Cowboy Sing Me Home (6 page)

            The
band nodded in unison.  “Yes ma’am, we got ‘em,” Steve threw in at the last
second.

            Dusty
chewed the inside of her lip to keep from smiling, Luke’s earlier words on her
mind.  “Good.  Let’s do ‘She’s On The Outside Looking In.’”

            Someone
cleared his throat, and Dusty raised her eyes to see uncomfortable looks on
everyone’s faces.  Stevie and Tommy both looked to Luke.  The bass player was
staring at her.   When she stared back, he started and looked at the floor.

            “What?”
Dusty asked.  They didn’t like the song? 

            “The
version we got was called “He’s On The Outside Looking In.”

            “That’s
what I said.”

            “No,
you said ‘she.’  Not ‘he.’” 

            Dusty
just looked at him. 

            “
She’s
On The Outside Looking In.  That’s what you said.  Not he.”

            Dusty
blinked, and remained silent.  She heard Stevie swallow.

            “I
said ‘he’”.

            Luke
tucked his tongue in his cheek.  “She.”

            Dusty
narrowed her eyes at him.  “Whatever.”  The seconds ticked by as she met his
banal look with a glare.   “
He
… Is On the Outside.  Looking In.” 

            “Yeah,
we know that one,” Luke said, his eyebrows raised innocently.

            “Then
let’s play it.  On three.”  She counted off the ballad and was pleased to hear
the guys come in right on cue.  

            Luke
told himself he was going to have to quit baiting her if he hoped to get any
closer than he was right now without ‘drawing back a nub,’ as she’d put it. 
But the challenge to rattle her was entirely too much fun.

            He
knew the words by heart now, because the band had practiced all Dusty’s
original songs before she came, and he sang backup on this one.  He knew the
song was about some poor sap who had lost his family and was outside of
society, looking in.  The guy had friends and associates, but no one he really
connected with, and at night he went home and basically moped around and felt
sorry for himself.  It was good old country-and-western cry-in-your-beer type
stuff.

            What
Luke didn’t know, and had not expected, was how in Dusty’s hands the song came
alive.  Before he even knew what hit him, he was thinking about how he felt
that way sometimes: like everyone else had someone except him. The rest of the
world was pairing off two by two at a heart-stopping rate and here he was,
going home to an empty, silent house.  Never mind the fact that he
wanted
it that way.  Never mind the fact that most of those people who were chained to
each other probably couldn’t even remember
why
,
and certainly
didn’t enjoy being together anymore.  With Dusty’s dark, husky voice filling
the air and winding its way into his gut, his life suddenly seemed stark and
empty, and he’d only this moment opened his eyes to that fact.  When she sang

Like a kid with his nose pressed against the window

He wonders if he’ll ever know

When the time has come

To be more than one

he felt like
that kid, remembering the way he used to stare at Toby’s parents and the look
they had in their eyes for each other; the way he still sometimes stared at
Toby and Corinne, and Colt and Becca, and wondered if it really
was
possible to have what they thought they had.  Wondered if it was really
possible to have that kind of bond for eternity.  Wondered if there really were
people in the world who managed to live together day in and day out and didn’t
end up wanting to strangle each other. 

            She’d
found that part of him, the wistful boy inside him he didn’t acknowledge, and
that only put him in more awe of her.  The song ended on a long, slow, low note
that melted and melded itself into his marrow, and he knew that he would always
be able to remember this song, and this feeling it produced.

            He
heard a sniff behind him, and looked back to see Stevie busily fiddling busily
with his guitar, and he hid a smile.  So he wasn’t the only one affected by the
song.  She had a gift of tapping into secret desires, fears and hopes.

            He
turned to tell her so, but she was lifting her guitar over her head.  “Okay,
let’s take ten and come back and do ‘Tie Me Up In Knots’.”

            He
followed her outside, admiring her straight back and long legs as she walked. 
“You have a real gift,” he said.

