Southern Grace
What happens when Southern Grace meets
Texas country?
read unedited excerpt below
Grace pulls her Renegade jeep to a stop at the Dusty Diamond Bar & Grill in Houston’s south side. When the dust settles, her rear-view reveals a postcard perfect skyline pitched against a peach and lavender streaked sky.
In a fit of self frustration she aggressively turns her mirror and runs her slender fingers through her dark trusses. Swiping her third finger across her Georgia Peach lip color compact, she dabs a little across her lower lip. In her sultry, southern accent that's as thick as molasses on a cold Christmas morning, she berates herself, "How could you Grace Caroline, fall not once, but twice in the arms of a perfect stranger? You are a ballerina after all. And how dare Lance hold me like that 'til I agree to attend some special event with him? No matter Grace Caroline-hold to your commitment, Friday it’ll all be over with and you’ll never have to see him again.” Approving of her last minute touch up, she takes in a deep breath and reaches for her purse before going in.
Once inside the dimly lit foyer, she pauses, allowing her eyes to adjust. Looking beyond the rustic hand hewn beams recycled from an old farm stead that framed the entrance, she recognizes the dark figure walking toward the juke box in the far corner. Adjusting her purse over her right shoulder, “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Lance [Cowboy] Houghton. Now, why are you here?” she whispers.
To her left, a bartender pops a rolled up bar towel on one of the bar maids and laughs with the two other cowboys lazily leaning on the bar. Drawing her eyes down their long frames she couldn't help but notice their tight derrieres framed by worn chaps that hung carelessly, slightly concealing equally worn spurs. Looking back at the jukebox, she watches as Lance turns around right into the arms of a girl whose bare threads leave little to the imagination.
Slightly angered by this commotion, Cowboy looks up just in time to notice Grace staring at him. The steal cold in her eyes stops him dead cold in his tracks. She was just hoping it hid the slight tinge of pain tugging at her middle. Fighting to break the release of the local lot lizard, he mutters, “You’ve done it now Cowboy! Try explaining this one to her.”
After their eyes met momentarily, Cowboy started walking towards her. She looks away as if she couldn’t care less that her sneaking suspicions of Cowboy were actually true. Hmm, why he is a womanizer and why should I care anyway whose arms he’s in? she thought as she turns to walk up to the bar.
Hearing Grace’s steps approach, the men turn around. “Well, howdy there, Ms?” says Frank. Grace smiles her heart pounding smile that slightly turns up the left side of her mouth and looks to the bartender.
“I’m here for a meetin’ with Shayna Stillin’s. Would you all care to direct me to her table?” The bartender, clearing his throat hoping his vocal gesture apologizes somehow for his behavior with the young lady, points to the glass enclosed area in the north corner just beyond the wooden bear sporting a lure studded fishing hat and holding his prized fishing pole.
Turning to look back at the two cowboys, she answers, “Grace.” reaching her hand out in a slow graceful manner. “My name is Grace Caroline Madison.” She tilts her head upwards and a little to her left. “And you boys are?” she asks.
“Uh, Frank, Ma’am,” he begins to stutter. After adjusting his sweaty straw hat, he extends his hand to connect with hers but quickly withdraws, apologizing. Wiping his hand down the side of his jeans he reaches again for her hand and continues, “Uh, my name is Frank, and this, this here is my buddy, uh . . .”
“Oh, stop your drooling, Frank,” says Jess. “I told your mamma not to let you out without your bib. Let go of her hand, you’ll shake her arm plumb off.” Smiling, he winks at Grace, “You’ll have to excuse him Ma’am, he just graduated first grade." Grace leans forward in a short bursted laugh. "Name’s Jesse Boudreaux, you can call me Jess. Pleasure meet'n ya.”
"How long have you two been friends?" Grace asks.
"Oh, well, we've been best friends since high school. Spent eight years together in the Army. Started riding for the rodeo in Wyoming, been riding the circuit with him ever since," answers Jess.
