“Pizza your favorite food?” he asked.
“No, but you can’t laugh if I tell you,” she whispered. “And you might have to sign in blood and put the document in the wall safe.”
His curiosity was piqued. “Give me one of those napkins. I’ll prick my finger.”
It was her turn to laugh and it felt good to be sitting in a hotel room flirting with a sexy cowboy who thought she was beautiful. “It’s hamburgers. Big old greasy hamburgers with mustard, lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles and french fries and a big chocolate malt.”
“Onions?”
She shook her head. “Not me. Ruins a kiss.”
“You are kidding me, aren’t you?”
Another wiggle of the head. “No, sir! I love pizza, but burgers are my favorite. Momma says it’s my backwoods blood surfacing.”
“Was your momma backwoods?” he asked between bites.
She picked up her very own piece of the pie. “No, but her grandmother, the granny who is still alive in Louisiana, was. Goes like this. Granny lived out in the Bayou Teche on an island and only came to town a couple of times a year and they docked the boat at a ramp that a sugar plantation owner had built. Story has it that when she was eighteen her family came to town and the plantation owner’s son was fishing off the ramp. The next month they were married. Momma met Daddy when he came to Louisiana to do a piece on sugarcane for his dad’s magazine.”
“So back there in the woodpile you’ve already got a few redneck genes?”
“No, darlin’, I got Cajun genes. There’s a big difference.”
Haley and Dewar were both in the panting stages of the grand finale of wild morning sex when the room phone rang. Simultaneously they threw back the sheet and sat straight up, eyes wide and stunned.
On the second ring, Dewar grabbed the receiver and said, “Hello.”
Haley took several deep breaths. It had only been a month since she’d heard a telephone, so why did it scare the bejesus out of her? And who in the hell other than the front desk even knew where they were? If it was the snooty lady down at the desk, she hoped Dewar read her the riot act.
But his voice was all honey and sugar when he said, “Yes, ma’am.”
She cut her eyes around to see the phone receiver coming right at her hand.
“Your mother,” he mouthed.
She put it to her ear but couldn’t say a word for a second because she was busy watching Dewar’s fine-looking butt going toward the bathroom.
“Haley!” Jenny Levy yelled.
“Hello, Mother,” Haley said.
“Who answered your phone?”
“Dewar, and you know that because the room is in his name, not mine,” Haley said.
Silence.
“What are you doing in his room?”
“It’s our room. He paid for it, so his name is on the register.”
More silence.
“You want to explain?”
“Not right now.”
“Have your fling, but you will explain when you get home tomorrow. We have a conference at five o’clock. We’ll have a private one with your father, you, and me at four thirty. That will give you plenty of time,” Jenny said.
“Tomorrow I’m going straight to the spa when I get home. Even a mother’s love would be shocked at the way I look right now, and when you see me with freckles and a farmer’s tan, you take it all up with Daddy. Wednesday I’ll come to the house for supper,” she said.
“It’s dinner, not supper, and Joel is invited but not at home. We’re going out that evening to celebrate you coming home.”
Haley rolled her eyes.
“He would like a second chance,” Jenny said.
“I wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I think you would.”
“Momma, that boat has left the harbor. It wrecked at sea and there were no survivors. You can invite whomsoever you please to dinner but it ain’t happenin’ with me and Joel.”
“We’ll see. See you on Wednesday. Reservations have already been made at your favorite restaurant.”
“McDonald’s?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! You’ve grown up past burgers and fries.”
Dewar came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, water droplets still hanging on his hair, and smelling like Stetson. He dropped the towel and crawled up from the bottom of the king-sized bed like a big cat, his eyes twinkling in mischief.
Haley giggled. “Gotta go, Momma. See you Wednesday unless I decide to stay a whole week in Dodge City and hitchhike home.”
She reached across the bed, put the receiver back on the base, and popped up on her hands and knees to crawl toward Dewar. She growled deep in her throat and he responded. The next sound out of her was a sexy purr that could have been heard all the way down to the lobby.
***
Boot Hill Museum covers a whole city block on land that once was Boot Hill Cemetery and still has a few of those ancient graves with rough wood crosses bearing the names of the folks lying six feet under.
Haley and Dewar bought tickets in the gift shop but they made out in the darkness through the fifteen-minute video presentation about the area instead of watching the film. They held hands as they started the tour, first in the cemetery, then in the exhibit hall, and finally down to the actual replica of an old-time Western town.
