Getting Lucky (30 page)

   "Well, don't talk about me like I'm not here," Melinda said.

   Griffin had been visiting with a buyer from Wyoming who'd bought one of his registered Angus bulls the previous afternoon when the women made their grand entrance all together with the three children in tow.

   Alvie Marlin was a regular at the Lucky Clover sale each year and always left behind a wad of cash and took a trailer full of Lucky Clover Angus cows or bulls home with him. He was tall, dark-haired, brown-eyed, well-muscled, and wore his western-cut tux and cowboy boots with ease. He whistled when the Luckadeau women entered the barn.

   Griffin couldn't have spit, much less whistled, his mouth was so dry when he saw Julie in the red dress.

   "I recognize the little girls. Didn't realize you had twins, though. Thought there was just one of them running around with all those fair-haired boys. And that's your mother with the streak like yours, and your sister, Melinda—who I could still cry over every time I see her. But Griff, who is the one in red? I think I'm in love."

   "That would be Julie. I don't have twins. The other little girl is Julie's daughter, who belongs to my late brother, Graham," Griffin managed to get out.

   "I remember your brother vaguely. Sorry to hear the word
late
put beside his name. I intend to dance every single dance that woman will let me have. I'm serious. I haven't been so thunderstruck by a woman since I was a teenager. She's one fine lookin' lady and I'm a sucker for red hair," Alvie said.

   On cue, the lead singer for the band took the micro phone and announced that the food was ready to be served. The tables were set and the dance floor ready. "Griffin says if you go home hungry or with leather on the bottom of your boots, that's not his problem," the man announced.

   The barn glittered with thousands of twinkling lights strung across from one side of the catwalk to the other. Red satin flowed in gentle folds from the lights to the barn floor where just the day before, there had been prize cattle offered for sale. The portable stage and dance floor had been brought out of storage and assembled. The rest of the floor was concrete but it had been washed and treated until it looked like gray marble.

   People sat around tables for six or eight and waiters dressed in white tuxedo shirts and black bow ties took and brought orders to them. An open bar was set up along the west wall. Waiters dressed in blue shirts with red ties took drink orders for those already seated.

   Julie felt as though she was in a sheik's tent some where in the Sahara rather than in a Texas barn a week before Christmas. Warm air flowed from specially installed heating units rented just for the party. Laura and her husband, Jimmy, sat at a table with Matt and Melinda, along with their two sons. Melinda had asked if the girls could sit with them and Julie had agreed, even though she'd have rather had all three with her.

   Griffin escorted Julie to a table where Milli and Beau Luckadeau and Slade and Jane Luckadeau sat with Slade's grandmother, Nellie, and her sister, Ellen. Julie felt as if she was a crippled pigeon about to be tossed into a den of hungry wolves.

   "Well, now I do believe all the ladies at this table are lovely this evening," Ellen said. She was dressed in her usual flamboyant colors. Hot pink that evening: a dress with a tight-fitting bodice scattered with rhinestones and a flowing satin skirt overlaid with filmy illusion with stones around the hem. Diamond jewelry was on her wrist, in her ears, and hanging around her neck. Her red hair was piled up in a 'do that had been popular thirty years before.

   "Thank you, and you are the prettiest one of the bunch," Julie said.

   "Honey, come and sit by me," Ellen said.

   "You go sit by Griffin and be careful what you say to this old broad. She eats up compliments like most women do chocolate," Nellie said.

   "Don't pay any attention to her. I'm Ellen, Slade's great-aunt. You'd be Julie. I've heard about you. And next week I'm buying something that shade of red. I've always loved it but got told my whole life that a natural redhead couldn't wear it. Guess you just proved them wrong, darlin'."

   "Pleased to meet you," Julie said.

   "And I'm Slade's grandmother, Nellie Luckadeau. Ellen, most natural redheads can't wear that color because they have freckles. Your natural red hair comes out of a bottle from Wal-Mart. Sit down here with us, Julie and Griffin. Alvera came over and gave us the lowdown on you, Julie. If that old buzzard likes you, you must be doin' something right."