“Now, Jess, you know I ain’t no…” Frank trails off as Cowboy walks up to the bar. “What the blazes happened to you, Cowboy? You look like…”
“Thanks for the Pepsi, Sanchez,” Cowboy interrupts, holding his glass up to the bartender. He looks up nodding to his buddies, “Howdy Girls.”
“¿Qué paso, Cowboy,” says Jess.
“Cowboy,” Frank nods, reaching out to shake his hand. He was quick to pick up that Cowboy has no interest in answering his earlier question. Wanting to stay off that subject he turns his attention back to Jess. “Hey Jess,” he calls out, winking at Grace and flipping a quarter, “heads up, I dance with her first.”
Cowboy reaches out to catch Frank’s quarter, “Don’t bother, she can’t stand on her own two feet; takes a real man to hold this one up.” Holding his drink he turns to lock eyes with Grace. Sporting a sheepish grin, he rests his left elbow against the edge of the bar, throws his right leg over his left, scuffling his boot across the floor before coming to a rest on the toe.
“Cowboy, I do believe you nailed your own coffin, ol’ boy,” Jesse said, adding to the cheerful banter. He leans back against the bar readying himself for a showdown and he already knows who’s going to win this one.
Grace stands back in mock disbelief at Cowboy’s comment. Shifting her weight to her left leg she lets both arms hang down on either side. Starting at his eyes, she gracefully and slowly lowers her eyes, stopping at his belt buckle before dropping on down to his boots and quickly back up again. “Hmm,” she says tilting her head slightly left and in a throaty tone that playfully suggests her wonder of his response if she were to draw her deadly verbal guns on him.
She walks up to within an inch of Cowboy nearly straddling his feet and takes his drink from his hand, leaving him in wide-eyed wonder at what he just got started. Without taking her eyes off of him, she pulls the straw around for a slow sip draining the tall glass of its contents. “Well, Cowboy,” she started, raising her left eyebrow, “when you find a real man,” she pauses to set the glass down on the bar, “let me know.” With a wink, she reaches for his cowboy hat and places it on her head. Turning to Jesse, she says, “Care to dance with a girl from Valdosta Georgia?”
"Still wet behind the ears boys. You ought to get cleaned up before you make mud of the sawdust,” Jesse calls out while whirling Grace onto the dance floor.
by Alexia Stevens
In a fit of self frustration she aggressively turns her mirror and runs her slender fingers through her dark trusses. Swiping her third finger across her Georgia Peach lip color compact, she dabs a little across her lower lip. In her sultry, southern accent that's as thick as molasses on a cold Christmas morning, she berates herself, "How could you Grace Caroline, fall not once, but twice in the arms of a perfect stranger? You are a ballerina after all. And how dare Lance hold me like that 'til I agree to attend some special event with him? No matter Grace Caroline-hold to your commitment, Friday it’ll all be over with and you’ll never have to see him again.” Approving of her last minute touch up, she takes in a deep breath and reaches for her purse before going in.
Once inside the dimly lit foyer, she pauses, allowing her eyes to adjust. Looking beyond the rustic hand hewn beams recycled from an old farm stead that framed the entrance, she recognizes the dark figure walking toward the juke box in the far corner. Adjusting her purse over her right shoulder, “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Lance [Cowboy] Houghton. Now, why are you here?” she whispers.
To her left, a bartender pops a rolled up bar towel on one of the bar maids and laughs with the two other cowboys lazily leaning on the bar. Drawing her eyes down their long frames she couldn't help but notice their tight derrieres framed by worn chaps that hung carelessly, slightly concealing equally worn spurs. Looking back at the jukebox, she watches as Lance turns around right into the arms of a girl whose bare threads leave little to the imagination.
Slightly angered by this commotion, Cowboy looks up just in time to notice Grace staring at him. The steal cold in her eyes stops him dead cold in his tracks. She was just hoping it hid the slight tinge of pain tugging at her middle. Fighting to break the release of the local lot lizard, he mutters, “You’ve done it now Cowboy! Try explaining this one to her.”
After their eyes met momentarily, Cowboy started walking towards her. She looks away as if she couldn’t care less that her sneaking suspicions of Cowboy were actually true. Hmm, why he is a womanizer and why should I care anyway whose arms he’s in? she thought as she turns to walk up to the bar.
