Dorothy Garlock - [Route 66] (31 page)

“These are nice. Look at the beadwork. Do you think we could find a pair that would fit you, honey?” Margie lifted Anna Marie up onto the end of the table. “I had a pair when I was little.”

“I like blue ones.”

“Here’s a pair with blue beads.” She measured the sole of the moccasin against Anna’s foot. “Too little.” She delved into the pile and came out with another pair. “These look just right. Shall we try them on?”

“They’re pretty.”

After slipping the moccasins on Anna’s small feet and tying the thong, she lifted the child down.

“How do they feel?” Down on her knees, Margie pressed her thumb on the end of the shoe to test the fit.

“Good. Can I have ’em?”

Margie looked at the sign: CHILDREN’S MOC 75 CENTS. OTHERS 1.00. She got to her feet. A dollar seventy-five if she got a pair for herself. She made the decision.

“Yes, you can, and I’ll get a pair for myself.”

“Like mine?”

“Like yours.”

“Goody, goody!”

She wouldn’t have dared to spend the money before, but she had kept the two hundred dollars she had found in Elmer’s socks. It was worth every penny of the money to see the smile on Anna Marie’s face and see her dance up the aisle of the store.

Grace had left before they reached the counter. Margie asked for a bottle of milk, a loaf of sliced bread and a pound of sliced meat.

“I’ll have to charge you a nickel deposit on the bottle.”

“Can I turn it in down the line if I buy more milk tomorrow?”

“You should be able to.”

She was paying for the purchases when Brady came into the store. She hurriedly put the change in her pocket.

“Looky, Uncle Brady. Looky what I got. You don’t have to carry me. They’re Indian shoes.”

“So they are.” He knelt down and lifted her foot. “That’s just the ticket, Punkie.”

He stood and went to the counter, his eyes on Margie. She avoided looking at him and picked up the sack with the milk, bread and meat. He didn’t say anything until they reached the store porch.

“I’m glad you found the footwear. I’ll pay you for them and for the milk.”

“I’ll pay you for the ice.”

“It was all of fifteen cents.”

“Well … the shoes were ten dollars,” she said with a cocky smile.

At first he was taken aback, then a slow smile covered his face and his eyes lit up.

“Is that all? You should have bought two or three more pairs.”

“I did buy one more.” She held up the pair she had bought for herself. “I’m going to sit down right here on the steps and put them on.”

“Take your time. We’ve decided this will be our noon stop even if it is a little early. Stay with Margie, Punkie, I’ll be right back.” Brady went back into the store.

When he came out, Margie and Anna Marie in their new moccasins stood at the end of the truck. Brady had tied the flap back when he put the ice in the box, but it was still as hot as an oven under the canvas.

“Stay here, honey. I’ll get a cup for your milk and butter to go on our bread,” Margie said.

“Can I show Aunt Grace and Mona my new shoes?”

“Wait until I come back.”

Margie was ready to climb out over the tailgate when Brady reappeared. He set a sack on the ground and lifted her down as easily as if she had been Anna Marie. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” His eyes smiled at her.

“I got bread and meat. I’ll make Anna Marie a sandwich. She’s eager to show her shoes to Mona and Grace.”

“I got bread and meat too. And a toothbrush for Punkie.”

“Put the meat in the icebox. Would you like a glass of tea? I have some made, but had no ice to go in it until now.”

“I sure would. Shall I chip the ice?”

Margie glanced at him. The smile he gave her spread a warm light into his eyes. He looked years younger when he smiled. Her pulse leaped, bringing color to her face, and her flushed cheeks made her soft brown eyes seem all the warmer.

They ate the sandwiches while sitting on the fender of the truck and watched Anna Marie run around showing everyone her new footwear.

“I know now why Indians wear moccasins,” Margie said, wiggling her toes. “They’re comfortable. It’s like going barefoot, except you don’t have to worry about cockleburs.”

Brady dug in his pocket, brought out two dollars and put it in her hand.

“What’s this for?”

“The shoes and the milk.”

“The shoes and the milk were eighty-five cents. I’ll get the deposit back on the bottle.” She shoved the bills back in his hand.

“I want to pay for your shoes too … for all you’ve done for Anna Marie.”