   Alvera piped up from the other side of the table, "You call me an old buzzard again and I'll put pepper sauce in your Preparation H next time I come to visit. I just call the shots the way I see 'em. Julie's my kind of people. I don't care if you like her or not. I do."

   "Thanks, Alvera," Julie smiled.

   Slade chuckled. "You older ladies better be nice. If you fight tonight, you're going to go to bed without a snack."

   "That's fine. Just don't tell me I have to go to bed without a man with all these pretty things running around in tight fittin' Wranglers and tux coats. That would be punishment worse than finding an empty bottle of Jack Daniels," Ellen said.

   Julie giggled.

   "They're always like this," Jane said. "Makes me sorry I never had a sister."

   "Me, too," Milli said. "Got brothers but no sisters."

   "Curse of the Luckadeaus," Beau said. "Not many girls, so we appreciate beauty."

   "Which reminds me," Griffin said. "Melinda announced that she's pregnant and she's of the opinion that all it takes to make a Luckadeau girl is liquor and lots of it."

   "Worked for us, didn't it?" Slade said.

   Jane nodded and touched his arm lovingly. "It sure did."

   "I can vouch that both parties don't have to be drunk. Just the Luckadeau part," Milli said.

   Nellie slapped the table and crystal rattled. "Well, I'll be damned. That's why I didn't get a girl. Lester was a teetotaler."

   "Melinda says she and Matt both hit the bottle the night she got pregnant. Seems like the night Lizzy was conceived was right after one of these parties and I was pretty plastered," Griffin said.

   Julie turned a faint shade of mint green. She didn't want to hear about Griffin and Dian having sex even though they had been married and produced Lizzy. Then she was instantly irritated at herself for caring. The past was the past and she had one, too.

   "How about Annie?" Milli asked.

   "Neither of us were feeling any pain," Julie admitted.

   "Well, there's the proof," Milli said. "Our son was conceived when we were sober. Katy Scarlett, our daughter, when Beau was in mourning for his old girl friend and six sheets to the wind."

   "Six?" Julie asked.

   "Honey, three wouldn't begin to describe him that night. He was so drunk he barely knew his name, didn't understand me when I told him mine. The only thing he could do other than pass out was… well, suffice it to say, instinct has its purposes," Milli said.

   Jane nodded. "The Luckadeau men do have that instinct even when they are drunk, don't they? Ellie was conceived when we were both piss drunk."

   "Hey, hey, let's not tell all the family secrets," Slade said.

   Julie listened to the easy banter around the table and ate slowly. At least the women hadn't run her out of the barn with their sharp remarks. Maybe Alvera had a gun hiding in the folds of her denim pant set decorated with rhinestones and she'd threatened to kill the first one who was mean to her. If that was the case, she'd better have lots of bullets and the first one should have Melinda's name on it.

   Griffin was so close that she could smell his after shave and that alone caused her hormones to jump into overdrive. The black Wranglers, polished eel boots, big belt buckle, and western-cut tux jacket over a crisp white shirt didn't help matters much, either. Then there was the little issue of those crystal clear blue eyes and that rakish white streak flowing back from his forehead. Like Melinda had said about Graham, it all combined to make a nun's panty hose creep down around her ankles. Only Graham Luckadeau was just the shell; Griffin was the whole man.

   The barbecued brisket was tender, moist, and cooked to perfection. The stuffed baked potato was fine and the salad wonderful, but she might as well have been eating Cream of Wheat and whole wheat toast. She'd never been so nervous in her whole life, not even the day she walked into court and was accused of adultery.

   The band played softly while they ate and then, at a signal from Griffin, they picked up the tempo and the lead singer invited everyone to join Griffin and Julie on the dance floor.

   Griffin stood up and held his hand out to Julie. "That would be our cue to start the dancing."

   "Why?" she whispered as he led her to the dance floor.

   "Usually Momma and Daddy start it for me. I figured it was time for me to step up to the plate and really take over the sale this year. This is an important time for me, Julie. Don't ruin it."

