Blame the Car Ride Read online

  Edgy shot me her come on look “How do you know that?”

  “They did the last time Mel took me dancing.”

  “How old is that dress?” Edgy raised her brows, then shook away her apparent calculations. “Whatever, it’s your party.”

  “Just drive. I’m ready to take on the night at a place I haven’t been since I was young and foolish.” I sounded so brave.

  I settled back for the fifteen mile ride. “Besides, my dress still fits. That counts for something.” One for me, zero for Edgy. My smile widened. I couldn’t help it. She’d pitch a fit if anyone thought she’d gained weight, but her hips filled her jeans. The extra padding looked good. She’d been too skinny until last winter, when I noticed a fuller face, not fat but a little chubbier. She looked healthier, but lately I again detected dark splotches under her eyes, and once in a while tremors claimed her hands.

  “It’s okay if you’re nervous,” Edgy said without hesitation, reassuring me with her apparent experience.

  I held back a denial about how my nerves were just fine. I appreciated Edgy coming with me and even driving, just like I valued Randal’s driving me to pinochle club. It was nice just to relax and let someone else take over during a ride. I took secret delight in my encouraging him to flirt last time. He’d simply reacted to my goofy remark. Flirting with a married man would have to halt, but, dang, he was fun to tease—and safe. It was way past time to let go and have some real fun with someone.

  “What are you daydreaming about?” Edgy asked.

  “Saying goodbye to daily chores.”

  Edgy snorted. “You’ve never let clutter build in your home. I’ve been wanting to come over and spread piles of mail and newspapers around just so it’ll look lived in.”

  “That’s the thing. It hasn’t been since Mel died.”

  Dusk moved toward dark, and our headlights reflected in puddles still lingering in dips on the pavement. A July downpour had drenched the valley before we left home. I thought maybe it’d be a good excuse not to go, but no way. According to Edgy, a little rain never hurt anyone.

  She angle-parked near the front entrance to the Blue Moon roadhouse, reputed to be the liveliest honkey tonk in the valley. When I stepped onto the still-warm blacktop, sticky heat glued my clothes against me. I shook the skirt of my dress loose, drew my shoulders together, and faked a shiver.

  “Here I am, entering a den of iniquity.”

  “Oh, poo.” Edgy waved her hands sideways. “It’s just humanity having a good time. We’ll be long gone before any brawls break out. Midnight is the magic hour for that.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You know that—how?”

  She pretended not to hear and reached for the door handle. The wooden door swung open easily, inviting us inside. I hid a little behind Edgy as we entered. I needn’t have bothered. A few men were hunched on padded stools, eating hamburgers and greasy fries at the long bar extending along the right side of the cavernous room. I even caught a whiff of catsup. Several couples sat at small, shabby tables encircling the dance floor. Its dark finish had been worn away from years of cowboy boots scuffing to the beat of country songs.

  A woman and two men were fiddling with sound equipment on the bandstand. Beyond the platform, three gamblers with serious faces studied their cards at a table, and one lonely guy hunched over a pool table, striking balls one after the other. The place was barely alive.

  “Should we go somewhere else?” I asked, uncertain. “Or maybe just go home?”

  “It’s early. Let’s have a drink and see what happens. Live music should draw a crowd.” Edgy nudged me. “Will you quit acting like you are being led to slaughter? Let’s sit over near the pool table. I like the sound of the balls clicking against each other.”

  “You have the weirdest likes of anyone I know.” I tossed starch into my shoulders. Confidence straightened my spine as I crossed the dance floor, and I realized I had finally set aside the wimpiness in my attitude. The wobbly table I chose had two chairs looking like they might fall apart, but I perched on one anyway.

  Edgy grabbed the edge of the tabletop and pulled it closer to the pool table, leaving me stranded. I quickly stood and shoved the chairs to the table. She held onto the back of hers, paying attention to the lone pool player. Her head tilted as if she were listening to quiet music. The angle of the strike on a ball positioned the white one ready to hit another, and she raised her drink toward the middle-aged man. His Stetson sat forward, his plaid shirt laid open at the neck, and his tight jeans supported a heavy paunch. He tipped his hat at her.

