Free The True Father by Steven Anderson Law Page B

only three vehicles in the parking lot: two pickups, one a yellow Chevy, the other a black Dodge connected to a lengthy cage-like trailer of the same color, and a red Ford Mustang. Curious, I drove into the parking lot and parked beside the Mustang then looked out into the arena. I hardly recognized Bella under the shade of her straw cowboy hat, but the Ford Mustang convinced me it was her.
    Â Â  I got out of my car and leaned over the fence. Bella ran the horse at full stride, turned it around a large blue barrel, then another, then slapped each side of the animal's rump with what looked like a strap of leather and galloped toward the end of the arena. She ran toward a man who also wore a straw cowboy hat and held a stopwatch. He clicked the stopwatch as she ran by. 
    â€œSixteen and ninety-two!” He yelled.
    Â Â  After she stopped and dismounted from the horse a man in a faded red cap took the reins from her, looked my way and nodded. She looked at me, and without looking away said something to him then walked to me.
    Â Â  Besides the cowboy hat, she wore dark blue skintight jeans, a white long-sleeved western shirt and lace-up boots. She removed a pair of tawny looking leather gloves from her hands and slapped them against her thigh, emitting a small cloud of dust.
    Â Â  “So is that a good score?” I said, along with a smile.
    Â Â  “Not if I'm going to take money home,” she said in a frustrated tone, then glanced over her shoulder into the arena. “And in this oval there's no pressure of competition. No crowd or announcer to distract you.”
    Â Â  “I see.”
    Â Â  She looked back at me and offered what seemed to be a fabricated smile. “So how's the new job?”
    Â Â  “Didn't work out.”
    Â Â  “Oh—sorry to hear that.”
    Â Â  “Don't be.”
    Â Â  “So what brings you back here?”
    Â Â  “I decided to take a little summer vacation.”
    Â Â  “In Spiro?”
    Â Â  “Why not?”
    Â Â  “I'm sure there's more to do in Kansas City.”
    Â Â  “Not in my mind.”
    Â Â  “So what are your plans?”
    Â Â  “Oh, one day at a time.”
    Â Â  Now her smile seemed genuine. “I never thought of you as a guy without a plan.”
    Â Â  “That is my plan.”
    Â Â  “What is?”
    Â Â  “One day at a time.”
    Â Â  This made her laugh. “Whatever.”
    Â Â  I enjoyed her laughter, and different than before, there was something enchanting about the way she looked. Not just in her clothes, which emphasized the trim contour of her hips and breasts, but in her natural beauty, distinct by the color of her skin, her long black hair, pushed behind her ears and held in place by her hat, and the brown irises of her eyes that seemed to hold me in submission.
    Â Â  “Have you had lunch?” I asked.
    Â Â  “No, are you inviting me?”
    Â Â  “Now you have me all figured out.”
    Â 
    *     *     *
    Â 
    Â Â  We settled in a booth at Barny's, a small café and one of the few businesses still in operation on Spiro's Main Street. But despite the image of economic despair, Barny's seemed to be thriving. The café was long and narrow, bowling alley shaped, with a bar and several bar stools lining one side, a single isle of chrome legged tables and chairs in the center, and a row of dark green vinyl booths lined the other side. Like the booths, the cushions on the chairs and barstools were covered in dark green vinyl and nearly all occupied by hungry, cigarette-smoking customers. Framed photographs crowded the walls, several of various seasons of little league baseball teams, all wearing shirts with Barny's name screen printed on the front. And I wasn't surprised to see several rodeo pictures. I looked closely at one, recognizing Jettie standing next