   "Ruin it! You pompous snob. I just wondered why," she said.

   He slipped an arm around her waist. "Now you know."

   She put her hand in his and laid her other hand on his shoulder. He took a step forward until she melted into his chest and the music began. Dancing with Griffin was almost as good as kissing him. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn those Fourth of July spar klers were real and not just a figment of her imagination. And if dancing with him was this sweet, she couldn't imagine how it would feel to make love with him.

   The singer crooned "You Can't Give Up on Love," into the microphone. The song said that love didn't come easy and it was hard to hold so you couldn't give up on it. Near the end of the song, the singer took a moment to invite everyone else to join Griffin and Julie on the floor. In a few seconds the whole place was crowded and someone had tapped Griffin on the shoulder.

   "If I could cut in, please?" Alvie asked, sweeping off his big black hat.

   "Of course," Griffin said politely. He would rather have pulled a .38 Saturday Night Special from his waist band and shot the man square between the eyes, but he couldn't be rude to someone who'd just dropped more than a hundred grand in the sale pot.

   "Hello, pretty lady, I'm Alvie Marlin from up near Jackson Hole, Wyoming. You certainly do look lovely tonight."

   "Thank you. I'm Julie Donavan."

   "Mighty pleased to meet you, Julie. You ever been to Wyoming?"

   "No sir, I have not."

   "Well, we could remedy that right quick. I'm going home tomorrow morning. You've got an open invitation to my little spread," Alvie said.

   "But you don't know me. I could be an awful person," she teased.

   "Honey, I can take awful. Hell, I can even take mean. I've lived in the wild country my whole life. I could stand the mean if I could come home to that pretty red hair and what goes with it every night," he flirted.

   "You might ought to rethink that," she said.

   "Dance another one with me and let me tell you a story," he said when the song ended.

   The singer began another one by Alan, "All American Country Boy." She stayed in his arms and he sashayed her around to the quicker tempo.

   "This is my song. Just listen to it. Like old Alan says, my neck is a little red and I do drink a little booze and I don't back up. Not anymore. About twenty years ago, I was green as prairie grass in the spring time and I came down here to the Lucky Clover sale. Saw Melinda and God Almighty, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven and she was a real angel. I stuttered when I asked her to dance. I relived the way she fit in my arms for twenty years and wished I'd asked her to marry me right then. But I didn't and two years later when I came back, she was married to Matt. I don't take chances no more," Alvie said.

   "You flatter me," Julie said.

   "Ain't no flatter to it. When you walked in the door a while ago, all the dreams I had of Melinda just floated out of my mind. Twenty years worth. I'm forty years old. I own the biggest spread in Wyoming and honey, I'll sign every acre of it over to you if you'll go home with me tomorrow."

   "I've got a five-year-old daughter that's the product of a one-night stand with Graham Luckadeau. I'm divorced. I don't even have a home of my own. I live here and help Griffin," Julie said.

   "Honey, I don't give a damn if you were a two-bit hooker. I'm in love. You can take your time about falling in love with me. I don't care how long. Just go home with me," Alvie said.

   For an insane moment Julie considered it. Alvie was a fine specimen of a cowboy, with his dark hair combed back from a handsome face. His mouth was full and his eyes brooding. He was so honest, it was painful. And Wyoming was a hell of a long way from Texas.

   "You'll change your mind when the next woman in a red dress walks through the door. Right now I've got to go kiss my daughter good night." Julie left him standing in the middle of the dance floor with a silly grin on his face.

   When Julie got there, Melinda was ushering all three kids out toward the house where a sitter awaited.

   "See you met Alvie," Melinda said.

   "Yes, I did."

   "Poor old Alvie. Fell in love with me when we were twenty. He's so handsome and honest it about takes a woman's breath away," Melinda said.

   "You knew?" Julie walked beside her.

   "Of course. He's been in love with me ever since. Stutters terrible when he's around me. All but tonight. While you and Griffin were dancing—which by the way, y'all looked good together—Alvie came up and sat at our table for a minute. Talked as straight as me and you. First time ever he didn't stutter around me."