  The man laid the cue stick on the table and called to her, “Want to join me in a friendly game?”

  Edgy glanced down at me. “Come on. I’ll show you a trick or two.” She sauntered forward, shed her English accent, and took on a slight Western twang, “Whatcha runnin’?”

  “Bank the eight—call your shot—ten bucks on the table.”

  Edgy stood for a long minute sizing him up. Finally, she said, “That’s hardly worth the effort. Make it fifty and you got a game.”

  “Whoa.” He looked at her from top to bottom and then again before he turned his attention to me.

  I shrugged but stepped closer to Edgy.

  She reached into her hip pocket, drew out a bill, and laid it on the ledge of the table, pressing the face of Ulysses S. Grant smooth, never once taking her eyes off the guy. “I like to know who I’m playing. What’s your name?”

  I had never met this brazen side of Edgy. She’d morphed from an English butterfly into a cunning shark. I drew a little closer to her as he answered.

  “Sid Nelson.” He chalked the tip of his cue stick, rubbing it in slow, tender circles, all the while looking at Edgy as if he wouldn’t mind taking her money, maybe teaching her a lesson. A slight shrug in his shoulders signaled acceptance. “There’s room in my wallet for your fifty. You rack ’em, Little Honey, and I’ll crack ’em.”

  Edgy picked up the wooden triangle and ran her index finger along all three sides, closely fingering the inside point of each joint. She glanced at me. “Maybe I should give you a lesson on how to play pool.” She tapped one of the tips on the triangle. “I’m going to use this as the breakpoint and put it right over that little spot on the table.” Her teaching tone sounded charming with a little dare in it.

  A fake smile creased Sid’s face. “Look, all I want is a friendly game.”

  Edgy held up her palms. “No harm. Just giving my friend something new to think about.”

  I touched her arm. “I don’t need a lesson. Remember, Mel had a pool table in the basement and we played with the kids.”

  She batted her eyelashes.

  That little devil. She was putting on a show for a reason. She deftly added the solids and stripes with the black eight ball in the center. Her knuckles whitened as she squeezed the base, moved it over the mark on the green felt, and gently raised it from the triangle of fifteen balls.

  “I see you know the game.” Sid sounded slightly on guard.

  “Just a bit.” She moved just enough to be out of his way.

  He solidified his stance and bent forward. With the fingers of his left hand holding tight on the green felt surface, he curled his index finger around the cue. The only thing moving was his gently swinging shooting arm. He torpedoed the white cue ball into the pool balls. They scattered, caroming into one another and against the padded rim of the table. The two-ball looked like it would drop into a pocket but glanced off the rim too hard and rolled away. None fell, and only a couple of balls rested against the felt table rim.

  Red splotched high on Sid’s cheeks. Scars around his eyes told tales of fist fights. “You want to play these or have a rerack?”

  Edgy walked around the table studying where the balls lay. “Rack ’em again.”

  He eased the balls into a tight vee and stepped back, standing just out of the way, hands in his pockets, attention zeroed in on Edgy. The tension between them increased. I moved for a better angle
and gripped my purse handle. It was heavy enough to carry a wallop if I had to swing it.

  Edgy noticed my tight hold on the purse, and I glimpsed her lopsided grin as she turned and selected a cue stick from a rack on the wall. She examined it by holding it straight out and then running her fingers down it. She tested three, chose the fourth, and rubbed chalk into the tip of it.

  Edgy broke the pool balls hard. The striped nine ball rolled straight to the corner pocket and fell into the net. She surveyed the table from all four sides, stalking it like an eagle looking for prey, her attitude as hard and unfriendly as Sid’s.

  She called out, “Eleven off the three into the right corner.” Bending with confidence, she aimed the stick to strike the cue ball low and just to the right of center. She drained the shot. The cue ball spun back toward her. Chalking between each shot, she ran the ten, the thirteen, and the fifteen into pockets.

  Two lone men and several couples gathered to witness the lady in a layered top and tight, rhinestone-trimmed jeans. There was no sound except the laughter of more people entering the tavern.

