Shuffle Chapter One

In the eighth grade I wore a size 34D. With a big bra full of chest and a given name of Tana Rose, I realized I could have a career stripping at the Dirty Sock south of town. Trying to avoid that fate, I told my friends and family to call me T.R.

According to my folks, stripping would have been a wiser choice of vocation than what I’m doing now. I deal Texas Hold’em in an underground (as in illegal) card room. Not to brag, but I run one of the most popular poker tables in Central Texas. And Texas has a lot of underground poker tables.

My family thinks I’m going to hell ─ or to jail, whichever comes first ─ and glow red with embarrassment whenever someone asks them what little T.R.’s doing since she stupidly (implied but not stated) left that great CPA firm she started working for right out of college.

I’m just surprised anyone needs to ask that question since everyone in my town seems to know everything about each other’s business.

In my defense, I tried hard to fit into the facts and figures career I went to college for but the job just wasn’t a good flop for me. The hours made me miserable. There just aren’t many accounting jobs out there that match my body’s sleep cycle. I’m wide awake all night, tossing, turning, reading, pacing; but daylight finds me with my head on my desk, eyes closed, mouth drooling.

So when I heard about this poker gig from a buddy, who had a friend, who knew someone, who was acquainted with a guy who had put the word out that he wanted a big-boobied dealer for friendly games of Texas Hold‘em, I knew I qualified.

Big boobs I got. Texas Hold‘em I love. The fact that gambling is illegal in Texas I’m not so keen about but great tips kind of put unlawful way in the back of my mind. Three nights in a poker room more than equal a really good paycheck of a fifty-hour workweek.

I’m thirty-four now, living the life my sleep rem was designed for, but I'm still touchy about what folks call me. So when some guy called me the ‘C’ word and tried to open the passenger door of my truck, I kinda freaked.

“Cunt!” he yelled. “HEY, CUNT! Open the door!”

I let out a startled squeal and almost wet my pants. My eyes jerked to the door locks, making sure they were safely in the locked position. When I looked up again, the drenched would-be intruder wasn’t even looking at me. He was staring down the street. The brim of his cowboy hat drooped under the weight of rainwater, making it impossible for me to see his face.

Whoever he was, he stopped pulling my door handle and rushed away. That’s when I stomped on the gas pedal.

It was my own fault the dripping dude had surprised me. I had pulled my current read from my purse at a long red light in the downtown warehouse district and was digesting a couple of paragraphs from the blistering bestseller. The rain on the roof and the sluggish thud, thud, thud of the wiper blades provided a perfect background rhythm to read by, although for the steamy parts I would have preferred a rapid, more deliberate pulsing.

Between the book and the blades, I didn’t even care that the light had cycled through green several times. It helped, of course, that all the traffic in town was coagulating around the university at this time of day, leaving my intersection as empty as a steer’s scrotum.

Attempted panhandling, robbery, or truckjacking, whatever the cowboy’s goal, it was a first for me. On the upside, I guess I should have been thankful. The soaked saddlebum made me realize I could have been home reading in my own comfy bed instead of sitting at an intersection in my brother’s borrowed truck.

He didn’t have to call me names, though.

The back end of the truck slipped sideways on the wet street when I hit the gas and I felt rather than heard a thump on the passenger side of the pickup.

OhmygodIranoverhim, I thought as I slammed on the brakes and jammed the transmission into park. Jumping down out of the big one-ton rig, I ran around the front of the pickup, fully expecting to find an injured man pinned under the tires.

But nobody lay dead or dying. Nobody was even there.

“Quit playin’ around, Runt!” I heard from the driver’s side door. “Get in! I need your truck now.”

Runt? Not Cunt?

Oh. Handle puller knew my brother Runt, apparently well enough to call him by his nickname. It was also obvious my brother’s friend hadn’t looked below my neck yet. Even though Runt and I look alike we do have our differences.

Whoever he was, he now stood between me and the steering wheel. Leaping from the duelie definitely didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.

The cowboy’s eyes widened as he turned and focused on my cleavage. He didn’t even glance at my face.

“Tana? Tana Rose? DamnitTanaRose! Getinthetruck!”

OK. He knew who I was just by looking at my boobs. And since he knew my full name, he had to be somebody I knew before high school.

“Tanarose! Now!” Runt’s buddy said as he grabbed the open driver’s door and swung up into the vehicle. Before the door closed on his blue-jeaned butt, I heard him say, “Yeah, I need to report a stolen truck.”

I stood in the rain wondering what I should do and why he was reporting a stolen truck to me, especially since it was my truck he was stealing. Then it dawned on me. I knew that rear end. That tight tush belonged to Shade Saunders, or he had a rump double.

“Hey, girlie,” a deep voice behind me said. “Come over here.”

I turned around just in time to see a scummy bum make a grab at my arm.

Whoa. This downtown area was getting scary. I slapped his hand away and took a step backwards.

“You bitch,” the damp derelict said, making another grab at me.What is it with the name calling today, I thought, but I didn’t hesitate. I turned and ran the couple of steps to the duelie’s passenger door. I heard a thunk as it electronically unlocked and I hustled myself into the truck.

“Hey, you’re suppose to come with me!” the man behind me yelled. Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna do that.

I glanced back just as the grubby guy stuck his hand down his pants. Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I settled myself into the passenger seat. It was either go with Shade or stay to see what the bum was digging into his britches for. Going with Shade seemed the wiser choice, but not by much.

As I slammed the door shut, I gave the bum one more quick look. Was that a pistol he was pointing at me? He had a gun in his briefs? I had completely missed that bulge, not that I’d given him that close a gander.

“That man has a…,” I started to say but the duelie leaped into action, slamming the back of my skull into the headrest and sending the lava novel I was reading skidding to the floorboards.

“Yes, that’s right,’ Shade said. “Downtown Bryan. Corner of Main and Sims.”

Now what’s Shade talking about, I thought as I tried to clear my head. First he tells me he stole my truck. Now he’s telling me where he stole it. He must have been bucked on his head one too many since the last time I saw him.

“Shade…,” I started to say but he waved me quiet and forced the truck into a tight right turn, followed by a hard, shuddering left. Empty beer cans in the bed of the pickup clattered back and forth, and suddenly I felt Tilt-a-Whirl queasy. “Dammit, Shade! Stop before you kill us!” I said. As an afterthought, I added, “That man back there pointed a gun at me!”

Shade’s driving improved slightly, and he looked my way, shaking his head. “I doubt it,” he said, “on both of those statements.” His eyes swept from my chest back to the road ahead. That’s when I noticed a phone earbud on the other side of his head. “My name is Shade Saunders,” he said, looking at my face this time but talking to someone on the other end of his phone. He winked and smiled the Shade-smile that’s made hundreds of Texas women fall in love with him…or want to make love to him.

Not me, of course. After dating Shade in high school and then again in college, I’m as immune to his smile as if I’d swallowed a dollop of live vaccine on a sugar cube, although the threat of an outbreak is always present when you mix together his matured assets and package them under a straw cowboy hat.

Like the old song says, don’t call him a cowboy ‘til you see ‘m ride. And lord knows, Shade could ride anything. Any horse. Any bull. Any truck, apparently, too. And it goes without saying, any woman he wanted.

Shade with his taut buns, broad shoulders, and cowboy ways. Who always smelled like leather, newly-mown hay, and manly-man sweat. I shook my head again.

Several blocks ahead a squad car with flashing lights turned onto the street. I thought I saw Shade’s old primer gray pickup fishtailing in front of the cops. I was on the edge the truck seat, one hand gripping the dash and the other trying to grab the skittering book before it lodged itself under the brake pedal.

Shade was still talking. “…just a minute…yes, down North Parker Street near John’s Transmission…you’re in my way…yes, north…no, not there.”

He spoke calmly as he concentrated on the evolving car chase. With his eyes focused forward and a phone headset in his ear, his conversation was very disconcerting. I couldn’t tell when he was talking to me, talking on the phone, or talking to himself.

“…OK, I’ll back off from following…,” he finally said. “But my competition saddle’s on the rear seat of that pickup and I’ll need it this weekend, whether you have to impound the truck or not…Thanks, Case…No, I don’t need a ride. I’m with T.R….Yeah, Tana Rose, the stripper, herself…No, we’re not dating again. Not yet anyway. But I’ll say this for her, she could enter and win any wet t-shirt contest in the area…Very funny. No, that was after my truck was stolen…OK, I’ll have her call you.”

He poked a finger at his ear and finally turned his full attention to me. “Your friend Casey wants you to call her with details,” he said, lifting both hands from the steering wheel to make those annoying quote gestures. “Leave that damn book alone, Tana Rose. What are you doing in Runt’s truck?”

Shade made a u-turn and started driving away from his old clunker of a truck and the squad car chasing it. He gave a quick, concerned glance into the rearview mirror.

“Oh. You talking to me now?” I said. “Then don’t call me Tana Rose. And what I drive is my business.”

Shade cut his eyes to me, then focused back on the street ahead. “That wet t-shirt almost makes you my business, Tana Rose. In that, you could be my only business. How’d you get so wet? You been dancin’ in this rain?”

Oh, yeah, dancing in the rain with some bum using his Fruit of the Looms as a gun holster.

Shade didn’t give me a chance to reply. “Where can I drop you?” he asked.

“Drop me? I’ll drop YOU!” I said through tight lips. “You’re not taking my ride!”

“Tana Rose, weren’t you listening?”

No, I wasn’t. When conversation comes around to Shade Saunders, I block it out automatically. Rainy days are no exception. And anyway, I was too busy worrying over the gun in the bum’s britches.

Shade kept right on talking. He always did like the sound of his own voice. “My truck was just stolen. I’m on my way to pick up a horse and I need wheels that can pull a horse trailer. This duelie is perfect. I’ll square it with Runt later.”

I furrowed my eyebrows in doubt. Shade wasn’t Runt’s buddy. They’re friendly whenever they meet by chance, but I don’t see them calling each other to shoot the bull. They’re just not that close. Certainly not close enough to ‘square’ this little hijacking. As far as I was concerned, Shade had stolen Runt’s truck and kidnapped his sister.

