On the Buckle Page 5

  “That’s all I got time for, today.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “You had a chance to get out?”

  “Hank took me to the MFA.”

  JJ laughed. “Not what I meant.”

  I knew what he meant.

  “How ‘bout dinner?”

  I hadn’t had a chance to grocery shop yet. Tomorrow was open. I would be schooling horses in the morning, and at some point I needed to finish digging out the stalls. I could shop later. For tonight, dinner out sounded good. Dinner with a good-looking…hang on a sec.

  “Are you married?”

  He looked startled, like I was proposing rather than gathering information. Then, the grin came on full blast. I suspected there were dimples hiding under his silky beard.

  “No, ma’am,” he drawled.

  ~~~

  JJ gave me directions to Mel’s tavern. We agreed to meet there later. JJ was definitely attractive, but I wasn’t ready for anything remotely resembling a date. Even if I was, taking my own truck made me feel safer, in control. Anyway, I could handle whatever JJ might dish out. Back home, I’d met some mighty squirrelly guys. He had nothing on them.

  I strolled into the bar at seven. There were pool tables toward the back past a wheezy-looking jukebox and open space in the middle could have been a dance floor once, but was now occupied by a few square tables. A hand-written sign advertised karaoke on Thursday nights. Two women sitting at a table scanned me from the neck of my red tee-shirt down to my sandals and returned to their pizza. They wore dirty jeans and boots and looked like they’d just come from milking the cows. To them, I must’ve looked as out of place and useful as a fart in a mitten.

  The skirt I’d chosen covered the bruises on my thighs, barely. If I were careful when I sat, no one would notice. I’d tested this before leaving. Should have worn pants, I know, but the skirt was cuter.

  JJ was throwing darts at a board beyond the pool tables. When he saw me he waved, threw one more dart and sauntered toward me as I took a seat at the bar. He wore clean work boots and walked with long strides, confident. The sleeves of his faded blue tee-shirt grazed those lovely muscular arms of his. He smelled like cologne and filled out his jeans nicely and pulled a bar stool out for me before taking his own. So far, so good.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

  He’d been leaning back against the cash register when I came in, sort of in shadow. In more direct light, he looked like he served as the bouncer as well. Burly. No—more like meaty. He had a pleasant round face and curly brown hair, fingers thick as a pitchfork handle and a belly that obscured his belt, but something about the way he held himself warned anyone paying attention not to underestimate him.

  I caught JJ getting an eyeful of my legs when I crossed them. Okay, so that’s why I wore the skirt. “Water,” I said. He ordered a Budweiser.

  “Kevie makes the best pizza in town,” JJ said.

  No place has better pizza than New York, but given that Kevie probably made the only pizza in town, I figured this wasn’t really an overstatement. I decided to find out just how bad it was and ordered one with everything. We took a table.

  “So,” I said, “have you worked for Mr. Malcolm long?”

  He paused in knocking back his beer and surveyed me over the top of the bottle. Something shifted behind his eyes, like he was trying to decide between many possible answers.

  “Just forever.”

  Hunh. Dutifully, I responded, “Forever? That’s a long time.”

  Another shift, this one more obvious. Bad blood between JJ and Mr. Malcolm?

  “Seems that way.”

  Mucking stalls for even thirty minutes can seem like forever, especially if you have no interest in horses. Ever since I was a little girl, I would have done anything to be around them. Dirty stalls went with the territory and got me the contact I craved. But JJ hadn’t really been cleaning the stalls, even if he thought he had, and even if that’s what he’d been paid for.

  “He needs all the help he can get,” JJ added. “What with him being gone most the time and since his Dad moved back to the city. I do what I can.”

  Something else passed behind his eyes, and this time the inner thought made him smile. I reminded myself I was new to the area and these people had known each other forever.

  “Were you born here?” I asked.

  JJ glanced around the bar. “Not exactly right here.”

  I forced out a laugh. “That’s a relief.” Smart-ass.

