The Cedar Tree (Love Is Not Enough) (11 page)

Almost every night the two of them argued, their Howard jaws set in a stubborn line, just alike. With ruthless disregard for his frequent hangovers, the haggard and irritable old man routed him from bed each morning before dawn, and then with grim determination preached Jesus over breakfast.

At least once a week he threw his meager possessions into his duffle bag and hurled it into the back of his truck. There was nothing for him there. He could work as an underpaid ranch hand anywhere without having to listen to his grandfather nag him. And if he left, he wouldn't have to hope for a glimpse of Katie in the distance, jogging along the road on her pretty mare. His heartbeat wouldn't quicken at the sight of her walking down the sidewalk in Lone Tree, her swinging ponytail shining in the sun.

If he got away, he'd soon be his usual cocky self inside. He could forget about her.

But he always hauled his duffle back up the stairs and the next day fought the paint horse and the edge of his confused unhappiness…and kept watching for Katie everywhere he went.

One evening in late August, his grandfather received a phone call—a Sister Somebody was about to kick the bucket. The old man left and he headed for the bar, but his grandfather still wasn't home when he returned after closing time. He frowned and glanced at his watch—too late for a geezer to be out running around.

He hung his hat on a hook by the door and kicked off his boots. Padding into the kitchen in his socks, he opened the refrigerator door searching for the bowl of soup Katie's mother had sent home with his grandfather the day before. Gone. He scowled. The aggravating old fart delighted in eating all the good stuff before he could get any of it. 

He cut the mold off a piece of cheese and ate it with the last two saltines rattling around in the bottom of the cracker box. Just as he mounted the stairs to his room, his grandfather opened the living room door.

He stopped and turned to lean against the doorframe at the bottom of the stairs. "D'you know what time it is, Boy?" he asked gruffly, mocking the old man's usual late-night greeting.

His grandfather glanced at him, his sagging eyes dark circled with weariness. He slipped off the straps of his suspenders to dangle from the waistband of his jeans then crossed the room to his chair and dropped into the ragged brown velour with a groan and a puff of dust.

"Didn't close the bar down tonight?" the old man grunted.

"Yeah, I did. It's after two."

His grandfather made a growling sound and leaned over to unlace the packer-style boots he wore. Pulling off the right boot and then his sock, the old man wiggled his toes.

He eyed his grandfather's foot with its bunion and thick yellow toenails, like horse hooves. "Did she go ahead and die?"

"Mabel? Yeah. She passed on a few hours ago."

"What was wrong with her?"

"Old age. I grew up with one of her boys."

He chuckled. "I didn't even know people could get that old."

"Not many of 'em do. She was ninety-six. Still livin' on her own." His grandfather unlaced his other boot and pulled off his sock.

"Why do you do this, Gramps?" he asked abruptly.

"Do what?"

"Take care of all these people?"

The old man draped his socks across the tops of his boots. "For the same reason Jesus hung on the cross and died…for the joy that was set before Him in heaven." He looked up. "You ever known a minute's real joy in your life, Son?"

The clock ticked away a long minute, loud in the silence.

"I don't think I know what it is," he said, finally.

"You'd ought to find out." His grandfather rose stiffly. "It'd save you a bunch of money at the bar, if nothin' else." He headed toward his bedroom at the bottom of the stairs.

"Katie won't have me, Gramps." He stood open-mouthed, shocked by his own words.

The old man stopped. "Well, why would she? I told you to leave her be. Told you you didn't have anything to give her."

"She's made me wish I did."

His grandfather sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Your problem ain't a girl problem, Son, it's a God problem. You don't have the Lord and without Him your life won't never amount to a hill of beans whether you got your girl or not."

"I don't know where to start."

"What'd'you think I've been tryin' to tell you all summer? Start by not goin' to the bar every night. Pray. Have some faith."

"I don't have any. You know that."

"Well, get some, Son," his grandfather boomed testily. "I can't give it to you, but I can tell you no matter how hard you look at the bar you ain't never gonna find it there."

