Just in Time for Christmas, page 4
“You got that right,” Jasmine said. “Me and you are going to get along just fine. So will you work for me?”
“Sure, I’ll fill in until Lucy finds someone who needs a job.” Liz wished she could reach up and snatch the words back into her mouth the minute they were out in the air. She should have at least slept on the idea before she took the job. She didn’t need the money. She had plenty in her bank account to live a year without lifting a finger. But on the other hand, she would meet the local people, get to know them, and carve out a place in Montague County, Texas. Or else by the time the carnival was ready for another season, she’d be ready to give up her roots, slap on her wings, and fly away.
“Could you come in Tuesday and work with Amber to get the feel of it?” Jasmine asked.
“Sure. Where is it?” Liz replied.
“Right up the road a couple of miles. Same side of the highway. Next to Gemma’s beauty shop,” Jasmine said.
“Just waitress work, I hope. I’m not much of a cook,” Liz said.
“I do the cookin’. That’s why I bought the café. Just need someone to serve it up and run a cash register. You ever done any waitressing?”
“Little bit,” Liz answered. Running a concession wagon was the same thing, wasn’t it? She took orders. She served them. She took money and made change. There couldn’t be a whole lot of difference.
“Tell me about your family. Was Haskell the only one from Texas?” Dewar asked. “He mentioned his sisters and having a niece, but he didn’t ever say where you lived.”
“Texas born and mostly raised in this state. Mama was born out near Amarillo, little town named Claude. I was born over in Jefferson, Texas. I guess I’m truly a third generation Texan. Just never thought about it like that until now,” Liz answered and started to tell them about the carnival, but she remembered what her mother had said about people judging the ones who lived and worked in carnivals or circuses.
“You didn’t visit Haskell much, did you?” Dewar asked. “Raylen said that he remembers you being over there only a couple of times when you were a kid.”
“We didn’t come this way very often,” Liz answered. “Uncle Haskell usually came to our winter place between Amarillo and Claude for Thanksgiving and Christmas every year, and we saw him in the fall of the year when we came through these parts. Grandma died when I was a little girl, but my grandfather is still alive and he’s out in west Texas. But y’all knew that because that’s where Uncle Haskell has relocated to help with Poppa. How long have the O’Donnells been in Ringgold?”
Raylen yelled over the din of voices all talking at once. “Daddy, how long has the family been in Ringgold?”
“Grandpa used to say we squatted in this area, and they built the town around us. I expect we’ve been somewhere up and down the Red River border for a hundred years or more,” Cash answered.
“And the O’Malleys have been here every bit that long,” Grandma said. “And if y’all don’t eat your dinner, we ain’t never goin’ to get out there and do some playin’. I been lookin’ forward to music all week, and all y’all want to do is jaw around. I guarantee you it’s goin’ to come up cold here pretty soon, what with Thanksgiving in a little more than a month, and we won’t be able to play outside. Remember that year back in about ninety-one or ninety-two when the whole area iced up on Thanksgiving? It could happen again. And spring is a long way off if we get an early winter.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dewar grinned.
“Who are the musicians?” Liz asked.
With a wave of her hand, Jasmine took in the whole family. “They all play something or sing.”
“Really? You?” She looked at Dewar.
“Dulcimer is my specialty, but I can fill in on an acoustic guitar if Rye gets tired, and I can play a little bit of fiddle.” He finished off his sweet tea. “And Raylen plays any of the instruments, too.”
Gemma raised a hand. “Dobro and guitar.”
“Colleen?” Liz asked.
“I’d be the banjo picker,” she answered, but her voice wasn’t as warm as the other members of the family.
“Grandma plays the dulcimer and the Dobro, and sometimes she can talk Grandpa into singing for us,” Raylen said.
“Sounds like fun,” Liz said.
“It is, darlin’,” Grandma said, “especially if you like country music and good old Irish toe-stompin’ tunes.” She picked up her plate and headed for the kitchen with it. When she returned, she walked right on past the dining room table and toward the door. “I’ll just be warmin’ up the dulcimer while y’all finish up.”