“First stop, the Long Branch Saloon,” he said. “You’d have made a right fetching dancing girl in your short-tailed skirts and fancy shoes.”
“And you’d have been the cowboy who came in and sat right up close to the stage, right?”
“Oh, honey, I’d have been the cowboy who snatched you off that stage and carried you over my shoulder back to my ranch so far back in the sticks no other man would have ever been able to take you away from me.” He kissed her lips, still bee-stung from that morning’s romp in the hotel room and the making-out session in the darkness of the tiny theater.
“Well, if that’s the case, then buy me a beer. I might never get another one if I’m living on the backside of hell for the rest of my life.”
He smiled, but a niggling thought surfaced that reminded him she would probably look at his ranch like the backside of hell after living the fast-paced life that Dallas offered.
She sat down on one of the bar stools and crossed one leg over the other.
He held up two fingers to the bartender. “Two beers, longneck Coors if you have them.”
He turned his attention back to Haley while the bartender wiped the moisture from the outside of the bottles.
“You are beautiful in that pretty dress, Miz Haley.” He ran a hand up her thigh and smiled when goose bumps rose up.
“That makes me hot,” she whispered softly.
The bartender set the bottles down in front of them. “Two beers. Need glasses?”
“No, this is fine,” Dewar said.
“Y’all on your honeymoon?” he asked.
“Yes, we are,” Dewar said quickly.
“We don’t get many honeymooners, but I sure recognize them when we do. You make a good couple. Bet you are a bull rider and you do barrel racing, right?” he asked.
“You nailed it,” Haley said.
He whistled as he wiped down an already clean bar and waited on three elderly couples that had claimed a table close to the stage area.
“When did we get married? Did I miss something?” she whispered between sips of beer.
“Don’t you remember? It was just before I made an angel out of you,” Dewar teased.
“Do we have a picture to prove it?”
He whispered into her ear, “No, but there’s a picture place right down the street from the saloon. Want to get one done there for your momma?”
She turned quickly and kissed him full smack on the lips. The bartender stopped whistling and three little ladies giggled behind their dark brown sarsaparilla bottles.
“Yes, I will definitely need proof,” she said.
They carried their beers with them and meandered through one building after another until they reached the old-time picture place. Dewar tipped his bottle up and finished off the last drop before tossing it into a barrel just outside the place. He waited for Haley to do the same and then threw an arm around her shoulder and opened the door.
“You folks want a honeymoon picture made?” the man asked.
Dewar nodded.
“First a proper wedding picture and then we want one done where I’m a saloon girl and he’s the sheriff,” Haley said.
“Like Miss Kitty and Marshall Dillon?” he asked.
“That’s right, but first the wedding picture of her in that outfit.” Dewar pointed to a white dress and a lace veil hanging on the back of a chair.
“You are my second newlyweds today. Come right on over here, ma’am, and I’ll help get you hitched up into this dress.” He held it up like a backwards robe and she shoved her arms through the long sleeves, and then turned around to allow him to tie the back.
He fussed and muttered around getting the high collar to stand up just right and then handed Haley a handful of hairpins. “You’ve got such a good look for this picture. Would you mind twisting your hair up like they wore it in those days? There’s a mirror behind you.”
“You got a rubber band anywhere in this place?” she asked.
He handed her one from the desk behind the camera.
She’d seen her grandmother do her hair dozens of times. First she pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, fastened the rubber band a couple of inches from the scalp, then simply squatted it down to the top of her head, twisted, and held the loose bun down with a few pins.
“Wow!” Dewar exclaimed.
“Granny does it all the time. I figured I could copy what she does with a rubber band.” She pulled a few strands down from the washerwoman hairdo to frame her face.
The photographer set the lace veil right in front of the bun and smiled. “Perfect. Now you are going to stand behind your groom. Give me a minute to get him in the proper suit for a wedding.”
Haley watched as the photographer pulled out the right shirt and tied it behind Dewar’s back. Then he set a hat on his head, handed him a jacket, and patted the chair for him to sit.
“Shouldn’t the bride sit?” Dewar asked.
“No sir!” He laughed.
“Why?” Haley asked.
“It’s not proper for me to say such things in front of an innocent new bride.” He chuckled.
“After the picture is taken and I get into my saloon outfit, can you tell me?” she pressed on.
“Yes, ma’am. A man could tell a dancin’ girl such a thing but not a new bride. Now you stand right here behind him with your hands on his shoulders, over to the side just half a step so we can see more of your dress; that’s perfect, and now look this way. Oh, you two make the perfect newlyweds.”