  A rugged rancher with wide shoulders moved in front of me, blocking my view. The nerve. I slipped around him, and he stepped back slightly.

  Edgy called, “Fourteen in the side.” As she pressed her fingers into a high bridge, a low murmur ran through the growing crowd. She angled her cue over the blue two ball and popped the green-striped fourteen into the side pocket, then stood upright and rechalked the cue stick.

  She grinned at Sid. “You wanna up the pot?”

  Sid sneered, “Think you’re shark enough to hustle me?”

  “Yep.”

  “This is getting serious.” The words whispered against my neck. The warm, moist breath tickled along the nape of my hairline. I quickly moved forward. The band struck a beat and broke into a thunderous version of “Ride Sally Ride.”

  Edgy rubbed the chalk on the cue, all the while staring down Sid. She called, “Eight ball in the side.” She banked it, and the ball rolled across the table and fell into a side pocket.

  And just like that, the game was over. She picked up her fifty and his, stuffed them in her jeweled hip pocket, and nodded at the man as if she wanted to make sure he knew he’d been suckered. She pushed through the admiring crowd wearing an in-your-face expression.

  Sid’s angry eyes watched her every stride. I needed to cover her back and turned, almost bumping into the rancher behind me.

  “I didn’t mean to invade your space,” he said.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. Windblown and tan like he had just come in from herding cattle. Shadowed cleft chin, flared nose, deep laugh lines, and brown, teasing eyes. And he was no kid, at least in his late fifties or early sixties, which only made him more breathtaking.

  Before I could draw a breath, he said, “I’m Dean Hyatt.” He nodded toward the bandstand. “Care to dance?”

  My answer slipped out, “I’m married and have a torn ACL.”

  He grinned sadly. “Sorry you’re hurt.”

  My cheeks warmed. I had turned down the hunk of a lifetime.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said.

  I wasn’t embarrassed, but his telling me not to be added to my sudden feelings of guilt. Mel had died only three years ago, and here I was in a dance hall like some young chick. I turned away and plopped onto the rickety chair beside Edgy, leaning next to her ear to talk under the deafening music. “I just turned down a dance by saying I’m married and have a torn ligament.”

  Edgy’s bronze eyes widened. “You were asked to dance?” She softly pressed her palms together, fingers tapping her chin as if praying. “There’s hope.” She glanced around. “Who asked?”

  “Dean, standing over by the pool table.”

  Edgy leaned forward, squinting. “That guy?”

  I nodded slowly, unsure if I should identify who.

  She straightened like a hawk over a field mouse. “He’s bloody gorgeous. I thought you wanted a man. He looks like one to me.”

  “I just can’t. Let’s go,” I shouted over the roar of electric guitars and throbbing drums.

  Edgy grabbed her purse in one hand, gulped the last of her wine, and rose. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Her miffed tone surprised me. Edgy in a mood was never easy. I could’ve bitten my tongue.

  Sudden arguing erupted by the pool table. Sid was yelling at a man holding a cue stick like a baseball bat.

  We were too close. I knew Edgy shouldn’t have moved our table so close to the pool table.

  Sid grabbed the black eight ball and threw it hard. The ball sailed into a support beam, glanced off, and struck Edgy above her right ear. She crumpled deadweight to the floor, blood running from a gash.

  Oh, my Lord. I dropped to my knees and bent over her. “Edgy, Edgy, wake up.” I patted her cheek and felt no response. I fingered for a pulse in her neck. Strong. I shook her. “Edgy!”

  Dean Hyatt rushed forward, pulled a handkerchief from his hip pocket, and pressed it onto her wound. “Call nine-one-one,” he yelled at the crowd.

  The bartender ran over. “Already called. Cops are coming, too.”

  “The bastard who threw the ball just ran out the side door,” a guy in the crowd said to the bartender. “Almost seemed like he threw it at her.”

  “Naw, he was aiming at me,” said the guy with the cue stick.

  Dean scanned the crowd. “Anyone know who he is?”

  “Sid Nelson,” I said. “Or so he told Edgy.” My voice vibrated with tears I would not allow to fall.

  Dean stared at me. “Here, hold this tight against her head.”

