The Sins of the Fathers Ch. 26

"I'm Roy. This your first time at Cowgirls?"

Two heads nodded, Yes.

"Can I ask why you chose our establishment? 'Cause I'm supposed to ask everybody that; it's sorta like an unofficial survey. You know, like 'My friends suggested it', 'I found your web page', 'I read your ad in the phone book', 'I wanna ride the bull', 'I'm a cowgirl'. Those kind of responses are pretty common. I just keep a list of reasons people come here; it's real helpful lettin' us to know how people find out about us. And, what they want from us." He took a breath, waiting for them to choose an answer.

"Cowboys!" they giggled.

"Enjoy your visit; here at Cowgirls, there's no cover charge for pretty young fillies." He waved them through. He watched as they moved over to a wall to look around. Reaching down, he adjusted the rising erection he gotten eyeing their asses as they moved away. Jesus, I'm gettin' older and they keep looking younger. If them two little cowgirls was any younger, what I'm thinking would be 'child abuse'!

Nikki and MacKenzie stood, watching the activity. Glancing around, there were a few darkened booths, some tables, and a dance floor with couples and groups, dancing to what Nikki assumed was 'Country-Western' music. Off to one side, in a little bit darker part of the bar, was a giant bull-like riding machine. Mac poked Nikki. "Oh my god, they've got a mechanical bull!" Nikki giggled; except for the horns, it looked a little like the kiddie-horses setting in the front of the Safeway's entrance when she was a child. Her dad and mom would put in a couple of quarters and she could sit on top, gently 'riding' back and forth until the time ran out.

Dressed in cowboy hats, very skimpy shorts, and tee shirts--covered by cowboy shirts, tied in a knot at their waists— a couple of waitresses bustled here and there, taking or bringing back orders. Strangely enough, every man there seemed perfectly comfortable putting his hands on a waitress' butt when he ordered.

At the bar, there were stools for drinking; and, it was jam-packed with young handsome men in boots, jeans, cowboy shirts, and hats. There were some women; but, not many--way less than enough for all the men. And, remarkably, they were all dressed like the young men; wearing the same kind of boots, jeans, shirts, and hats, the women just had longer hair. And there were a lot of belt buckles here, really large belt buckles.

Mac laughed. "We're going to have a lot of fun."

"Uncle Spencer really comes to a place like this?" They should call this place 'Shit Kickers Is Us'!

"Yep! Hard to believe, huh? I think Tammy must have brought him," Mac whispered back.

"Does he even own a pair of cowboy boots?"

"Not that I know of." MacKenzie chuckled. She knew her dad owned a pair of jeans and a blue denim-- he called it 'chambray shirt' from Eddie Bauer--but boots, a hat and one of those buckles?

It's far easier to imagine my dad naked, than dressed for some place like this! Way easier!

Sitting in a corner booth with his back to the wall, Muse McAllister watched them enter the bar from across the room. His booth had a view of the entrance, the doors to the restrooms, and the exit. It was darker than most of the bar; and, he liked it like that. He sat alone. He looked at the two young women against the wall. 'Looking For Love In All The Wrong Places,' started playing on the jukebox; and, he smiled. His gaze swept the room; no one had noticed them yet. Make that no one, but Muse.

McAllister had sat in a lot of bars in his life. He looked around the room at the gathered 'cowboys' and 'cowgirls'. As far as he was concerned, every bar he'd been in was always at once, the same and different.

This one was relatively low-key and pretty peaceful--save an occasional testosterone-fueled fistfight. There was no identifiable organized illicit activity. Just visiting Portland, he was from a small town near Bend; and had a cattle ranch out there somewhere between Bend and Sisters, Oregon. His brand was the 'Wigglin'-V', named for the fork in the river, where his spread was located. He joked that the brand was for the first time he ever kissed his wife down there--not for the river itself; and, he always smiled when people called it the 'Wigglin'-V', because the name was definitely an 'inside joke' between him and his wife.

McAllister was fifty-two years old, married to a high-school English teacher, and a happy man. He'd met her at a Rodeo; and, she was a published poet. She called herself a 'cowboy poet' even though, each time he checked, she was still a cowgirl. He was 6'3", weighed about 198 lbs, lean and healthy. His boots weren't shined; his jeans were boot-cut Wranglers. They were worn, but not frayed. His shirt was a black snap-pocket Western style he bought at a tack shop. His hat lay on the table beside a still- full bottle of 'Lone Star'. The hat was the color of light buckskin, the color of a wheat field just before the harvest. The buckle at his waist was large, but not tacky; and it was engraved. In the center was a golden bull with a rider on top.