“She’s usually not in this big of a hurry,” Raylen said.
“I’m finished. I’m going on out there with her,” Liz said.
Dewar shifted his eyes over toward Jasmine. “Speakin’ of Thanksgiving, where are you going for the holiday?”
“Mama would tack my scalp to the garage door if I didn’t go home for the holidays. I’ll close up the Chicken Fried for the day and go have dinner with the family,” Jasmine answered.
“You’re welcome here if the weather gets bad,” Dewar said.
“Maddie already said I was part of the family and didn’t need any invitations to anything going on here, but thank you anyway. Where is Ace today?” Jasmine looked around the room.
Dewar chuckled. “He’s over at Wil and Pearl’s. Is that old ugly cowboy going to beat my time with you?”
Liz was already standing, plate in hand, but she stopped.
“You, darlin’, ain’t got no time to beat, and neither does Ace. He’s just my friend, like you.” Jasmine accentuated her words by stabbing her fork at him.
Dewar threw a hand over his chest. “You break my heart, Jasmine.”
“Yeah, right! With all the women lining up for your attention, I’m not so sure you are interested in me. Finish your dinner so y’all can make Grandma happy,” Jasmine said.
Raylen looked at Liz and explained, “Ace, Wil, and Rye were best friends. Rye and Austin got married last summer, and Wil and Pearl were married in February.”
“And Ace?” she asked.
“Oh, that cowboy is too pretty to settle down with one woman the rest of his life.” Jasmine shook her head. “And besides, the woman that got him would have to train him. He’s not even housebroke.”
Liz smiled. That reminded her of what Aunt Tressa had said about Blaze.
He’s too handsome to ever settle down. And your temper is too volatile to put up with women hanging on him and his flirting, so don’t be thinking that because you two aren’t blood related there could ever be a relationship there.
Raylen pushed back his chair, picked up his plate, and led the way to the kitchen. “I’m finished too. I’ll go with you, Liz.”
When they reached the back yard, Grandma was warming up with “Bill Bailey.” Liz sat down on one of the two quilts that had been tossed out on the ground, her skirt fluffed out around her, and Raylen joined her.
“You’re supposed to be playing, not sitting,” Grandma called out.
Raylen started to get up, but his boot got tangled in the edge of the quilt. When he fell, he took Liz down with him. They landed with her snuggled up beside him as if they’d been napping on the quilt.
“That was on purpose,” Dewar yelled from the back porch.
Raylen moved to a sitting position. “I’m so sorry. I’m usually not clumsy.”
Liz moved away from him and sat up. “Forgiven. Accidents happen. What are you playing today?”
Raylen raised his broad shoulders in a shrug. “Whatever they want me to play, I guess. I was just going to sit down here and visit with you until they all get here.”
Grandma stopped playing the dulcimer and guffawed. “Don’t be judgin’ him too quick. He might be a little clumsy today, but he can make a fiddle do everything but tell you a bedtime story, and honey, he’s mighty smooth on his feet when it comes to dancin’.”
Liz raised a dark eyebrow. “Oh, really. Care for a contest?”
Raylen cocked his head to one side—just like he did that summer when she was fourteen and she’d thought it was so cute. “Are we talking about fiddlin’ or dancin’? Want to show me what you’ve got? You can play my fiddle and I’ll go in the house and get an old one.”
She stood up. “Mine’s in the truck. You told me if I play an instrument to bring it. You were serious, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was, and yes, I’ll take you up on that contest. Want to bet on it?” he asked.
“Not until I see what you’ve got,” she teased.
“Then you show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” Raylen grinned.
Jasmine piped up from the edge of the quilt where she was settling down to listen. “Raylen is the one that can play all of our instruments. I swear he could string up a stick with balin’ wire and make it spit out a beautiful song. You might want to rethink challenging him to a contest!”
