Mendocino Jones in No Place for the Weak at Heart

Slippery As An Ice Cube

Racing away from the hospital, rage overcame Bobby, a powerful wave choking him. He pounded the steering wheel. Yes, dammit. Yes. Somewhere, back there, he always knew she'd come back. She'd get past her anger and remember who she belonged to.

Maybe April was right, it was only his hurt pride.

No! He loved Tillie. One scene after another played in his mind, like a movie. He and Tillie laughing, riding horseback through lonesome country, sitting in each other's arms by a campfire under a million stars, her head on his chest. Nothing erases memories of young love. His heart hurt remembering her words: I won't marry a man I can't trust, Bobby. I can't trust you.

Then April. "Tillie folded. Cashed in her chips... Look at me, Bobby. I love you. Me. April. I'll stand by you."

He pulled over on the side of the highway, put his arms around the steering wheel, resting his head on it, his eyes closed, an agonizing ache in his chest, his eyes dry.

What happened at the hospital spurred an emotion he'd never experienced. April said he humiliated himself at the Starlight. He didn't feel it then. Now he did. Everybody knew it but him. April, Pops, even fucking Amos Mendoza knew Tillie wasn't his anymore. He'd lost her forever. Like he lost John David.

He drove to April's house on the Presidio side of Marfa, up the long drive leading to the expansive English Tudor mansion John David built for her. So out of place. Too genteel for the Marfa Plateau. He'd told John David when he built it, the place was like someone wore a tuxedo to the rodeo and thought he fit in.

He parked in the red-brick drive, taking long strides up the brick sidewalk, tromping up the brick steps, standing on a curved, white-columned, red-brick porch in front of arched, twelve-foot double doors. Bay windows on either side.

Bobby raised his fist to knock. But he froze. Held out his thumb to press the doorbell. Didn't.

It had been in his mind to take April and hold her, to bed her and marry her, to get Tillie Tomlin out of his head forever. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was not in love with April, beautiful as she was. He never would be. Not like that. He was trudging back to his truck, dejection on his face, and in his carriage when he heard the big doors open.

"I saw you drive up," she called to him. "Why are you leaving?"

Bobby kept walking away, answering with his back to her, "Not a good idea."

"Come inside and have a drink." She'd stepped onto the porch.

He stopped and turned. She wore emerald-green workout clothes; form-fitting stretchy material showing off her firm curves. Long legs, flat abdomen, trim waist, full breasts. Auburn hair piled on top of her head, spilling out of a hairband and curling along her neck. She was a captivating woman.

Against his better judgment, Bobby followed her command through the foyer into the big living room with its enormous oil paintings and spiral staircase. He plopped on the couch, tossing his hat upside down on the coffee table as April walked to a marble bar beneath the staircase.

"What's got you so upset?" she asked. "It's written all over you. What's wrong?"

He lay his head back on the couch, raking his fingers through his hair. "Someone tried to kill Tillie."

He saw her stiffen, arching her back. April slammed the liquor bottle on the bar and twirled around on her heels. "Oh, God! Again? Tillie, Tillie, Tillie!"

Bobby sat upright, his forehead furrowed, eyes wide. "Did you hear what I said? Someone tried to kill her."

April turned her back on him, pouring the drinks, her voice catty. "Well, you said 'tried.' I assume they failed."

She walked from the bar, handing him a glass of bourbon and Coke, and returning to the bar to pour one for herself.

Bobby threw back his drink. "She's in the hospital. So is the guy who tried to kill her."

April froze in her pour. Why'd she do that?

"Really?" She sounded cool.

"Yes." He got up from the couch, crossed the room, and handed her the empty glass, signaling for another. She took it, glaring at him. He studied April as she poured the second drink. Her eyes were a little wild. Her cheeks paled. She handed his glass back, refilled with whiskey and Coke. He clomped it onto the marble bar. "Now what's the matter with you?" His eyes were slits. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"Nothing." She shifted her shoulders and rolled her neck. "I guess it's just hitting me."

"What do you know about it, April?"

Her eyes, crystal green, met his gaze. He knew malice when he saw it. "I can't imagine why you would ask that." Was he supposed to believe she was hurt?

"Because you didn't bat an eye when I said someone tried to kill her, but you froze like a scared rabbit when I said the man who hurt her was in the hospital."

She waved her long, perfectly manicured hand. "Don't be ridiculous. It's setting in, that's all." She plunged a straw into her drink, jabbing it up and down, and sipped.

Bobby knew in that instant why he never trusted April. She was as slippery as an ice cube. He knew what he'd seen. "You did!" He jabbed his forefinger at her, snarling. "You had something to do with it!"

"You fool." She sneered. "You're so obsessed with her you can't think straight. Do I despise her? Yes. Hell, yes. The idiot little twit. Did I try to kill her or have her killed? You're being stupid, Bobby." She tilted her chin, her eyes ablaze. "And you can't fix stupid." She scoffed at him again. "Go home to Hank. I need a man. Not a lovesick schoolboy."

She slammed her half-empty glass on the marble bar top, turned, stomped away, and up the spiral stairs. Bobby watched her every move. "I trust you can see yourself out," she called over her shoulder, her hand on the banister.

"Get back here!"

She stopped, then slowly turned to face him. "You come here."

"No, April. I said you come here!" Bobby pointed to the floor in front of him.

Her eyes were leery, but she walked slowly, deliberately, back down the stairs, stopping inches in front of him and looking up. Their angry gazes held.

Then he pulled her to him, grabbed her hair, forced her head back, and kissed her hard, as he never had before; all the rage, humiliation, and pain turning into raw passion. He picked her up and carried her in his arms up the long, winding stairs.