OK, maybe even I didn’t really buy the kidnapping part. I went along with Shade somewhat willingly, not only to protect my interest in Runt’s vehicle but to get away from the pants-digging, possible pistol-waving bum. But the truck stealing part was true, and you’ve got to be pretty good friends to square that in this state. We used to hang horse thieves here, and truck stealing isn’t that far down the road. We just don’t take that in Texas.

“One more time, Tana Rose. Where’s your car?”

“I borrowed this truck….” I pushed the words through clamped teeth, then remembered Runt didn’t know I had scrounged his beat-up old duelie yet. Well, he might know by now. It’d been a couple of hours since the mechanic had dropped me by my brother’s place to get it. Thankfully, Runt had the bad habit of leaving his keys in the ignition of his vehicles.

“…because my Mustang’s in the shop. And don’t call me Tana Rose.”

“Whatever you say, Stripper. Anyway, I hear you don’t start dealin’ until nine tonight. What else you got to do besides sleep? I’ll come back and get you to the poker room on time.”

Ca-rap. There it is again. The only secret in this town is the fact everyone knows your secrets. Next thing I know I’ll read it in the local paper under the headline “Known Hold‘em Dealer Kidnapped by Local Loco.”

Shade took off his water-deformed hat and slapped it over my chest. “Hang on to this here hat, Tana Rose. A guy can hardly concentrate on driving with those two wet things pointin’ his way.”

I purposely let the hat fall into my lap and let out a menacing murmur at the continued use of my full name. “You must be making another saddle, Shade. You stink! Like leather and sweat and…and horse.” I needed to say something nasty in retaliation for the full name thing. He knows I hate my given name.

We were pretty close to the little two-bedroom bungalow I’d bought last year when I had what the mortgage company calls employment.

“Where’re we going?” I asked.

“Your house.”

Oh? So how does Shade Saunders know where I live? For an old boyfriend he certainly seemed to know a little too much about me.

I sneaked another peek at him while I fumbled for my house keys in my purse. I hadn’t heard of any rumors floating around town about Shade. But then again, how would I know. I work with a bunch of men concentrating on their cards, not a group of women in office jobs, bored with work and dying to share the latest gossip of the day. At least gossip was the highlight of my day when I had a real job.

I assumed Shade was still unattached. No ring had been rolled onto his finger. No notices placed in the newspaper. And anyway, Shade hooking up permanently with a girl would have been major news, traveling from woman to woman with the speed of a spring storm. My phone would have rung on that one.

And I presumed Shade still worked alone. After all, he was a saddle maker and how many Aggies does it take to do that? I also assumed he still attended every rodeo and roping in the state, unless, of course, there was a national rodeo somewhere and then Shade would be there.

He and I may have both graduated high school and college here in town, but he was a working country cowboy, and I was a rodeo hanger-on city cowgirl. That meant I opened and closed the arena gates at the local rodeos for the real cowboys and cowgirls. I had to do something other than dance the two-step to earn the right to wear cowboy boots.

Even though I was over him, Shade was still the best looking man in town. I couldn’t take that away from him if I tried. He’s tan and tall ─ a lot taller than I am and, at five-foot nine, I’m not exactly short. He has the type of arms you’d expect from someone who makes a living by hard work. Biceps and triceps bulge under his shirt sleeves. A dark mustache rips clear across his face and his long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail. He walks with that knees-bent, lanky cowboy gait that makes a gal wish every floor was a dance floor. I’m not even going to the starched jeans and white shirts. If I went there, I might want to stay.

As I compared my memory of the guy I had dated against the current version of the man driving Runt’s truck, I did a double take. Shade Saunders had a bald spot on top of his head!

“You’re going bald,” I blurted out before my brain could take control of my tongue. I hate it when what I’m thinking flops out of my mouth, bounces off the floor, and smacks me in the forehead before I even realized I’d thought it. It’s a trait prone to get a girl into trouble.

“You’re gettin’ too old to still be single.” His mustache quivered as he talked. “And your tits are sagging.”

Shade stopped the truck at my front walk. “Get out,” he said, looking straight ahead.

That bald spot must be a sensitive subject. I instantly felt bad that I had said anything and thought of apologizing. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. He turned my way and reached towards me.

This could get interesting, I thought, but he stretched right past me, grabbed the door handle, and pushed the door open.

“Time to part ways,” he said.

“I’m taking your hat as collateral,” I said as I jumped out into the rain, slamming the car door behind me.

“And my tits aren’t sagging!”

“Stripper!” I barely heard the insult but the laughter floating back to me as he roared away down the street was loud enough to make me cuss.

“Damn you, Shade Saunders,” I said to nobody. “I hope you never get your truck back.”

I stood in the rain, watching Runt’s duelie get smaller and smaller, and tried to figure out what had just happened. I’d lost two rides in the same amount of hours. One would cost only money to get back in running condition but something told me I’d pay a lot more for the other one, not in coin but with my reputation and my pride.

Damn, damn, damn. And damn again. I’d just traded my only wheels for Shade Saunders’s wet, beat-up cowboy hat! Worse yet, I realized as I walked into my house, the crotch novel I was reading was still in the duelie! To hell with the truck, just give a girl her book back.

SHUFFLE, Chapter Two

My cell phone lit up when I punched the speed dial button reserved for Runt’s number but he didn’t answer his phone. I knew better than to leave a message. Runt must have at least fifty unanswered messages from frantic people trying to get a hold of him, including Mom and Dad.

I didn’t know Shade’s number. I could call Casey at the police station for it but somehow that seemed a lot of effort just to retrieve a naughty novel. I always know how those kind of books end anyway.

I realized I wouldn’t be getting Runt’s truck back until Shade was done hauling whatever horse he needed to haul. A horse’s ass in the trailer and a horse’s ass driving the truck. What a visual. I just couldn’t decide if I wanted the ass driving the truck to be fully clothed or not.

Anyway, the way I figured it, I’d be getting my chance to get Shade’s number in about twenty minutes. That’s how long it would take before I got a call from Casey wanting to know the details about Shade and me. She’s never been known for her patience, especially when gossip was involved.

A nap before work seemed a priority, even if I knew it would be interrupted by Casey. I stripped out of my wet clothes and slipped into dry ones. Heavy-eyed and bookless, I scrunched down into the couch cushions but sleeping didn’t come real easy without my read. Worrying did, though. I’d borrowed/stolen a vehicle that had been borrowed/stolen from me and I hadn’t even had the dang thing two hours.

Shade’s stealing that truck had screwed up my main plan for the afternoon. I hadn’t mentioned it to anybody because I was too embarrassed but last month I’d stupidly accepted a check for poker chips from Dante Castaneda. A fifteen hundred dollar check! That’s so totally against the rules ─ my rules, house rules, gambling rules, any rules. Pick one.

I couldn’t exchange the check for cash money that night because Dante promptly went on tilt and galloped to broke. The check, of course, turned out to be hot. That’s just so wrong in so many ways.

I admit the situation was partly my fault. I knew better than to cover a player’s chips by taking checks. The owner of the card room sure wouldn’t do it. But Dante and I had a dating history and I’d taken checks from him before. Both the dating and the checks had been good in the past, one of them real good.

Funny how a hot check cooled a sizzling romance. I hadn’t heard from Dante since he wrote the thing. Trying to track him down, I called his little sister Sonja, but she didn’t know where he was either.

Sonja’s a dealer in a card room across town, another reason why I thought the check would be OK. I was counting on the sisterhood of female dealers or some such nonsense. I should have thought again because dealing poker is only Sonja’s sideline job. She’s not a good cowgirl.

A good cowgirl keeps her calves together. Sonja’s real moneymaker was doing a little sum’pin sum’pin with the gamblers after hours. I don’t know of any other poker room that allowed that sort of thing. Everywhere else a gambler strictly got poker ─ not poke her. Girls like Sonja put card rooms in a bad light.

But Sonja, with her bold blue eye shadow, brightly blushed cheeks, and deep red lipstick, had nothing to do with the fact I personally screwed myself out of fifteen hundred dollars. I took the check. I’m out the money. Not Sonja. Not the poker room. Me.

I shouldn’t have taken a check that large from anybody, let alone Dante. Fifteen hundred bucks cut pretty deep into my budget. I made good money, but it’s not my objective to support someone else’s bad habits. I’ve got my own to support. That was just one of the things I was going to tell Dante when I saw him again.

I fluffed a couch pillow and punched it a couple of times, wishing it was Dante’s face. If he didn’t pay up willingly, I didn’t have much leverage. I couldn’t go to the district attorney and press charges against Dante for giving me a hot check for the purpose of gambling in an illegal poker room. And if I bugged Dante too much about the money, I risked getting him mad and he knows where I work.

Not that I thought he would, seeing how much he likes to gamble, but he could sic the cops on us at anytime. Of course, he’d never be welcome in any card room across the state again. Dante had too much fun playing Hold ‘em to let that happen.

No, I was pretty much at his mercy. I’m sure he knew that the minute he wrote the dang thing. I guess that’s one way to get a girl to chase after you. Worse yet, I hadn’t had a date except him in ages and now even that was insufficient funds.

I sure wasn’t going to let go of that cash without warfare, though.

My phone started vibrating and I realized I’d finally dozed off. When I finally dug it out of my jean pocket, I was surprised to see it had rung ─ well, vibrated ─ four times during my nap. No wonder I’d had such great dreams.

I played my messages, knowing one was from Runt and one from Casey, but I was only half right. My brother hadn’t called. According to the verbal timestamp on Casey’s message, it’d taken her two and a half hours to get around to vibrating me up. The police department must be pretty busy. Her message was simple. It just said, “Call me.”

A senator from the Great State of Texas had also left a message. He wanted to know if there was a super-high-stakes game anywhere in the area. To impress a lady friend, he added. I could hear the wink in his voice over the phone.

Men! I knew what he meant, all right, but I didn’t know of any game like he wanted. Not tonight, anyway, so I called him back and told him so.

Two other players wanted to know what time I’d get to the poker room so I text messaged them and two hundred other regulars and semi-regulars with my starting time and the night’s menu. If the poker and free drinks don’t bring them in, the homemade free meal at midnight does.

