eventually, we would serve too much food an hour or so late. When we were finished, dishes and leftovers would be everywhere. We'd sink into lawn chairs around the dying barbecue grill, and the stories would start flying. We would laugh, in spite of the fact that we'd heard them all before. When we parted ways at the end of the night, we'd talk about what a good gathering it was, and how we had too much food, and how we didn't get together nearly enough. Even though I knew the routine, even though I could quote all the family stories from memory, even though I'd end up so full I'd feel guilty for a week, I found myself looking forward to every part of it.

The sights and sounds of Aunt Donetta and Uncle Ronald's house snuggled around me like a comfortable old quilt as we finished making the pies and began heating and reheating ca.s.seroles. By then, the pile of grilled and fried meat in the carport was monumental. Nate and my father had taken charge of the new barbecue grill, and Justin had settled into a lawn chair, where he and Willie were deep in discussion. Nearby, Mimi, Frederico, and Uncle Beans were sitting on the lawn furniture under the kitchen window. Their conversation drifted through the screen as Aunt Netta filled the oven with ca.s.seroles, stacked sideways and c.o.c.keyed, and I washed mixing bowls in the sink.

Frederico was explaining the concept of saturated fats and the unhealthy effects of consuming large quant.i.ties of untrimmed red meats. Mimi's comments showed rapt interest, while Uncle Beans's input testified to the fact that he'd left his hearing aid at home. He thought they were talking about today's menu.

"The greatest detriment is cholesterol." The words rolled together in Frederico's lilting Italian accent.

"What?" Uncle Beans cupped a hand behind his hear. "Why, a'course they're gonna cook-it-all. Smoked, smothered, or fried, son. Whatever's yer pleasure, we got it. Hooves, horns, and everythin' in between. You and the young lady can just take yer pick. Got plenty."

Frederico pinched his thumb and forefinger in the air, looking philosophical. "The red meat. It is difficult for the digestion."

"Well, I don't know which is the best'un." Scratching his chin, Uncle Beans pondered the growing meat stack. "Kinda depends on yer preferences, I guess. But you can try more than one. Load up. It's all good. Don't miss out on the fried catfish, neither. You ain't been to Texas if you hadn't ate fried catfish." Uncle Beans gave Mimi a gap-toothed smile. "You make sure and get you some too, young lady."

Frederico and Mimi exchanged bemused glances.

"In particular it is unhealthy for the art-er-ies," Frederico attempted once more, leaning close and speaking slowly. "The fried fish is greatly detrimental."

"Yep, them's my favorite, too," Uncle Beans agreed, because he couldn't even begin to make out arteries and detrimental. Slapping Frederico on the shoulder, Beans employed his usual strategy for parties without his hearing aid; he launched into a story so he wouldn't have to try to listen. "Now, back when I was a young chap like yerself, I was workin' for cowpoke wages on the King Ranch. I'll tell you right now, that was a life for a young man. We had a bunkhouse cook that could make the flank steak off a dry-gra.s.s steer taste like fillet mig-none. Big fella-German, as I recall.

Couldn't understand a word he said, but ... "

The story went on as Aunt Donetta and I rotated the ca.s.seroles through the oven and piled whipped cream on pies until finally, she, Imagene, and Lucy conferred and decided the most practical thing would be to move all the food to the carport. We dragged out yard tables, knocked off the dirtdobber nests, spread tablecloths in everything from lace to polyester print, and laid out enough provisions to feed the entire town of Daily, which was good, because by then Aunt Netta had invited everyone she saw and anyone who happened to phone in during the hours of preparation. We stopped just short of going out on the highway and flagging down pa.s.sing cars.

Before dinner, we formed a gigantic circle on the front lawn, joined hands, and blessed the food. By then, Nate, Justin, and crew were practically part of the family. When the prayer ended, Aunt Netta took Nate and Justin by the arms and moved them to the front of the food line. She motioned for everyone else to follow, and our gathering began with the usual opening words, "C'mon y'all, I know you're hu-u-ungry!"

As the guests moved through the line, I stood back with Imagene and Aunt Donetta, taking it all in. Imagene hugged me to her side, and I laid my head on her shoulder. Aunt Netta squeezed both of us, then she hurried off to go make more tea, even though there was already a five-gallon bucketful on the picnic table.

Imagene was more inclined to stand still and just enjoy the moment. "It's good to have you back," she whispered, resting her cheek against my head.

