A Little Town In Texas

KITT HAD BEEN WORRIED. After all these years, would she and Nora have anything in common, anything to say to each other?

But they couldn’t stop talking. One memory sparked another; each story unleashed a flow of more. The two found they could still complete each other’s sentences—and make each other dissolve in hopeless giggles.

They sat at the kitchen table with Ken, who listened to them with wry amusement.

“And remember when we hiked up to Hermit’s Cave—” Nora began.

“—we’d lugged tons of books up there—” Kitt put in.

“And a blanket to sit on. And potato chips and a canteen of limeade—”

“We were going to hide out all summer from my brothers—”

Nora grinned. “—and a bat pooped in my hair—”

“—and you screamed and ran halfway down the mountain—” Kitt snickered.

“—yelling, ‘Bat poop! Bat poop!’ and pouring limeade on my head. Oh, Lord! And you behind me yelling, ‘It’s okay! People use it for fertilizer!’”

Nora almost doubled up. Ken looked at his wife in wonder, as if he’d never seen her so giddy.

Kitt laid her head in her folded arms on the table and laughed until she cried. Nora told how she’d washed her hair four times and would never go back to the cave. Kitt had to carry all the books back down by herself.

This led to the story of how Reverend Blake’s dog had wandered into the church one Sunday morning when the reverend was preaching a sermon on the virtue of obedience.

“Shoo, Spot,” the reverend had thundered. But Spot wouldn’t shoo. He sat in the middle of the aisle, ignoring his master and scratching a flea.

Nora went to the counter, took a paper towel and dabbed at her face. “And we didn’t dare laugh. It nearly killed us.”

“Whatever happened to that dog?” Kitt asked. Her ribs ached.

“He died of old age. They buried him in the backyard under a rose bush. Eva Blake still gets misty when she talks about that dog.”

Nora sighed and added, “The Blakes are eager to see you, you know—Howard and Eva. They always ask about you.”

Kitt’s mirth vanished. An uneasy guilt filled her. She owed the Blakes a great deal, and she must visit them. But she didn’t want to, not at all. They brought back memories that still gave her bad dreams.

But with false cheer she said, “Of course, I’ll go see them.”

Ken got to his feet. “You two look like you’re just getting started. I need to catch some shut-eye. I’ve got a windmill to check out soon as the light comes up. Hope it doesn’t rain again.”

He kissed Nora. It was not a perfunctory good-night kiss. It was full on the lips and lingering—not long enough to be showy, but long enough to convince Kitt how deeply he cared for his wife.

“Good night, honey,” he said in a low voice. Nora rubbed her nose against his.

Suddenly Kitt felt like an intruder. Ken wanted to make love, and Nora wanted it, too. “I should be going—” she began.

“No,” Ken said. “You girls have catchin’ up to do. You don’t need me.”

Nora was insistent. “I’m not letting you go yet. After all, it took twelve years to get you back here.”

Ken kissed Nora’s cheek and limped from the room. Nora looked fondly after him. “He’s right,” she said, turning to Kitt. “We have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll make some cocoa?”

“He seems like a good man,” Kitt said, gazing after Ken.

“He is good,” Nora said. “The best. He’s made a world of difference in my life. And Rory’s. Lord, Rory. You should see him—he’s six foot one now.”

Kitt smiled the mention of Rory. He was the one good thing to come from Nora’s marriage to Gordon Jones. But Nora’s unplanned pregnancy with Rory was why she had to marry when she was only sixteen.

Kitt, eleven then, had been horrified. But she’d grown fond of Rory, and she knew how Nora loved him and how fiercely she had always protected him. And Rory had needed protecting. Gordon was abusive.

When Kitt was in college, she got word that Gordon had died—violently. In a haze of jealousy and drugs, he’d come after Nora and Ken. Cal McKinney had tried to intervene. There was shooting, and Gordon, fleeing, had been hit by a car from the sheriff’s department.

Kitt said carefully, “Does Rory ever mention Gordon?”

“Not much. But he knows the truth. I didn’t want him to find out by the gossip—which is still going around, dammit.” Nora’s frank eyes showed a spark of anger, but it quickly faded. “He’s dealt with it fine, just fine.”

“A freshman in college—I can’t believe it.” Kitt shook her head. “And he wants to be a professor, yet. He’s your boy, all right.”

Nora’s smile was both happy and sad. “He was editor of the high school newspaper. Just like you. I wish Dottie could see him. She’d be so proud.”

“She would.” Kitt put her hand over Nora’s and squeezed it. Dottie Jones had been a widow and Gordon’s mother. She’d always loved Nora and stood by her, even when Nora divorced Gordon. Dottie had been the original owner of the Longhorn, and she’d left it in her will to Nora.

“How long have you been running the Longhorn now?” Kitt asked.

“Almost ten years, off and on. I’ve poured enough coffee to float an aircraft carrier.”

“I thought,” Kitt said carefully, “that when you got married again and went back to school, you were out of that place.”

Nora tried to shrug as if it didn’t matter, but she didn’t fool Kitt. Nora said, “Ken saw that I finished my degree. He really wanted it for me….” Her voice trailed off.

“You had a job at the high school,” Kitt said, still perplexed at what had happened to Nora. “The kids voted you Best Teacher.”

“Ken got hurt,” Nora said, going to the counter. “And that was it.”

Ken had been trying to help unload an unruly Brahma bull bought at a stock auction. The brute had kicked and pinned him against the side of the truck, half-killing him. His leg was broken, his pelvis fractured.

“He couldn’t work for a year,” Nora said, stirring the cocoa. “J.T. did everything in his power to help. But at the same time, the school system was having money problems—no raises—and I could make better money going back to the Longhorn and managing it myself.”

“What I’ve never understood,” Kitt said with a frown, “is why the school system had money problems?”

Nora shrugged and filled two cups with cocoa. “The town’s lost people. The tax burden on those left—it was getting out of hand.”

Kitt crooked an eyebrow. “But Crystal Creek should have been growing. With this location? This close to Austin? Wasn’t the town even trying to attract any kind of industry or business?”

Nora gave her on odd look. “We have an industry—cattle. We have the winery. We don’t want things like that yucky cement factory at Kelso. Or the dairy operations at Bunyard—they both pollute something fierce.”

Kitt eyed Nora with surprise. Did she believe Crystal Creek could survive without changing?