This early in the evening everybody would read my message. In the middle of the night only a handful would bother reading it. And, if it’s Sunday, my TM would reach zip. Sunday was family day. There might be a game ─ there’s always a game somewhere ─ but it wouldn’t include the guys with families.

My phone vibrated again. Casey. She was making up for lost time by calling again so soon.

Casey, Weeba (Reba, really, but we’d called her Weeba since we were little), and I sometimes couldn’t go an hour without talking to each other. Then there were times we didn’t talk for weeks. It never mattered. We always picked up right where we left off. The weirdest thing was that sometimes all one of us had to do was think about the other and the phone rang.

The three of us go clear back to grade school. Casey and I went to college together, but Weeba couldn’t afford it. She should have borrowed the money because she’s the smart one. Looks-wise, she’s pretty in a different way, with short red hair and lots of freckles, but she’s shy to such an extreme that you forget she’s a nice looking girl. She just fades away into the background. Her boss at the dry cleaners where she clerks was always after her to look customers in the eye when she talked to them.

Casey’s the main act all the way. She’s beautiful, with a tiny body, long curly dark hair, and a porcelain complexion. She’s so outgoing it was a major problem in high school and college since she was the biggest flirt, attracting guys like bugs to a fly strip. She married a cop right after we graduated college.

“Don’t ask!” I said as I answered my cell. I groaned and struggled to untangle myself from the sofa throw.

“No way are you getting off that easy,” Casey said. “I want all the details!”

“Jeez, let me see.” I sighed, pausing just to pull her tail. “Mustang broke, took Runt’s truck, great book, add Shade, man with an alleged gun in his tighty-whiteys, me soaking wet, phone call to you, lost truck, lost book. Hmmm, that’s about all.”

“What?” she said, her voice going up an extra notch. “Girl, if I was talking to anyone but you I’d think English was your second language and you were delusional. I said details. Like what do you mean 'man with an alleged gun?' Did you report that to the police? And are you and Shade together again? That’s really what I want to hear more about. How come you didn’t mention Shade when we met Weeba at the coffee shop this morning? You holdin’ out on us?”

“Well, I’m not for sure about the gun part, that’s why I said alleged,” I replied. “And no, I didn’t report it. The answer to Shade and me being together again is a very big NO. I hadn’t seen, talked to, or thought about him in months. Then this afternoon I almost ran him over.”

My other line beeped. The caller ID read Rob. “Hey, let me call you later. My brother’s on the other line. I’ve got to tell him Shade stole his duelie.” I clicked over without giving her a chance to reply, but I swear smoke drifted out of the tiny little speaker.

“I didn’t loan Shade nothing! He took,” I said defensively when I transferred over. “And do you know he’s going bald?”

“This isn’t Runt, Stripper. It’s ol’ Baldy himself on Runt’s phone, apparently. You seen him?”

I sat straight up. Damn, he must have got to Runt while I was sleeping. I jumped up from the couch and carried the conversation to the bathroom.

“No-o-o. But you obviously have since you’re on his phone,” I sarcastically cooed.

“No-o-o. But I found a dog on the side of the road with this cell phone clipped to the collar.”

“Very funny. Let me talk to Runt,” I said, half distracted by the mirror. Rain and sleep had smudged my makeup. I swiped at it with a tissue.

“Funny, but not like in ha ha. More like in odd. As I said, Runt’s not with me.”

“You’re the odd one,” I said. “Have you been drinking?" I struggled one-handed with my jeans, my thoughts snapped together as my pants unsnapped. No wonder Runt hadn’t answered his phone all day. One of Runt’s dogs had his cell phone? That made no sense.

“No, Pokerface, I haven’t been drinking. This dog was just sitting by the side of the road until he saw me, then he started jumping around like it was feedin’ time. I pulled off the road and when I opened the door, the damn thing jumped up on my lap and bounced over to the passenger seat. I saw the cell phone and speed dialed the first number and got you. Do I take the dog with me? Kick him to the side of the road? Shoot him? What?”

“I don’t know. You found him.”

“He’s your Ridgeback fur nephew. What’s his name?”

“He’s the Ridgeback? Sloppy.”

“I like Shade better but you can call me Sloppy if you want to, Stripper. Jeez. Is that the toilet flushing?”

He heard that? Quickly, I said, “The dog’s name is Sloppy. His registered name is Sloppy Drunk. And the cell phone apparently works better than a dog tag, now doesn’t it? Are you coming to take me to work or what?”

“This big mutt is registered? I’m on my way…with Sloppy.” Click.

Great. The biggest dog in the world was going to take me to work ─ and he’s bringing Runt’s dog.

The bit about Sloppy and the cell phone was typical Runt. He was always training his dogs to do something weird. I remember when he taught Sloppy to open the frig and retrieve a beer. One day Runt was mucking out the barn, dying for a cold one. By the time he got back to his trailer house, Sloppy had taken all the beer out of the frig and placed them by Runt’s chair. Every one of them was as warm as coyote…well, I’ll just say the beer were all warm. Runt said if he hadn’t been laughing so hard, he would have been damn mad.

This phone thing was probably just another trick gone bad. The only thing I was concerned about at the moment was getting to work before the next round of rain hit. We always need rain this time of year so I really didn’t want to wish it away completely, just long enough for me to get into the poker room unsoaked.

I gave Shade and Sloppy twenty minutes then deposited myself at the same place I had been dropped off by Shade earlier. Thankfully, my wish came true for a momentary break in the rain, allowing me not to look like a wet calf when I got to work.

I was standing on the passenger side of my driveway when I spotted a green extended cab pickup leisurely headed down the street. Suddenly it speeded up and veered over to my side of the street, heading straight towards me. It hopped the curb and parked two wheels on my neighbor’s lawn.

Runt’s truck, coming from the opposite way, pulled into my driveway at the same time and blocked my view but not before I saw the driver poke a pistol out the window and aim it at me.

Holy smokes. I opened the duelie’s door, pushed the wet dog out of the way, and scrambled in. Shade barely had time to grab his jacket and chuck it onto the wet seat.

“Eager to see me, Stripper?” he asked. He had a cocky grin under his mustache so I guess he wasn’t still mad at me for the bald comment.

“That man in the pickup has a gun!”

“Jeez, Tana Rose. You see guns everywhere. You’ve got to stop reading these trashy novels.” He tossed me my book. “That’s hot stuff, Stripper. You use any of these ideas on dates?”

The green pickup roared off, tires spinning on the wet grass and tearing hunks out of the lawn.

“No, really, Shade. This time I’m sure I saw a gun.”

“Or a cell phone. Or a pipe wrench. Or who knows what. This is dull, boring Bryan, Tana Rose, not Houston or Dallas. There’s a better chance it was a jilted boyfriend than a dude with a gun.” He glanced sideways with a look that took me in from top to toes. “On second thought,” he said, “maybe it was a dude with a gun.”

Jerk. Silently I threw his cowboy hat at him. “I know what I saw,” I mumbled, but now I doubted myself. Could have been something else, I guess. I mean the odds of seeing two men pointing guns at me on the same day in this town must be lower that the odds of me ever dating Shade again. Still, it had looked like a gun to me, but Shade was probably right, although I’d never admit that to him. I’d lived in gun-toting Texas all my life and had never seen a handgun in public that shouldn’t have been there. Now I’d seen two of ‘em, or at least I thought I had.

Sloppy’s big tongue slurped my cheek, his way of showing appreciation for my outfit, I was sure. My size 12 jeans were tight and my coral shirt was cut fairly low, showing plenty of cleavage. Turquoise jewelry hung from my ears, my neck, my wrists, my fingers, and my naval, although that last one only I knew about and the way my luck was going, it would stay that way. My platinum blonde hair was cut short in jagged spikes.

Shade looked me up and down again but didn’t say a word. He was in the same clothes as when I last saw him and he smelled…well, good. A little more like deep piney woods, campfire smoke, and sweaty horse.

“You stink,” I said as I wrinkled my nose but I didn’t say anything more. Not because I was pouting over his not believing me about the gun thing. I just wanted to find out if he knew as much about where I worked as he did about where I lived. He took off in the right direction without asking directions.

To be continued Monday

SHUFFLE, Chapter Three

I pitch cards at a place called Whitey’s. The owner is a huge, albino, teddy bear of a man who wraps people he likes in gigantic hugs. Lord help the people he doesn’t like. A swat from one of his sledgehammer hands could hurt a guy but he’s a pussy cat if you don’t make him mad.

Whitey’s is one of at least seven Texas Hold’em rooms doing business at any given time. The number changes weekly, sometimes daily. Shade had to be a mind reader to figure out where I worked. Or else he knew enough about my business to make me very uncomfortable.

Without prompting, he took two rights and a left, which set him on a direct course to Whitey’s. A wiggly feeling crawled up my back.

The ride was seven minutes of no-talking long, which was fine with me. Besides wondering if Shade was my number one stalker, I was still processing the gun sightings of the day.

“You can drop me by the door,” I said to Shade when we pulled up in front of Whitey’s place. It was the first thing I’d said to him since we’d left my house.

“No gentleman would,” he replied. “Especially with you in that outfit. It’s an invitation to trouble. I’ll walk you in, Stripper. Whatcha gonna do with Sloppy while you’re workin’?”

“Me? Wait just a doggone minute here. When I wanted Runt’s truck, you took it. When I don’t want Runt’s dog, I get him. What’s up with that? Don’t park. You’re not going in. Don’t you have a horse to pull or something?”

“Did that already. Besides, me and Sloppy have a standin’ invitation. Whitey said to come anytime and bring a friend.”

“I think Whitey meant a friend with money!”

“Come on, Sloppy. I’ll spot you some money.”

“No-o-o.” Quickly I stepped down out of the truck to get ahead of Shade and the dog. Most women would love to walk into a room on Shade’s arm but not me. At least, not into this room.

It’s not that I’m ashamed of Shade. Or the dog. It’s just that this poker room caters to a certain type of clientele. Our players don’t bet the rent money. The men who gamble here are way out of Shade’s league, money-wise as well as wardrobe-wise

Also, our poker players bathed every day, I thought, fully aware of the horsy aroma following me into the building.

It took fast walking but I managed to enter the room a couple of feet ahead of Shade and his dogpal. Several players were already in the room. Doc Hong gave me a quick mouth kiss, then skirted by me to get to Shade and shake his hand.

