We walked down the street, American flags snapping in the hot wind, incredibly conscious of him. He made small talk, telling me about this store or that tree and its history. His bare forearm bumped mine several times. It was sheer will that kept me from getting hard on the stroll down Main Street to the Calico Diner. We passed a small park of sorts, more like a little square with some flowers at the base of a statue of the town founder—and my distant relative Isiah Bastian.
The diner itself was like stepping back into the fifties. The layout was pureHappy Dayswith a jukebox in the corner, booths and tables scattered about—the tables covered with different shades of calico cloth—and a clientele that looked to be mostly retirees in cowboy hats or green ball caps with a famous tractor logo. The jukebox was playing a Four Seasons song, so maybe the place encapsulated the ’50s and ’60s. The menu was listed on a long magnetic board above the counter with the daily special written in chalk that hung above the coffee pots.
It was charming in its own nostalgic way, I supposed. The smells were heavenly though. Coffee, cinnamon, and something beefy wafted past as Ollie led us to a tiny table for two by the front window.
“Sit there, lean to the left,” he said, removing his hat and lowering himself into a wooden chair. He was so bossy. Guess it came with the territory. I had no objection to being told what to do at times. If we were alone and both naked, it would be better, but alas, we were surrounded by old people giving us dour looks. “See the oak?”
“Oh yeah, I do. Thanks.” I straightened up as the waitress, a pudgy gal in jeans and a calico top, came to our table. Her nametag read LOLLY. She was perhaps twenty. “Hello,” I said as she handed us menus. “We’re just here for coffee and a muffin,but I have to say whatever the cook is making smells delicious. Something with beef?”
“Stew with a side of butter rolls. Sure I can’t tempt you to try it? It’s the special today,” Lolly said as she eyed Ollie with interest. Ollie and Lolly. What a cute couple thing if only Ollie was paying her the least amount of attention. His keen gaze rested on me as I smiled as one does at a stranger. That intensity of his was doing funny things to my concentration. Before I knew it, I was talked into a bowl of stew and coffee and a muffin.
“Make that two,” Ollie told the young miss, who gave him a bat of her lashes before heading away with the menus.
“I normally don’t eat such a heavy lunch,” I explained as he sat across from me, arms folded over a wide chest, a faint twist to his lips. “When I still had my practice, I didn’t have time for a long midday meal, so I usually just grabbed a cup of yogurt or some fruit. Although now I’m at the ranch, I seem to be eating more robustly. Seems I’m hungrier now than I was when I was fitting braces. Sorry, I’m sure you don’t care about my eating habits.”
“You seem nervous. I hope that’s not because of me.”
I had to take a minute to sort out my emotions. “Not nervous per se, just…” I faltered here, leaning back to allow Lolly to place our paper placemats, silverware, and coffee on the table. She plunked down a dish of sweeteners, a sugar dispenser, and a small stainless steel creamer. Then she was off again. “I’m not nervous. I’m just a little out of practice.”
Ollie stirred some sugar into his black coffee, nodding slowly as a truck with a loud exhaust drove by. His sight darted to the truck as if making a mental note of the driver.
“Out of practice eating or having coffee with an incredibly sexy sheriff?” he asked with a glimmer of mischief in his tone.
I chuckled. The door swung open. Hot air blew in as an older couple entered. Hellos were called out, and Ollie inclined hishead at the twosome as they wiggled into a booth several feet away.
“The second,” I picked up the thread of our conversation while Lolly scurried over to the newcomers. Glancing at the couple, I picked up on the sharp looks from a few of the men seated at the counter. Nothing overt but displeased obviously. I brought my attention back to Ollie. “Are those men at the counter unhappy that two men are having lunch, or is it something personal?”
“Hmm.” He glanced toward the counter and then back at me. “Probably a little of both. There are some troglodytes in this county who refuse to leave the stone age when it comes to queers. Then there’s the fact that those three are the Leary brothers. Pretty bad actors, all things considered. They’ve calmed down over the years, but about ten years ago, they were tearing things up around here. I arrested them a number of times and got into an altercation with the youngest on a traffic violation check that resulted in my being injured. He just got out of prison last year. Oh, and on top of all that bad blood, they really hate my people.”
“Wow, real pillars of the community types,” I replied and watched the trio of Leary brothers walk out, leaving their food untouched.
“Dramatic types,” Ollie commented, bringing his sight back to me. “So, now you have the skinny on the Learys, tell me more about yourself.”
“Oh, well, I just moved to Bastian Acres after my father…” I picked up my coffee and paused. “You know all of this. You play poker with Baker.”
“True,” he conceded with a sexy little quirky smile. “But Baker only tells me what a pain in the ass his brothers are, but from where I’m sitting, I don’t see a pain in the ass at all. I see a compassionate, intelligent father and rancher just trying to give his boy the best life he can.”
“Wow, you got all that from the ten minutes we’ve been sitting here?”
“Fourteen minutes.” He tapped his gold watch and winked.
The man was sharp. Observant. Mouthwatering. “Sure, I’m all of those exemplary things. Tell me about you.”
Our rolls arrived. Ollie plucked one out from the calico cloth they were wrapped in and passed it to me. I took it with a soft thanks and picked up a pat of wrapped butter.
“Not much to tell. Born on the rez. Mom died when I was five, leaving my dad with me and my two sisters. My uncle jumped in to help raise us when Dad was off working the oil fields. Started attending school off the rez when I was around twelve due to some behavior issues.”
“You got expelled?”
“I did. Not proud of that, but I was playing my role of angry motherless Indian to the fullest. Met Baker, we hit it off, got into more trouble, and ended up this close to being locked up in my senior year.” He pinched air between his thumb and forefinger. “Only thing that kept me from being another statistic about high incarceration rates for Native American men was Granny B taking me by the ear, literally, and giving me a verbal lacing. From that point on, I worked at getting my ass in gear so as not to disappoint the only mother, or grandmother, I guess, that I had. I went to college, studied criminal justice, and came back to Oklahoma. The old sheriff was retiring, so I ran for sheriff and won. Bought a house just outside of town. And here we are.”
“And the fact that you’re a queer man is no problem?”
Our stew arrived, and Lolly looked like she wanted to linger, but a bell in the kitchen rang out, so she huffed away.
“For some. Not for others. Most of the bigots like to glower when they’re around me but keep their poison to themselves for the most part.”
“Well, you are bigger than most of the men in this town,” I tossed out as I dunked a half-eaten roll into the steaming bowl of beef cubes, gravy, carrots, and taters. “Also, does it strike you as odd that it’s ninety degrees outside and we’re eating stew?”
