The True Father by Steven Anderson Law

Lake.”
    Â Â  “What about you. Do you like places like this?”
    Â Â  “Not alone. But it's nice to come with someone.”
    Â Â  At that moment one of the pool-playing cowboys came up to us with cue stick in hand.
    Â Â  “Howdy, Bella,” he said.
    Â Â  He was a toothy looking swain, his face sunburned and freckled and dark red hair seeped from under his hat brim. He reminded me of someone—a celebrity, maybe—but I couldn’t come up with the name.
    Â Â  “Hi, Boyd,” Bella said.
    Â Â  “How ya been doin'?” he asked.
    Â Â  “Getting along. Boyd, I'd like you to meet Trevor Hodge. He's Jettie's boy.”
    Â Â  Boyd's large incisors disappeared behind his lips, but his hesitation was short-lived and he extended his free hand.
    Â Â  “Please to meet you,” he said.
    Â Â  “Likewise,” I said, shaking his hand. He gripped mine firmly, healthier than I expected. After he let loose of my hand he laughed slightly and looked back at Bella.
    Â Â  “Been thinking about hopping on the bull here in a minute. Be sure and watch.”
    Â Â  “I will,” she said.
    Â Â  “Maybe we can dance a spell later.”
    Â Â  “Maybe.”
    Â Â  He touched the front of his hat. “See you around.”
    Â Â  We both watched him walk away.
    Â Â  “Friend of yours?” I asked
    Â Â  “Boyd has hit on me for the last ten years. He's harmless.”
    Â Â  “What did he mean by hopping on the bull?”
    Â Â  “It's how wannabe cowboys show off.” She pointed a finger. “That mechanical bull over there.”
    Â Â  She pointed at the contraption that I thought looked like an oversized piece of luggage.
    Â Â  “Mechanical bull?”
    Â Â  “It's the closest you can ever get to the real thing, but like Jettie used to say, it hardly touches the fundamentals.”
    Â Â  We each took a drink of beer and I continued to observe the mechanical devise. Suddenly the jukebox quit playing. Bella grabbed my hand and escorted me to the opposite side, near the pool table, where the fancy music-playing machine resided below a poster of a buxom blonde in a bikini and cowboy hat, and in her hand held a longneck bottle of Budweiser.
    Â Â  Bella inserted a dollar bill into the jukebox scanner. “So who do you like to listen to?”
    Â Â  I looked through the glass at the many selections and saw everything from George Strait to Reba McIntire, and oldies like George Jones and Hank Williams. Out of fear of making a bad selection, I decided to let her choose. “Oh, I'm not too picky. You go ahead.”
    Â Â  Her first choice was Cowboy Take Me Away by the Dixie Chicks, which came over the speaker before she punched in the numbers of her second selection. She made four more selections then we found our way back to the table.
    Â Â  I grabbed the pitcher of beer and refilled our mugs. “So is this a better atmosphere?”
    Â Â  “Perfect.”
    Â Â  “Then now you're on the spot. You have to tell me about yourself.”
    Â Â  “I wouldn't know where to begin.”
    Â Â  “Let's start with where you grew up.”
    Â Â  “Talihina.”
    Â Â  “I've heard of that town. Isn't that where Jeremiah gets his homemade whiskey?”
    Â Â  “I wouldn't doubt it. I've heard of people having stills up in Winding Stair Mountain.”
    Â Â  “Do you still live there?”
    Â Â  “No, I live in Poteau now. I used to work fulltime at the hospital as a nursing assistant. But now I just work part-time in ER, train horses and concentrate on my barrel racing.”
    Â Â  “Do you have your own ranch?”
    Â Â  “No, I rent a stable in Poteau. But I've been thinking of buying one, especially now.”
    Â Â  “So what was it like