A Wild Ride (Jessica Brodie Diaries #3)(3)

I wanted to be with William, and my family rarely did much anyway because they were jerks, so I would be there. Adam would also be going, as was tradition, but his girlfriend, whom was still very much in the picture despite William’s protests Adam wasn’t that into her, had a huge fight with him because of it. She said the tradition was with her family, and since the Davies weren’t even his family, he should go with her.

Telling Adam that the Davies weren’t his family got her a decline and an un-invitation. Everyone who even barely knew Adam knew that he was loyal to a fault, and the Davies had done so much for him that he thought of them as blood. William, being the same way, treated Adam like a brother, and was sad to hear Adam’s girlfriend was so near-sighted.

William told me that, not Adam.

All that was left was the damn bull. William’s heart’s desire.

The farmer needed to sell the thing, because he needed new equipment. He just didn’t want to sell to William. William really wanted it, and hated not getting what he wanted, so he promised favors to other farmers so the only person that the old man could sell it to was him.

It was just a matter of time. Or so William thought! Ha!

The only problem was that William had a bunch of cash to throw around. He offered the bull owner a ton of money just to secure the dumb thing. I didn’t have a ton of money. I had to buy a new car, I had to pay off debt, and while I made decent money now, I wasn’t made of greenbacks.

Luckily I had boobs. Unluckily I'd have to show them.

The day came to buy the bull. Adam had called and told me it was now or never. He would be available all weekend with a trailer to pick it up if I got it.

“Oh, I’m so going to get it!” I said to myself. A pep talk was key.

It was a chilly Saturday in early December when I dressed like a huge slut, with a disgracefully low-cut, fake silk blouse and a thin bra. Hard ni**les would be showing. I was not proud, but I was determined.

I had a short, tight skirt with stockings. It was a lot trashy, but apparently that’s what this guy liked, judging by his two ex-wives. I knew this because Moose was a fountain of information in all things gossip.

Lump had a hideous cotton shirt that was mostly see-through. The shirt was white, her push up bra was black. Hot. She had some crazy tight jeans on. We looked the part, all right.

I had four grand cash in my purse, and checkbook ready if it wasn’t enough. I really, really hoped it would be enough.

We arrived at the shabby, broken down ranch about mid-day. We walked carefully and stupidly in our too-high, ugly plastic heels. Before we got to the door I grabbed the camera from my purse and snapped a couple pictures of Lump. They’d be good blackmail pictures.

Once on the creaking porch I called Adam.

“Jess?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “We’re about to knock.”

“Okay, keep the phone on, put it in your purse, and if there is any trouble, yell.”

“Kay, but we’ll be fine Adam. Listen in. If I get in a bind, I’ll go to the bathroom and ask advice.”

“No problem. And Jess?”

“Yeah?”

“You are a good woman for doing this for Willie, you know?”

“Thanks Adam, but it isn’t done yet. Talk soon.”

“And Jess…”

“Yes, Adam?”

“Let Betz handle…anything. Okay? Let her…handle it. Until I get there.”

I smiled briefly. “Always do.”

I put the phone in my purse as Lump knocked.

The door was answered by a gruff, white haired man in his 60’s or more. He was wrinkled and weathered, stooping over as he looked through the screen door at us.

“Who is it?” he asked in a scratchy voice badly damaged from years of smoking.

“Mr. Wyatt Pickitt?” Lump asked with a slight country twinge to her voice.

“Yeah? Who’s askin’?”

“Oh, hell-o Mr. Pickitt. I am here to ask about your little ‘ol bull for sale?”

He leaned closer to the screen door to get a better look at his prospective customers. It was then he noticed what we looked like. Or, more appropriately, what we were wearing.

“Well, ladies. Now. Y’all c’mon in here a minute. Don’t y’all look...purty.”

This was going to be a long afternoon.

He opened the screen door leering like the old creep he was. We sauntered in like prostitutes, getting our first look around.

The place smelt like feet and mold. Paint chipped off the walls, crap was piled everywhere, and there were more dirty coffee cups than I had ever seen in one place in my life, café’s and truck stops included.

He led us into a dilapidated living room where all the furniture was mismatched and, we soon found out, uncomfortable. I was sitting on a hard spring that I swear was leaving a bruise.

“Wud you girls like coffee?” he asked with teeth as mismatched as his furniture.

“Oh, no thank ya,” Lump replied with a cheesy, seductive smile. She was chosen to be the front runner in case this old fart tried anything, or in case he had sons around that we didn’t account for.

It was a little nippy in the room, as I expected, and I could tell my ni**les were now making an appearance. It wasn’t long before they became the center attraction of the conversation. I bent over a little to show cle**age and distract him further. I wanted this sell. Pride had to take a back seat on this one. Sorry women’s lib. I’ll make it up another time.