“How’s my saddle comin’ along?” Doc asked, a Texas twang coming from his Asian face.

“Almost done, Doc, almost done,” Shade said. He reached past Doc and shook hands with lawyer Grey. “Good to see you both.” More men gathered around.

“Nice dog,” Doc and Grey said in unison. Doc bent down and scratched Sloppy between the ears. The dog’s eyes closed and his tail brushed back and forth on the floor.

I rolled my own eyes. Jeez, I should have known. It felt like Elvis had entered the building. If anyone thought it odd the dog wore a cell phone clipped to his collar, they didn’t mention it. I got myself a bottle of water and went to my first dealer spot of the evening. Sloppy followed behind me and curled up by my feet under the table.

Pate, a friendly, bald-headed guy, came over to my table. I leaned in his direction, tugging gently on the long white beard pulled into a pony tail under his chin. The beardtail told me he was on his motorcycle tonight.

“Did you hear the one about the Texan and his wife vacationing in France?” I asked Pate. My voice was low.

Shade sauntered over to the cooler and plucked a beer from the ice. My eyes followed him and I felt an urge to lick my lips.

“T.R.” Pate said, and I looked back at him blankly. “The joke?”

“Oh, I thought maybe you’d heard it already,” I said, trying to cover my embarrassment at having been caught looking and licking.

“Haven’t,” he whispered back, leaning towards me. Another man, a veterinarian called Vee, left Shade and headed my way.

I was still low-talking as I told my story, which must have peaked Grey’s interest because he drifted my way. Jeez, this was like herding cats. These men were here to play poker, not talk to Shade, I thought as I fanned out the deck of cards. That roped in Doc.

The spurt of laughter at the end of the joke pulled two more players my way. I had my six, a good start this early in the evening, but the last player joining us at the table was Shade.

Doc handed me a thousand dollars and I shoved several stacks of chips his way. Pate bought in for fifteen hundred. I continued selling chips around the table until I got to Shade.

Inwardly I groaned. Would he embarrass himself and buy in for pocket change? Would he be playing with the money he’d need to get his truck out of the police impound? He hadn’t mentioned the primer beast on the way to the poker room.

“How much, Shade?” I asked out loud but I was thinking he should quit talking to Doc and pay attention.

Shade absentmindedly pulled a wad of hundred dollar bills from his shirt pocket and slid them across the table. At the last possible moment his brown eyes lifted to mine. I blinked at the almost physical shock of the action.

Quickly I looked away and started counting his money. To my surprise it added up to two thousand dollars. Ca-rap, I told myself. He’d never get his truck back if he lost this. But I wasn’t his keeper, I thought as I pushed Shade his chips.

I shuffled the deck and dealt the first round of the night, then lifted my gaze to the TV across the room ─ anything to avoid more eye contact with Shade. A player at another table quickly glanced away.

Odd, I thought to myself. You’d think he’d at least have smiled before he turned away. He couldn’t be losing already. We’d just gotten started. Maybe he was embarrassed because he was caught looking. I knew how that felt.

I focused my attention back on my table. My players did their betting thing. Pate raised a finger at the game girl and ordered another drink. Doc lit a cigarette.

The table was quiet as players evaluated their cards, calculated their outs, and mustered up their gamble. I glanced at the distant TV and again caught the eye of the same guy. Again he turned away. OK, maybe he thought I was sexy. Or maybe he was staring because I was the only woman in the room.

The pot in the center held thirty dollars. I burned a card under the pot and slapped the three cards of the flop face down. Using my long fingernails to their best advantage, I flipped the cards over and slid them into a straight line at the center of the table. Nobody bothered looking at their hole cards again. These guys weren’t amateurs. Shade neither, I decided.

I resisted the urge to look at the guy across the room. Bets placed, I burned another card, then dealt the turn card. Sliding it up in line with the other three cards, I flipped it over. “King of hearts,” I announced.

Pulling the last round of bets into the main pot, I palmed another red chip for the house take and finally stole a look across the room, just in time to see the same quick glance away from the weird guy.

Creep. What’s up with that man? He unnerved me, staring at me like that. Like he’s spying on me. I made a mental note to ask Whitey about him. He wasn’t anyone I knew.

Maybe he was a Democrat and looking at the TV tuned to CNN behind me. That theory was easy to test. I reached into my box for the TV remote and switched the channel to cartoons. My players, busy with their cards and talking among themselves, didn’t even notice.

Once again I focused my attention back to my game, tapping twice on the table before I dealt the last card, the river. I flipped it over. Another king, this time a spade.

There were a couple of fake oohs and aahs and a few real grunts and groans from my players. A little over two hundred bucks was in the pot, minus house cut. “If you don’t got it, you ain’t gonna get it,” I said playfully as I mucked the remainder of the deck. “Show me a winner,” I announced.

I allowed my eyes to wander across the room. Ca-rap! That guy looked away again. OK, not a CNN fan. Possibly another stalker. The town seemed full of them.

To be continued Wednesday

SHUFFLE, Chapter Four

A couple of hours later, before I had a chance to rotate to his table, the Stalkin’ Starer lost all interest in poker. While I sorted out the side pots of two all-in bets, he cashed out and left, but not before he practically bored holes right through me.

I might think I’m sexy, even if Shade didn’t. And Dante, well, who knew what he thought. He was smoke in the wind, long gone. But even I didn’t think I was sexy enough to be stared at all evening without so much as a smile.

Looking back across the room at my original table, I saw Shade stand up as Angelina, Whitey’s girlfriend, came in carrying a huge platter of enchiladas and tacos. It looked delicious and I couldn’t wait to get at it ─ after Sloppy and I went to the bathroom. Players can get up anytime they aren’t in the action but the dealer has to keep up the pace of the game. No time to even pee. Guess that’s another reason why they call it Hold’em.

I stood up and arched my back. I’d been sitting all evening and the stretch felt good.

“I’m taking Sloppy for a walk,” I announced to nobody in particular. Truth was, Sloppy and I both needed to move around. From the looks of things outside, the clouds were beginning to break. Maybe, just maybe, the rain was over for a couple of days.

Sloppy made for the patch of grass behind the cars. I gave him a couple of minutes to do his business, then called out to him.

“Sloppy! Sloppy!”

Nothing. I called a little louder. “SLOPPY!”

“SLOPPY!” I yelled even louder.

“Where is that stupid mutt?” I mumbled aloud. I started walking to where I’d last seen him, calling his name again. “SLOPPY.”

A hand suddenly slapped over my mouth, painfully pressing my lips against my teeth. A muscular arm encircled me from behind. My right hand was trapped at my side but the left was free and I clawed at the palm across my mouth.

A low, menacing voice whispered into my ear. “Yes, darlin’, very sloppy of you to come out alone in the dark. Where’s Runt?” He said the words slowly, dragging out each syllable.

The hand loosened its grip on my face so I could respond, but as I drew in a deep breath to scream, his arm crushed me into stillness. I struggled not to pee on myself.

“I asked you where your brother is,” the man repeated. His voice was a gravelly growl. “You got his dog. You must know where he is.”

He jerked me upward with his hand and pain shot through my neck. A muffled squeal escaped from under his fingers and I used my free hand to hold onto his arm, pulling it downward, trying to keep him from wrenching my neck again.

Just as quickly as the hand appeared, it jerked away from my face, yanking off an earring in the process. The arm across my breast slid away, leaving only my wobbly legs to hold me up. They weren’t enough.

I fell to my knees, then down on all fours, and vomited in the grass. It wasn’t just my legs shaking now. I was so scared everything shook. I could hardly breathe. My heart beat so hard I could feel it from my temples and to my toes.

Behind me I could hear fists hitting flesh, bones crunching. Or maybe it was just feet scrunching in the gravel. I was too busy hurling to really tell.

When my stomach decided it had no more to donate to the cause, I dared to turn my head to see what was happening. There was Shade and a man in a ski mask, dressed completely in black, circling in a fighter’s dance. The masked man threw a solid punch but Shade avoided it easily. The sidestep cost him his footing, though, and he plopped on his butt. The other man took one step towards the downed Shade, then paused. Abruptly, he turned and fled into the darkness.

Shade pulled himself into a sitting position, feet wide apart, arms crossed on his knees. He shook his head like he was trying to clear his mind from the punches he’d taken.

I was still on all fours a couple of feet away. As I started to crawl towards him, a movement twenty feet beyond his shoulder caught my attention. At first I couldn’t make it out.

And then it hit me.

It was Sloppy, stretched out on the grass.

“Damnitall,” I said as I clumsily pushed myself off the ground and wobbled over to the dog.

“Oh, Sloppy.” I cried, squatting down beside him.

The dog opened his eyes and looked up at me. His tail gave a half-hearted lift in a partial wag, then limply flopped back down on the grass. His eyelids slowly closed. The rise and fall of his chest stilled. Sloppy just laid there, a knife sticking up from between his ribs.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I stroked Runt’s favorite dog.

Shade dropped to my side. “Damnit to hell.” he said, unclipping the cell phone from Sloppy’s collar. “Damnit to hell.”

“Hey, you guys.” We heard Whitey holler from the doorway. “Break’s over. T.R., I need you upstairs.”

“Be right there!” Shade yelled back roughly. Then he turned to me. “T.R., you OK?” His voice was soft and sweet.

“No,” I said. I was afraid to say anything more, fearful I’d bawl like a baby.

“Come on. Let’s go in,” he said as he stood up.

“But….” I swallowed hard.

“In. Now. I don’t know where that guy went or if he’ll be back.” He turned his head this way and that to make sure no one was around, then took my hand, pulling me to a standing position. He led me towards the building. “Don’t worry. I’ll walk you in. Then I’ll come back and take care of Sloppy.”

Whitey met us halfway, his whiteness a beacon in the blackness of the parking lot. My tears told him we had bad news but our grim faces didn’t reveal the details.

“What? What?” he asked. “What the hell happened out here?”

“T.R. was attacked.”

“ATTACKED! In MY parking lot?” he exploded. His white face immediately flushed red in anger. He took a couple of steps past us, looked around, and quickly came back to my side.