  My fingers touched his as I obeyed. I met his eyes, and then he quickly crossed to the side door and disappeared.

  Everyone was talking at once, recounting what they had seen. The noise swirled around us as my poor friend lay limp in my arms. I repeated Sid Nelson a couple of times to myself. I would not forget.

  Finally, Edgy stirred, opened her eyes, and tried to pull away from me.

  “Stay still,” I said. “You might have a concussion. You were hit by the eight ball. I’m so sorry.”

  “For what? I’m all right.” She tried to put her hand up to the side of her head.

  I pushed her hand away. “You’ll get it bleeding more. I’ll take you to the ER for stitches. Been wanting to drive your RAV since you got it, but this is the last time I’m taking you honkey tonking only to sit on the floor in a damned polka-dot dress.”

  Edgy wrinkled her nose at me. “I knew you should’ve worn jeans.” She looked at the blood smearing her hands. “Fred will have a fit if he sees me all bloody.”

  Dean, smelling like fresh air, knelt down beside us again. He looked into my eyes. “And will your husband have a fit, too?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  His expression darkened. “If you don’t want to talk to people, why the hell are you in a nightclub?”

  Good question.

  I helped wounded, aggravated Edgy into the brightly lit remodeled kitchen of her home. Marinara sauce laced with oregano and garlic simmered on the gas range, even at this late hour. Amazing.

  Fred stared at us from where he pushed a large wooden spoon back and forth in a large pot. “After you called, I put together a pot of Grandma Abelia’s pappardelle. It’ll cure any sore spot. I’ve been keeping it hot.” His full-length chef’s apron covered a well-fed belly. He waggled his head at Edgy. “I can’t believe you shot pool again.”

  She walked into his arms. “Yes, you can. You’ve been putting up with my addictions since we met.”

  “How many stitches?” He carefully avoided touching the bandage.

  I answered for Edgy. “Six. The doctor said it was a good thing the ball missed her cheekbone.”

  Fred held Edgy away from him, looking into her eyes. “I won’t make you promise again. Now let’s get you into bed and I’ll bring you a plate of food that’s great any time of day. You have to be hungry.”
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  I waved my hands to halt their movements. “Just a minute, I don’t think you were hit by accident. I’m pretty sure Sid Nelson threw the ball at you.”

  Both Edgy and Fred gaped. “What makes you think so?” he asked.

  “Sid was furious when she ran the table on him.”

  Edgy shook her head. “How do you know?”

  “I saw his evil glare at your back when you pocketed his fifty. I think he threw the ball at the pillar to make it carom off and hit you.”

  “You can’t know that,” Edgy said.

  “Maybe not, but I think I’m right. I used to work for the Gallatin County jail while I was in college. I saw lots of very angry people, and he was one of them.”

  Edgy drew back. “You didn’t tell me you were a jailer!”

  “And I didn’t know you hustled pool.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Aw, Edgy,” Fred said. “Don’t say things that aren’t true. Some things can’t be helped. Come on, let’s put you to bed.”

  Fred helped Edgy to the staircase. I had wanted to yell up the stairs after them that I didn’t feed prisoners anymore. But I still worried about people in trouble, and she was one of them. I closed the door quietly behind me.

  Above the faraway mountains to the east, the night sky lightened to pearl gray, foretelling the rising of the sun. I was thankful; Edgy and I both needed a new day.

  I opened the side gate and wandered into my backyard. Still upset, I craved a few calm minutes to witness the sun climb over the mountains. The beauty of the softly breaking dawn helped ease the leftover trauma of Edgy getting hurt at the Blue Moon. It had been dumb to go there. This whole outrageous plan to visit groups searching for a companion would have to stop. No amount of dissatisfaction should push me and Edgy into places we didn’t belong—places that landed either of us in the hospital. Instead of going right inside, I perched on my wooden picnic table next to the patio. Its angle gave me a clear opening through the trees to the eastern skyline.

  The new morning broke though in a blinding arc.

  I sighed with tiredness as I gently rubbed the soft spot in the nape of my neck where the flutter of Dean’s warm whisper lingered.