The Influence(35)
They had no destination in mind, but they walked down one side of the street and up the other. The bar was open, but inside it sounded rowdy, and they passed on by. He wished there was a regular restaurant in town—a hot cup of coffee and a warm piece of pie sounded good right now—but there wasn’t, and with no place to stop, the two of them headed back into the darkness of the desert toward the small cluster of lights that was Jill’s neighborhood.
It was cold, and he wished he’d brought a jacket, but Ross said nothing. He’d come across wimpy enough as it was. She was still holding his hand, and on the way back, her fingers rubbed lightly against his. He remembered seeing a Michael Palin travel show about the Himalayas, and in one tribal village, the girls would dance with the boys in a kind of public ceremony, and if a girl rubbed her finger on a boy’s palm, it meant she wanted sex. Jill was doing that right now to him, and the feeling was electric. It was as though the nerves in his hand connected directly with his penis, and he walked all the way back to her house with a very pleasurable erection.
Inside, she made coffee to warm them up, and put on some music, romantic piano music that he didn’t recognize.
They ended up kissing on the couch, making out like high schoolers, and soon he was grinding against her as her legs spread wide and her crotch pressed up against his. Moments later, they were in the bedroom and their clothes were off. It happened quickly, and he barely had time to wish that he’d showered for his date before she was frantically slipping a condom on and guiding him inside her. It had been awhile, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold out, but he didn’t have to. She came even more quickly than he did, and as soon as she finished, she was whispering in his ear, coaxing him to climax. Which he did—and she did again—powerfully.
They lay there, spent.
“Wow,” she said.
Jokingly, he pumped his fist in the air. “Got her on the first date.”
“Let me assure you, this is not a regular occurrence.”
“Hence the condom drawer.”
She slapped his shoulder. “I’m serious!”
“I know,” he said, laughing. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s been a long time for me,” she admitted.
“Me, too.”
They were silent for a moment.
“So,” Ross said finally, “now can I see some of your paintings?”
She nodded, gave him a quick kiss. “Yes,” she said. “You can.”
ELEVEN
Cameron Holt strode into the veterinarian’s office with his fists clenched. He was angry but determined to keep himself under control and not make a scene, despite the fact that Gonzalez had not returned any of his calls and had been ducking him for nearly a week. Rye Callahan was in the waiting room—Cameron had seen one of his pigs in the trailer out front—as was an old Mexican guy with a scuzzy dog on a leash, but he strode past them, ignored the receptionist and pushed through the swinging door to the back, where Gonzalez was stuffing his face with a breakfast burrito.
The veterinarian looked up, startled, as Cameron barged into the room. He swallowed quickly. “I am still waiting for lab results—” he began.
“My cattle are dying! Four more today! How long does it take for your goddamn lab to run a blood test?”
“It’s not just a blood test, it’s—”
“You should know something by now! You should at least have a general idea!”
The two men faced each other, and Cameron saw something flicker across the vet’s features: fear. He was afraid, not of Cameron but of what was happening, and Cameron knew that Gonzalez knew that he knew.
“I found out what you did.” The vet crossed himself.
“You superstitious old woman!” Cameron had promised himself that he wouldn’t yell, but he couldn’t help it. “It’s your job to cure sick animals and prevent diseases, not listen to local gossip.”
“God is mad at you.”
“Jesus fuck!”
Gonzalez crossed himself again.
“Knock that shit off,” Cameron ordered. “My stock is dying. There’s a disease going around, and we need to stop it before it wipes out my entire herd. And my neighbors’. It’s not magic or evil spirits or—”
“God.”
“Listen, asshole. If you think killing animals is God’s will, then why in the hell did you become a vet, huh? You’re thwarting God’s plan. Every time you cure a sick animal, you’re going against His wishes and getting rid of the sickness that He gave those animals. Is that what you believe? Because if you do, you’re already going to hell, and you might as well just do your job and find out what’s killing my cattle. If you don’t, and you actually understand that this is all bullshit, then stop fluttering around like some frail old Sunday school teacher and get busy. Either way, get to fucking work.”