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Sara loves cowboys, and they love her. And the one thing she’s absolutely sure of is that her heart will never be broken again…
The ‘Rocking Horse’ is included at no extra cost!
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[It is after lunch. May, 1971 in a Texas roadhouse west of Austin.)
As I walk up to the service bar, I notice the girl is shooting eight-ball alone at the pool table, which parallels the front windows. She looks to be in her twenties, and I notice her flannel shirt has a couple of buttons undone with her cleavage clearly visible.
Like most old bars, the place smells of sweat and beer laced with the odor of stale tobacco smoke. Secured to the bar’s mirror is a prominently displayed neon Miller High Life beer sign, flickering intermittently in sync with an electrical buzzing sound. I can feel the four ceiling fans lazily stir the hot air in the room. It’s the middle of the day at the end of May, and the day’s heat is beginning to settle in.
Picking a stool, I sit down. The bar top feels greasy. I pull a paper napkin from a small chrome holder and wipe the area in front of me. Laying my motorcycle helmet on the bar to my right, I place my road map on the area I’d just wiped clean. There’s a distinct smell of grilled beef lingering in the air. The bartender comes over, and I get a verbal menu from him. I order a hamburger with just mayonnaise, along with potato chips and a dill pickle.
In the mirror behind the bar, I can see the girl shooting pool. She takes an occasional sip from what appears to be a glass of whiskey. Every now and then, she looks up at me watching her in the mirror. I can also see my distinctive bike with its Florida tag reflected in the mirror, as well as the passing road traffic. Traffic appears sparse given it’s the middle of the week.
I begin reviewing the next leg of my trip on my road map. Suddenly the scent of grilled beef wafts past my nose. I’m looking up when the bartender places my burger plate on the counter. My mouth is watering just from the aroma. Putting away the map, I take a bite from the burger. From the taste of the beef, I can tell it is fresh, and not one of those frozen patties that seem to be the new fad. While eating, I occasionally look up at the mirror to watch the passing traffic and the girl playing pool. I take another paper napkin and wipe the juices from my mouth. This is a really good hamburger!
The room is mostly quiet with just the murmur of the two ranch hands, the clicking of the pool balls, and an occasional hushed sound of a passing tractor trailer rig. When I hear the tractor trailer noises, the girl watches out the front window for a moment. I idly wonder if she’s waiting for someone to arrive.
I’m almost finished with my meal when I hear the song Crazy start playing on the jukebox. Though not a big country music fan, I do recognize Patsy Cline’s voice. I look over my shoulder, and the girl is standing in front of the jukebox near the front door. I turn back to finish my meal.
A few moments later, I watch a shadow cross the bar off to my left and catch the scent of fading deodorant mixed with morning sweat. I glance to my left and see the girl has come over to the bar and is sitting down next to me. She’s wearing jeans, a flannel shirt with the two buttons open, and dusty cowgirl boots. It’s similar to the outfit that I am wearing, except all my buttons are in place. She’s rough, but cute. She’s wearing no makeup, and her choppy light brown hair looks as if she cut it herself. The haircut isn’t unattractive. In fact, it seems to fit her style.
“Another shot of Jack Black,” she says to the bartender, as she sits on the bar stool to my left. Surprisingly, her voice is kind of husky for such a small compact girl. She turns toward me. Her knee touches mine. Taking that as a cue, I turn to face her.
Looking me straight in the eye and pointing at my bike helmet, she says, “That’s a funny-looking cowboy hat.”
I can smell the whiskey on her breath. I chuckle and say, “That’s because I ride a funny-looking horse.”
Leaning over, she puts her hand on my hip and in a warm breath whispers in my ear, “It’s getting close to two o’clock. Do you want to have sex?”
I’d just taken a bite of my burger, so I’m pretty much speechless in more ways than one. I’m thinking, “Whoa! What’s this about?” The hand on my hip signals that she’s serious.