“I’ll try to hold my own.” Liz stood up and went to her truck for her fiddle. When she returned, Rye had handed Rachel off to Austin and picked up the guitar. Raylen had tuned a fine-looking fiddle. Colleen had a banjo strapped around her neck. Gemma picked at the Dobro. Dewar had a mandolin in his arms, and Maddie had a harmonica up to her mouth.
Liz tightened the strings on her fiddle, positioned it on her shoulder, and ran the bow down across them. She shook her head, made a few adjustments, and tried again. That time she was ready to play. Grandma raised an eyebrow at her, and Liz nodded that she was ready.
Rye struck up a chord, and they all fell in to begin the backyard concert with “Red River Valley,” and followed that with “Bill Bailey.”
Grandma stood up when they finished “Bill Bailey” and kissed Grandpa on the forehead. “Okay, honey. I’m goin’ to sit this one out and we’re goin’ to have a fiddlin’ contest. Liz, you know ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’?”
Raylen dragged the bow across his fiddle, and the first chords of the song raised the hair on Liz’s arms. She might have just met her match.
Raylen moved closer to Liz and their eyes met as the contest began. Gemma picked up the microphone and sang the words to the song as Liz and Raylen fought it out without blinking. Time seemed to stand still until the song was finished and then the applause began.
Liz had forgotten that there was anyone on the face of the earth but her and Raylen. She’d gotten lost in his blue eyes as they played facing each other. For a minute, she wondered where the audience came from and why they were clapping, then she remembered and bowed gracefully as if she’d just finished a set on the Grand Ole Opry stage.
“You goin’ to lay that fiddle on the ground because I’m better than you?” Raylen asked.
“I beat the devil out of you, cowboy,” Liz said.
Raylen’s blue eyes twinkled. “Oh, no, you didn’t. Ain’t no one ever beat me on the fiddle.”
She poked her bow at him. “Suck it up, cowboy. I beat you fair and square.”
“I want a rematch,” he said.
Grandma pointed at Raylen and then at Liz. “I’d say it’s a draw and we’ll have a rematch next time. For now, we’re going to play some more. Don’t be puttin’ your fiddle down, girl. You’re goin’ to give him a run for his money the whole rest of the afternoon. Raylen, you don’t get to play anything else today neither.”
Grandpa nodded seriously. “The queen of Montague County has spoken. If you kids don’t listen to her I’ll hear about it all week.”
Raylen shot a look at Liz.
She popped the fiddle on her shoulder and dragged the bow across the strings in an old Irish song that put even a bigger smile on Grandma’s face.
“You sure you ain’t Irish, darlin’?” Grandma clapped in time with the music.
Liz winked at Grandma and kept playing.
Raylen raised an eyebrow at her and matched her note for note.
Rye picked up the tune on the guitar and Colleen did the same with the banjo. Grandma placed the dulcimer in her lap and began to strum. When that song ended Grandma went right into “Rye Whiskey,” and Liz didn’t miss a beat. She glanced over at Raylen and flashed her brightest smile.
You are flirting, Lizelle. She heard Aunt Tressa’s voice and almost dropped her bow. Less than twenty-four hours and you’re letting a cowboy and a silly Christmas wish run your life, possibly even ruin it. You have the gift. I’ve told you that a million times, so why don’t you stop fighting it and come back where you belong.
She argued as she played. I’m going to work on Tuesday morning. That should keep me away from him. And I’m not flirting, and I don’t have any gift. I just watched you from the time I was born and learned to read people’s expressions and emotions. It only takes a couple of well-placed questions and a pack of cards to tell a fortune. There’s nothing to it.
Liz’s shoulder ached by the time Grandma finished the last fast tune and held up her hand. “I’m tired and ready for my Sunday nap now. You younguns can keep on playin’ if you want to, but this old lady is going home.”
Grandpa slowly made his way over to her side and held out a hand.
She passed the dulcimer off to Colleen, brushed back her gray hair, and looked up into his eyes. “Thank you, darlin’.”