            She
spun, apparently surprised he was there.  “Excuse me?”

            “You
have a way of reaching the collective subconscious, I think, and putting
universal feelings into words.  It’s a gift.”

            She
shoved her hands in her pockets and shrugged.  “Yeah, well, you know… country
music people really go for that sappy stuff.”

“True.  But even a cynic like me could hear the heart that went into
writing that song.” “Listen, Sporto.”  She held her hands up and backed away. 
“I don’t mean to be rude, but we only have ten minutes, and I have some phone
calls to make.  So if you don’t mind…”

            She
didn’t stick around to see if he minded or not.  She turned and walked toward
her pickup, leaving him to chew his lip and admire the view.

            The
guys were all tired after the late rehearsal, and no one except Luke stuck
around for long, after Dusty said they could go for the night.  She disappeared
into the back of the bar, and as he waited for her, Luke turned out all the
lights except one over the center of the dance floor, then fed a dollar’s worth
of quarters into the jukebox.  He punched in four of his favorite slow songs.

            Dusty
came out of the bathroom and picked up her guitar case.  She walked toward the
door, her shoulders slumped and her gait slow.  She stopped when she saw him
leaning against the bar, holding a full mug of beer.  “You’re not expecting me
to dance with you, are you?”

            “You
don’t know how?”

            “Of
course I know how.  I just don’t want to.”

            “I
can teach you.  There’s nothing to be afraid of.”  He se this glass on the bar
and moved toward her.

            “I’m
not
afraid
.  I’m tired.”

            “Come
on. I’ll teach you.”

            Knowing
fully that she’d been goaded into it, she stepped into his arms. “I grew up in
honky-tonks.  I could dance circles around you.” 

            “Would
you do it wearing nothing but that hat, then?”

            “Don’t
push your luck.”

            She
allowed him to gather her close, and told herself it was simply the tiredness
that had her laying her head on his shoulder and leaning her weight against
him.  Not because it felt good to be held.  Not because she was feeling out of
sorts lately and his touch was comforting.  Not because she was flattered that
he’d taken such an unrelenting interest in her.  She was just tired.

            “I
knew you’d be a great dancer.”

            She
murmured against his shoulder, her eyes closed. “This isn’t dancing.  This is
sleeping standing up.”

            He
laughed and took her into a spin, then bent her backwards over his arm.  He
gave her a kiss that was soft, and tender, and entirely too short, and brought
her back up.

            It
took an effort to hang on to her aloofness.  “I realize you are under the
impression that you’re charming.”

            “Yes
I am.  I have been told that on many occasions, by very reputable women.  At
least, they were reputable before I got hold of them.”

            “These
women, reputable or not, must not get out much.”

            He
laughed.  “You may have a point there.  You, on the other hand, have been all
over the country.  So you’re unimpressed with my charm.”
            “How did you know I’d been all over the country?”

            “I
found your publicity packet in the office.  Rodney was supposed to put up those
fliers and send the press release to the radio station.  He’s not exactly a
business man.”

            “From
what I’ve seen, Rodney is fortunate to pull himself together long enough to get
the light bill paid and the liquor ordered.”

            “He’s
definitely doesn’t run Tumbleweeds like his uncle did, but he hobbles along.” 
His hand splayed in the small of her back, warm and solid.  “It must be a lot
of fun, living free like that, seeing America.”

            She
didn’t know if ‘fun’ was the word, exactly.  It was her life.

            “What’s
your favorite part?”
            “Favorite part of what?”

            “Of
the country.  Where do you like going the best?”

            She
wrinkled her brow, lost in the sway of their bodies together, the soft music
after hours of hearing a six-piece band over a P.A. system, the feel of the
night breeze wafting in the opened door.  The road outside seemed to stretch on
forever, and at times it felt more like a treadmill that never stopped than it
did a road
to
anywhere.  What was her favorite place?
            “I don’t really know.  I guess I haven’t thought about it.”

            “You
must have a favorite place.”

