“What you want to drink, darlin’?”
“I’ll have whiskey and seven.”
“Barkeep. A whiskey and seven plus a draft beer. So, how do you know Chloe?”
“I bought my cat from her. I pick him up tomorrow.”
Clint laughed. “My sister and her cats.”
“She thought we’d have a lot in common.”
“Like what?”
“She said you like Italian spaghetti westerns. So do I.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“The Good, The Bad and the Ugly with Clint Eastwood.”
“Love that one. Fistful of Dollars was good too.”
Clint looked up at the television to see the football game score, apparently losing interest.
“I really like this song,” Rosalind said, attempting to bring him back.
He listened for a moment. “I do too!” he said with delight. “Faith Hill is one of my favorite artists. You want to dance?”
“Hi, Clint,” a feminine voice said behind him before Rosalind could answer.
“Corrine!” He turned around with a big grin on his face. “So glad you could make it!”
He invited both of us? Rosalind thought. Why in the world did Chloe think we would get along?
She took the opportunity to look him up and down. He was dressed as a true cowboy--chaps, boots, and vest. His dark curly hair swept the collar of a silk western shirt and cotton kerchief around his neck. His boots were alligator, expensive and clean, obviously not used to getting dirty on a ranch.
Rosalind liked the charm of her friend’s brother, but apparently, he plied those charms on every woman that came along.
Corrine was batting her enormous mascaraed eyes under teased brunette hair. She wore a short Bohemian floral skirt, and elasticized V-necked top that dipped below the rim of her white lace bra, showing cleavage the size of melons, which she thrust in Clint’s direction. She shifted her weight provocatively from hip to hip on four-inch platform heels.
Rosalind compared her own attire--a long-sleeved white cotton western shirt with pearl button, jeans, and boots that had very much seen the dirt of a ranch, clean but obviously working footwear. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a pony tail. Apparently, she wasn’t al-lure-ing enough, not the right kind of “bait” to catch the man.
She’d hoped after meeting Chloe and admiring her authenticity, that her brother would have been more authentic, too, but he was just as artificial as Corrine’s acrylic heels.
She took the last sip of her drink while he continued to chat up Corrine, carefully placed the glass on the shiny counter, bottom side up, and began walking toward the exit.
“Rosalind! Where you goin’ Darlin?”
“Three’s a crowd. Have a good night.” She gave him a two-finger salute.
“Come on! We can all have a good time.”
Rosalind smiled and shook her head. Whatever he meant by that, I’m not into that sort of thing.
“We’re goin’ to play Texas Hold ‘Em,” he said. “Everybody’s welcome. Small pot.”
Ah, that’s what this was about. New blood to add to the pool of money.
“Maybe another time,” she said.
“How’d it go?” Chloe asked the next morning when Rosalind visited to pick up her cat.
Rosalind outlined the evening events. “I wish you’d warned me what was going on.”
“I had no clue. You both like to play golf. You both like the same country music. You both like cowboy movies. You both have a strong faith. I thought you’d talk about all of that.”
“We started to, but then Corrine was hanging all over him, very familiar, like they’d been very close recently, if you know what I mean.”
“You’re such an awesome person. I was hoping you and Clint would hit it off. But unfortunately, he usually goes for those clingy types, but it never lasts. And you’re certainly not clingy.”
“Nope. Too independent, I suppose,” Rosalind said. “Oh well, thanks for the attempt. And thanks for Sneaky, my cat. I love him! Let’s stay in touch.”
“You got it,” said Chloe. “I’m glad we had the pleasure of meeting.”
Rosalind thought about Clint and all the other make-believe cowboys she’d met at the Stampede Dance Club and Hard Rock Cafés. She wrote a song that went like this:
Playin’ Cowboy
He’s out playin’ cowboy
Ropin’ in the west.
Buckin’ past the Broncos
On Highway 46.
Charmin’ all the ladies
And leavin them each time
Playin’ Texas Hold Me
And losin’ his last dime.
They’ve all been blindsided
By the boy within the man
Getting them to laugh
And movin’ on again.
Chorus:
There’s sugar in his tongue
A twinkle in his eye
A hand that melts your heart
And words that always lie.
And no one can hold him
And no one ever will
You’ll see the back of his pickup
A’Rollin’ on down the hill.
2nd
He’s out playin’ cowboy
Drivin’ on the range
Herdin’ all the birdies
Now don’t you think it strange
Alligator boots
A cell phone at his side
Quick draw. Hello pilgrim
Let’s mount up and ride
And who’s that sidekick with you
You know Tonto would be proud
Alan, George and Toby
Singin’ sweet and loud
Chorus:
There’s sugar in his tongue
A twinkle in his eye
A hand that melts your heart
And words that always lie.
And no one can hold him
And no one ever will
You’ll see the back of his pickup
A’Rollin’ on down the hill.
3rd
He’s out playin’ cowboy
No tellin’ where he’s been
Billy, Doc and Sundance
Would be glad to call him friend
Teachin’ school on Sunday
Dancin’ in the rain
Searchin’ for the answers
Calamity and Jane.
He’s puttin’ Faith on high
Comin’ close to whisper low
Drinkin’ beer and kissin’
At the Hard Rock Rodeo.
Chorus
There’s sugar in his tongue
A twinkle in his eye
A hand that melts your heart
And words that always lie.
And no one can hold him
And no one ever will
You’ll see the back of his pickup
A’Rollin’ on down the hill.
Copyright August 2021 Laura Deane LLC
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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