Jan Hudson - One Ticket To Texas

Sounds of the chain saw came from the shed, and Irish figured that Kyle was back at work on another bear or a bow-legged cowpoke. She went inside the store and hesitated only a moment before she tiptoed upstairs. She didn’t want to disturb the old gentleman if he was still sleeping.

Following the noise of a TV, she went toward an open door off the landing, noting as she passed that the large painting on the wall there was an excellent copy of a Remington. And much more attractive than the Indian and spotted pony on her walls.

The room she peeked in was a large library. Straight ahead was a huge stone fireplace with another of the Remington copies hung on it and several Southwestern pots and such on the mantel. Two large leather couches flanked the fireplace and a coffee table, made from a slice- of a huge tree, sat between the oxblood couches. Additional pots and a statue of a breechclouted brave, much more finely wrought than the wooden ones downstairs, stood atop the table. Other wing chairs and leather club chairs with ottomans were grouped around the room. The place looked more like a gentlemen’s club than the upstairs of the junky trading post below.

Floor to ceiling shelves in polished wood took up most of the available wall space, and they were filled with books. Her gaze followed the bulging shelves until they came to an alcove at one end of the room, to a hospital bed beside a window, to a pair of dark eyes watching her.

She smiled. “Hello. I’m Irish Ellison. May I come in?”

“Looks like you’re in already. Come closer and let me get a good gander at you. These old eyes ain’t what they used to be. Irish, you say? Never heard nobody named that except it was a nickname.”

“It’s my real name. My mother was mostly Irish and a romantic,” she said as she crossed the room to the bed.

He reminded her of an older, more wiry version of Willie Nelson. His hair was thinning on top, but the sides hung in long gray braids. The skin over his high cheekbones was leathery and wrinkled, but his dark eyes flashed with vitality, and Irish doubted if they missed much.

He held up a remote control and pressed it. The TV sound died. “I’m Pete Beamon, but everybody calls me Cherokee Pete. Called me that as long as I can remember. Half Cherokee from my mother’s side. M‘wife was Irish. Honey-colored hair and blue eyes she had. Beautiful woman, like you. Been gone forty-three years next November. She was a schoolteacher. Taught me how to read after I was grown. We started collecting these books over fifty years ago. Come, sit down here.” He pointed to an easy chair beside his bed. “Tell me what a pretty gal like you is doin’ in these parts.”

“Don’t let me interrupt your—” Irish glanced to the wall where the television was and startled. Instead of a single TV, a bank of six screens were mounted there. Two were blank, but two showed the interior of the store downstairs, and two others scanned the outside grounds. “But that’s—”

“Surveillance. These old eyes don’t miss much. You take a hankerin’ to my grandson?”

Irish cleared her throat and tried not to squirm. “He’s—he’s very attractive, but I’m not interested.”

Cherokee Pete gave a little bark of laughter. “That’s not what I saw. I like the cut of you, Irish Ellison. Could tell that right off. Tell you what. You marry my grandson, and I’ll give you a million dollars.”

Three

Irish laughed at the old man’s joke. “He’s a handsome devil. Don’t tempt me. Anxious to be rid of him, are you?”

“I’m anxious to have some great-grandkids before I kick the bucket. Not a single one of my grandsons is married. Ain’t natural. Kyle tells me you’re going to read to me some.”

“If you’d like.”

“Course I’d like,” Pete said. “Just cause I’m older’n dirt don’t mean I can’t appreciate the company of a beautiful young lady.”

“What would you like for me to read?”

Pete picked up the book lying on the bed beside him and handed it to her. “I’d like to hear the rest of this. I was near ’bout finished when my eyes played out. Need new glasses, but it will be a while before I can get to the eye doctor now that I busted my hip. Kyle says he’ll take me in a couple of weeks.”

Irish looked at the big volume. “John Grisham’s newest. You a fan of his?”

“He’s right good when I’m in the mood for his kind of book. I read purt near everything from shoot ‘em ups to philosophy. My grandkids know I like readin’ so I get a lots of books for Christmas and the like. Marker’s where I left off.”

She opened the book at the page where the tasseled leather strip lay and started to read the last few chapters.

Kyle stood at the door and listened to Irish’s beautifully modulated voice as she read to the old man. John Grisham had never sounded so exciting to him.

Or so sexy.

He didn’t pay much attention to the words of the narrative, only her tone, which oozed over him like warm buttered honey. When a bit of dialogue came, she changed her voice slightly to take on the character, then switched back to the slow, sensual utterances.

At last she paused, then said, “The end.”

Grandpa Pete cackled. “A million dollars! Yes, siree, a million dollars. No. Make that two million.”

Irish laughed, and Kyle rushed in before his grandfather started writing out a check. Pete was very generous with people he liked. “I see that you two are getting along,” Kyle said.

“Like a house afire,” Pete said. “This one’s a keeper. Danged if she can’t make that book come alive as good as one of them New York actresses.”

“I heard,” Kyle said. “You are very good. Ever consider acting?”

