WATERMELON COWBOY

Short Story by Lyn Cote

(Copyright 2010 Lyn Cote)

“Hi, are you a cowboy?” Danny asked.

Sarah stood behind her freckled, about-to-enter-kindergarten son. Affectionately she finger-combed his red curls. On the way home from her new job and Danny’s new daycare, they’d stopped at the roadside produce stand.

“Well…” The tall, good-looking man in denim eased out of his lawn chair, then stood up by the weather-beaten stand. “Do you think a watermelon needs roping?”

“But you got on a cowboy hat.” Danny pointed to the battered straw hat shaped like a Stetson the man wore.

“No, this is my melon hat. Always wear it when I work the melon patch and this stand.”

“Oh.” Danny’s voice showed his disappointment.

Sarah sighed inwardly. She knew all about the kind of disappointment that comes when appearances were deceiving. Her six-year marriage to Danny’s father had been an unfolding story of disillusionment. The only things genuine she’d gotten out of the marriage were debt and Danny.

“What can I get for you, ma’am?” the Watermelon Cowboy asked.

As Sarah read aloud her grandmother’s shopping list, perspiration trickled down her back from the late summer heat. How did the cowboy look so cool?

He slapped open a paper bag. “Why don’t you pick out the ears of corn you want?”

“Right.” She’d lived so long on generic macaroni and cheese she’d forgotten what it was like to pick out fresh produce. She walked to the table heaped with sweet corn. A sign over it said, “Fresh picked today.” Promises, promises, she said to herself.

She stripped down a piece of green husk from a plump ear of corn. Performing the test for freshness she’d learned years ago during summer visits at her grandmother’s, she pressed her thumbnail into one pearl-sized, pale yellow kernel. Creamy corn juice spurted out. “Fresh,” she murmured in approval.

“That’s what the sign says.” The cowboy grinned.

Assessing him, she dropped it in the bag he held.

“Can I do that?” Danny asked.

“Sure can.” The man swung Danny up to sit on the edge of the table and showed him how to test the corn. “You’re Sarah Jane, Martha McDowell’s family, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.” Sarah sighed. Small town gossip. She’d been afraid people here might talk behind her back. She watched her son test each ear and drop it into the bag.

The man leaned against the table and gave her a slow smile. “I’m Tate, Jessie Quint’s grandson.”

Sarah smiled back. She’d met Tate’s grandmother again just the other day.

“This is fun!” Danny squirted the last ear of corn. “What’s next, Mom?”

“A muskmelon.”

Danny grimaced. “A mush melon. That don’t sound good!”

Tate chuckled. “They’re kind of ugly on the outside, but they sure taste good.” He bent down and opened a cooler. “Want a sample?” He held out two orangy chunks on toothpicks to them.

He went on, “I heard you came to live with Martha and help her out. We’re glad. She didn’t want to leave her home yet.”

She nodded, then swallowed the sweet melon. “It’s my grandmother who’s doing me a favor.” She couldn’t hold back the regret in her voice. Living with her grandmother would give her a chance to pay off debts her ex had left behind in both their names.

Danny warily licked his melon chunk, then shoved it into his mouth. “Yummy!”

Tate showed Danny how to shake a ripe muskmelon to hear the seeds

rattle. “That’s how you know it’s a good one, ready to chill and eat.”

“Right!” Danny formed his fingers into the “OK” sign.

“Next?” Tate asked.

“Watermelon,” Sarah said, glancing away, too aware of the man’s easy charm.

Tate escorted them over to the shaded pile of watermelons.

“Why don’t you just pick one out for me?” Sarah said.

“No, you pick out one out and I’ll ‘plug’ it for you.” Tate grinned down at Danny who had perched on the largest melon.

“No one ‘plugs’ watermelons any more,” she objected warily. Was he trying to impress her?

He crossed his arms casually over his chest. “I do. Only sure way to know.”

She pointed at a green and yellow-striped melon. He pulled out a knife, cut a triangle-shaped plug and handed it to her. She bit into the sweet red melon, then caught the sugary juice as it trickled down her chin. She couldn’t help it; she giggled.

“I want some!” Danny declared.

Tate cut and handed him a second plug.

“We’ll take that one.” Sarah smiled shyly, her eyes lowered.

“Just a few days to the Sweet Corn Festival. You planning on going?” Tate asked as he carried the melon to her car’s trunk.

It was a simple question, but Sarah wondered if a possible invitation was close behind it. She’d warmed to this friendly Watermelon Cowboy, but she hoped he hadn’t mistaken her smiles as flirtatious. Romance was the last thing on her mind. “Maybe.” With a polite wave, she drove away.”

Drop by Tuesday July 6th to read the romantic ending!