“Are you all right?” he said, looking at me. “Are you hurt, T.R.? Shade?” Whitey didn’t know who to question first. It was obvious Shade had been socked in the jaw and my ear was dripping blood.

I gave Whitey a weak smile and nodded my head.

“Yeah, she’ll be OK.” Shade did the talking. “So am I. Can she go up to your apartment?”

“Of course. Come on, honey. I’ll take you up. I’ll send security down for a look around.”

“With a shovel,” Shade said.

“A shovel, hell! More like a gun!” he responded.

“The dog,” Shade said, jerking his head Sloppy’s way.

Whitey craned his neck to see what Shade was referring to. “Crap!” he said. “Who’d do a thing like that? That was a good dog. Damnit. I’ll send Vee down too, after I take T.R. up to my place.”

“Go with Whitey,” Shade said, giving me a gentle push on the small of my back. Even I couldn’t believe I did as I was told.

It dawned on me on the way to the apartment that we couldn’t call the police. Whitey couldn’t have them nosing around his illegal poker room. And anyway, what could the police do? I’d been frightened urpy and a dog had been killed. And it wasn’t even our dog. Sure, Shade had gotten a few good licks from and into an unknown, masked assailant but the guy was nowhere around now. And until I knew what Runt was mixed up in, I wasn’t so sure I wanted the police involved anyway.

I washed my face in Angelina’s bathroom and tried to pull my thoughts together but I didn’t get very far. In the movies, violence is expected and life quickly goes on as if nothing happened. In real life you vomit, you shake, you cry, you vomit again. At least that’s what I did.

I sat down on the vanity chair and cried some more, face in my hands. I cried for being scared. I cried for Sloppy. I cried for me, for not having the presence of mind to kick the bastard in the balls.

And I cried for Runt. What was he messed up in now?

My eyes puffed, my face splotched, and my heart felt like it might beat right out of my chest. My mind played a nasty game with itself, replaying the details of the event from all angles, complete, unfortunately, with smells and tastes.

In the middle of the third re-run, it hit me even harder. Runt must be mixed up in something pretty big and really bad if someone was willing to kill his dog and harm his sister. If they caught Runt, what would they do to him? I leaned over the toilet bowl again and started dry heaving. Shade came in and ran cold water on a cloth and put it on the back of my neck.

I was a lovely sight, I’m sure, with urp drool running down my chin and a swollen, colorful face. It had to be one of my best looks. Good thing it wasn’t my mission to impress Shade like all the other women in town tried to do because I’d be drawing dead for sure.

I looked at Shade and said Runt’s name. “I thought it might be something like that,” he said, as he wiped my chin with yet another wet cloth. “Vee and Whitey are takin’ care of Sloppy. Wasn’t nothing Vee could do for him.”

I started to cry again and Shade put his hand on top of my head, patting my spiky hair. I moved away from the gesture. A pat on the back I could have handled. A pat on the head made me think of Sloppy. The dry heaves started all over again.

“Damn,” said Shade, sounding frustrated. I didn’t get the feeling he was exasperated with me for crying or heaving, more like he was frustrated with the situation in general, and maybe wondering what he was going to do with me now.

Eating and poker came to a cutting horse halt across the hall. Whitey shut the game down. I imagine some of the players called it an early night but others probably found another poker room.

As Shade walked me to the duelie, Vee stopped me for a hug and to offer condolences about Sloppy. Whitey told us he was having his security men watch over the parking lot. Where were those rent-a-cops when Sloppy and I needed them?

Earlier this evening ─ well, technically last night ─ I had scrambled eagerly into the vehicle, hallucinating about bad men with guns. This time I tumbled in like a wet possum, knowing full well I had met up with the criminal element in town.

Again, neither of us said a word during the ride between home and poker room but this time for a much different reason. The truck smelled faintly of wet dog and felt empty without Sloppy. All I could think about was that dog, and the fact that someone, a lowlife who thought nothing about murdering a good dog, was after Runt. And therefore, by association, after me.

“Stay in the truck while I look around,” Shade said when we pulled into the driveway at my house. He took my house key and stepped out of the duelie, engaging its automatic locks. A couple of seconds passed and I saw lights go on in the kitchen, then the living room. The spare bedroom and my room were next. I knew he was looking under beds and through closets, searching for men in black.

I was beat even though it was only three a.m. On a normal night I usually didn’t even get off work until four at the earliest. Then there’s a drink or two, dealer chatter, clean up, and maybe I could crawl into bed about eight thirty in the morning, the same time I’d start work at a normal job.

Heck, there have been Saturdays when I didn’t even leave the card room until noon the next day. But tonight, the adrenalin crash had me wrung out even though the night was still young by gambling standards.

Shade came back to the truck and walked me to the door. “Spend the night,” I whispered. It wasn’t a question or an invitation. And it wasn’t sexual. It was a statement.

I didn’t want to be alone.

“You betcha,” he said as he opened the door to the house. The words were smart-alecky but his brown eyes showed concern. Tonight I knew he was all talk and no action. I wouldn’t have anything to worry about with him at my side, not from bad guys nor from Shade himself.

I walked from room to room turning off the lights that Shade had turned on. He watched me from a central point in the kitchen. It reminded me of half the country/western songs I’d ever heard.

“Do you want the bathroom first?” I asked as we walked into my bedroom. Neither one of us even bothered to turn on the television.

“No, you go ahead,” he said, as he laid down fully clothed on my bed. He took off his cowboy boots in respect for Grandma’s quilt lying across the sheets.

Grabbing warm ups and a tee, I headed for the shower. There was no way I was climbing into bed still covered in evidence from this horrible night. I turned on the water. When the bathroom started to fog up, I stepped in. Hot water soothed me as it poured over my body. The smell of soap in the steam was so much better than urp. Reluctantly, I turned off the shower, toweled dry, and got dressed. I felt like I was working in slow motion. As I brushed my teeth, I heard a tap on the door.

“You OK in there?” Shade asked, his voice thick with concern.

“Uh huh. Out in a sec,” I attempted to say through a mouth full of brush and paste. Maybe I was working in slow motion if he felt the need to check on me.

By the time I got out of the bathroom, Shade was lying on the bed again. I went over and joined him. We were both on our backs on top of the covers, fully dressed. I didn’t know what to say. He reached over and took my hand.

“We’ll start looking for Runt first thing tomorrow,” Shade finally whispered, but we both knew first thing would be hours of sleep away. I knew for a fact Shade hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours and I had only slept in spurts since my last shift in the poker room. We were both exhausted and in shape to do something about nothing tonight, let alone trying to do that something in the dark.

“Whitey said to call him when we wake up. He’ll help us.”

Lying there with my eyes closed, I didn’t even have the energy to murmur a reply.
“He also said to tell you that me and him are your hole cards, and mighty good ones at that.”

I managed a smile as I tried to drift off to sleep. The vision of my hole cards ─ Cowboy Baldy and Hulk, the Albino ─ replacing the terror of my thoughts about Runt.

Minutes ticked by but sleep wouldn’t come. My mind was racing behind closed eyelids. The night replayed. The terror returned. I needed a distraction.

“I can’t do this!” I said, moaning in frustration.

“Do what?” Shade asked, sitting up quickly. “We’re not doing anything. I’m innocent.”

“No, not that! Only you would think I meant that. I mean I can’t go to sleep without a book.”

“A book?”

“Yeah, it’s still in the Runt’s truck,” I replied, turning on the reading lamp. Shade looked at me like I had my boots on the wrong feet.

“It’s true. I can’t fall asleep without reading a little something. It’s been like that ever since I learned how to read. Could you go get it for me? Please?”

Without a word, Shade rolled off the bed and headed for the truck, shaking his head all the way, I’m sure.

Within minutes I was once again caught up in the steam of the navel-twitching novel, temporarily transported to another place where I didn’t have to worry about my brother. Three pages in, I was asleep, book still erect on my chest.

I barely noticed as Shade pulled it from my hands and turned out the light.

To be continued Friday.

SHUFFLE, Chapter Five

Hours later I woke up all alone on my bed. The feeling that something was terribly wrong enveloped me before I even opened my eyes. The visual of Sloppy spread out on the grass appeared in my mind and my stomach clenched and knotted.

I didn’t want to get out of bed and I definitely didn’t want to face the day but the aroma of frying bacon and fresh tortillas lured me into my own kitchen. It normally doesn’t smell that good unless my mother was in town but it was Angelina standing by the stove. Shade and Whitey sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee.

“Runt has two more dogs,” I said as I walked into the room. “Where are they?” I reached into the fridge for a Red Bull.

“Good morning to you too,” Shade said.

“What I don’t understand,” I said, ignoring him and downing half the energy drink, “is why would only one dog be by the side of the road? How did Sloppy get there? Why weren’t they all together? They’re a pack, family ─ Sloppy, Bud Light, and Red Bull. Where are the other dogs?” I fired the words off as rapid as pistol shots, my voice growing shriller with each phrase.

“Whoa. Slow down, woman.” Shade said. “Is that Red Bull instantaneous with you or what?”

I managed to decelerate and lowered my voice a notch. “And another thing,” I said. “His dogs are well trained. If he told them to sit and stay, they’d do it until the sun melted manure. Sloppy had to have been dropped off by Runt and told to stay on that road or else he would have gone home. Why would Runt do that?”

If I had used my head for thinking yesterday, instead of just letting it sit there on my shoulders holding up my hair, Sloppy might be alive today. I was mad at myself and felt responsible for Sloppy’s demise.

Shade fiddled with his mustache, obviously thinking my questions over. “To deliver a cell phone to whoever picked him up. Maybe you?” Shade asked. He looked at me but all I could do was shrug my shoulders.

“I don’t think Runt meant it for me,” I replied. “He had no way of knowing I’d have his truck. We hadn’t talked about the Mustang going in for repairs. And Sloppy wouldn’t go with just anybody. He’d only go with someone he knew. Or someone in a familiar vehicle.”

“Which brings us back to how would Runt know someone else would have his truck,” Whitey said. Angelina was making more breakfast tacos, since we were eating as we talked.

Shade unclipped Runt’s phone from his belt. “It’s dead,” he said, opening the phone and pressing buttons. “Any of you have a phone like this so we can use the charger?” We all said no with shakes of our heads.