Muse had steel-blue eyes that shaded to a dangerous green, when he was angry or aroused; they'd seen too much and not enough. His mustache was full, covering his upper lip and served as a filter for the foam on his beer. His face was dark from years in the sun and wrinkled near the corners of his eyes. The wrinkles were both from squinting in the sun and laughing with his wife. He guessed it to be a fifty-fifty mix. His jaw was firm and angular; and, he still had all his teeth and his sense of humor.

That was no small thing for any man, who'd lived the life he'd lived.

McAllister didn't own a cell phone, nor did he wear a watch. He didn't have much use for either. He knew from hard experience that there really wasn't much that wouldn't wait until he got there. If it wouldn't, then there wasn't really much you could do about it. His experience was that things handled over the phone didn't stay handled; but, once he had talked to someone in-person, there was seldom any chance of a misunderstanding. Things stayed handled.

Most people didn't know McAllister's full name. Almost everyone called him 'Marshal'. Most thought it was his first name. It wasn't.

McAllister watched as the bar's waitress/owner spotted the girls and headed across the dance floor.

"First time here?"

Two heads nodded.

The woman had to yell to be heard over the music. "Y'all gonna want a table, a booth, or to just come over to the bar, 'cause that wall don't require no bracin' to keep it upright." She stuck out her hand. "Girls, I'm Dixie, let me get you a table where you can be seen, ladies."

Smiling, they both shook her hand, following her closely through the maze of lively dancers, twirling hats, buckles, and stamping boots.

"What'll ya have?"

"Hefeveizen."

"Sugar, that's a signature micro-brew bottled here in Portland; it's a honey-wheat beer. At Cowgirls we got your basic Coors, Lone Star, Corona Extra, and Modelo Negra."

"Two uhh ...Corona's?" Mac glanced over at Nikki, who was equally clueless.

"Be right back."

Dixie was back in a flash, setting down the two bottles on coasters accompanied by a small saucer with several slices of lime.

"Do you have snacks?" Mac asked.

"Ya wanna menu?"

"No. Just something to go with the beer?"

"We got pickled pigs feet, pickled eggs, and buffalo pemican. And, of course, Rocky Mountain Oysters!"

"What are Rocky Mountain Oysters?" Nikki asked, innocently.

Mac blanched. "Don't even ask!" The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Nikki queried, "Chips, Fritos, pretzels?

"We got peanuts."

"Hot wings?"

An eyebrow shot up. "Darlin', am I standin' here wearin' orange shorts and a shirt that says 'Hooters'?"

Less than thirty-seconds later, she set a small bowl of peanuts down in front of Nikki, who looked up-- slightly bewildered. "These have shells!"

"Yeah, well, they're wild peanuts; they come with shells. If you need help skinnin' 'em, I'm sure one of the boys over at the bar might be willin' to help."

Nikki picked up the peanut, searching for a way to open it; she thought about smashing it with the bottle. She lifted the bottle, but hesitated. Sighing, Dixie picked up a peanut, cracked the shell by crushing the nut lightly in her teeth, and spit out the shell onto the floor.

She handed Nikki the three nuts. "Or ya could just put a couple of nuts together in your hand, and squeeze 'em till they bust. Works with guys, too. Nuts is nuts!"

"Thanks." Nikki set the bottle back down. But her mouth was still open, thinking about what Dixie had said. Nuts is nuts!

"How much?" Nikki reached into the top of her boot. Dixie held up her hand. "Been paid for by someone at the bar." Nikki looked at the bar; a young cowboy--all dressed in black--touched a bottle of beer to his Stetson.

Mac put her hand on Dixie's arm. "What'll this cost us, if we let him pay?"

Dixie smiled, answering over the music. "That there's Thompson; he might try to collect a dance. Mostly, he's saying, 'Hi', cowboy-style."

Nikki slipped the folded twenty back into her boot. They sat watching the dancing. Between peanuts, Nikki started bouncing in her seat.

McAllister watched the exchange and the delivery of the beer.

Dixie made her way across the room over to the darkened corner, slipping into the booth. "Hey there, Muse; haven't seen you in about a month. How's things out at the 'Wiggl'n-V'? She smiled. "Can I get you anything?" She emphasized 'anything'.