He looped her arm into his. “Anything for my sweetheart.”
Aunt Tressa, where are you? Did you see that? That’s what I want for Christmas: a love like theirs.
Before Aunt Tressa’s voice could argue with her, Jasmine hollered from the quilt, “Hey, Liz. You want to follow me to the Chicken Fried? I’ll show you around a little while it’s empty, and you’ll know where it is.”
“Love to.” Liz opened her fiddle case, loosened the strings, and put her instrument away. Raylen was playing a haunting rendition of “Danny Boy” when she got into her truck and followed Jasmine’s SUV down the lane.
Chapter 3
The buffet at the café in Bowie was filled from one end to the other with comfort food. It was a very different café than the Chicken Fried. Jasmine’s place was an old-fashioned plate lunch type of café where people sat down, ordered from a menu, and waited for their food to be served.
Liz was hungry enough that the pinto beans cooked with ham, fried okra and crispy brown squash, hash brown casserole, corn bread, and roast beef all looked good. Marva Jo called it comfort food. Aunt Tressa called it sin on a plate. Uncle Haskell called it down home cooking.
When she placed her tray on a corner table for two people, she couldn’t believe that she’d put so much food on it. There was enough there for her, Tressa, Marva, and even Blaze. And Blaze could eat a small cow when he was hungry. Thank goodness she’d paid at the door and it was all-you-can-eat, but still she blushed slightly when she unloaded the bowls and plates from the tray.
“Mind if I join you?” Raylen asked.
He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against the soft part of her neck right below her earlobe. She jerked her head around and looked right into his blue eyes.
“Raylen?”
“I’m not stalking you,” he stammered.
She eased into her chair and motioned for him to sit across from her. “I didn’t think you were.”
He set his plate and bowls off the tray and picked up her tray to hand it to a waiter with his. Their hands brushed in the transfer, and she got that same feeling she’d had on Saturday night when he was close enough to kiss her, and on Sunday when he guided her through the O’Donnell house with his arm draped loosely around her shoulders.
“I was down here loading up on seed and fertilizer. What are you doing in Bowie?” he asked as he sat down.
“I’ve got to stock up at Walmart,” she answered as she slathered butter on her cornbread. “Basics like cleansers, and I’m going to buy five books today because I can put them on my bookcase and not have to donate them to the next library.”
“Why couldn’t you keep them before now?” he asked.
“I’ve lived with my mother in a fifth-wheel trailer my whole life. We don’t have room except for the necessities. I was twenty-five this past August and was thinking about getting my own trailer. I already have a truck big enough to pull it, and I can have a riggin’ put in the bed to hook up to with no problem. But Uncle Haskell left me his land, and I’m talking too much.” She blushed.
“I love to hear your voice, so talk away, but I do want you to know that I would still buy that land anytime you want to sell,” Raylen said.
“It’s not for sale,” she said.
“I understand, but remember to call me if you change your mind and decide to buy that trailer. So, what did you think of the café? Are you going to really take a waitress job?” he asked.
She nodded.
“It’s tough work,” he said.
“I’m a tough woman,” she said.
Raylen chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Liz had a fork full of okra headed toward her mouth, but it stopped mid-air.
“You don’t look so tough,” Raylen said.
“Oh? What can you tell about me just by lookin’?” she asked.
He started at her forehead and scanned all the way to where the top of the table stopped his eyes, then leaned back, looked under the table, and let his eyes travel down the length of her legs to her black high-heeled shoes. She started to tell him that he was being rude and crude, but she had challenged him.
He reached across the table, picked up her hands and turned them over to look at the palms. He took his time studying them, and then said, “You don’t work with your hands. They don’t have calluses like someone who works hard for a living. They’re also not dry and wrinkled like someone who’s done a job that involved lots of water like dishwashing. You are fit, so that means you either work out at an expensive gym or exercise on a regular basis. I’d say you come from a wealthy background and don’t know jack squat about keeping house or taking care of twenty acres of land. How’d I do?”
