I’m always a bitch, but bitchier than usual, and you didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. You asked for some respect and to live within your budget. I threw that in your face. I did plan to leave, but I kept hearing these insistent little voices in my head all night long saying I’d regret it if I didn’t stay.”
“You still hearing those voices, honey, because the heat can get pretty bad this time of year and the Nelle’s AC hardly works?”
“No, they went away once I made up my mind to keep traveling with you. Maybe it was my conscience talking. I didn’t know I had one.”
“Of course, you do. You just haven’t put it to good use for a while. Well, I’m sort of glad you stayed and that comes as a surprise to me, too.”
Dependent upon him for cash, she earned her keep by making their lunch, mostly salads and sandwiches since her cooking skills were limited, doing the dishes and laundry, and helping out when he signed autographs. She gave a great massage, too, which really counted for something far from whirlpool baths and professional services.
Clint thought Renee finally believed him when he said her eyes were lovely and her freckles added charm to her face. Or maybe it wasn’t his reassurances. As she gave out the stuffed toys they garnered at every truck stop claw machine along the way, small children often told her she was pretty and fingered her hair when she bent over to give them a small teddy bear or a yarn octopus. On one occasion when she’d offered to hold a tired child while the parents chatted with Clint, the little girl told Renee she was “comfy” and promptly went to sleep. Even Renee knew that very small children usually called it as they saw it.
She complained only once—about her backside spreading from too much driving and too little exercise. Yes, she knew she wore her clothes a little tight, but her jeans stretched to the point of uncomfortable. Clint had an easy answer for that. They got up at dawn and went running. He needed the workout as well without having access to the machines he used at the bigger venues. Preferring to run on a treadmill in the comfort of a gym, Renee had some trouble keeping up on the rough roads and in the high altitudes. He adjusted his stride and encouraged her each step of the way. He let her use his lighter hand weights, too. To tell the truth, she’d gotten a little less buff, not quite as honed, a little rounder, a little softer—and he liked her that way.
Out in the wilderness, wi-fi hot spots came few and far between. Carefully, he left Renee at the laundromat with their dirty clothes and a few new fashion magazines when he made for the local libraries to check his e-mail, confirm future performance dates, leave instructions for his broker, and drop his mother a line. Snuffy wrote often, asking how the Nelle and The Tin Can were holding up.
A couple of days out of Cheyenne, Renee took off her straw hat to fan herself at a gas station and obviously saw something horrifying the side view mirror.
“Ohmigod! My roots are showing. They’ve grown out more than half an inch. I can’t go back to civilization looking like this, Clint. I just can’t. My touchup kit was in my bag.”
“Well,” he said slowly, “your roots are a nice color, about the same shade as some other hair I’m fond of.”
“And that is growing out, too! I haven’t had a waxing in ages. Don’t joke about it, please! This is a crisis. What if they show me on the big screen while we’re in Cheyenne?”
“Keep your hat on. Everyone else does.”
“I’m not going then.” Renee plopped on the Nelle’s running board and crossed her arms. I’ll wait here for you, wherever here is.”
She looked as stubborn as that little donkey Snuffy used in his act. Clint glanced down the blacktop with a few small stores clumped on both sides, wherever’s Main Street, he guess. He hadn’t caught the name of the town when they veered off the highway to fill the
“You still hearing those voices, honey, because the heat can get pretty bad this time of year and the Nelle’s AC hardly works?”
“No, they went away once I made up my mind to keep traveling with you. Maybe it was my conscience talking. I didn’t know I had one.”
“Of course, you do. You just haven’t put it to good use for a while. Well, I’m sort of glad you stayed and that comes as a surprise to me, too.”
Dependent upon him for cash, she earned her keep by making their lunch, mostly salads and sandwiches since her cooking skills were limited, doing the dishes and laundry, and helping out when he signed autographs. She gave a great massage, too, which really counted for something far from whirlpool baths and professional services.
Clint thought Renee finally believed him when he said her eyes were lovely and her freckles added charm to her face. Or maybe it wasn’t his reassurances. As she gave out the stuffed toys they garnered at every truck stop claw machine along the way, small children often told her she was pretty and fingered her hair when she bent over to give them a small teddy bear or a yarn octopus. On one occasion when she’d offered to hold a tired child while the parents chatted with Clint, the little girl told Renee she was “comfy” and promptly went to sleep. Even Renee knew that very small children usually called it as they saw it.
She complained only once—about her backside spreading from too much driving and too little exercise. Yes, she knew she wore her clothes a little tight, but her jeans stretched to the point of uncomfortable. Clint had an easy answer for that. They got up at dawn and went running. He needed the workout as well without having access to the machines he used at the bigger venues. Preferring to run on a treadmill in the comfort of a gym, Renee had some trouble keeping up on the rough roads and in the high altitudes. He adjusted his stride and encouraged her each step of the way. He let her use his lighter hand weights, too. To tell the truth, she’d gotten a little less buff, not quite as honed, a little rounder, a little softer—and he liked her that way.
Out in the wilderness, wi-fi hot spots came few and far between. Carefully, he left Renee at the laundromat with their dirty clothes and a few new fashion magazines when he made for the local libraries to check his e-mail, confirm future performance dates, leave instructions for his broker, and drop his mother a line. Snuffy wrote often, asking how the Nelle and The Tin Can were holding up.
A couple of days out of Cheyenne, Renee took off her straw hat to fan herself at a gas station and obviously saw something horrifying the side view mirror.
“Ohmigod! My roots are showing. They’ve grown out more than half an inch. I can’t go back to civilization looking like this, Clint. I just can’t. My touchup kit was in my bag.”
“Well,” he said slowly, “your roots are a nice color, about the same shade as some other hair I’m fond of.”
“And that is growing out, too! I haven’t had a waxing in ages. Don’t joke about it, please! This is a crisis. What if they show me on the big screen while we’re in Cheyenne?”
“Keep your hat on. Everyone else does.”
“I’m not going then.” Renee plopped on the Nelle’s running board and crossed her arms. I’ll wait here for you, wherever here is.”
She looked as stubborn as that little donkey Snuffy used in his act. Clint glanced down the blacktop with a few small stores clumped on both sides, wherever’s Main Street, he guess. He hadn’t caught the name of the town when they veered off the highway to fill the
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