***

The next morning over breakfast, instead of preaching Jesus, his grandfather tried to remember the names of all eight of Mabel's offspring even though some of them had been dead for years. Then he started on the army of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Gil finally stood and wiped the egg yolk off his plate with the last bite of his toast. "Sorry to interrupt you halfway up the family tree there, Gramps, but I gotta go before I'm too old to string fence wire."

Unperturbed, his grandfather grinned and glanced at the clock. "I've got to help with funeral arrangements, but I'll move the irrigation water to the next set on the alfalfa before I leave." He swallowed the last of his coffee. "On my way home, I'll stop and check on Dave then we'll get started on the barn roof. Run down to Lone Tree and get the stuff at the hardware before I get back."

At noon, without Becky Campbell's soup, everything in the refrigerator easily qualified for a science experiment on mold growth and unless they involved explosions he'd never been interested in science experiments. He'd eat in town.

At the hardware store, he loaded sheets of galvanized metal for the barn roof into his pickup then walked down the block to the cafe. He entered the building and scanned the pie case—lemon—and then made his way to one of the chairs at the long table in the middle of the room called the liar's table. Only three liars sat there today, but they all grinned at him and spoke.

"Howdy, Gil."

"Get any rain out at the old man's place last night, Howard?"

"How'y'doin', Gil…"

The metal legs of his chair scraped on checked linoleum, gritty with dirt and manure from many boots. The stooped and white haired day-shift waitress brought a menu he knew by heart.

He grinned at her. "Millie, why don't you go out with me tonight?"

A smile blossomed the soft wrinkles of Millie's face into fussy sweetness. "Gil, when you grin like that, you look so much like your dad, it ain't even funny." She drew an order pad from the pocket of her smock. "Roy was the best lookin' boy I ever saw, but your granddad, now—" she rolled her eyes appreciatively, and giggled like a girl—"he was really somethin' in his day."

The liars hee-hawed.

She patted his cheek. "You're a sweet boy, darlin', to think of old Millie, but I have to stay home tonight and fill my bird feeders." She winked. "Otherwise, I would."

He laughed and handed her his menu. "That's what they all say. I'll just have the double cheeseburger with fries and a Coke. Pie, too."

Millie turned away and disappeared through the batwing doors between the cafe and the bar.

He finished his meal and left a dollar beside his plate then stepped outside into bright sunshine. Pulling the Skoal can from the pocket of his shirt, he took a dip.

A few feet away, the door from the bar opened and Rod Baker, the Lazy H outfit's hired man, stepped out, red hair and freckles gleaming in the sun. He settled a dusty Stetson on his head. "How's it goin', Howard?"

"It's goin', Baker. You decide if you want my horse yet?"

"You all done with him?"

"Gentle as a kitten."

Rod spit a stream of tobacco juice at the curb where a frail lady with blue hair made a shaky attempt to park a Ford Falcon.

He nodded toward the car. "That's Miss Means. She's about a hundred years old. She taught my dad third grade, and then she taught me third grade. Could she ride him?"

He eyed the elderly woman's determined effort to pull into the space then grinned. "Sure."

Rod threw back his head and laughed. "I don't want him, then."

He laughed, too. Then from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Katie coming out of the post office next to the bar. He turned his head to meet her gaze, his laughter abruptly dying.

Vivid color flooded her face. She froze with her hand on the stair railing, her eyes wide…and as blue as he remembered. He flicked his gaze down her slender form in a flowered summer dress to her small feet in leather sandals then back to her face.

With panic in her eyes, she glanced down the street toward the hardware store where he'd left his truck, and then the other way. She hesitated. Then she took a deep breath and started down the steps toward him and Rod.

He snatched off his hat and hurriedly wiped the chew out of his lip to flip it toward the curb. She moved quickly toward them on the sidewalk, head down.

She wouldn't go past without speaking…Would she? He couldn't let her. By the time she approached to arm's distance away, his heart was pounding so he could hardly breathe.

"Hi, Katie."

She hesitated then stopped. Slowly, she raised her gaze to his. Her eyes held none of the animosity he had expected. Instead, they seemed shadowed by unhappiness matching his own.

She rubbed her hand nervously over her flowered skirt. "Hi."

"Doin' okay?"

"Yes." Her gaze flickered over his bare head. "You?"

He nodded.

