About Barn Dance
by BA Tortuga
37 pages / 10100 words
ISBN: 978-1-61040-544-7
Ebook zipped file contains -
html, lit, Adobe and Sony optimized pdf, prc, epub
Sometimes music says it better than words.
Taking a break from driving cattle, Red Farr finds himself at the barn
dance, listening to Zeke play the hell out of his fiddle. Zeke's going where
his fiddling takes him, but he might be looking for something a little more
steady. When Red tells him that the ranch he works for could use another
hand or two, Zeke reckons it could suit him to the ground. As could Red, if
only Red feels the same way as Zeke.
Between driving cattle and fiddling, can Red and Zeke find some time for
each other?
Originally published in the Cowboy Up! anthology.
Sample
It was the music that drew Red in.
Normally the sheer crush of folks would keep him well away from the lights,
the barn all lit up like Christmas. Still, there was something about a
fiddle singing that tugged on a man's soul, pulled him where good sense told
him not to go.
"Well, Red Farr. I'll be. I never reckoned to see you in decent company."
Terrance Wickers and his woman Jess were standing by the door, Jess dressed
much like them -- lawn shirt and homespun trousers. Like any of them fine
dressed farmers' daughters and prissy smooth handed boys would accept a one
of them as decent.
He found Terry a smile though, and a nod for Jess. Lord knew Terry'd fought
the good fight same as him and Jess had lost man and home, child and stock
to the aggressors. "Music's fine."
Red peered in, looked up to the man calling square -- Old Pete, with his one
last tooth and dead arm. Remy the Frenchie worked the banjo and his brother
Michel was making the Jew's harp go. The fiddle player though?
That man wasn't from these parts, nor the trail, neither.
He was tall, square, his heavy coat making him seem thick, though the face
and the hands told Red he was just the opposite. From the distance he
couldn't see the man's eyes well, but they looked like holes burnt in a
blanket under the wide brim of the man's hat. It was the hands that got him.
Long fingers, rough skin, two twisted silver wire rings glinting in the
light, those hands played that fiddle like it was a lover, like it was the
most important thing on earth.
It made him hot inside like that first sip of morning coffee and Red let
himself spend a minute dreaming. Weren't no one that could hear his
thoughts, that could know the sinful thoughts he had in the dark. Stood to
reason he could put a stranger's hands in those thoughts and have them
standing in the shadows.
The stomping and clapping and dancing came to a crescendo, and the music
stopped, everyone whistling and hooting. Looked like he'd gotten there just
in time for the food. He wondered if the fiddler would stay about to play
after.
Red stepped back away from the crowds and the lights, heading out to pasture
to check the horses, make sure things were settled for the night. All the
crew was here; they deserved a little break, a little civilization, a little
rest.
'Sides, from the pasture he could hear if the music started up again.
He hadn't been out there long when he saw the flare of a lucifer match, the
tiny light of a cheroot being lit. And it was headed his way.