15 - Sophie
15
Sophie
I’d been going on dates since I was fifteen. Almost half my life. And one thing I had learned, a rule that had never failed me: you could learn a lot about a man by his dog. The name he gave it, how he treated the animal, whether he considered it a member of his family or just an accessory.
One of my exes had a Black Lab he used for hunting. He never let the dog inside his house, forcing him to stay under the deck in the back yard. We only lasted a month.
Another guy I dated had a Chihuahua that had the personality of a rabid poltergeist, biting anyone who dared to get near his teeth. We only went on three dates, the last one ending when he channeled his dog’s energy and screamed at a waitress for messing up his burrito order.
Trent, my ex, didn’t like dogs at all. I should have recognized that red flag from the start.
So when Johnny mentioned needing to feed his dog, I jumped on the opportunity to meet his furry friend. It would be a test of Johnny’s character. A karmic sign as to whether or not I was making the right decision to give the guy a shot.
Well, if the universe was trying to send me a signal, Dusty was the equivalent of a flashing neon “date me” sign. He was incredibly sweet, very well-behaved, and in good shape. It was obvious that Johnny took good care of him, and loved him like a member of his family.
Maybe this cowboy wasn’t like the others.
Maybe.
We drove back to the Stockyards area and parked at Billy Bob’s. “So where are you takin’ me?” Johnny asked, opening the cab for Dusty and letting him hop out.
“You’ll see!” I replied cheerfully.
“I can’t let you pay for dinner,” he said as we walked along the cobblestone street. “I’m too much of a gentleman.”
I rolled my eyes at the chivalry. It was cute, but annoying. “I insist. Unlike you, I actually made money today.” I pulled out the wad of bills I had earned from tips.
“Ouch,” Johnny said, clutching his chest.
“Too soon?”
“Depends on how good dinner is,” he replied. “In my experience, a good meal heals all wounds.”
As we walked into the busier section of the Fort Worth Stockyard, Dusty automatically slowed down and walked alongside Johnny’s left leg. He was well-trained. Another good sign.
“Are you sure Dusty’s allowed inside?” Johnny asked, glancing through the windows of a steakhouse as we passed.
“We’re not going inside anywhere,” I replied, pointing ahead. “That’s dinner tonight.”
He squinted as we approached a food stand on the side of the walkway, illuminated with bright lights. “Hot dogs?”
“The best in Fort Worth! But if you’re too good to eat hot dogs for dinner…”
Johnny grinned. “Make it a chili dog, and you’ve got a deal. But you have to buy one for Dusty, too.”
I snorted. “Obviously.”
We ordered three chili dogs with extra cheese, then found a nearby bench to sit on while we ate. Dusty wolfed his down in two quick bites, then politely laid down in front of us and watched the crowd, tongue lolling out happily.
“This is a damn fine chili dog,” Johnny admitted.
I popped the last bite into my mouth and held out my palm for Dusty to lick. “Right?” I said with a full mouth. “There’s good people-watching here, too.”
“Lotta rodeo fans,” Johnny said, eyes following the stream of people walking in front of us. “Everyone’s dressed the part. Or at least, tryin’ to dress the part.”
I chuckled. “You hit the nail on the head. We have a saying around here. Dallas is where the working class pretends to be rich, while Fort Worth is where the rich pretend to be working class.”
“I can tell,” he said dryly. “See the woman with the tassels on her vest? Her boots cost ten grand.”
I almost choked on the piece of hotdog in my mouth. “Ten grand? As in, ten thousand dollars?”
“Yes ma’am. Ostrich leather.”
“I’ve heard of that, but didn’t realize it was so expensive. Is it better than regular leather?”
“Not particularly,” he said. “But if you jack the price up on something and call it rare, people’ll buy it.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” I muttered. “I like to play a game when I come here to get a hot dog, especially during the rodeo. I watch the people in the crowd and try to guess what they do for a living.”
“Good game,” Johnny said, leaning closer to me so he could lower his voice to a deep, rumbling whisper. “How about those two men?”
I immediately knew who he was talking about. “Let’s see. Designer jeans. Massive beer bellies. Cowboy hats and boots so new I’m pretty sure they bought them today. They’re a pair of Dallas businessmen visiting Fort Worth to cosplay as cowboys for the weekend.”
“They’re C-suite for sure,” Johnny agreed. “You can tell they haven’t broken in their boots by the way they’re walkin’. They’ll have blisters in the mornin’.”
I nodded at a woman walking alone. “Your turn. What’s she do?”
Johnny squinted. “Older woman, red boots and sequin skirt. This isn’t her first rodeo, you might say.”
I snorted. “I’m going to let that bad joke slide, but you’re on thin ice.”
“Fair.” Johnny scratched at Dusty’s ear. “I think she’s a local. She’s here for the rodeo, but annoyed by all the tourists walking slow. Those red boots are nice, but not too nice. She bought them years ago but takes good care of them. She has work in the morning, and is heading back to her car.”
“I would buy that,” I said.
“Your turn. Who’s that guy?” Johnny pointed to the right.
“Hmm. That’s a tough one.” I frowned. “This is going to shock you, but that’s an international assassin. His target is here at the rodeo, which is the perfect place to kill someone since anyone can open-carry. The pistol on his hip is filled with hollow-point bullets, and he’s wearing a fake mustache.”
Johnny barked a laugh that made the man in question glance over at us. We smiled politely until he continued on, but then giggled together when he was out of earshot.
“I hope we didn’t get on his bad side,” Johnny said. “Ohh, this next one is mine. That couple over there? He’s a retired oil man, and that’s his mail-order bride.”
When I saw who he was talking about, I winced. “Good guess. That’s actually the largest donor of the rodeo, and his wife. They practically run this town.”
Johnny frowned. “Are we still playing the game?”
“Unfortunately not. That’s Theodore Salmon, and he is the largest donor for the Fort Worth Rodeo. He comes from oil money, and now owns a lot of commercial real estate. And his wife is a piece of work, too.”
“My guess was pretty damn close.” Johnny lowered his voice. “She’s really his wife? She could be his granddaughter.”
“Yup. You don’t want to make an enemy out of Ted Salmon. I heard he got a competitor kicked out of the rodeo last year for saying something negative about Chris Appleton. The guy was a rodeo veteran, too. From Wyoming, I think.”
“Oh shit. That’s why Jim Shepherd was kicked out? I remember that. One day he was here, the next day he was on his way home without a word.”
“That’s Ted Salmon,” I said dryly. “When he snaps his fingers, he gets what he wants.”
A hard look filled Johnny’s eyes. “He looks like an asshole.”
“You have no idea,” I said. “Just don’t make an enemy out of him and you’ll be okay. But enough about him. I’m buying dessert. I hope you like ice cream.”
Johnny smirked. “I’ve been known to eat a pint or two in my day.”