She looked down, smoothing the fabric of her dress. Her lashes fanned across the soft, tanned skin of her cheek, and a lock of bright hair curled against her neck. She stood near enough for the fragrance of her hair…like lightning…to reach him.

He cleared his throat. "Your leg all right, now?"

She nodded. The breeze lifted a wavy strand of hair from her ponytail and carried it to rest on his faded denim shirt over his chest.

Miss Means shut off the Falcon's motor. The car spluttered a few gasps and then died.

"I have to go." Katie made a vague gesture to where Karl sat in his red pickup halfway down the block reading a newspaper. "Karl's waiting on me."

He swallowed and nodded jerkily. "See you around, Katie."

She walked away quickly, her shining ponytail swinging in time with her skirt and the movement of pretty calves. A minute later, Karl backed out of the parking space and drove away toward their place. 

Rod Baker guffawed loudly. "You've got it bad, dude."

"Huh?"

"Katie Campbell. What's with that?"

"What's with what?"

"She's hot, I'll give you that, but that family's a weird outfit, you know."

He eyed Rod. "What're you talkin' about?"

"I went to school with Karl. That family's so religious it's unbelievable. You know what he did one time?" Rod shook his head. "He found a fifty dollar bill in the parking lot and gave it to the principal." Disgustedly, he spit a dark stream at the curb and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "I can't see her gettin' hooked up with you, Howard. She won't look at anybody that don't go to her church. I've tried, believe me." He shrugged. "But sometimes the quiet girls surprise you and—"

"Now'd be a good time to shut your mouth, Baker," he said, the broken spot on the bridge of his nose burning.

Rod stared at him. "Hey. I'm just sayin'. I sure wouldn't mind gettin' lucky with her, so I can see why you'd—"

A red haze obscured his vision. Seriously? Katie…pure and good, and probably the only virgin either one of them knew…with Rod Baker's dirty eyes on her speculating about getting lucky…?

Without thinking, he popped Rod, hard, on the mouth with the back of his hand.

Rod's hat flew off. His eyes widened. "Hey," he yelled, fingering his bleeding lip. "What'd you do that for you stupid son of—"

"You keep your dirty mouth shut about her, you hear me, Baker?"

Baker swore and launched at him, eyes blazing. Rod's fist connected with his nose.

The searing pain nearly blinded him. That stupid goofball had probably broken his nose…again. He drew back his fist and drove it into the other man's stomach.

Baker's eyes stared, wide-eyed, as the air exploded from him, doubling him over. He rammed his knee under Rod's chin, whipping back his head and staggering him. Then he grabbed the other man by the shirtfront, swung him off his feet, and hurled him over the hood of the Falcon. Rod's hard, red head cracked down on the old glass of the windshield, splintering a network of fissures across it.

Halfway out of her car, Miss Means stared at her former pupil as he slowly sat up on the hood clutching his head, a torrent of loud profanity pouring from his bleeding lips. Her bluish hair rose like an old hen's feathers while her penciled brows snapped together and her thin lips tightened.

Expecting Miss Means to rush forward and peck Rod on the head, he swiped at the blood gushing from his nose with his shirt sleeve. Just then, the town marshal pulled his Chevy Blazer into the space next to the Falcon. The young marshal unfolded his lanky frame from the Blazer, gaze narrowed on him beneath the brim of his Stetson.

He groaned inwardly. That guy hadn't liked him ever since the dark haired waitress decided she didn't think much of hot-shot marshals.

The marshal spit his chew onto the asphalt and sauntered around to Miss Means. "Miss Means, you all right?"

"No, I am not, young man," Miss Means snapped in a high, wavering voice, "I only came to town for a sack of cat food when these two ruffians…" 

A crowd gathered on the sidewalk. Miss Mean's quavering outrage shrilled over the gleefully earthy suggestions of the ranching community. Rod started popping off at the mouth again.

He lunged at the stupid turkey in an attempt to shut him up before he said Katie's name in front of everybody, but the marshal grabbed his arms.

He shrugged out of the man's grip. "Listen, Barney Fife—"

"Okay. That's it, Howard," the marshal roared. "Get in the Blazer. I'm gonna haul you in for assault and destruction of private property…and for bein' just too dang funny."