"I should have come sooner," I said. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for Uncle Jack's funeral." Imagene's husband, Jack, had always been my favorite uncle, even though he was really just my father's longtime best friend. We weren't actually related.

She squeezed me harder, smoothing a hand over my hair in a way that was tender and comforting. "Oh, hon, you're here now."

"I've missed it," I whispered.

After supper, while Nate played horseshoes in the near darkness with my father and uncles, it occurred to me that I should probably make a quick trip back to the Anderson-Shay ranch to check on the goat therapy program. By the time I'd gathered my things and said my good-byes, Aunt Netta and Imagene had smoothly recruited Nate to go along with me, and they couldn't wait to pack the two of us into my Durango, along with some plates of leftover meat and Tupperware containing spare pies.

"Take these by the hotel buildin' on yer way back and put them in the storeroom refrigerator, hon," Aunt Netta instructed, making the pairing of Nate and me sound random and innocent. "And don't you worry about these dishes here, either. Don't bother comin' back here tonight at all, y'hear? Y'all two just go on about your rat-killin'. Imagene and me'll get the dishes cleaned up. Won't we, Imagene?" She elbowed Imagene, and Imagene nodded.

"Oh sure, sure we will." Imagene paused and yawned. "You kids just enjoy the rest of the evenin'. It's a beautiful night for a drive." She checked the sky, just to make sure the stars were in proper alignment.

I felt like I was back in middle school, having T. G. Taggert pick me up for the eighth grade FFA dance. T.G. and I were never more than friends who dated, but Aunt Donetta thought it'd be neat if an Eldridge eventually got hitched to a Taggert, since we were cousins way back. Why spread the DNA outside the family? When Danny came along, Aunt Netta tried in every way she could to steer me back to T.G. She always thought Danny was a bad choice-too wild and unreliable.

"Y'all two have fun, now," Aunt Netta chirped as she closed my door and waved us away. "See ya' in the mornin'. I'll have sweet rolls on the back buffet, ready and waitin' at six-thirty."

She and Imagene backed up and stood shoulder to shoulder as we drove away. I could barely make out their silhouettes against the streetlamp in the rearview mirror, but I would have sworn they exchanged a high five and did a little victory dance, like football players watching the chains move downfield toward the end zone.

Nate and I sat in embarra.s.sed silence, because we both knew what was happening. We'd been thrust together all evening at every possible opportunity. "Here, hon, there's a chair next to Nate."

"Why don't you see if Nate wants some more tea?" "Puggy, hon, you oughta show Nate the graveyard next door." "It's a pretty stroll when the jasmine opens up. ... "

On the way through town, Nate started asking questions about the old buildings to fill the silence. Since we were trapped in the car together, I sidetracked into the tale of the secret tunnel that, as Daily legend had it, began under the cafe and led to a hidden cave on the creek. "Supposedly, there's still a ghost down there counting Confederate gold. My father used to tell us a long story about how he was working cows down by the creek when he was younger. One broke away, disappeared between two cedar bushes along the bluffs, and never came out. When he rode through the cedars, he saw the cave." I lowered my voice to give the story an air of mystery as we pa.s.sed through the bottom of a canyon where moon shadows cast eerie patterns over boulders and twisted oaks, bringing them to life. "His horse wouldn't go inside, so he got off and started in, but then he heard a strange growling sound, and it was black as pitch, so he left. He came back later with a flashlight and a gun, but he couldn't find the cave, and he never saw the cow again, either."

"You'll have to tell Justin that story. He was always into that kind of thing. He used to watch horror movies at Mama Louise's, then be too scared to go up to bed alone. He'd wait until I went up, because he didn't want the other kids to know he was chicken."

My mind was gathering bits of information like puzzle pieces. "So you and Justin grew up together?"

"For a few years. Through high school." Nate looked out the window, watched a pair of white horses doze in the moonlight, their coats illuminated like pearls.

"Are y'all cousins?"

Nate chuckled. "That's cute-y'all. I like the way you say that." He studied the world outside the window. "What are those tall things with the spikes on top?"

"Yuccas. You didn't answer the question."

"What question?"

"You and Justin. I wondered if you were family or just old friends. You seem like"-well, his parental figure, actually-"you're close."

"I knew him when." Nate rolled down the window, and the soft, cool night air spun inward.

"When?"

"In the table-waiting, got no money, got no prospects years. We came out to Hollywood together after high school in Joplin."

