Chapter Eight

Clint parked the Belly Nelle and The Tin Can in the huge ring of pickups and horse trailers fanning out around a plain dirt arena shaded by a metal roof. No hookups for water, waste, or electricity here. They’d have to run the generator if they wanted AC and take quick showers. Multicolored buttes rose up in the distance, but the rodeo took place in a small and sweltering valley with a trickle of a stream running through it and a line of heat-stunted cottonwoods as its only foliage.

Food stands had been set up far enough away from the dirt and flies drawn by the rough stock to be sanitary. A line of bright yellow portable toilets stood farther out in the desert. Way down at the intersection of the blacktop and the dirt road to the arena, the small oasis of a gas station was doing big business in fuel and snacks.

“Tell me again why we’re here and not in some nice, climate-controlled arena,” Renee said, tilting the raffia cowboy hat down almost to the top of her designer sunglasses.

Why in hell was she still here complaining more every mile they went away from Phoenix? He should have left her by the side of the road. A woman like Renee would have no trouble getting a ride back to the city. He simply couldn’t do it, no more than he would take a bitch pregnant with puppies by the wrong kind of sire and dump her in the country on her own. Certainly, Renee had survival skills the average dog lacked, but he didn’t have it in him to abandon her yet. He patiently explained again.

“Because this is my final year on the circuit, and I’m giving back. I got my start at places like this. Now, I’ve been Bullfighter of the Year three times, and this year I’m not working for points at competitions. Let someone else have a chance at the title. I’ll help the local boys learn their stuff, do a demonstration, put in a personal appearance. They don’t get many big names out here.”

“I can certainly see why. I don’t think this place is on the map.”

“People who live here know where the rodeo is. We’re still in Arizona if that will help you out any.”

“Not really. I guess I’ll stand in line for a drink and some food if you’re going to be busy.”

Renee shifted her satchel because its thick leather strap cut into her shoulder. This morning the lock on the door to The Tin Can had broken, and she refused to leave her most vital possessions inside to be stolen by anyone who came along. She wore wedge sandals, cropped white pants riding low on her hips, and an equally cropped yellow boat-necked top showing more belly than anyone else at the rodeo. Male eyes shifted her way as she passed, and female eyes squinted and judged. She could care less.

“I could eat first. What are our options for lunch?”

“The usual at these affairs—hot dogs, corn dogs, hamburgers.” Renee sighed.

“Look over there, an Indian taco stand. Get me two with extra lettuce and tomato. I’ll stand in line for some drinks while you do that.” Clint thrust a twenty-dollar bill into her hand and watched Renee move away, rolling those hips like the waves in an ocean out here in the middle of the desert.

What to do about Renee? Despite his backside injury requiring a pillow beneath his butt for the drive, he’d slept well last night. His brain felt sharp today despite that unsettling dream lingering in mind.

He’d fought a huge bull striped like a tiger with clawed feet instead of hooves. The creature almost had him, nearly devoured him with a mouth full of sharp teeth, when three women appeared between him and the slavering animal. One wore a blue veil, the next had unbound black hair that fell to her waist, and the third with pale eyes dressed like a nun. He tried to save them from the strange bull by shoving them to safety and offering himself to the vicious claws instead, but his hands passed right through the trio.

“No Clint,” the blue-veiled one said. “We have come to save you,” the second lady answered with an almost saucy look on her beautiful face. “You must keep trying,” the stern nun demanded. “We will give you extra strength and patience.” They disappeared and where the beast once stood scratching the earth, ready to charge, a tabby-striped kitten appeared. It bounded to his feet, rubbed against his ankle, begged to be picked up—and he did, holding it close to his chest.

Clint shook his head to get rid of the vision, but it remained firmly lodged in his memory unlike any other dream. His mother, a devout Catholic, would say he’d been visited by the three Marys. He wondered what she’d think of Renee if he ever brought the woman home. Just couldn’t imagine doing that unless Renee’s behavior improved considerably. For that, he’d have to go with his plan and bend her to his will, not break her, but teach her to mind her manners. “Ladies, you’d better deliver on that patience and strength you promised,” he mumbled to himself.

Clint took his place in a loose line moving along far more quickly than the one for tacos. The man in front of him paid the cashier, thrust his wallet back into a hip pocket and attempted to grasp six long-neck bottles of beer in his two hands. Quick as a sidewinder, a small brown hand lifted the wallet as the man started back to a group of friends who had staked out a space with a beach umbrella and a few folding chairs.