“Then I’m going to Runt’s house and get his charger,” I said.

“I’m with ya,” said Shade. “Whoever’s behind this manhandled my girl and killed my dog.” He had that I’m-Shade-and-I’m-great grin on his face.

His girl? His dog? I didn’t think so. Just because Shade saved me from that mystery man in black, didn’t mean I was under new ownership. I closed my eyes and took a deep breathe. I couldn’t let my exasperation with the ego talk of an old boyfriend get in the way of finding my brother. Today wasn’t about me. Or Shade. It was about Runt and the trouble he was in.

The decision to pick my battles was a good one. It was pretty clear I needed someone else’s backbone besides my own to get me out to Runt’s place. The possibilities of what I might find out there graphically passed through my mind. I could only hope I had too vivid of an imagination.

“I’m in too,” said Whitey. “Bad news about transportation, though, T.R. We’re in Runt’s duelie or my two-seater until we can swing by Shade’s place so he can pick up a car. The jerk that stole his truck nose-dived it into the Brazos River, then swam off downstream.”

“Wow,” I said, looking at Shade. He just shrugged his shoulders. I felt terrible about his old truck but at the moment I had of troubles of my own to handle. I grabbed Runt’s keys and walked out the door, eating another taco on the way. This time, I vowed to myself, I’d keep control of the duelie. Shade caught up with me and slapped my hat on top of my head. The other two were close behind him.

Runt’s place is a twenty-one acre ranch called The Barely Legal, located not too far from town. I truly dreaded going out there. The “what ifs” were just way too many and had the likelihood of being horrendous. Imagination in overdrive, I mentally ran through a list of things that could have happened since I’d left the ranch in Runt’s truck the day before. It was only yesterday but it sure seemed days ago.

My cell phone rang before we got to Runt’s place. Shade plucked it out of my purse and answered it before I could protest.

“Dispatcher,” he informed me, looking at the ID. “Hello…What’s up?...I’m with T.R.……..When’d the call come in?...We’re on our way there now…Nah, probably don’t need a squad car. I’ll call you back…No, you can’t talk to her right now. She has one hand on the steering wheel and the other one on my thigh. No hand available for the phone. See ya, Casey.”

I gave a nose wrinkle as I listened to his end of the conversation.

“There’s trouble at The Barely Legal,” Shade said, dropping my phone back into my purse. “Neighbors called the Sheriff’s Department with a complaint and Casey can’t get hold of Runt.”

I guess not. We had his phone. Plus the battery was dead.

“What kind of trouble?” I asked, my stomach dropping to the floor of the truck.

“A couple of men were seen snooping around his place about ten minutes ago. Whitey, do you still carry a pistol in your boot?”

“Does a straight beat a pair?” Whitey drawled. “Angelina carries too.”

I was wondering if Shade felt as naked as I did when he abruptly leaned down and checked his boot holster. Where was all this packed heat when I needed it the night before?

I looked down the road towards Runt’s place and saw smoke drifting up past the trees. Whitey saw it too.

“Not good,” he said as he leaned down to look through the windshield. “Couldn’t be the trailer house, though. Smokes too wide. Smells wrong, too. Grass fire, I’d say. The right color for it.”

I’d noticed a yellow hue to the smoke too. I could smell it now and it smelled good but I knew from experience it would soon become overwhelming and nauseating.

“Runt keep brooms and buckets in the barn for fire fighting?” Shade asked.

“No, outside the trailer by the front door,” I replied. “He’s got a plastic garbage can with handles there with a couple of straw brooms in it.”

Angelina tied a bandana around Whitey’s neck to protect his white skin from the harsh sun. He pulled his hat down over his ears as we turned off the dirt farm-to-market road and drove down the lane to the mobile home. I could see the yellow flames along the fire line now. The blaze had already burned an area the size of a football field.

The grass was dry, mostly dead, in fact. Yesterday’s rain hadn’t had a chance to work its magic yet and bring new green from the roots. There’d been a burn ban in effect all month to prevent this type of thing from happening, but burn bans are only good if humans obey them.

“The fire’s eating its way toward the barn!” My voice echoed loudly in the truck. “Horses are in that barn!”

Equipment too. Everything a rancher, even a small one like Runt, needed and would hate to lose was in that barn. The trailer house might be used and old and ugly ─ definitely ugly ─ but the barn was Runt’s pride and joy. He’d built it to his precise specifications to shelter his beloved horses.

“Pull up where the can is, T.R.,” Shade said. “You girls stay with the truck and keep clear of the fire. Ya hear? And call the fire department,” he added as an afterthought.

Who made him trail boss, I wondered as we all opened the crew cab doors and jumped out. We scattered like somebody had disturbed our ant pile. The guys grabbed the trash can by the handles and raced towards the stock pond where they dipped it into the water. Muscles strained as they pulled it back out full of water.

Shade stuck the two brooms back into the can to absorb water as they half-carried/half-dragged the can to the fire line. Immediately each man grabbed a broom and started beating and sweeping the flames, working their way apart from each other.

As I ran into the trailer house, my heart pounded harder than during the attack last night.
I grabbed the kitchen broom and a dish towel and bolted back out the door to the fire line. Angelina followed, grabbing a blanket from the couch.

Shit! My phone was in my purse in the truck. “Go back to the truck, Angelina!” I yelled to her as I tied the dish towel over my nose and mouth. “Call 911! Tell them we need the fire department at The Barely Legal!” She turned immediately and ran to the duelie.

The whole countryside seemed ablaze. I picked my piece of hell and started beating at the flames. The task was overwhelming. I felt sure that three people armed only with brooms couldn’t possibly beat the fire back quick enough to save Runt’s barn and home but we had to try.

I smacked my broom again and again at the flames, my arms pumping up and down, up and down. Smoke billowed high into the sky. The acrid stuff made my eyes water and my nose run. It coated the inside of my mouth and I couldn’t conjure up enough spit to rid myself of the nasty taste.

Texas is hot and humid any day of summer and half the days of winter but after the heavy rains we had yesterday, it felt like I was battling the fire inside a sauna. The steamy, smoky heat sapped my energy and drained my body of everything I’d drunk the last five days but I kept banging my broom against the spreading fire.

Heat rose through the thick soles of my cowboy boots, increasing my internal body temperature to that of roasted meat. The sweatband on my hat failed me and perspiration streamed into my eyes. I wondered why my own dripping sweat wasn’t putting out the fire all by itself but I kept whacking away at the fire.

I’d beat it out in one spot and it’d sprout up a couple of feet away like it was traveling underground in tiny tunnels. Using my shirttail, I wiped the sweat from my eyes. I was filthy from sweat, smoke, and dirt. My shirttail proved it.

In the distance sirens of the volunteer firemen headed our way. Come on, guys, I mentally urged. Hurry. Please. My arms were weak from the constant beating motion. The broom was growing heavier and heavier and my legs felt like hot pepper sticks.

The chartreuse-colored fire truck full of water finally appeared in the pasture and immediately the fireman sitting on top of the tanker turned on his water cannon and sprayed the edge of the burn closest to the barn.

Resting my broom over my shoulder, I stood back and watched the fireman work, satisfied I had done my part in keeping the fire contained until the cavalry arrived. My spirits revived and relief soothed my tired muscles. I even felt a stir of cool air.

Shade yelled something from across the pasture, something I couldn’t understand, and I turned to look at him. The noise of men and equipment broke through the wall of hot air as more and more volunteers arrived at the scene in their personal cars and pickups.

Shade yelled again and pointed at me but he was far away and I couldn’t understand a word. He broke into a run straight towards me. I turned, not knowing what to expect behind me. More fire? A truck? A bull? A man in black?

But when I turned around, there was only Whitey, way down the line, yelling and shaking his broom at me. I turned back to look at Shade, who was coming fast, still yelling, still pointing.

What? What was going on? I turned back to Whitey. Now he was running my way too. “What?” I yelled. “What am I suppose to be seeing?”

I checked the ground around me. There was nothing to see there but burnt grass. I looked up, turning just my head. Then I saw it.

My broom was on fire!

I threw it down and ran. I don’t know why. Too much adrenalin. Too many upsetting events in too short of time. Whatever, I just ran.

Foof! My raffia cowboy hat flared up in flames just as Shade tackled me from behind. Down on the hot, burned grass we rolled. He yanked the hat off my head and beat my hair with his bare hands. I tucked my chin and covered my face with my hands, trying to protect myself while offering him full access to my hair. It was probably only seconds but it felt like forever before he stopped slapping at me.

One of his big hands gently lifted my chin and he examined my face. It didn’t feel like he was looking for burns, more like he was looking deep inside me, past the grime and grunge smeared over my face. Past the little clean tracks made by tears rolling through the soot.

I could have sworn he was going to kiss me. Instead, Shade slipped his hand around to the back of my neck and tucked my face into the cleft made by his shoulder and chin.

“It’s all right, Tana.” His voice was just a whisper in my ear. He gently rocked me in his arms. “Everything’s gonna be all right, honey.”

The heat rose like a curtain around us, isolating us from all the activity ─ or was it just my imagination. Me, wrapped up in my own little world. And that world, at the moment, consisted only of Shade’s arms, Shade’s chest, and Shade’s legs, one draped over me and the other pushed between my thighs. I pressed my face deeper into Shade’s neck. His hand at the small of my back pulled me closer against his hard body.

The world was going to a fiery Texas hell but I was safe in this place, this one place. I wasn’t so distraught that I didn’t appreciate his sweet tangy smell, mixed with woodsy smoke.

“You two like to do it outdoors on the ground?” Whitey voice penetrated my sanctuary. “Ain’t it hot down there?”

Laughing, Shade released me and rolled away. Whitey reached out his hand for mine and I reluctantly lifted it so he could help me up. “Burning hair sure does stink,” he said.

“True story,” Shade said as he got up and went over to the burnt broom that I had flung down. “Your broom wasn’t wet,” he said, picking it up. “When you stopped beating the fire with it, it caught on fire itself. Then it caught your hat on fire.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah and the hat caught my hair on fire. Jeez, another great look for me. Singed hair, dirty face, runny nose, weepy eyes, blackened clothes, and a smell that only a fireman could love.

The fire truck pulled up to where we all stood.

