Debbi Rawlins - The Swinging R Ranch

“Aren’t you going to answer mine?”

At the same gruff voice Abby thought she’d heard earlier, everyone twisted in their seats to see who it was. She herself squinted, trying to see past the last grouping of tables but she still couldn’t identify the speaker. It hadn’t helped that his voice was somewhat garbled. Heaven help her, she hoped Fritz Walker hadn’t crawled into his moonshine again and wanted to pick a philosophical fight about today’s mores.

“I’m sorry,” she said, still unsuccessfully scanning the room. “I didn’t hear the question.”

“I wanna know about the Swinging R, what that Max Bennett plans to do with it.”

Mention of the Swinging R started the murmuring again. Abby’s patience slipped three notches. She shaded her eyes against the lights’ glare and strained for a better look. “Fritz, is that you?”

No one answered.

Something was fishy. The Swinging R wasn’t an issue. She had made it a personal one, but politically, no one had questioned the existence of the brothel in her entire lifetime. Why would someone bring it up now?

“I’d like to see whom I’m addressing before I answer the question,” she stated firmly, and the few people who hadn’t already craned their necks for a look, turned around to see who it was.

Herb Hanson stepped out from behind a large fake ficus plant. “I guess that would be me.” He shuffled forward a couple of feet, his face redder than the bandana around his neck.

“Why you wanna know? You finally gonna marry Mona?” someone shouted out, and everyone else laughed.

“That ain’t none of your business,” Herb said, and headed for the far corner of the room, grumbling under his breath. Something made him stop, or someone.

He slowly turned around and faced Abby, his reluctance as obvious as white icing on a chocolate cake. He stuck a finger in between his neck and bandana and tried to loosen it. “Well, Abigail, what’s your answer?”

Someone clearly had put Herb up to this to rattle her, but she wasn’t giving in easily. Maybe she could even embarrass him into sitting down and keeping his mouth shut. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat the question?”

“Oh, come on, Abigail, you heard me.”

“With all the commotion, I forgot,” she said with a sweet smile and a small shrug.

He just stood there for a moment, and she hoped he was reconsidering allowing himself to be a puppet for whomever was pulling the strings. Not that it was too hard to guess who that would be. Mona, probably. Except that didn’t make any sense. Why would she want to put the Swinging R in the spotlight?

A sudden thought struck Abby. Viagra. Was Mona serious?

“Did you say you want to reopen the Swinging R?” she asked and received exactly the reaction she wanted.

While the audience issued a collective gasp, Herb’s cheeks colored with outrage, and he whipped off his tan Stetson and slapped the side of his leg with it. “Are you loco?”

She raised her brows in innocence. “I’m not really sure what you’re getting at.”

Herb glanced over his shoulder. Abby tried to see whom he was looking at but a row of silk trees in the back of the room blocked her view. When she moved her head slightly to the right, she saw him.

Max Bennett.

What the dickens did he have up his sleeve?

“Tell me exactly what you want, Herb.” Her patience was gone, the sharpness in her voice vibrating into the microphone and bouncing off the walls.

“Gosh darnit, you’re getting me all confused.”

“Why? Don’t you know what you want? Or maybe you’re speaking on someone else’s behalf? Mr. Bennett’s, perhaps? Did he ask you to do his dirty work for him?”

Herb started stammering, and regret pricked Abby for picking on him. She started to let him off the hook when Max stepped forward.

“That’s enough, Abby,” he said, holding her gaze. “I assure you I don’t know anything about this.”

The room grew absurdly quiet as everyone gawked at him. Then like dominoes, the younger women started putting their heads together and whispering. The older ones seemed to all turn their avid attention to Abby.

She cleared her throat, then gritted her teeth when the sound echoed through the microphone. “Fine. Then if there aren’t any more questions, we’ll wrap this evening up.”

“Come on, Abigail,” someone from the audience yelled. “Who is this guy?”

She’d brought this on herself, she realized with disgust, by trying to provoke poor Herb. Her only comfort was that Max looked about as happy as she was over this situation. “This is Maxwell Bennett. Mr. Bennett is Lily McIntyre’s nephew, and the new owner of the Swinging R.”

The silence lasted only a moment, and then the collective murmur grew to a roar. Obviously, few if anyone had seen Max before now, although how they could have missed him was beyond her. He was taller than almost anyone here, his shoulders definitely broader. He was only one of three men who wore a suit. Plus, he had green eyes.

Finally, Virgil Mayflower, who owned both the gas station and the general store, stood and approached Max with an extended hand. “Welcome to Bingo, son. We’re sure glad to see you.”

Max smiled and shook Virgil’s hand, but Abby could tell he was uncomfortable. No one else could possibly detect his unease, he was too polished, and it puzzled her that she was able to see it. She didn’t know him well enough, yet she had no doubt she was correct.

“You just get into town?” Virgil asked, stepping back to appraise Max, frowning as he slicked back his dark straight hair.

Virgil took pride in the fact that he was always the best-dressed man in Bingo, and generally he was, but his dark brown western-cut suit didn’t hold a candle to the custom Italian design Max wore.

“Yesterday.”

“Good, good. Glad you could make it tonight. Wish you’d spoken up sooner.”

Max swept a glance around the room. Everyone’s gaze was glued to him. “I leave tomorrow.”

“What?” Virgil reared back his head. “Then what did you decide to do with the Swinging R?”

“Don’t know yet.”

Abby smiled to herself. If Max thought he could get away with that answer, he was in for one heck of a surprise. Virgil was also the richest man in Bingo but he was always looking for ways to increase his business, and probably the only one who’d like to see the brothel restored to its glory days to provide more traffic through town.

“When are you gonna know?” Virgil demanded, his legendary impatience sharpening his tone. “That old place has been run-down for years. You look like you could afford to put quite a few bucks in the place.”

Max reacted with a bark of laughter. “You seem to have a strong opinion. Care to buy the place?”

Some people gasped, others laughed. Abby leaned on the podium, enjoying the fireworks and being off the hot-seat.

“Well, maybe I just might.” The telltale vein popped out along Virgil’s receding hairline. He was both angry and flustered, not a pretty combination for him.

“Ah, shut up, Virgil, and let the young man speak,” Mabel Salazar said, crossing her arms over her enormous bosom. “We all know you wouldn’t put a plug nickel into the place. You’re just interested in making money, not spending it.”

Other than a murmur or two, no one said anything. Virgil had both influence and a temper, and people didn’t like having to drive to the next town for groceries when he got steamed.

“Hey, Virgil.” Max surprised the older man by shaking his hand again, distracting him from the menacing look he was giving Mabel. “No hard feelings, huh? I had a rough flight, and I’m pretty tired. I’m still trying to decide what to do with the place.”