phone to cancel your credit cards and report your driver’s license stolen if that’s what’s bothering you,” Clint offered. Guilt crept up on him. He turned his attention to his glass of milk.
“The joke is on them. I maxed my cards out in Phoenix, and my driver’s license expired several months ago. I liked the picture and wanted to keep it for a while longer. I was five years younger then. I’ll call my father when we get to a town. He’s paying my utility bills while I’m gone and collecting the mail. With luck, he’ll pay down my cards, too.” Renee took a lethargic bite from her toast and chewed it very slowly.
“Is something else the matter, Tiger?” Clint asked. “You feel okay?”
“I’m fine. I need to get to a drugstore, though.”
“Hey, I told you last night I got plenty of condoms. Don’t worry about losing your diaphragm with that bag.”
“I need to get some make-up. You’ll have to loan me the money.”
“Sure, but do you really need it?” Clint raised her chin. She shut her eyes. “What do I see here? Freckles. Looks like someone sprinkled cinnamon across your nose. And luscious pink lips. You look good enough to eat.”
No way would he mention the small lines in the corners of her eyes. He wasn’t an idiot. “Finish your breakfast, and I’ll eat you right up before we get on the road.”
Clinton O. Beck was always as good as his word.
****
Still, when they arrived at the first small town having a pharmacy, Renee begged him to pull into the lot. He shelled out a twenty and told her to “go to town.” He’d wait in the truck. Renee’s mouth hung open. The concealer she ordered from Neiman Marcus in Dallas cost three times this amount. She hadn’t used drugstore cosmetics in more than ten years, but she got out of the cab to see what she could gather.
A half hour later, she came back asking for another ten, please. He doled it out. When she slid back into the Nelle, Clint looked at the size of the bag and shook his head.
“You know, you don’t need all that gunk. I think you look all fresh-faced and dewy without it.”
“Moisturizer. I forgot moisturizer. Without it in this climate, I’ll crack like a rotten board.” Renee snatched the change, ran into the store again, and came back clutching a large bottle of lotion.
“Renee, you have plenty of good years left. Take it easy.”
“That’s what men always say. They get distinguished. Women get old.”
She’d purchased two lipsticks and rolled one over her lips, making them darker with a bronze sheen. Next, she attempted to smear some potion across her freckles using the mirror on the visor. Not working. The little cinnamon dots still showed, just slightly lightened.
“I can’t go out in public like this.”
“Sure you can, Tiger. I’m proud to be seen with you.” Clint put the Nelle into gear and rolled forward to the next rodeo.
Chapter Nine
The Fourth of July caught them in a small Utah town so tinder dry all fireworks had been banned. Wandering among fair-haired families with enough children to compete with any Cajun Catholic brood, they ate watermelon slices and watched the veterans, trailed by children on decorated bicycles, parade down the main street. Clint lost the seed-spitting contest to the local champ and good-naturedly accepted a second place ribbon. Renee claimed watching the hot dog eating contest made her queasy.
The next day, they were on the road again ending up at a small rodeo each weekend. Clint promised they would hit the big time in Wyoming at the end of July for the Daddy of ’em All, Cheyenne Frontier Days, where he had a big contract to fulfill. He had to say Renee was being a good sport about the situation. In fact, her docility worried him. Casually as they bumped along the back roads, he asked her, “How come you decided to stay with me.”
“Oh, that evening you returned to The Tin Can all bruised up it came to me that I’d been acting like a bitch. I mean,
“The joke is on them. I maxed my cards out in Phoenix, and my driver’s license expired several months ago. I liked the picture and wanted to keep it for a while longer. I was five years younger then. I’ll call my father when we get to a town. He’s paying my utility bills while I’m gone and collecting the mail. With luck, he’ll pay down my cards, too.” Renee took a lethargic bite from her toast and chewed it very slowly.
“Is something else the matter, Tiger?” Clint asked. “You feel okay?”
“I’m fine. I need to get to a drugstore, though.”
“Hey, I told you last night I got plenty of condoms. Don’t worry about losing your diaphragm with that bag.”
“I need to get some make-up. You’ll have to loan me the money.”
“Sure, but do you really need it?” Clint raised her chin. She shut her eyes. “What do I see here? Freckles. Looks like someone sprinkled cinnamon across your nose. And luscious pink lips. You look good enough to eat.”
No way would he mention the small lines in the corners of her eyes. He wasn’t an idiot. “Finish your breakfast, and I’ll eat you right up before we get on the road.”
Clinton O. Beck was always as good as his word.
****
Still, when they arrived at the first small town having a pharmacy, Renee begged him to pull into the lot. He shelled out a twenty and told her to “go to town.” He’d wait in the truck. Renee’s mouth hung open. The concealer she ordered from Neiman Marcus in Dallas cost three times this amount. She hadn’t used drugstore cosmetics in more than ten years, but she got out of the cab to see what she could gather.
A half hour later, she came back asking for another ten, please. He doled it out. When she slid back into the Nelle, Clint looked at the size of the bag and shook his head.
“You know, you don’t need all that gunk. I think you look all fresh-faced and dewy without it.”
“Moisturizer. I forgot moisturizer. Without it in this climate, I’ll crack like a rotten board.” Renee snatched the change, ran into the store again, and came back clutching a large bottle of lotion.
“Renee, you have plenty of good years left. Take it easy.”
“That’s what men always say. They get distinguished. Women get old.”
She’d purchased two lipsticks and rolled one over her lips, making them darker with a bronze sheen. Next, she attempted to smear some potion across her freckles using the mirror on the visor. Not working. The little cinnamon dots still showed, just slightly lightened.
“I can’t go out in public like this.”
“Sure you can, Tiger. I’m proud to be seen with you.” Clint put the Nelle into gear and rolled forward to the next rodeo.
Chapter Nine
The Fourth of July caught them in a small Utah town so tinder dry all fireworks had been banned. Wandering among fair-haired families with enough children to compete with any Cajun Catholic brood, they ate watermelon slices and watched the veterans, trailed by children on decorated bicycles, parade down the main street. Clint lost the seed-spitting contest to the local champ and good-naturedly accepted a second place ribbon. Renee claimed watching the hot dog eating contest made her queasy.
The next day, they were on the road again ending up at a small rodeo each weekend. Clint promised they would hit the big time in Wyoming at the end of July for the Daddy of ’em All, Cheyenne Frontier Days, where he had a big contract to fulfill. He had to say Renee was being a good sport about the situation. In fact, her docility worried him. Casually as they bumped along the back roads, he asked her, “How come you decided to stay with me.”
“Oh, that evening you returned to The Tin Can all bruised up it came to me that I’d been acting like a bitch. I mean,
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