Dorothy Garlock - [Route 66]

by Hopes Highway

  She gave him her hand, and they went out the door.

  “Stay right there,” Mona called. She was waiting by the car with a Kodak. “You’ve got to have a picture taken on your wedding day.”

  “Smile, honey. We’ll have it enlarged and hang it on the wall.”

  “Wedding pictures are usually of the woman sitting down and the man standing behind her.”

  “You know why that is, don’t you?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I’ll tell you after we’re married. Now smile.”

  Mona took several, then Brady helped Margie into the backseat of the car, where she found a bouquet of white roses.

  In the cabin next door Sugar looked over her shoulder to where Homer lay naked on the bed. They had followed the caravan to Gallup. When it stopped so early and when Brady rented a cabin at the motor court, Sugar thought that maybe someone was sick.

  “Well, dog my cats. The cowboy and the bitch are getting married, or my name isn’t Sugar Wadsworth Corning Hudspeth Williamson Luker. That’s why they stopped early.”

  “What are ya talkin’ ’bout?”

  “Come look. She’s all dolled up in a white dress.”

  Homer peered out the window. “Well, shit, little pussy. This couldn’t be better. When he drove in here, I thought he was just goin’ to shack up with her for the night.” Homer got up and put his pants on.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m goin’ to shag my ass over there while they’re gone and see if the key to our door fits theirs. This is a streak of luck, little puss. I’m goin’ to screw his bride while ya hold the gun on him. I want to see his face when I rip into her.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Jealous, little slut? There’ll be plenty left for you.”

  “They’ll recognize you.”

  “I sure as hell hope so. I want the son of a bitch to know who’s screwin’ his bride.” He came up behind her, reached around and pinched her nipple.

  “You’re goin’ to kill them, aren’t you?”

  “Sugar tittie, yo’re as dumb as dogshit. Almost as dumb as old Chester.” He opened the door, looked both ways, then slithered out and around the corner.

  Sugar felt a tremor of fear go down her spine. At times her young lover was a cold, vicious little bastard. Even though she knew he could turn on her in a second, she also knew that she was in love for the first time in her life; and when all was said and done, she would do exactly what he told her to do.

  Chapter 30

  ANNA MARIE WAS A BUNDLE OF EXCITEMENT when Margie and Brady returned to the campground after being married. She wore the clean dress Margie had left for her. Grace had brushed her hair and entwined ribbons in her braids.

  The wedding cake sat on a cloth-covered makeshift table. Surrounding it were platters of sandwiches. On a keg beside the table was a crock of lemonade, and on the kerosene stove the large coffeepot was sending up a plume of steam. The bride and groom stepped out of the car to a round of applause. Happy to have an excuse to celebrate, other campers had joined those from the caravan to make this a festive occasion for the couple.

  Happy tears flooded Margie’s eyes. These people were the nearest to a family she had ever known. She glanced up to find her new husband beaming. He knelt down and opened his arms when Anna Marie ran to him.

  “Uncle Brady! We’re gonna have cake. Aunt Grace made lemonade. See my ribbons?”

  Brady laughed, hugged her and set her on her feet. She went directly to Margie.

  “Aunt Grace said you’re my Aunt Margie now.”

  “I guess that’s right. I married your Uncle Brady.”

  She pulled Margie down so she could whisper in her ear. “I wanted you to be my mama.”

  “Oh, honey. You can call me that if you want to. You and I and your Uncle Brady are going to make a home together. Tomorrow we’re going to his ranch in Colorado. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  “Can I tell Lucy?”

  “Sure you can.”

  Mona insisted on taking a picture of the table and one of Margie and Brady standing behind the cake before the sun went down. That done, she talked nonstop about the ceremony in the judge’s chamber that made Brady and Margie man and wife and insisted that Margie show the gold band Brady had put on her finger.

  Mrs. Wills held Mrs. Taylor’s baby while she helped Grace with the table. The nearby campers had been invited, and those who came brought an assortment of food: deviled eggs, potato salad, pickled peaches.

  By the time the meal was over and the table cleared, it was near dark. Lanterns were hung, and a place was cleared for dancing. Alvin got out his violin and Rusty his guitar.

  “I can’t dance in these shoes,” Margie whispered to Brady, who had not left her side.

  “I’ll get your moccasins out of the truck.”

  When Alvin’s voice boomed that the first dance was for the bride and groom, Rusty began to play “I Love You Truly” on the violin. Grace and Alvin sang in perfect harmony. Smiling, Brady took Margie’s hand, and they began to dance.

  “I love you truly,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I love you too.” Margie floated dreamily in the arms of her new husband.