"It's good at home. That smile of yours and a fresh beer's more than enough to get me through the night."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Who are the two young ladies?"

"Well, I've never seen 'em before; but, I know those two little sweet-things sure-as-hell ain't cowgirls. Adventurers, perhaps. Or, maybe, just a couple of girls wantin' to dance with a cowboy."

"Good crowd?"

She looked at him a little funny, then replied, "Yeah, there ain't no trouble here tonight. Is there?"

He gazed around the room. "Nope."

Thompson casually sauntered over to the girls' table to see if anyone wanted to dance.

MacKenzie asked who he wanted to dance with. He looked at his boots and considered. "Well, my first choice, all things being equal, would be you; but, seeing as how your friend here's about to bust a button bouncin' to the beat, perhaps I oughta' dance with her first--just to gentle her a bit."

He said all that, after taking off his hat and holding it in his hand as he addressed the two young women. Nikki looked at Mac.

Mac just smiled. "Take her, but don't wear yourself out. I wanna dance, too."

Now, that's a shit-eatin' grin, thought Dixie as she passed them on the way back for McAllister's fresh beer.

Thompson lifted Nikki from her chair by the hand, dragging her out to the dance floor. It was a slow one, so she didn't have to know any real new steps. He just folded her up in his arms and they danced.

He talked to her about her best friend--Mac.

Then, there was some kind of dance where the couples go in twos around in a circle together. The dance step was pretty easy and he showed Nikki how. Her boots were starting to snap happy.

The third one was faster. Nikki carefully studied what Thompson did, then copied it. Once she did, those boots began to dance. He made her sweat; and, Nikki liked sweating. Her nipples hardened. Everyone in the room liked that.

McAllister overheard one cowboy joking that 'li'l gal' definitely had her 'headlights on high-beam'.

Eventually, Thompson brought her back to the table; she was breathing hard.

He extended his hand to MacKenzie, who followed him to the dance floor. The first-set was something similar to the step he showed Nikki. Mac already had it from watching Nikki and practicing while waiting at the table.

Nikki picked up her bottle, looked around furtively; then, quickly smashed two peanuts against the table with it. Immensely pleased, she giggled. Hah! I knew it would work. She ate some more nuts and burped; cringing with embarrassment, she looked around but no one had noticed. Her burp tasted like beer and peanuts.

She watched Mac, her feet beginning to move all on their own to the music and dancing under the table.

McAllister saw her feet and smiled. His wife had been like that, when he first met her; all eager and full of energy. He also saw a group of five young men approach the table, gently pushing one forward. The young man took his hat off and approached Nikki from behind. He started to turn back, but his buddies all waved him on. He walked around to Nikki's side, where she could see him.

He squatted down, so he wouldn't be standing above her; and, Nikki sat down the bottle she was getting ready to use to open a few peanuts. He smiled. She crooked her head, questioningly.

"I was wondering if, maybe, you might want to dance."

"I am dancing." She pointed to her feet.

"No, I mean out there. With me?"

"Do you have a name?"

"Yes, ma'am. Jason Chism." He extended his hand; she shook it.

"Nikki Grant."

As her led her to the dance floor, something by Willie Nelson fired up. It was slow. Chism's hand found her waist; then a little lower, he slid it into one of her rear pockets. She leaned back and looked up at him; then, she put her head on his chest.

Across the way, Thompson had his hands on MacKenzie's ass; in response, she reached down behind her and moved them up to her waist. Thompson just gave her one of those 'Well, ya can't blame a cowboy for tryin' smiles. Returning his smile, she put her head back on his chest and danced--eyes closed.

At the next piece of music, everyone started dancing something called the 'Cowboy Two-Step'. The two young men had to show them how to do it, but Nikki and Mac were fast learners.

They led the two young ladies back to their table and sat them down, moving off to do guy stuff. Chism got a few pats on the back from his buddies. Thompson got a fresh beer, set his hat on the bar and drank the whole thing in one long gulp. He immediately ordered another.

In the next forty-five minutes, Nikki and Mac never sat out a dance. One cowboy after another moved in for a chance to hold them in their arms. No one was turned down, but the line was getting mighty long.

Dixie turned the dance-floor light down, raising the lights over the mechanical bull. Her voice broke the stillness that followed turning up the lights over the bull.

"Cowboys and Cowgirls, this here's the bull from Gilley's in Texas. It was in that bar the night Gilley's burned to the ground. Some say the fire couldn't consume it; some claim it was the bull that started the fire. Some claim that, when the bar burned, hell couldn't hold this one. If you light a match near it, you can even smell the brimstone and smoke!"