  He leaned his elbows on the table, let the bottle dangle from his fingertips, and hiked up one corner of his mouth. Damn, he had a great smile. And this close, I could see he did have dimples.

  “Just messin’ with you. I know what you mean. Yeah, born and bred. All my life. Just like my pop, and my grand pop.”

  “So, you have a lot of family around?”

  I’m always curious about other people’s families and their relationships since mine are so…odd. My parents left me to pursue their dream of international stardom in the world of competitive ballroom dancing. Guess I looked like excess baggage, and my aunt and uncle were willing to take me in.

  Aunt Trudy is my mother’s sister. Their parents, who were from Italy, died before I was born. Uncle Victor is as steady as they come—so long as he doesn’t drink the wine he makes. He’s the only child of Lithuanians who had him late in life then died young. My mother’s parents raised him, so for all intents and purposes, he’s as Italian as my aunt. Being raised by someone other than his parents is probably why he didn’t bat an eye when my mother dumped her child on him just weeks before his own, Penny, was born.

  My father grew up in an orphanage and met my mother at his first job—cleaning toilets for a dance instructor. Mom was a promising young student in need of a partner. Sounds romantic till you get to the part about me. They weren’t married yet when I was born, so I’m a bastard. Most people assume I’m Vic and Trudy’s kid, and I let them.

  Kevie brought the pizza. It was much flatter than I expected and cut into little squares instead of big triangles. Weird. How was I supposed to eat the pieces on the inside with no crust to hold?

  “Sure you don’t want a beer with that?” JJ asked.

  “No thanks. So, about your family?”

  He tipped his chair until it leaned against the table behind us, cradled a fresh beer against his chest. It looked good. The beer. Okay, his chest, too. And there was that shift behind his eyes again. This time, accompanied by a glance over his shoulder. Maybe he was consulting with an angel. I have a way of stumbling onto the touchy subjects and not knowing when to drop them. And sometimes people resort to prayer when they’re talking to me. As in, “Jesus, would you get off my back?”

  “My mom’s around.”

  Around, as in wandering around? “Siblings?” I asked.

  He stared at me. Maybe it was the beer. I clarified. “Brothers and sisters?”

  “Older sister lives in the city. Married a lawyer she met in college.”

  The way he said it, his sister had betrayed him in some way, like she’d married outside the species. I took my turn looking away and chewing. It was not good. In fact, it was bad enough it really couldn’t be considered pizza at all. Thinking that way set up a false expectation. Cheez Whiz on crackers, maybe. Not pizza. The sausages were little crumbles that obviously had been frozen and nuked. These rubbery little delights had been tossed with dried-up olives, onions that looked like they’d been shaken from a spice jar, and tiny bits of green pepper with no flavor at all. I needed a beer to wash it down.

  Just one.

  I waved to Kevie, pointed at JJ’s beer. Kevie gave a very slight bob of his chin, cracked open a cold one and brought it over. JJ helped himself to a square of our meal. A string of cheese stretched all the way from the metal pan to his mouth. He pinched it off at the base and slurped it up like spaghetti without getting a speck on either his beard or his mustache. Impressive.

  He smile
d as I sipped my long-necked Bud. Only Anheuser-Busch products available, even this far from St. Louis. That was okay. I didn’t have a preference. When I drank, anything would do. Which is why I don’t drink. For a while, after Wastrel died, I sucked down a lot of alcohol. I figured it was no different from the drugs the doctor prescribed for my pain, and so much more fun than pills. Then, I stopped. Then, I started teaching riding. And I started drinking again. I’d stopped…

  “How about you?” JJ asked.

  I glanced around the interior. “You can bet your ass I wasn’t born here.”

  He laughed, and I smiled, and it felt good.

  “No, really, what brought you here from The Big Apple?”

  “Time for a change of scene, you know what I mean?”

  He belched, then nodded. “I hear ya,” he said.

  We clinked bottles, he winked. Charming. I felt the muscles between my shoulder blades begin to unkink. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been. The beer was a good idea. I could like JJ.

  He let the chair clunk to the floor. “I’ve been thinking lately I need a change of scene, too. That’s why I quit Mac’s place once and for all. There’s no future with him, you’ll see.”

