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“First you have to want to work it out.” The relationship between his parents had been strained for a considerable time now, ever since they had taken opposite sides on the issue of his college education. Maybe his Gather’s solution had been to take a mistress.
“If you’re hinting at something, say it out plain,” his father challenged. “Otherwise, don’t be trying to give advice on something you know nothing about.”
The reprimand forced Ty to contain his half-formed accusations, but he did so grudgingly. As a twenty-one-year-old adult, he wanted to respect their privacy. Yet, as a son, he could not stand aside indifferently. He lifted the glass of beer, feeling sick and angry inside.
The other waitress came by the table with the coffeepot to refill Chase’s cup, but he covered the top of it with his hand. “No more for me. It’s time I was heading home before Maggie decides I’ve lost my way.” He reached for the meal check that had been left on the table as he stood up. “The dinner’s on me tonight.”
After his father had left, Ty sat alone at the table a while longer. The beers he’d consumed were beginning to take effect. He had trouble keeping a run of thoughts going. His mind kept skipping back and forth from his father to Tara. He wanted to talk to her—to hear her voice.
Standing up, he shoved his hand inside his pants pocket and took out his change. The movement seemed to make the blood rush through him faster. He was suddenly feeling good, all loose and untrammeled. And if there was a little edge to his nerves, a little testiness, then it just heightened the other feelings
.
The restaurant and bar had filled up. Some of the families with younger children were leaving while local cowboys and ranch workers filed into the cafe in twos and threes. Most of them Ty knew by sight if not by name. They hailed him with greetings which he returned as he worked his way to the pay telephone on the wall outside the rest rooms.
A cue stick was drawn back by its shooter bending over the pool table. Ty sidestepped it and jostled a towheaded boy of eighteen, his freckled face sunburned except for the white band of his forehead.
“Sorry, Andersen,” Ty apologized to the son from the family that farmed some land adjoining the south boundary of the Triple C. There was a passel of kids, and Ty could never keep their names straight.
“It’s okay.” The lanky boy shifted, giving Ty a glimpse of the girl with him.
“Hey, Jessy.” There was something taunting in his lazy smile as he slipped into the local dialect. “Hell, I ain’t never seen you without a hat.” He mussed her thick mane of hair, the dim light dulling its golden streaks. “Looks like the best damned roper on the Triple C has finally lassoed herself a date.”
“Maybe someday I can teach you how to rope so you can be as good as me,” she retorted.
Ty nudged the Andersen boy with his elbow. “Better watch her. She’s a sassy thing.” He took no notice at all of the white jeans she wore or of the plain cut of her shiny blue blouse.
Without waiting for a response from the quiet farm boy, he shoved off, aiming once again for the telephone. When the operator came on the line, he gave her the number in Texas and dropped in the amount of coins required for the call.
“Hello, I’d like to speak to Tara.” He put a hand over his ear, trying to shut out the noise from the jukebox and the bar area.
“Who’s calling?”
“Ty Calder.” The same impersonal voice requested him to wait, which Ty did, impatiently.
“Hello, Ty? This is E.J. I’m afraid Tara Lee has gone out for the evening. Was it something important?”
The good feeling slipped away from him. A frown gathered as he tried to come up with an explanation for the call. “I just wanted to talk to her,” he mumbled and repeated himself, “I just wanted to talk, that’s all.”
“Ty, are you drunk?” Dyson sounded almost amused.
“No, sir, not yet.” But the urge was there to let the alcohol blot out all of his confusion. “Tell her I called.” He felt a curl of anger because she hadn’t been there. It put a stiffness in him as he hung up the phone.
9
Using a straw, Jessy stirred the ice in her Coke glass. Her glance often strayed to the pool table where Ty stood, a cue stick in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. Somehow he managed to hold on to both, even when it was his turn to shoot, and usually there was a cigarette dangling from his mouth at the same time, making him squint one-eyed to aim through the smoke.
His long, muscled legs were unsteady under him. There was a barely controlled lurch and stagger to his movements. Jessy had no idea how many of those long-necked bottles of beer he’d downed, but he was on his way to becoming rip-roaring drunk. His laugh was loud, and so was his voice, yet the thin edge of anger seemed to run through him. She felt a surge of impatience and disgust at his behavior, although she ignored the cowboys with him who were in the same inebriated state.
Bending her head, she sipped the watery Coke through the straw. Leroy Andersen used the tabletop for a drum, beating his fingers in time with the music from the jukebox, his shoulders swaying in tempo. Jessy had given up trying to keep a conversation going with him, tiring of competing with the music for his attention. His beating fingers made a final slap to finish with the song.
“That was some rhythm, huh?” He rubbed his hands on his thighs and looked to her for agreement.
She smiled back wanly but didn’t answer. Personally, she didn’t like the song, but she hadn’t liked any of the songs Leroy had selected.
“Wanta go pick out some more songs?” he suggested.
“Why not?” The choices of entertainment were limited, since Leroy didn’t talk and, despite all that rhythm, couldn’t dance. All her girlfriends made such a thing about having a date on Saturday night, as if it were some special honor, regardless of which boy did the asking. Peer pressure made her think there was something wrong with her if she didn’t accept an invitation just on principle. But invariably, Jessy was bored. She had more fun when she double-dated or went with a group.