He shot three different angles and then motioned for them to take a look on the computer screen. “Which one?”
“I want all three,” Haley said.
“I’ll take that one,” Dewar pointed.
“All eight-by-tens?” the photographer asked.
“Yes, sir.” Haley nodded.
“Why do you want all three?” Dewar asked.
“One for my desk. One for my granny for proof, and one for Momma. Now put me in the saloon getup and tell me why I stood and he sat in the last picture,” Haley said.
He quickly transformed her from a bride to a dancing girl and Dewar from a groom to a cowboy with chaps, a gun, a different hat, and spurs. “This time you sit on this stool right here, ma’am, and you, sir, put one arm around her shoulder. You look up into his eyes and you look down at her like you could eat her up.”
Dewar put an arm around her shoulder and tilted her chin up with his fist. “No problem doing that. I could eat her up.”
“Perfect. Hold it. Don’t move. God, you two are so good at this.”
He snapped three times in rapid order and then motioned for them to come take a look. “Would you sign a consent form for me to use this one as a display? If you will I’ll give you each a copy for free.”
“If you tell me your raunchy story about why I have to stand and he has to sit in the wedding photos,” Haley said.
He shoved a paper toward them and Haley signed with a flourish. Dewar’s handwriting was more cramped and tight.
“Okay, the story is like this. In the old days the photographer didn’t go to the wedding to take the picture on the very day the couple married. Usually, they got married in the living room of a loved one’s home or sometimes in the church, but it wasn’t the big affair that it is today. So the newly wedded couple waited until the next day after the wedding and came to town for the picture.”
“And?” Haley said when he stopped.
“Think about it,” he said.
Haley shook her head slowly. “I’m getting nothing. Explain it to me.”
“Okay, here’s the deal. It’s the next day after their first night together. Darlin’, he’s too tired to stand up and she’s too sore to sit down.”
Haley threw a hand over her mouth and laughed so hard she got the hiccups. “Damn, that’s funny,” she finally sputtered.
“And true.” Dewar chuckled.
“You got that right. I’ll take three of those too,” Haley said.
“I want three of them also,” Dewar said.
“For who?”
Dewar planted a kiss on her forehead. “One to hang above the mantel in our living room, honey. And one for my momma, and one for my granny. They’ll like the hussy picture better than the wedding picture.”
They paid the bill and told the photographer they’d pick up their pictures on their way back to the car. Then they wandered back outside, across the front lawn to the church where they sat down on a bench. Dewar carefully removed all the pins from Haley’s hair and pulled it free from the rubber band to let it fall down around her shoulders. Then he tangled his fingers in it and kissed her hard right there in front of all the tourists and even God if He was looking out the church window.
“You ever had sex in an outhouse?” he drawled.
Her nose snarled. “I don’t think I could get past the smell.”
Dewar’s face broke into a grin. “It’s a real outhouse, but it hasn’t been used in probably a hundred years or more.” He pointed to a small white house with peeling paint not far from the church. “I don’t reckon it’ll smell like anything but fresh air.”
She giggled. “I’m an outhouse virgin, but I’m game if you are.”
He pulled her up by her hand. “Are you serious? I want you right now, Haley. Must have been the photo session. God might strike me dead or else that little old lady over there with the blue hair might call the cops if we have sex on the church bench,” he said.
“Then outhouse, here we come.” She pulled him in that direction.
It was barely big enough for them to get inside and shut the door, but they managed. Dewar pinned her against the door and she hopped up to wrap her legs around his waist. His hands went to cup her bottom and his mouth found hers in a kiss that sent steam flying out the customary outhouse moon cut in the door.
He tore the side of her panties trying to get his big hand inside them, and she reached down to help him. Then suddenly her other hand and his were battling to see who could unzip his jeans and undo his belt fastest.
Her back was braced against the wall, one of his hands was still fumbling with her underpants, and then boom, he was inside and thrusting. The excitement in the small dark place with her so solid against the wall all but knocked the breath right out of her.
“Mercy!” she said.
And then it was over, three thrusts later, as fast as it had started. In all her memory, that had to be the quickest climax she’d ever reached.
“Whew!” he said.
“I know! And in an outhouse! It was fantastic,” she panted.
He eased her away from the wall and stepped back as far as he could, pulled a white handkerchief from his hip pocket, and handed it to her.
“Thank you. I was wondering about that.”
“Guess I owe you a new pair of underwear.” He chuckled.