Clint ignored the woman asking for his order. He left the line and followed the child who had the sense not to bolt and call attention to himself. The kid ducked behind a large SUV. When Clint came up on him, he was shoving the folding money from the wallet into the pocket of worn, blue jean shorts covered by a plain, white T-shirt. As Clint’s hand descended onto the small shoulder, the boy ditched the wallet under the SUV and dug in his sneakers to take off. Clint secured him, clamping a hand around the kid’s neck and forcing him down into the pebble-studded dirt.

“Get the wallet. Now put back the money. All of it!”

“I found it, Mister. Yeah, I shouldn’t take the money. But me, I got two baby sisters who need milk.”

The boy was all wide, innocent, dark eyes and thick, black hair cut in bangs across his forehead. He wasn’t scrawny enough to be starving, either. He probably had at least one parent and maybe both his sisters also working the crowd. Clint double-checked his own wallet, which he had the sense not to keep in a hip pocket.

“I’ll see this gets back to the owner.”

“You gonna let me go, Mister?” the kid said in a small, pleading, pathetic voice that had most likely worked before on softer hearts.

Clint would bet the child often left with donations and a pat on the head. Baby sisters, my ass. “I might if you’ll do me a favor first.”

The boy looked wary. “I don’t drop my pants for men. I seen that Brokeback Mountain movie.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have, but that’s not what I want.”

Clint began to frogmarch the small thief back toward the arena through the messy maze of trucks parked any which way. In the process, he returned the wallet to the group under the beach umbrella, saying he’d found it by the beverage stand. By this time, he held the boy’s hand like a loving uncle.

Clint spotted Renee. Bent over inspecting a display of intricately beaded necklaces and turquoise bracelets set out on a blanket by an enterprising Navajo woman, Renee and her nicely rounded ass were hard to miss. She held a cardboard carrier filled with three tacos.

“See that beautiful woman over there?”

“The Anglo lady with the big muchachas? Si.”

“Watch your mouth. I want you to steal her bag. Might be hard. She’s got it crosswise over her breasts now.”

“No problema.”

“I’ll chase you into the parking area. You meet me back there on the far side of that old trailer and hand over the satchel. I know for a fact she doesn’t have much money in there, so don’t even think about really taking off with it. I can catch you, and I will turn you in this time if you cross me. Do what I ask, and I’ll give you enough cash so your daddy will let you take the afternoon off to enjoy the rodeo. Deal?”

“You want to be a hero, fine by me.”

“Go.” Clint released the boy, who bore down on Renee like a cattle dog on a stubborn cow.

As she straightened up, shaking her head, “no” regretfully, and turned away, the kid circled behind her back. Coming on fast, he knocked her face first into the ground. The tacos went flying. The thief neatly stripped the satchel over Renee’s head as she struggled to get up and tore off into the parking area.

“Clint, he has my bag!” she shouted.

“I’m on it!”

Clint sprinted after the boy, who put on a good show, ducking down and weaving among the vehicles. Both of them breathing hard, they rendezvoused behind The Tin Can. The kid handed over the satchel, and Clint dug two-hundred dollars out of the money belt Renee had no idea he owned. They made the transfer.

“Wish you hadn’t knocked her down, kid.”

“Had to get the bag over those mountains, Mister.” The small thief shrugged.

“You’re quick, agile, and smart. Watch the bullfighting demo I’m giving this afternoon and consider a more honest career when you get older, okay? Enjoy the rest of the day.” He gave the boy a friendly swat on the rear, and the kid took off.

Clint felt under the front bumper of the Belly Nelle and found the lever releasing the doors to the compartment behind the cab that had once held a miniature donkey for the show in Casper. He climbed into the bed of the truck and added the satchel to his stash of good running shoes, a laptop, and the box of jewelry. The space still smelled a bit like burro, but was otherwise clean—as Snuffy had promised it would be when they renewed their deal to let Clint keep the truck and trailer for the rest of the summer.

Not winded after the chase but pretending to puff a little, he went back to Renee. She crouched under the Navajo woman’s tarp. The woman, wearing a full-skirted and ruffled blouse version of native dress as well as her own jewelry, washed the grit from Renee’s skinned knees using a bottle of water and some paper towels. Renee had a red, scraped patch on her bare belly as well, and she mournfully held her broken sunglasses in one hand.

“These shoes, no good. You wear flat shoes or boots,” the woman scolded her. “You cover your belly.”

