Page 21 of Rough Cowboy
A hefty number of folks cheer for him.
I wait for the cheering crowd to wane when I switch paddles. “Or did you bet on Silver?” Louder cheers and whistles fill the air. This town has no confidence in me. I ain’t no fool. I glove it before I love it.
“For the mama-to-be.” Wilma hands Elsie her scissors.
Elsie’s nervousness is not lost on me. Her smile might reach her ears, and her eyes glisten with joy, but she’s only fooling those around us. I spot her white knuckles as she clutches the scissors. Her shoulders are tense. Her gaze fleets from the crowd, to her sister, up at Sammy, and over to me. Repeatedly, as if she’s searching for something she can’t find.
The Elsie I knew would randomly get up before a crowd and steal the spotlight, not shy away like now.
Elsie’s eyes meet mine for the umpteenth time since I’ve been standing here. Her jaw tightens. Her back straightens. She’s putting a helluva lot of work into being angry with me.
What the hell did I do?
We were having a pretty damn good time in the pantry before Sammy interrupted us. She’d been all laughter and smiles. Now, Elise looks ready to run and slap me across the face before she leaves. It all narrows down to the possibility she and Sammy are putting his brisket in her basket.
“Which Wilde wants my scissors? Sammy? Silver?” Faye pulls my attention to her.
The older woman glances between my brother and me. When I say nothing, my brother steps up and takes the scissors. It’s better this way. The less I’m involved, the better.
So why is it that when Elsie comes to the middle of the box, I step up behind her? Maybe cause the booze is wearing off, mixing up my priorities.
Faye and Wilma stand across from us on the other side of the box.
Wilma lightly raps her fist on the center of the box. “Each of you put your scissors here. We’re going to do a countdown, and on three, Sammy, you slice the tape that way, and Elsie, you slice the other way.”
“Alright.” My brother bends over, and the tip of his scissors pierces the tape.
When Elsie follows suit, I lean and cover her hand with mine. “I’ll help ya, Els.”
I ignore the sparks of heat that ping my palm.
Her back presses stiffly against my front. “My name is Elsie.”
She won’t look at me. She’s mad at me. But I sense that’s not the only thing aggravating her.
“What’s going on with you?” I whisper in her ear.
“Nothing,” she hisses in a sharp tone.
“Bring the tips of the scissors together.” Faye slides our scissors against the sharp tip of Sammy’s. “Isn’t this exciting?” She pats our hands and straightens.
“On the count of three!” Wilma shouts.
“Something’s bothering you,” I whisper in her ear.
Not quiet enough. My damn brother overhears. “Maybe it’s all your earlier asshole comments.”
“They weren’t anymore asshole than usual,” I snarl at him.
“One!” The town counts along with Wilma.
“They were pretty asshole,” Elsie mutters.
“You like asshole,” I retort, recalling our numerous back-and-forth foreplay banter before pounded like wild animals.
“Two!”
Sammy snorts. “I’m pretty sure that didn’t come out as you thought.”