“Fire’s out. You all right, T.R.?” one of the volunteers asked.

I nodded. I was so thirsty I couldn’t speak.

“We’ll stick around for a while and wet everything down again,” he said. “One of the guys checked the barn and all the horses are safe. Well, except Tonto. He’s not there. I take it Runt’s away on him and all his dogs. His little pickup’s in the barn and the duelie’s out front.”

“We’re in the duelie,” I said. “Tonto’s gone?” Tonto was Runt’s little pinto, a real cutie of a horse. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” another fireman said. “I’m sure. I looked for that gelding in particular. That’s Runt’s baby and he’d never forgive me if I let something happen to him.” The fireman wandered away towards the task of cleaning and putting away gear.

“Well, it’s obvious Runt’s on horseback,” I said to Shade. “But why?”

“I just don’t know,” Shade mumbled, shaking his head in frustration. “Some guys are after him and he’s out campin’?”

“Maybe he’s horseback because some guys are looking for him,” Whitey suggested. “That’d make it harder for city folk to find him.”

“There’s that,” I agreed, as several firemen walked our way. Angelina came out of the trailer with an armful of cold bottled water and started passing them around.

“Damn, ain’t that a switch,” one of the fireman said, laughing. “I’m on The Barely Legal and all I’m offered to drink is water.” He took a deep slug of the cool liquid and glanced out at the burned pasture. The fire had come mighty close to the barn. “Any idea how the fire started, T.R.?”

“No. Well, yes. The 911 dispatcher called when we were on the way out here. She said a neighbor phoned in a complaint that two men were seen snooping around. I suppose they could have started it. Accidentally or on purpose.

“Come back when Runt’s here and I’m sure he’ll have something stronger than water to offer you.” At least I hoped Runt would be here again to serve them the hard stuff. No telling where he had disappeared to. And why.

“OK, we’ll sure take him up on your offer. I’ll get the fire inspector over here to see what he can figure out.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Shade disappear into the house. When he came back out, he gave a thumb’s up. He’d put the phone on charge.

To be continue Monday.

SHUFFLE, Chapter Six

The firemen milled around the place, cleaning their equipment, spraying more water on the field, and talking with us. I wanted to go into the trailer house and feel its air conditioning on my skin, but to tell the truth, I didn’t want to go in if I couldn’t fit all of the firemen in there too.

The four of us stayed with the fireman, watching the pasture for flare-ups. I wasn’t looking forward to viewing my reflection in a mirror. Shade, Whitey, and Angelina all had sooty faces, dirty arms, and blackened clothing so I could only imagine what I looked like. After all, they didn’t catch their hair on fire. It was a pretty safe assumption that my burnt-look would guarantee I’d never, ever be asked out on a date by any fireman in the area again.

After the last of the volunteers had driven off The Barely Legal, Shade led the way into Runt’s house and headed straight to the phone. “The battery’s charged enough,” he said, pushing several buttons, “but the phone’s password protected. We need a five-digit password.” He passed me the phone.

Shade was all business now. Nothing was left of the gentle man who had lain with me on the hot ground just an hour or so ago. Oh, yeah, I thought, remembering why we had stopped dating in high school. Shade could switch from hot to cold faster than any losing streak I’d ever seen at the poker table. One minute he’d be all attention, like a birddog on point and I was his covey of quail. Then he’d be gone. Disappeared. Nowhere around.

Wherever he went during those times, it involved horses and bull riding but it left me dateless. A girl can’t have that in high school! The time we dated in college went pretty much the same way.

I wrinkled my nose in frustration. “Is it just me, or is nothing easy?” I asked with a sigh. “Let me think. If I was Runt, what would my password be?” I thought out loud.

“It could be a birthday,” Shade suggested.

“It can’t be mine or Dad’s because ours are six digits because of the month we were born in.” I tried Runt’s birthday and Mom’s. Neither worked.

“Knowing Runt, it could be anything,” Whitey said, with a chuckle. “How about girls’ names?”

I tried the names of several girls that I knew Runt currently liked, had liked in the past, or might like in the future. Nothing.

“Try one zero one zero one.” Angelina said. I looked at her and raised a scorched eyebrow.

“What the hell? Try it,” Shade said. “We’ve tried stupider numbers and names than that.”

I punched in the numbers and sure enough the cell phone woke up. We all looked at Angelina in amazement.

“What?” Angelina said. “Makes sense to me. “Ranch and dog’s names are about drinking. Why not this too? You know, legal to drink age twenty-one. Ten+ten+one.”

Put that way, the password made sense to me too. I scrolled down to voice mail on the phone. There were several hang-ups (probably me), a message from Mom, and the message from Casey about the trespassers.

Hearing my Mom’s voice made my stomach churn. I hadn’t even thought about telling our parents about the events of last night and today. Or what still might unfold, for that matter. I could only hope Runt would reappear before I had to talk to my folks.

“Just messages from me and mom and Casey,” I told the group as I scrolled through the menu to get to the mailbox for text messages.

“Well, I’ll be deep fried!” I exclaimed. Runt had sent his phone a text from his computer.

“TANA OK B CAREFL STRANGRS FEED HORS RIDIN BACKWRDS TONTO CARE SLOPY,” I read aloud.

“Jeez, I already screwed that up,” I said, thinking about the Sloppy part.

“Well, at least we sort of know Runt’s safe,” said Shade. “But ‘be careful of strangers’ or ‘strangers are feeding horses?’ Probably the first one, considering all that’s happened. Guess we’d better toss the horses some hay before we go, Whitely. ‘Riding backwards’ I have no idea. Do you, T.R.?”

“That means he’s horseback, camping in one of those wild places along the Brazos.”

“You got all that out of riding backwards?” Shade asked.

“Dad always called it that. When Runt went camping as a teenager, Daddy said he might as well be riding backwards on his horse because Runt never knew where he was going ‘til he got there. It worried Mom to death, even though she knew Runt loved living off the land and was good at it.”

“Who knows when he’ll be back, then,” Shade said. “Let’s look around the house and barn to see if anything’s missing. Those two men could have been thieves.”

Shade and Whitey searched Runt’s bedroom. There’re some things a sister doesn’t need to discover about her brother. Angelina went through the kitchen stuff, cleaning up as she searched. I looked through the living room. It was slow going since I didn’t really know what I was looking for. On the upside, I wasn’t worried about time. Poker rooms don’t open until late in the evening.

I was eager to get back to my place, though. I’d been careful not to look in a mirror while searching the house but I did catch my refection in the darkened television screen. I couldn’t see much, but what I did see, wasn’t good. I would need hours of repair work or it’d be poor tips for me tonight. Then again, there’s always the sympathy tip.

My hair is short and spiky but cut that way on purpose, not burned choppy. My platinum spikes were now tipped black in places from the fire, like reverse roots. Somehow, I didn’t think it would become a fad. Too stinky, for one thing, and way too dangerous of a hair treatment. Of course it did get you a roll on the ground with Shade and lots of attention from a fleet of firemen.

The way things were going, I was going to have to start a list just to keep up with all the Shade-details that Casey and Weeba would want to know about.

Runt’s laptop was gone, but that didn’t mean anything. He wouldn’t leave it at home unattended. If he didn’t have it with him, he’d stash it somewhere if he thought he’d be away for a while. He probably sent me the text message by that computer but he could have sent it from anywhere in town. A lot of places offer wireless nowadays.

Other than normal camping stuff, I didn’t notice anything else missing. The others had the same luck I did, which was none at all. We packed our grimy selves into the duelie to head for town.

“Take me to my place, Stripper, so I can pick up another vehicle,” Shade said. I still was driving, although I didn’t understand why Shade so easily relinquished control of Runt’s truck. He gave me directions to his place and we traveled by dirt roads in areas of the county I wasn’t familiar with.

“Turn left on the next road,” he said. “There’s not a sign over the gate but you’ll recognize it by the giant prickly pear cactus at the entrance.”

I suppose it was Goodwin’s place but I wouldn’t have known that ranch if I sat on it. I was very impressed with the big house surrounded by blooming crepe myrtle trees. Hacienda style, it was stucco arches, scenic windows, red cedar, and Texas limestone. Very posh.

Fishing for the name of the ranch, I told Shade, “Runt would love Goodwin’s house.” He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I guess he was too exhausted to take the bait and I was too tired to press the point. There were smaller houses around the compound and I wondered which one was Shade’s.

“Pull up to that barn, Tana Rose. I’ve got some things to do before I go to your place. I’ll leave here in a couple of hour.” He got out when I stopped the truck. “Whitey, Angelina,” he said, looking into the back seat. “Thanks, y’all, for the help. It was appreciated.” He turned around and started walking away.

I didn’t drive off. I didn’t call out after him. I just sat there looking at his back.

I didn’t want to be alone at my house. I may not like Shade’s possessive attitude but this whole mess had me badly spooked, I’d take the devil himself beside me night and day just so I wouldn’t have to be by myself.

Shade stopped and looked back. I traced my finger around the steering wheel.

“What’s the matter?” he said as he walked back to the truck.

I kept looking at my finger making circles.

Angelina spoke up from the back seat. “She does not want to be alone.”

“Is that it, Stripper?” he asked.

I sucked on my lower lip but didn’t say a word.

Shade took a deep breath. “OK,” he said. “You’re right. I’ll be right over. I can shower at your house. I’ll get one of my men to go stay at The Barely Legal until Runt gets back.” He slapped the hood of the truck, dismissing us, and I drove away.

No one spoke on the way to town. Deep exhaustion had set in and we were all dreading the long night ahead of us in the poker room. At least I was. None of us had gotten much sleep today. We definitely needed showers. Plus I had to do something with my hair.

After I dropped Whitey and Angelina off at their place, the drive to my little house was quiet. I realized it was the first time I’d been alone in almost twenty-four hours. It felt familiar, yet weird. What are the odds on that? I kept looking around, expecting what, I didn’t know. But I knew it couldn’t be anything good.

I pulled Runt’s truck into my driveway and parked behind a wild little red convertible. Shade was sitting on top of the back of the driver’s seat with his dirty boots where his butt should’ve been. How rude to borrow such a tight car and then put your boots on the leather upholstery. Goodwin must be even more loaded than I thought. I was afraid to even touch the paint job.