Renee had no sharp retort for a change. Clearly, she was still shaken by the assault, which Clint hadn’t figured on being so violent. He helped her up. Renee drew her dirty-kneed cropped pants down over her wounds and looked at Clint with tear-filled eyes.

“Sorry, babe. He got away. Probably has an accomplice hiding him.”

“All that I am was in that bag.”

“All that you are is here. You have a roof over your head, food to eat, and me,” Clint answered, tipping her head up for a consoling kiss. He stopped and peered closely at her face.

“Am I bleeding?” Renee frantically patted her face. “Will it scar?”

“No, not bleeding, but you kind of remind me of a Catahoula cur I once owned. Your eyes are two different colors.”

“My contacts! I lost a contact. Damn that little bastard! My spares were in that satchel.”

“Come on now. You told me once you didn’t need them to see. Right now, you got one emerald green eye and one kind of nice gray-green eye with a dark ring around it and full of little black flecks. I like this eye. Pop the other contact out, and you’ll be fine.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Not true.” Clint turned to the Navajo woman whom he knew would expect no payment for her act of kindness. He scanned her wares and picked out a thick silver cuff bracelet with inlaid chunks of irregularly-shaped turquoise. It was pricey, and he could have bargained, but he didn’t. He turned his back, fished more money out of his belt pouch, and handed it over all rolled up so Renee wouldn’t see the amount.

“My best piece,” the woman assured him. “You want a bag?”

“No, she’ll wear it. It’ll make her feel better. Thanks.” He clamped the bracelet over Renee’s wrist. Buying her something made him feel a little less guilty, too. She’d be on short rations from now on.

“Guess that was our lunch.” Clint scooped up the box and fallen tacos.

“Yes.”

“Come on, we’ll stand in line together, then go find a seat in the shade.” He helped Renee along with one hand on her elbow. They passed a small brown boy who wanted to pay for his cotton candy with a fifty-dollar bill. He wore an oversized blue shirt with an advertising logo on the front almost covering his shorts and a small, red cowboy hat. Clint gave him a subtle nod when Renee looked away, but the boy ignored him and continued to demand his change. He was a real pro.

****

Renee downed an entire bottle of water with her taco and felt a little better. Clint started on his second taco and said around a mouthful of fresh, chewy flat bread and lettuce, “Good, huh?”

“Yes, I feel better. Thank you for the bracelet. You didn’t have to do that. I know they won’t be paying you much here.”

“My pleasure. I got to go suit up soon. Will you be all right?” Clint glanced at the arena where they set up for the barrel races. After that, he’d do his demo, sign autographs while the bronc riding went on, then get in the ring with the local boys for the bull competition.

“Sure. I’m tough, remember?”

He looked into her eyes and wasn’t so sure. She’d taken out the green contact, and now she looked softer than before. “Say, how about we go back to the Nelle and get a sack of those stuffed toys while I put my gear on. You could give them out while I sign autographs. The little ones don’t care who I am and get restless. We can put some antibiotic cream on those scratches, too.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Back at The Tin Can, Clint smoothed antiseptic on Renee’s scratches. She helped him tape his ankles and thighs and pulled up his long dark socks over the bandages. She gave the padding covering his crotch an extra tug into place.

“Don’t forget to protect the jewels,” she said.

“No, I plan on using them tonight.” He drew her in for a kiss hard against his chest protector before he finished strapping on the knee and shin guards. As he pulled on a large shirt slathered with advertising, he looked around the trailer. Something was missing—the small, portable TV that got only one channel out here in the wilderness. That little vermin had come back and helped himself. Thank God, he hadn’t taken the bullfighting gear or Renee’s fancy boots half-hidden under the leopard throw on the unmade bed.

****

Clint’s demo went well despite his sore rear, almost as if the bull had been trained to accept his moves. He made the usual big hit. People lined up for autographs afterward. He moved the line along by sliding the glossy pictures of him walking a bull to Renee, who placed them in a big, white envelope. If she saw a restless child farther down the line, she’d pick out a toy and present it with a few words and a pat on the head. Most of the kids were shy. A few of the older ones thanked her.

She’d covered her scraped belly with the new and freshly washed emerald green top, hoping to reflect some its color up into her eyes, and put on her new jeans and boots. The straw hat had escaped any damage by flying off her head, but her Cassini sunglasses were history. And, she didn’t know what she’d do when the last of her makeup wore off. Then, Clint would see what she really looked like, the tiny flaws that squealed she was over thirty, the other imperfections she’d rather hide.