“Early on,” Irish replied. “I majored in drama for two years, but I dropped out of college and went into modeling instead.”

“Modeling?” Pete asked. “I thought Kyle said you was a writer.”

“I am. I don’t do modeling anymore.”

“Was you in the magazines like that Cindy Crawford or Claudia what’s-her-name, that foreign gal?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t quite in their league. How do you know about Cindy and Claudia?”

The old man winked. “Told you I read purt near everything. Even look at one of them women’s magazines now and then. You know, now that I think on it, I believe I’ve seen your picture somewheres.”

“Not for a couple of years. Would you like to start another book?”

“Not right now. I think I’ll take a little nap or maybe watch Oprah. You and Kyle run along and get better acquainted.” He winked meaningfully at Irish again. “If you know what I mean.”

She laughed. “Not on your life.”

As Irish and Kyle walked downstairs, he asked, “What is my grandfather up to now? He hasn’t made any indecent proposals has he?”

“No. We were just joking. He offered me a million dollars if I would marry you. Then he upped it to two.”

“My God!”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t take him seriously. I know that the proceeds from this place and his monthly Social Security check haven’t made him a millionaire, but he’s an old dear anyway. If he were rolling in dough though, I might have to give his offer serious consideration.”

Kyle’s step faltered. “Oh?”

She smiled. “I’m sure that I’m not the first woman to tell you that you’re an extremely attractive man. And two million dollars would make you darned near irresistible.”

His step faltered again. “Money turn you on?”

“Green is my very favorite color. As I said, you’re an attractive guy in lots of ways, but you’re safe from me. No offense intended, but I plan on marrying a rich man.”

All sorts of alarms started going off in his head. “That so?”

“Yep.”

“What about love?”

“Oh, I don’t want just any rich man. I want one that I can love, of course. But being able to sleep soundly without worrying about security generates a lot of affection.”

Her tone was light and teasing, but Kyle sensed an underlying agenda that prompted her attitude. What was it that worried her at night? He wondered if it had anything to do with the scars on the left side of her face. The faint lines were almost imperceptible. With her skillful makeup, nobody but a professional giving her as close a scrutiny as he had would have detected the slight traces.

He ached to ask her more, but now was not the time. Instead he chuckled and said, “I’ll drink to that. Do you mind watching the store for a while? I need to check some things with my grandfather.”

“No problem.”

He turned and hurried back upstairs.

When Pete spied Kyle, he said, “What are you doing up here? Why ain’t you down courtin’ Irish? I like her, son. I like her a lot. She’d make you a fine wife. You’d have good-looking kids.”

“Aren’t you rushing things a bit?”

“Nope. I knew right off that your grandmother was the woman for me.”

“Well, I’m different,” Kyle said. “I need a bit more time. And there’s a hitch with Irish.”

“A hitch?”

Kyle sat down beside the bed and blew out a big breath. “It seems that she wants to marry a rich man.”

Pete gave a hoot of laughter. “Then you’re in good shape there. Besides the ten I gave you, how many million did you have at last count?”

“That’s not the point. You see, I could be very interested in Irish, but I don’t want somebody who looks at me and only sees dollar signs.”

Pete nodded. “I get you. So you’re going to lie to her?”

“No. Yes.” Kyle dropped his hat on his knee and ran his fingers through his hair. “Hell, I don’t know. But I wouldn’t want to fall for a gold digger. For the moment I’d just as soon that she not know that you’re wealthy or that I’m wealthy or—”

“Or that you’re a plastic surgeon.”

“Right. Or that Jackson is your grandson and my cousin.”

“Why is that?”

Kyle grinned. “Because I’m going to see if I can stall Jackson and that bunch of his in Dallas for an extra day or two. I don’t want Irish tempted by all those men and all that money until I can get a toehold in her affections.”

“Won’t she suspect something if she sees the oil wells on the property?”

“If she mentions it, I’ll tell her that they belong to Jackson or somebody. She won’t have any way of knowing that the land is yours. Will you play along with me?”

“My lips are sealed. As far as I’m concerned, you’re nothing but a shiftless bum, and I’m one step away from food stamps.”

“You don’t have to go quite that far.”

Cherokee Pete’s eyes twinkled. “I do believe you’ve taken quite a liking to our Irish already for you to go to so much trouble.”

“I’ll admit that she intrigues me.”

Pete cackled. “Intrigues, hell. She’s got your juices pumping. I ain’t so old I can’t remember. Check that roast you put in the oven, then go on down there and get to courtin’.”

Kyle decided to do just that.

He and Irish spent the rest of the afternoon in the store, waiting on the occasional customer and talking about everything from favorite colors to politics. They found that, despite a difference in their backgrounds and the fact that he liked blue to her green, they had a lot in common. In fact, after gazing for a spell into those lovely emerald green eyes of hers, he was beginning to change his mind about blue. Green was enchanting.

At dinnertime, They went upstairs and Kyle checked the roast that he had prepared earlier under Pete’s tutelage. He poked the meat with a fork, then poked the carrots, onions and potatoes. “That looks done to me. Does it look done to you?”