“Sweet.” I nodded at the car as I walked to the side door of my house and unlocked it.

“Personally, I thought it deserved more than just sweet,” Shade said.

“If it was your car, it would deserve more.”

“It is my car.”

“Yeah, right. For the moment. I’m first in the shower.” I wrinkled my nose, at myself this time. There went my mouth again. Why couldn’t I just keep it shut and be nice. The man’s doing me a favor by staying with me. But instead of turning back and apologizing, I marched into the bathroom, closed the door, and locked it.

The bath and bed situation felt awkward yet familiar. Hadn’t we gone through the same routine last night? As I stepped into the shower, a picture of us as an old married couple flashed though my mind ─ without the good sex. Without any sex at all, come to think of it. The cool running water beat the tension out of my shoulders. It probably wasn’t as effective as a hot shower, but I’d had enough heat for one day.

I don’t know what it is about the enclosed space of the shower and the spray of water but I seem to do my best thinking there. As I lathered the shampoo into my disastrous hair, it hit me. Text messages. Runt sent a message to his phone. Why couldn’t we send an email to his computer. He just check messages on that, since he certainly never checked voice mail on his phone.

Quickly I cut the water, toweled off, and threw on some clothes. As I reached for the door, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Damn, I could’ve gone all week without that view. If only the mirror had fogged up. I had to do something with my hair, other than put a hat on it, before I talked to Shade about my idea.

I grabbed the scissors and began to cut off all the blackened parts I could reach. With a hand mirror I could see more burned parts in the back. I tried holding the hand mirror, finding and holding the hair, putting the mirror down, picking up the scissors, and cutting. That didn’t work well at all.

I tried again. I picked up the mirror, located and held the offending hair, put the mirror down, picked up the scissors, and again tried to cut it. Damn it! I cut my finger. Let’s add a little blood to the mix. OK, I told myself, take a deep breath and try again. Damn!

“Shade!” I yelled through the door.

“What?”

“I need you!”

“Now you’re talkin’,” he said, trying to open the door. “Uh, doors locked, honey. Unlock the door.” Shade’s charm and amusement oozed under the door and into the bathroom.

What? He thought I was naked? He thought I wanted him sexually? Well, yeah, that’s a thought. Just not my first thought.

I looked into the mirror again. I had on no makeup and my hair looked freaky but at least I was clean. This man had seen me much worse and only an hour ago.

“But will you respect me afterwards, Shade, or will I be just another…you know…conquest?” I cooed through the closed door.

“Don’t be silly. Unlock the door, T.R.,” he coaxed.

Yeah, now he calls me T.R. Wow, he sounded serious. “No, really, Shade. Never mind. I don’t think I should. I…I mean, after all…I’m…I’m naked.” I poured it on a little thick with that one. The whole situation had just crossed into the ridiculous. He had to know I was putting him on.

“Tana, just let me in so we can talk about it. Come on, honey. Open up.”

“Will you be gentle? Will you run your fingers through my hair?”

“What? Yeah, sure, Pokerface. I’m a gentle guy. Whatever you want, sweetheart. Unlock the door now, OK?”

How far could I push this, I wondered. Probably not too far since he’d just reverted back to calling me Pokerface. “Shade, maybe we should take this slower, you know, date again. You could pick me up at my door. Take me to dinner and a movie. A nice kiss before we…you know. You’re such a big, strong, handsome cowboy and I don’t know if I could measure up to those cute little cowgirls you’ve been dating.”

No answer. Had I gone too far? It sure was fun!

Still no answer. “Shade?”

A rap on the bathroom window behind me made me jump. I turned around fast. There was Shade, elbows leaning on the windowsill. He one-finger waved me hi, a gotcha look plastered on his handsome face.

“Or maybe I could just go back home and leave you to the bogyman! Naked, my ass!” he yelled through the window.

We both laughed. “Get in here and help me cut my hair!” I hollered. “Are you standing on a ladder?”

“Nope, trashcan,” he replied and disappeared from the window.

We were both still laughing when he walked through the bathroom door. I handed him the scissors.

“Cut off just the singed part,” I told him. “Nothing else! You hear me? Just the singed part!”

Shade picked up my comb and started on my hair. “Hey, I had an idea in the shower,” I told him. “Maybe Runt has his laptop and we could send him an email.”

“It’s worth a try. Do you feel better knowing Runt’s, what did he call it? Riding backwards?”

“Yeah, I guess. I feel just like Mom must have felt when he went off ─ wondering where he is, what he’s doing, how he’s doing, and all that. The funny part is that today, out at his place, I felt he was watching us, like he wanted to be helping us put out that fire but he just couldn’t risk it or he couldn’t get there from where he was or something. Weird, huh? Maybe I just felt that way ‘cause I know how much he loves that place of his.”

“That’s not weird. It’s a great place.” Shade paused in his combing and cutting, then started up again. “It’s a long time since high school.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, in high school Runt was extremely smart but stupid, if you know what I mean. He kept getting into trouble.” Shade was a year ahead of me in school and Runt was a year behind me.

“True.” I kind of laughed. “And mostly over the same thing ─ taking money for changing classmates’ grades.”

“Tana Rose, I don’t think it was the takin’ money that got him into trouble as much as the repeated hackin’ into the school’s computers to change those grades. The principle would have ‘em change the system and Runt would hack into the new system just as fast. That last time, when you were a senior, he got into so much trouble, your daddy had to step in and sell the authorities on the fact that the school should have better computer security. That turned it around and made it the school’s fault.”

“Daddy nothing. It was me that sold the school on that full-of-bull story!”

“Yeah. That’s right. I’d forgotten that. Good thing it happened several years ago. They put people in jail for stuff like that nowadays. They threatened to jail him then, if he ever did it again.”

There was a pause in the conversation as Shade worked on my hair. “Your folks still livin’ in Dallas?” he finally asked.

“Yeah, I’m wondering if I should tell Daddy about this. I won’t tell Mom. She worries about us enough.”

“Well, give the situation a couple more days before you make that decision. By then it all might be just a funny story to tell. Except for Sloppy.”

Yeah, except for Sloppy. I closed my eyes. It felt good to have Shade mess with my hair. I usually don’t like that sort of thing. In fact, I can barely sit still at the hair salon. I’m just tired, I thought.

I sat there backwards on the toilet seat, totally relaxed. Good lord, it seemed like days or even weeks since all this started. Shade and I had been inseparable ever since. How ironic. Just yesterday I couldn’t stand him when he took Runt’s truck and now he’s cutting my hair…

...OFF! I suddenly realized how long he’d been cutting my hair and jerked away from the scissors. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“I’m just evening out your hair here and there. You really chopped it up.”

“No way am I going to let you ‘even out’ my hair! What do you know about hair cutting?” I looked into the bathroom mirror. Front looked good. I grabbed the hand mirror to see the back.

“I got sisters,” he replied. And it did look good in the back, just as good as when Mr. Ricky cut it, really. Kind of shaggy on the neck, just like I liked it. I looked Shade in the eye.

“And I cut my horse’s tail all the time,” he said, his voice low. Quickly he stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door, but not before I saw how red his cheeks were.

Shade blushing? I wouldn’t have thought he was capable of that. Not with his reputation. Horse’s tail, indeed! Would I ever have time to call Casey and Weeba and tell all? I don’t think I have that many minutes on my cell plan! I’d have to see them in person to report everything.

I finished putting on my makeup and exited the bathroom. Shade was lying on the floor watching TV in the living room. “Why are you on the floor? I do have furniture.”

“I’m too dirty to sit anywhere. I made a couple of calls while you were in the bathroom, and I email Runt. Haven’t heard from him yet, though. Called Whitey. He said you can crash at their apartment when you get off work. I’m going to sleep at my own place tonight. I’ll swing by tomorrow after the ropin’ competition and pick you up.”

“No, wait,” I said. “We both have vehicles now. You can’t make me your life’s work. I’ll be all right by myself.” I had calmed down a lot with the help of a shower, but I didn’t really believe what I was saying. I didn’t want to be alone.

The thought of staying in my own home all by myself sent cold crawlies up and down my back. That’s a turnabout for me. Give me a good book and all six of my bed pillows, plus a cold beer on the bedside table, and alone usually seemed like a real good idea.

Shade came over to where I was standing and put his hands gently on my shoulders. Slipping his thumbs under the thin straps of my top, he rubbed little circles on my skin. He smelled like the outdoors, full of wind, horse, earth, and smoke. Lots of smoke.

His hair was out of the ponytail and loose around his shoulders. Tight blue jeans wrapped around his butt, then fell to his boot tips with the typical cowboy wrinkles around his calves. A black belt with silver conchos cinched his small waist. His now-dirty white shirt covered his broad chest and the wide shoulders that topped his v-shaped body.

OK, I realized what all the Shade hoopla was about. Would I be like all those other women and fall madly in love with the Shade-look, the Shade-kiss? Casey told me once that she’d heard that when Shade kissed a woman, her chocha became the burning bush, whatever that meant. I didn’t believe it. Years ago I’d been kissed by Shade, and I hadn’t felt the need to call the fire department.

I braced myself for that blazing moment. Our lips were only a fraction of an inch apart. The chemistry was toxic. The air palpable. I closed my eyes and leaned my face upwards towards Shade.

Seconds ticked by but no kiss came. I felt stupid standing there like that so I opened my eyes. He was looking deep inside me again, like he had when we were on the hot, burned ground at Runt’s place. He bit at his mustache. “I could, ya know. Make you my life’s work, that is.”

I was too stunned to reply. He used his shoulder hold to move me aside. Then he leaned down, picked up an overnight bag, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Why would he say something like that, anyway? He didn’t make me his life’s work when we were together before. In fact, he pretty much took me for granted both times we’d dated.

I walked over to the window air conditioner and lifted my shirt so my chest could catch the frosty air coming from the vents. I might have been just out of a cold shower but I needed to cool off after stepping away from him and his heat source. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel his thumbs making small circles on my skin.

I heard the bathroom door open again and quickly pulled my shirt down. Shade popped his head out of the bathroom.

“By the way, don’t get any ideas about peekin’ through the bathroom window. I moved the trash can.”

To be continued Friday.