  JJ didn’t need to know I wasn’t looking for a future, not a very long one, anyway.

  “Yep, time to broaden my horizons,” he said. “Maybe I’ll check out New York.”

  “If you do, let me know, I’ll give you the names of some people.” And who, exactly, would that be?

  “Then again,” he continued with a blatant perusal of my legs, “the scenery here has improved lately, so maybe I’ll stick around, see what comes up.”

  He clinked my bottle again.

  See what comes up, indeed.

  Half an hour and most of that nasty excuse for a pizza later, JJ demonstrated how to throw darts. He stood right behind me to do it, and I noticed how good he smelled and heard myself giggle and suspected I’d downed another beer—to chase the two shots of vodka. I felt relaxed, moving toward tired, and figured I’d better call it a night before I couldn’t find my way to Winterlight. Two beers and two shots was beyond the limit, I knew that. I can’t drink at all. And I definitely shouldn’t mix. I start saying stupid things, then doing stupid things. That’s why I usually drink alone at home, just like an alcoholic.

  But JJ’s left hand was on my hip. He held my throwing arm, cradled my right hand in his, and maybe, just maybe did something suggestive with his fingers against mine where he wrapped them round the shaft of the dart. A little more time with him wouldn’t hurt. I had my truck.

  I giggled again and leaned into him. I hate it when I giggle. It’s a clear indication I’ve had too much to drink. He was solid muscle and took my weight easily, pulling me back so I could feel exactly what had come up.

  I tossed my dart at the board, but exaggerated my windup and nearly poked out JJ’s eye. This elicited a snort. From me. Jesus.

  “Whoa, sorry. Listen, thanks, but I need to get going.” I swayed enough to have to sidestep when I went to the table to get my purse. Tired. I was tired, that’s all.

  He hooked my elbow. “Hey, no problem. I’ll walk you to your truck.”

  What a gentleman.

  I felt Kevie’s watchful eyes on us all the way to the door. I glanced over my shoulder at him, but between the shadows and my stupid state, could not read his face.

  Outside, a dingy light above the door did little to keep the dark at bay. A full moon hung over the treetops and the quiet made me sigh. The quiet was nice, I had to admit. Very different. So much background noise in my life. I took a deep breath of the night air. My head cleared some. JJ led me to my truck.

  “You sure you’re okay?” He flattened his hands against the driver’s side window to either side of my head.

  I leaned against the door and looked at him, but couldn’t make out his eyes with the moonlight behind him. He wasn’t too much taller than me. The clean, fresh scent was tinged with cigarette smoke, but he hadn’t lit one up all night. Couldn’t be a very serious smoker if he could be in a bar, eat bad pizza, drink beer, and not smoke. Or had he done it just for me?

  “Fine,” I said. “Just point me in the right direction.”

  His thumbs caught in my hair, twirled a few strands. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll lead, you follow.”

  He slid one hand toward my door handle, drawing his fingertips along my neck and shoulder on the way. My tummy did that curly thing it does when I get turned on. I suspect it’s really my uterus doing a mating dance.

  “A shame to waste this moonlight,” he said.

  I agreed. The moon was amazing. “Whad’ya have in mind?” My head tilted to one side and my lashes lowered.

  For cripe’s sake. No. Go home. Go to bed. Alone. You haven’t even been here a week. You know nothing about this guy.

  Nothing.

  Nothing except that the thought of getting laid by all that good-smelling hunk of lean body had my crotch damp. He must have been able to sense my hesitation.

  He brushed his lips over mine. “Follow me.”

  JJ loped to his truck, and I hopped in mine and followed his taillights into the dark. We turned near Winterlight. Good, I thought, close to the farm. We meandered along a gravel road first through fields, then woods, but it wasn’t far. Off to the right, a river rippled the moon’s light. We stopped at a narrow spot where trees and brush had been cleared to the water’s edge.

  “Nice,” I said when I got out. I took another deep breath. Back on the Island, I’d gone to the beach plenty of times after a night out. Even watched the sun rise there once in a while. I wouldn’t last that long tonight. But a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt. “I need to get back soon,” I said.