As if on cue, every cowboy and cowgirl in the bar took a match from a small shot glass on their table and struck it. Tiny flares of light lit the darkened bar. And, indeed, you could smell the 'brimstone and sulfur'!

"We call him 'El Brujo'! Thompson will be running it tonight; and, all you have to do is stay on for just eight short seconds--not much time at all. Now, who's gonna be the first to eat sawdust?"

Everyone laughed and whistled.

McAllister watched this little drama tonight, like he did each night he was here. He knew the mechanical. Its real name was 'Diablo' and it was a professional quality bull-riding trainer. Built by an eccentric old man in coveralls and tennis shoes, it was one of a kind, the first of its type. It was older than every cowboy in the bar, except McAllister. He'd ridden it at Gilley's about a year before the bar had burned. But, that was a long time ago.

He watched three young men tossed to the floor. The fourth one made it to the six-second mark before his hat fell off, distracting him.

Number five was doing pretty well. It was Chism; he was at the six-second mark and riding fine, when Thompson turned up the difficulty. Most wouldn't have noticed, but McAllister actually knew what each setting simulated and the setting had changed mid-ride. Chism almost missed the sawdust entirely as he flew through the air. Thompson seemed to be preoccupied with his boots, rather than tending the controller.

McAllister glanced back over at Nikki and MacKenzie; they were deeply embroiled in some kind of conversation or argument. Mac pointed at the bull; Nikki frantically shook her head, No. Mac leaned back, crossing her arms stubbornly and pointed to the bull again; then, she tapped her own chest. Nikki reached across the table, taking Mac's hands in hers. She was trying to keep her at the table.

He saw MacKenzie take Nikki's hands in hers, bringing them to her lips for a kiss. Then deftly, Mac freed her hands from Nikki's, jumping up and hurrying away from the table.

Walking up behind Thompson, she tapped him on the shoulder. Off came the hat. She asked something. McAllister couldn't hear the question, but he had a pretty good idea what it was. Thompson just smiled and shook his head, No.

Surprisingly, MacKenzie stuck her finger into Thompson's chest. She poked him, pointing at the bull. Again, he shook his head, No. MacKenzie stood her ground. Thompson simply turned off the control box and hung it on the post by the bull. He put his hat on, turned his back to her, and strode away.

McAllister watched as Thompson stalked over towards the bar; Mac started after him. Nikki intercepted her, returning her unwillingly to the table.

Dixie show up with two beers and pointed to the bar again. Thompson tipped his hat to the girls, who promptly answered his salute by sending the beers right back to him. Thompson now had three to finish off all by himself.

At the sound of a grumbled clearing of a throat in the darkness, both girls turned around. McAllister stood there with his hat in his hand. MacKenzie looked him up and down; Nikki quit smashing peanuts.

Muse thought the dark one cute. There was something else about her he couldn't quite put his finger on. She had an intensity in her gaze that women usually didn't--at least, damn few women MacKenzie's age. That made him curious.

"I can run the bull, Miss, if you'd like to give it a try," he stated, matter-of-factly.

The young black woman with the dangling beads looked up at him.

"I won't let you get hurt. I've run the bull before." He squatted down next to her, nodding towards the bull. "Look, I'm too old to be hittin' on you; I just thought you looked disappointed, when Thompson told you, No."

Mac extended her hand; taking it, he walked her over to the bull.

Jason Chism was playing poker with his friends. When he saw Nikki, sitting alone and cracking peanuts with a beer bottle, he just had to smile. He got up and walked over, kneeling down next to her again.

"Would you like to learn to play poker? We got a game. Come sit with me; I'll show you how to play."

He rejoined his friends, all of whom stood when Nikki got to the table. She sat in his lap and held the cards. He made the bets.

Across the bar Mac stood with her hands on her hips, lost in thought and studying the bull.

"Will you let me show you a few things?" McAllister offered. 'It'll make it more fun for you."

She nodded her head, Yes.

He showed her how to mount it and sit, how to push into the bull with her thighs and grasp it tightly, and—most importantly--how to adjust her center of gravity to the bull's furious bucking gyrations.

Finally, he showed her how to hold onto the bridle-line behind the hump. She tried it and he had to change her grip, so her elbow wouldn't get bent the wrong way.

"How about waving my arms?"