“I don’t expect pay for what I’ve done for Anna Marie.” Her voice was so cold that it sent a chill down his back. “Do you want pay for what you’ve done for me?”

“No, of course not! Oh, Lord, I’ve put my foot in it again. I’m sorry. I didn’t put it right. I want to give you something, and I used Anna Marie for an excuse.”

“We don’t know each other well enough for me to accept a present from you.” She held her head high, her hard brown eyes refusing to look away from his.

The expression on her face cut him like a knife. He felt a tide of panic rise in his throat. He had to make amends, and fast.

“Margie, for the past four years I’ve been on an isolated ranch, and even before I went to Colorado I didn’t have all that much to do with women. I’ve lost touch with what’s proper and what isn’t. If it was forward of me to offer you a gift, I’m sorry.”

“After what Elmer said about me I suppose you thought that I—”

“Believe me,” he interrupted, “after getting to know you I totally disregarded what Elmer said. He was a bitter, unhappy man, and I think he resented your independence. Be patient with me, Margie. Please.”

When she didn’t say anything, he said anxiously, “Can’t we start over again? Again?”

After a long-drawn-out silence she suddenly let out a little nervous laugh.

“I’m on kind of a short fuse. You can get my back up quicker than anyone I’ve ever met.”

He was too stunned with relief to utter another word; his heart was drumming so hard he could hardly breathe.

“Grace is packing up. I’d better do the same.” Margie stood and reached for his glass. “I hate to let this ice go to waste. I’ll put it and some tea in the fruit jar. We’ll drink it on the way.”

He followed her to the truck. After she had filled the jar and before he tied down the flap, she reached inside for her hairbrush.

“I haven’t brushed Anna Marie’s hair yet.”

“I’m hot,” Sugar complained. “Are the fools goin’ to sit there all day?”

Homer had stopped the coupe beside a cluster of shops several hundred feet from where the caravan was parked. Sugar looked like a boy with her hair up under Homer’s cap and in the denim pants and striped shirt they had bought this morning. Homer wore Chester’s old felt hat.

Sugar had not mentioned Chester again, and neither had Homer. In the back of her mind she wondered at his sudden leaving after vowing to take the car back to his mother. Homer had handled the situation, and that was enough for her. If he had done away with his uncle, she didn’t want to know it. She was happier than she’d ever been. She was free. She was doing exciting things. Now, if only Homer would forget about getting even with that damn cowboy …

“I see that sweet little Margie is getting in the car with Brady,” Sugar said with heavy sarcasm. “The mealymouthed scrawny bitch! She’d been angling to get him between her legs since we started this trip. Now that her papa’s out of the way, she’ll not have to wait long. A man like Brady’s used to getting his poontang. He won’t go long without it.”

“Scrawny? If I remember right, she had good-sized tits.” Homer wore a devilish grin when he looked at her.

“Bullshit! So does a cow. Ya wanta screw a cow?” she asked shrewishly, and flounced over next to the door.

One of the best things about being with Homer was that they spoke the same language. She could use all the forbidden words she had used only in her thoughts. None of this having to be so nasty nice and having to make it right with Foley every time she slipped up. It was great to be out from under that strain and be able to be herself.

Homer let out a hoot of laughter. “Chester screwed a sheep once on a dare.”

Sugar looked pained. “I’m not surprised.” Then, “How was it?”

“All right, I guess. He shot his wad.”

“Piddle,” Sugar said with disgust. “He had sheep dung for brains anyhow.”

They sat silently and watched the activity going on around the caravan. Then Homer asked, “Is the cowboy hot for the blonde?”

“She’s the only one handy beside Foley’s kid, and that one went gaga over the blind dummy ’cause he could sing and play the guitar.”

“Who’s drivin’ her truck?”

“Jody, Foley’s kid. That’s the blind dummy getting in with him. Lordy, but it pissed her for me to call him that.”

“If we get the chance, we’ll run yore old man off the road.”

“Don’t do that!” Sugar exclaimed. “I want the money he’s carryin’. I’m entitled to some of it.”

“He’s last in line. Before anyone misses him we’d have the money and be gone.”

“He’d know it was me.”

“Maybe not.”

“You’d kill him?”

“Well, shit! Do you think I’m dumb enough to let him put the finger on me?”