When the bull riding began, Renee took a seat in the bleachers and watched Clint work. He was so deft and fearless it made her heart beat harder. He often stepped aside to let the local boys show what they were made of, and she could see they appreciated that without saying a word. She rested her chin in her hands, never taking her eyes off of Clint in case something should happen to him, and then what would she do? Drive the Nelle back to Louisiana, she guessed, if she could figure out how to get there and scrounge enough money for gas.

All went well. Clint wasn’t even sore from his exertions. They strolled around after he’d striped down, taken a quick lukewarm shower, and changed into street clothes. In a tent, a church group sold beef brisket dinners with slaw and a chunk of cornbread for $6.95. They dined handsomely on local fare, as Clint would say.

“I’ll get dessert,” he said. “Stay right here.”

He came back with a choice of temptations—a red candy apple and a piece of fry bread, still warm and dripping with honey.

Renee considered the offerings. “Hmmm, I can break a cap on that candy apple and get some fruit today. Or say the hell with cavities and calories and eat the bread.”

Clint took a Swiss army knife from his pocket and cut the fry bread in two, then quartered the candy apple and removed the core. “Now you can do both.”

They shared the treats as the sun dipped, the air grew cooler, and people began to depart for wherever they came from. They walked back, hand in hand, to The Tin Can and ended the evening as they were accustomed, this time careful of Renee’s injuries and bruised places. Neither missed the television at all.

****

Clint made toast for her as Renee showered in the morning. She usually washed off the make-up she’d worn to bed and reapplied it, despite the poor lighting and bad mirror, before going out to the kitchen for breakfast. Today, she patted her face with the cloth, hoping to preserve some of her coverage. It didn’t work. A bit of her eyeliner stayed on, and that was about all. She burrowed into a thick terry robe fairly sure it had come from Bodey Landrum’s pool house and brushed her hair down around her face. Keeping her eyes on the floor, she went out to accept the plate of toast with strawberry jelly and a cup of black coffee.

“Soon as we get a signal today, you can use my cell phone to cancel your credit cards and report your driver’s license stolen if that’s what’s bothering you,” Clint offered. Guilt crept up on him. He turned his attention to his glass of milk.

“The joke is on them. I maxed my cards out in Phoenix, and my driver’s license expired several months ago. I liked the picture and wanted to keep it for a while longer. I was five years younger then. I’ll call my father when we get to a town. He’s paying my utility bills while I’m gone and collecting the mail. With luck, he’ll pay down my cards, too.” Renee took a lethargic bite from her toast and chewed it very slowly.

“Is something else the matter, Tiger?” Clint asked. “You feel okay?”

“I’m fine. I need to get to a drugstore, though.”

“Hey, I told you last night I got plenty of condoms. Don’t worry about losing your diaphragm with that bag.”

“I need to get some make-up. You’ll have to loan me the money.”

“Sure, but do you really need it?” Clint raised her chin. She shut her eyes. “What do I see here? Freckles. Looks like someone sprinkled cinnamon across your nose. And luscious pink lips. You look good enough to eat.”

No way would he mention the small lines in the corners of her eyes. He wasn’t an idiot. “Finish your breakfast, and I’ll eat you right up before we get on the road.”

Clinton O. Beck was always as good as his word.

****

Still, when they arrived at the first small town having a pharmacy, Renee begged him to pull into the lot. He shelled out a twenty and told her to “go to town.” He’d wait in the truck. Renee’s mouth hung open. The concealer she ordered from Neiman Marcus in Dallas cost three times this amount. She hadn’t used drugstore cosmetics in more than ten years, but she got out of the cab to see what she could gather.

A half hour later, she came back asking for another ten, please. He doled it out. When she slid back into the Nelle, Clint looked at the size of the bag and shook his head.

“You know, you don’t need all that gunk. I think you look all fresh-faced and dewy without it.”

“Moisturizer. I forgot moisturizer. Without it in this climate, I’ll crack like a rotten board.” Renee snatched the change, ran into the store again, and came back clutching a large bottle of lotion.

“Renee, you have plenty of good years left. Take it easy.”

“That’s what men always say. They get distinguished. Women get old.”

She’d purchased two lipsticks and rolled one over her lips, making them darker with a bronze sheen. Next, she attempted to smear some potion across her freckles using the mirror on the visor. Not working. The little cinnamon dots still showed, just slightly lightened.

“I can’t go out in public like this.”

“Sure you can, Tiger. I’m proud to be seen with you.” Clint put the Nelle into gear and rolled forward to the next rodeo.