  “Sure.”

  I slipped my sandals off and stepped into the cool water. It was shallow and sandy, a gravel bar just a few feet away. It had been hot during the day, and dry. The water felt good, the silky lap of current against my knees slackening me further.

  Dimly, the chirp and gurgle of frog song registered—they sounded like they were laughing. Somewhere nearby, a splash. A turtle maybe. And everywhere, the moist scent of earth and wet vegetation. So unlike the tang of the ocean, beached seaweed, and drying shells.

  JJ came up behind and pulled me against him like we had been lovers before. His erection nestled against me—a totally naked erection. My hand grazed his thigh to make sure. Yep, he’d shucked his clothes on the bank.

  “No rush,” he whispered in my ear. “You and me will find a change of scene together.”

  “I just got here.”

  “You shouldn’t stay. I’m telling you, there’s no future here. But right now…”

  He pressed his palms against my hips, then slowly moved them across my belly.

  I wasn’t sure we were about to become lovers and supposed that was not really fair because he probably expected just that. Especially when he dipped his hands in the water and trailed wet fingertips up my inner thigh. Very nice. I shivered against him.

  “Listen,” I said. “I think—”

  He shushed me and kissed my neck and reached beneath my shirt with one hand at the same time his other found my panties.

  Now, why, I wondered, had I worn my red, lace panties if I didn’t expect to get laid?

  I spun to face him right as he squeezed my nipple and hauled me against his chest. I’d meant to push away from him, but that move knocked the breath out of me and twisted my panties to my knees, seeing as how he had a fistful of them. Easier to step out of them at that point than fuss. I’d only fall in the water. His arm encircled my waist like a vice. Yeah, he was strong all right, and sometimes that is not a good thing.

  He put his lips to mine and his tongue touched my tongue. As if it had a mind of its own, one of my legs hitched toward his hip, riding my skirt above my thighs. Any self-consciousness about the dark-blue splotches on my skin wafted into the night air. My hands splayed over his ribs, found his waist, slipped between us.
He made a low noise in his throat and slid a finger along the wetness at the top of my thighs.

  “Girl, you are slicker’n a hound’s tooth.”

  I froze. Slicker’n—had I heard him right? My head cleared in a whoosh like I'd fallen in the water. What the hell was I doing?

  I dug my fingernails into his balls—not too hard—but enough to tear a surprised, “hey!” from him. He loosed his grip on me. I broke away, lurched for my truck, climbed in, and started it without closing the door. To hell with a seat belt.

  I’d gunned it down the road and left him and his hard-on in a cloud of dust before I realized my sandals were still parked under a bit of brush and my panties had drifted downstream.

  - 6 -

  My head hurt.

  No. It was a bowling ball attached to my neck. Impossible to lift. I cracked one eyelid. Light and memory invaded, painful recognition of this feeling, disgusted memory.

  I’d thrown a gutter ball.

  The frogs had been right to laugh.

  I pulled the pillow over my head and dozed.

  That’s when I had the dream. I know everyone has dreams, but I never remember mine. Not a feeling about what I dreamed, not a glimpse, not anything. This one came to me so vividly, I sat up. That was a mistake. The pounding in my head made me cover my eyes and drop back to the mattress.

  Wastrel trotted to me out of a bright mist, whole and sound, not broken and bleeding like the last time I saw him moments before he was put down and I was put in an ambulance. The big bay snorted and shook his head and nuzzled my side. I felt his warm breath, the tickle of his whiskers. He didn’t smell like the usual clean wood shavings and liniment; he smelled like heaven.

  Okay, so who knows what heaven smells like? For some, it might be bacon frying or a chocolate milk shake, lilacs, freshly-turned earth or new-mown grass, a just-washed baby, the air on top of a mountain or the sea. What Wastrel smelled like in my dream was all those things rolled into one. So, that’s what heaven smells like.

  He danced around me. I reached for him and he moved away, just as we had always played together out in the paddock before I’d bring him in to work. He swished his tail and returned, almost within reach, but not quite.