“What about the cowboy?”

“I ain’t giving up on him.”

“Can’t we go on ahead, lover?” Sugar moved over and worked her hand against his fly.

“Cut that out.” He removed her hand. “Some jay-hawk will come out of that feedstore and see a boy with his hands in my pants. The shock might kill him.”

Sugar’s tinkling laugh rang out. Homer gazed at her smiling face. She was about the prettiest woman he’d ever seen, pretty and wicked, and she loved to screw. How in the hell had he had the good luck to find her? Now that they were rid of old Chester, he’d pull off the road whenever they took a notion to have a little fun and go at it.

“Hey, Stud.” Sugar waved her hand in front of his face to get his attention. “When are we goin’ to get more money?”

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

“It was exciting.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until we get to a big enough town before I put my pretty little decoy out again. Meanwhile, we’ll keep our eyes open for easy pickin’s.”

Chapter 24

T
HE COUNTRY WEST OF AMARILLO
was big and open as far as the eye could see. The highway cut a path between a sea of short prairie grass, a pale gold carpet, rolled back on each side of the highway. Shadows of the low-flying clouds created dark patches on the open sun-yellowed grassy plain.

Margie thought that they might as well be traveling across a space as empty and limitless as the sky except for the skeleton of a windmill silhouetted against the blue. On the breeze that came from the south was the smell of sunripened grass and sage. She had the feeling that she would be like a grain of sand on a beach if she were ever lost in this vast space.

“It’s a lonesome country.” She spoke for the first time since Anna Marie had fallen asleep, her head in Margie’s lap, her feet in Brady’s.

“Yes, it is. But hills and valleys can be lonesome too.”

“Were you lonesome at your ranch?”

“Most of the time I was so busy that I didn’t have time to think about it. But when I did, I wished to have someone to go home to.” He glanced at her profile. “Both of the Mexicans that work there have large happy families. Ramon, my partner, married last fall.”

“Ramon. Is he a Mexican?”

“No. Cherokee. He has an interesting background. His father was a teacher at the Cherokee Seminary at Tahlequah, Oklahoma. His mother was a quadroon, which makes him one-eighth colored. He’s one of the smartest men I’ve ever known and could be teaching in a university somewhere. But he loves ranching, loves horses, hates being in town and seldom goes there.”

“How did you meet him?”

“While working on a ranch. When I first went out to Colorado, I signed on to work for bed, board and ten a month. I wanted to get a little experience under my belt before I put my money down. Ramon had come out from Rain-water, Oklahoma, and didn’t have a dime to his name. A few months later his sister, Radna Bluefeather, and her husband, Randolph, came to visit him. Randolph insisted on staking Ramon and put up money equal to mine. That’s how I happened to be partners with him. It was one of the smartest moves I ever made.”

“Is Ramon married?”

“He went to Denver to get a load of books and came back with a wife. They’re well suited. Both are educated, private people and are crazy in love with each other.”

“Is she an Indian?”

“No. Do you have anything against a white woman who marries a man of mixed blood?”

“No.” She glanced at his sharply etched profile. He turned, and she saw a flicker of humor in his eyes as he swung them away from her and concentrated on his driving. The car picked up speed. There was something terribly attractive about him. He was totally male from the top of his thick black hair to his scuffed cowboy boots. There was no doubt that he aroused her physically.
How do I know another attractive man wouldn’t do the same under the same circumstances?

Brady Hoyt, however, was unlike any man she had ever met. He was efficient, decisive and even brutal when necessary. That was demonstrated by the way he had handled men who would probably have robbed them. On the other hand, he was as gentle and as caring with Anna Marie as if she was the most precious thing in the world. Would he be the same with a woman … if he loved her?

Margie longed for someone who would look forward to coming home to
her
. She wanted a man she could stand beside, as a helpmate to share his joy and his sorrows, bear his children and grow old with. She gave a little involuntary shiver. In Brady she had finally met a man she could give her heart to completely, build her life around.

Her lips curled with disgust. She was too much a coward to admit that she was already in love with him, and she was afraid that if she did admit it, it would become real and would hurt much more later on. She had to be realistic about this. Brady was probably interested in her only for the duration of the trip. It would never do to let him know how much she had enjoyed being with him and Anna Marie this afternoon.