"So, you're from Missouri?"

Nate didn't answer at first. In the darkness, I could see only the profile of his face. "Not really. Justin and I were in foster care together there. At Mama Louise's."

"Oh ... I'm sorry." It was out of my mouth before I had time to think about it. When he'd said Mama Louise's earlier, I'd thought he was talking about a relative's house. "I mean, I wasn't trying to stick my nose into-"

"It's all right." His tone was tender, as if he didn't want me to feel bad for asking. "It was where I needed to be. Mama Louise was a good person. Before her place, I don't think I understood that the grown-ups are actually supposed to take care of you, not just let you stay around. She kept kids n.o.body else would touch. I wasn't really a hard case, but by the time she got Justin, he'd already been to juvie a couple times and he was about one step away from some real trouble. He'd been in foster care for a while by then. His mother dropped him in a video arcade with two bucks on his tenth birthday, and she never came back. Mama Louise understood those things, but at the same time she didn't let you use it as an excuse, you know? With Mama Louise, everything was about choices. Just because you had lousy parents didn't mean you weren't supposed to go out and do something with your life."

Nate motioned toward the house as we turned into the Anderson-Shay ranch. "I think that's why Justin wants to put this place together. After all these years, he's trying to make things right with Mama Louise."

"Wow," I breathed, feeling guilty for my negative mental impression of Justin Shay. But for the grace of G.o.d, who'd dropped me into a good family, I could have been the kid growing up in foster care, looking for a place to belong. "Does he ever ... ?" As we turned into the barnyard, the headlights swept the pasture. Underneath the live oak where Justin's hat had been wedged earlier, something caught my eye in a flash-something human, but not human. Something at least eight feet tall, covered with hair, standing in silhouette under the tree with its arms raised. The headlights glinted off its eyes as the beam skimmed by. "What was ... Did you see that?"

"Back up." Unbuckling his seatbelt, Nate braced a hand on the door and shinnied halfway out the window to get a better look.

My heart hammered as I put the car in reverse, allowing the headlights to slowly sweep toward the live oak tree ... closer ... closer. A cottontail rabbit stood on its hind legs and froze in the glow as the lights cast an uneven sheen over the tips of the branches. A pulse fluttered in my throat as the beam reached the trunk, illuminated it, lit up the place where the man-thing had been. The spot was empty. I backed in a circle, Nate stretching further out the window, scanning the darkness. Finally, he slid back into the seat as the headlights shined toward the construction trailers by the house.

"What was that?" I muttered, my heart still gyrating and my fingers tight on the steering wheel.

"A ... really tall, hairy ... Confederate soldier-ghost?" I realized I'd known Nate would make a joke to lighten the situation, and I was looking forward to the comfort of it. "Or Bigfoot. It looked a lot like Bigfoot."

I couldn't decide whether to laugh or hit the gas and get us out of there. "Have you ever seen Bigfoot?"

"I worked on a doc.u.mentary about it once."

"And did you see Bigfoot then?"

"In the dramatization, it looked exactly like that ... the thing under there." Nate wagged a finger toward the live oak.

"That must have just been a shadow or something." I wasn't sure if I was trying to convince Nate or myself. "Look, the dogs aren't even barking." I pointed toward Joe's dogs, curled up like drowsy sentries flanking the barn doors.

"Right." Nate punched a fist into the air, punctuating my conclusion with a silent hurrah as we pulled into the barnyard and stopped, both sitting with our fingers on our respective door handles. Nate scanned the darkness. "You first, cowgirl."

"No way. You're the Bigfoot expert."

His soft, confident laugh echoed into the night as he opened his door, came around to my side, and opened mine. "Ready?"

The word slipped over me like a flutter of warm breeze, seeming to mean something more than what it did. The clutch of fear loosened, melted into something tingly and warm. The sensation was heady and sudden, catching me unprepared.

"Sure." I slid to the ground, feeling unsteady, as if my feet weren't touching anything solid. The dogs rose and investigated us as we tiptoed to the barn and peered into the first stall, where Lucky Strike was settled peacefully in the corner, dozing on a bed of straw with his legs curled under him. The nanny goat stood happily nibbling hay nearby.

"Guess it's working," Nate whispered.

When I looked at him, his eyes were deep and dark. "Guess so." Somewhere in the distance, a whippoorwill called. I knew Nate was going to kiss me, and despite any and all reservations, I wanted him to. Keep your enemies close. The words were rueful in my head. Keep your friends closer.