            She
thought, but her mind was too tired to come up with anything.  She was hit by a
strong and senseless urge to say ‘here’, but bit it back.  This wasn’t her
favorite place.  This town was full of crazy people who fought over stupid
things and put clothes on their dead tree stumps.

            “I
don’t know, Cowboy.  I don’t suppose I have a favorite place.”

            “Well,
then, what’s your favorite thing about living like you do?”

            She
had an answer for him.  It was her life, after all.  She had a favorite thing
about her life she could share. 

            She
just had to think of what it was.

            Endless
driving.  No friends.  Holidays alone, or with her manager.  No rest.         

            Silence.
Never ending silence.           

            She
enjoyed these things, she reminded herself.  She was free.  Her time was her
own.  She called the shots.   This was the way she chose to live her life,
because it suited her.  This was who she was.

            Did
she really have to
like
it, too?

“Why spend all that time on the road if you don’t enjoy it?”

            “I
didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.  I just said I didn’t have a favorite place.”

            “Why
do
you do it?”

            “Because
it’s my life,” she said, irritated.  Why didn’t he just shut up and let her
enjoy the dance?  She turned the tables on him, expecting that his answers
would be no different from hers.  “Why do you stay here?  Why do you do
your
job?”

            “Oh,
man, I love it here.  My family is here, my friends, everyone I care about. 
I’m happy here.  I love my job, knowing I’m contributing to my community. I’m a
part of things here.  Five generations of Tanners have grown up here. And the
sky goes on forever. That’s why I’m here.”

            Oh.

            Their
feet scuffed the worn floor as they shuffled around the room.  Okay, that’s it,
Dusty thought.  Luke Tanner was just too…
something
, for her to become
involved with, even for a few days.  Too hokey.  Too corny.  Too
happily-ever-after, dreams-always-come-true.  Definitely not her type.

            She
opened her mouth to tell him that, in not so many words.  Instead, what came
out was,  “When we sleep together, I’d prefer we do it at my place.”

            Luke
choked to keep from swallowing his own tongue.  “Do what?”

            “I’d
rather we go to my trailer.  I’m more comfortable there.  I get the creeps when
I’m at someone else’s house late at night.  And no offense, but I’d prefer you
didn’t spend the night.”

            Luke
tipped back his head and studied her.  “You have this all worked out, don’t
you?”

            “Just
laying a few ground rules.  I’m open to any preferences you have, too. Within
reason.”

            “Who
says we’re going to sleep together?”

            “Aren’t
we?  Isn’t this what you’ve been angling for from the minute you stopped to
help me with my tire?”

            “And
here I thought I was being subtle.”

            She
gave a humorless laugh. “Umm, not so much. I don’t have time for subtle
anyway.  I’m here for two weeks, and half of one is already gone. If we’re
going to spend the first week and a half dancing around each other, that
doesn’t leave much time. Inexplicable as it may be, I’m attracted to you.
You’re attracted to me. We’re both adults.  Neither one of us is married. 
Right?”  She gave him a pointed look.

            He
shook his head, not trusting his voice not to squeak if he spoke just now.  He
stopped and picked up his mug to cover his discomposure.

            “So
I don’t see the point in drawing out the inevitable.  Do you have a problem
with meeting at my trailer?”

            Again,
he shook his head.  This wasn’t going the way he’d planned, he thought.  Not at
all.  The woman was offering herself, no strings attached.  He should be
elated.

            So
why was he disappointed?  “Listen, could you just humor for a minute and let me
pretend like I’m… I don’t know.  Wooing you?”

            She
actually laughed in his face.  “What am I, Scarlett O’Hara?”

            He
shook his head and stared at the yellow and green lights of the jukebox.  He
felt a little sick.  Like he’d just found out the prized antique he’d bought
was really just cheap plastic from Taiwan.  It wasn’t her; he turned back to
her and she was just as golden and precious as she had been.  But what she was
offering…it wasn’t what he’d had in mind.