Hearing Grace’s steps approach, the men turn around. “Well, howdy there, Ms?” says Frank. Grace smiles her heart pounding smile that slightly turns up the left side of her mouth and looks to the bartender.
“I’m here for a meetin’ with Shayna Stillin’s. Would you all care to direct me to her table?” The bartender, clearing his throat hoping his vocal gesture apologizes somehow for his behavior with the young lady, points to the glass enclosed area in the north corner just beyond the wooden bear sporting a lure studded fishing hat and holding his prized fishing pole.
Turning to look back at the two cowboys, she answers, “Grace.” reaching her hand out in a slow graceful manner. “My name is Grace Caroline Madison.” She tilts her head upwards and a little to her left. “And you boys are?” she asks.
“Uh, Frank, Ma’am,” he begins to stutter. After adjusting his sweaty straw hat, he extends his hand to connect with hers but quickly withdraws, apologizing. Wiping his hand down the side of his jeans he reaches again for her hand and continues, “Uh, my name is Frank, and this, this here is my buddy, uh . . .”
“Oh, stop your drooling, Frank,” says Jess. “I told your mamma not to let you out without your bib. Let go of her hand, you’ll shake her arm plumb off.” Smiling, he winks at Grace, “You’ll have to excuse him Ma’am, he just graduated first grade." Grace leans forward in a short bursted laugh. "Name’s Jesse Boudreaux, you can call me Jess. Pleasure meet'n ya.”
"How long have you two been friends?" Grace asks.
"Oh, well, we've been best friends since high school. Spent eight years together in the Army. Started riding for the rodeo in Wyoming, been riding the circuit with him ever since," answers Jess.
“Now, Jess, you know I ain’t no…” Frank trails off as Cowboy walks up to the bar. “What the blazes happened to you, Cowboy? You look like…”
“Thanks for the Pepsi, Sanchez,” Cowboy interrupts, holding his glass up to the bartender. He looks up nodding to his buddies, “Howdy Girls.”
“¿Qué paso, Cowboy,” says Jess.
“Cowboy,” Frank nods, reaching out to shake his hand. He was quick to pick up that Cowboy has no interest in answering his earlier question. Wanting to stay off that subject he turns his attention back to Jess. “Hey Jess,” he calls out, winking at Grace and flipping a quarter, “heads up, I dance with her first.”
Cowboy reaches out to catch Frank’s quarter, “Don’t bother, she can’t stand on her own two feet; takes a real man to hold this one up.” Holding his drink he turns to lock eyes with Grace. Sporting a sheepish grin, he rests his left elbow against the edge of the bar, throws his right leg over his left, scuffling his boot across the floor before coming to a rest on the toe.
“Cowboy, I do believe you nailed your own coffin, ol’ boy,” Jesse said, adding to the cheerful banter. He leans back against the bar readying himself for a showdown and he already knows who’s going to win this one.
Grace stands back in mock disbelief at Cowboy’s comment. Shifting her weight to her left leg she lets both arms hang down on either side. Starting at his eyes, she gracefully and slowly lowers her eyes, stopping at his belt buckle before dropping on down to his boots and quickly back up again. “Hmm,” she says tilting her head slightly left and in a throaty tone that playfully suggests her wonder of his response if she were to draw her deadly verbal guns on him.
She walks up to within an inch of Cowboy nearly straddling his feet and takes his drink from his hand, leaving him in wide-eyed wonder at what he just got started. Without taking her eyes off of him, she pulls the straw around for a slow sip draining the tall glass of its contents. “Well, Cowboy,” she started, raising her left eyebrow, “when you find a real man,” she pauses to set the glass down on the bar, “let me know.” With a wink, she reaches for his cowboy hat and places it on her head. Turning to Jesse, she says, “Care to dance with a girl from Valdosta Georgia?”
"Still wet behind the ears boys. You ought to get cleaned up before you make mud of the sawdust,” Jesse calls out while whirling Grace onto the dance floor.
by Alexia Stevens
