Page 42 of Nomad

Gael’s eyes were dancing with delight. “How romantic!” He looked at Bud.

She shook her head. “No. There was nothing romantic about it.”

“Oh,” said Gael as if he was disappointed.

Then for the hell of it she added, “Until he picked me up and carried me across so that if they shot at us they’d hit him and not me.”

Cann stared at her like she’d lost her mind while Gael threw his head back and laughed. Then he turned to his wife and said, “That is true romance. Don’t you agree?”

She sniffed and looked at her nails as if she’d lost interest in the conversation.

“We apologize for our appearance, but we had to run with the clothes on our backs.”

Gael turned to the señora with accusation written all over his face. “And you didn’t notice that they had nothing with them?” To Cann he said, “My profound apologies. We have failed as your hosts.”

“No, really…” Cann began.

“We will rectify this immediately.” He turned his head toward the front of the house and shouted, “Juan Ricardo!” They heard footsteps running toward the room. When a man appeared looking eager, if not desperate, to please, Gael said, “Our guests need wardrobes. Send someone to get changes of clothing for Señor Johns. Be sure to include footwear.”

Gael looked at Bud. “Your problem is easier to solve. I believe you are the same size as my wife. Please. Consider her wardrobe to be your wardrobe.” The señora’s eyes were as wide as saucers. He might as well have said he was taking her clothes to the kennel for use by the hunting dogs.

“But…” she began.

“I know you’re eager to throw your closet doors wide open to our guest… I’m sorry, did I get your name?”

“Bud.”

He stared for a few seconds as if he was waiting to see if she was joking. “I would have expected something magical, intoxicating, enchanting. A name that casts a spell like your eyes. Esmeralda. Tatiana. Ra…”

“Well,” Cann interrupted, not liking the tone or direction of the conversation, “it’s just plain Bud.”

She grinned at Gael. “He calls me sugar.”

Cann’s eyes went wide just before the WTF lines appeared between his eyebrows.

Gael smiled. “Are you saying I have permission to call you…?”

“No,” Cann cut him off before the question was completed. “She’s saying you have permission to call her Bud.”

Gael chuckled. “Would you like to change or have dinner?” he asked Bud.

“If you can stand to have me sit at the table wearing Super Mercado clothes, I’d like to have dinner.”

Their host smiled like he was genuinely enjoying himself.

Over dinner, which was roasted flank steak and grilled vegetables, they explained why they were running from the Texas Rangers.

Gael had looked more and more serious as the tale had taken shape. “You are not outlaws, my friends. You are saints.” He glanced at his wife. “We have not been fortunate enough to have little ones yet, but I look forward to the day.”

“Well, now that we’ve told our story,” Cann said, “maybe you’ll tell us how you got to be good friends with Brant.”

Gael sat back and smiled. “I cannot share details, but I’ll tell you that he was key in assisting with an entanglement at the capital of the great state of Texas.” Cann nodded and sat back. Gael got to his feet. “Please forgive me, friends, but my business sometimes requires evening hours. For the next two days, please, how do you say it? Make yourself at home?”

“Yeah. Make yourself at home. Thanks. That’s very nice of you,” Cann said.

“We have a heated pool and a kitchen staff capable of making anything you wish at any time of day.” He looked at Bud. “Be sure to make a stop by my wife’s closet on your way up.”

Bud looked at Señora Gutierrez and knew she was going to thoroughly enjoy that.

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