Which one was he?

Did it really matter?

His hand slipped into my hair, and I felt myself lean into him, our bodies connecting in a way that felt natural and perfect, electric.

His lips touched mine, lightly at first, then pa.s.sionately. I fell into it, and there was nothing but the softness of the air, the scent of his nearness, the feeling of his arms lacing around me, the slight aroma of smoke on his shirt.

Every thought in my mind flew away on the call of the whippoorwill and there was only sensation, nothing else but Nate and me, and the night.

Chapter 16.

Nathaniel Heath The kiss wasn't premeditated, really. It just ... happened. Afterward, I think we were both a little surprised. I had the sense that we'd just tripped over a line Lauren hadn't wanted to cross.

Taking a step back, she turned her face away, her gaze fluttering off into the moonlight. With a nervous laugh, she suggested that maybe we'd better leave while the horse and the goat were peacefully sharing s.p.a.ce, and before Sasquatch reappeared under the tree.

"Maybe he's looking for The Shay's cowboy hat. That thing would be worth some serious dough on eBay," I said to lighten things up, which was a technique I'd learned way back in the skinny middle school days. When you're potentially close to getting a reaction that might bruise your ego, make the girl laugh.

It seemed like she lingered there by the barn a moment longer, but that could have been my imagination. I got temporarily lost in observing the way the moonglow painted her cheek as she glanced toward the car, then back at me. Her gaze fluttered upward, met mine, her eyes deep and liquid. Her lips parted, and I halfway thought about kissing her again, invisible line or not. The other half of me said, Don't be a doofus. She just said, Let's go.

It's always hard to know which half has the better grasp on reality in a case like that.

A howling sound disturbingly close by convinced me that the truck might be a good idea. "What was that?" A chorus of eerie voices joined in and some primordial reaction made the hairs stand on end all over my body. The watchdogs barked and moved to the edge of the gravel.

"Coyotes." Lauren barely gave the noise a glance. "Don't worry.

They won't come up to the barn. You don't hear coyotes where you come from?"

I knew there were coyotes where I lived, even around LA, because I saw complaints about them on the news. Periodically, one wandered into a park or a sidewalk coffee bar and gave the city dwellers an unwanted thrill. "I usually have the TV on."

Lauren made a soft tsk-tsk behind her teeth. "That must make it hard to write."

Ouch. Touche. She'd ferreted out one of my most counterproductive habits-using the TV for companionship and an avoidance mechanism. Brain anesthesia to keep my mind from wondering how I'd ended up thirty-eight, living alone in a cabin in the mountains. If I was there to create my magnum opus, why wasn't the room littered with shreds of genius and the computer filled with little opi just waiting to be strung together into a work that would add meaning to the world?

"Peace and quiet are overrated," I said.

She laughed again, and we got in the truck and drove back to the hotel. By the time we'd finished putting away the haul of leftovers from Donetta's house, Justin and Frederico came in. Justin was in one of his manic moods and wanted to hang out downstairs and talk horse whispering and foster shelters all night. Even though we'd all just eaten a week's worth of food, he was in favor of breaking out the leftovers and partying on. He called Amber to invite her over, but she was still on her way home from Austin. Lauren, perhaps noting that Justin was determined to get up a party, waved a quick good-bye and slipped off to her hotel room, looking tired. Frederico decided to investigate the exercise machines, which quickly drove Justin away because he didn't want to get roped into making up for two days of missed workouts.

Justin and I ended up together in Suite Beulahland, which I was enjoying much more now that Elvis and I had our own room. Unfortunately, Justin wasn't in the mood to sleep. He wanted to pull an all-nighter with the script and decide how we would put the proposal together for Dane before next Monday.

"So Dane's really coming here? In a little over a week?" I asked, wondering again if we were dealing in real reality or Shay reality here. It was possible that the whole Dane thing could be just another one of Justin's master-of-the-universe delusions, in which case I was (unknowingly or not) exactly what Lauren had accused me of being-a conman helping to perpetrate a really low scheme on some very nice people.

"Yeah, he's coming." The Shay stopped pacing the room and stood by the tall windows that overlooked Main Street. Hanging his arms in a gorillalike posture, he eyed me critically. "You know what, Nate ... Why am I still getting the vibe that you're not on board here?"