  The dance ended with more applause. When the music started again, Alvin played the violin, and several couples, including Rusty and Mona, began to dance. Later, after Rusty had danced with the bride, his mother and Mona again, he took the fiddle so Alvin could dance with the bride, then with Grace.

  Harry Wills, who had brought a pillow and tucked it behind his wife’s back, squatted on his heels beside her. His alert eyes swept back and forth around the area. A nagging unease was at the back of his mind, and he was determined to speak to Alvin about it as soon as the festivities were over.

  Out of respect for the other campers Alvin put a stop to the party after a couple of hours.

  “Many of the campers,” he explained, “will be on the road before daylight and need their sleep.”

  With Margie’s hand tucked in his, Brady stood with her beside Alvin.

  “My wife and I want to thank you for the reception, for your good wishes and for helping to make our wedding day so festive. Now, as every one of you who has been a bridegroom knows—I want to be alone with my wife!”

  Whoops and hollers greeted the statement. Margie hid her face against Brady’s arm. Grinning broadly, Brady put his arm around her as they went to say good night to Anna Marie before leaving for the cabin. Mona and Rusty were standing close together at the end of the truck.

  “She’s already asleep,” Mona said.

  “Thank you for looking after her tonight. Tell Jody that when we come back in the morning, I’ll take my things out of the truck. Rusty, I love your new song. I’ll be listening for you on the radio.”

  “Don’t hold your breath. California is probably full of singers.”

  “Not as good as you.”

  “It’s what I’ve been telling him,” Mona said.

  “Is that what you’ve been doing?” Brady teased. “All this time I thought you were standing over here kissing.”

  “I notice you’ve been doing your share,” Rusty retorted.

  “It’s going to be hard to say good-bye in the morning.” Margie, suddenly tearful, put an arm around Mona.

  “We can keep in touch. Maybe someday Mona and I can come visit.”

  “Really?” Mona said. Then again, “Really?”

  Rusty laughed and pulled Mona to him. “You can never tell. I know one thing: I’m not letting this woman get away from me.”

  “Oh, I hope you do come see us—together.”

  “So do I,” Mona said, and laid her head on Rusty’s shoulder.

  “Come on, honey.” Brady pulled Margie away. “We’d better go so they can smooch.”

  “Thanks, Brady,” Rusty said. “I knew you’d understand.”

  “Darn right, I do. I want to smooch with my wife.”

  Jody, who had st
ruck up an acquaintance with a girl from another camp, had offered to drive them to the cabin. Not wanting to cut short Jody’s time with the girl, Brady and Margie had decided to walk the short distance.

  “Are you tired, honey?”

  “I’m too keyed up to be tired. It was nice, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was. Alvin and Grace know how to put on a party.”

  “I didn’t expect to get a ring. I thought maybe sometime later I’d get one.”

  “That ring tells the world that you’re mine. I wish it had a diamond as big as a hen’s egg.”

  “I don’t. I’d feel silly trying to do the dishes with a stone as big as a hen’s egg on my finger.”

  When they reached the motor court, Brady noticed that all six cabins were occupied. He unlocked the door to theirs and then swung Margie up in his arms and carried her into the dark room. He kicked the door closed and kissed her before he set her on her feet. She was trembling. Brady held her for a while, then moved away, switched on the light and lowered the window shades.

  “You’re trembling, honey. Are you scared of me?”

  “I’m just … excited.”

  “Go get ready.” He pushed her gently toward the bathroom. “Is there anything in here you need?”

  She shook her head. “Brady?” she said before she closed the door. “Have you done this many times before?”

  “A few, but not with someone I love. That’s altogether different. It’s the love we share that will make it so special.”

  Brady began to undress but kept his trousers on. His arousal was embarrassing to him, and he feared for his bride to see it.

  Lord, help me to go slow and not rush to completion. This first time for her will set the tone for our mating from now on.

  He turned off the light. Standing in the nearly pitch-dark room, the only light coming through the cracks around the bathroom door, Brady felt not only a strong sexual desire for his wife, but a strange fear that he wouldn’t be able to make it a pleasant experience for her. He was awed by the responsibility of introducing her to the way a man loved a woman with his body.

  The door opened, making a path of light that spread out into the room. Margie came out carrying her dress and draped it over the back of a chair. Brady stood beside the bed.

  “Let me look at you.” His hands grasped her shoulders, his eyes boldly sweeping over her. He could see the rosy tips of her breasts through the lace bodice of her gown. “Ah … honey, no man ever had a prettier or sweeter bride.” His voice was low, husky, and trembled with emotion.

  He pulled her to him. Her arms encircled him and caressed the smooth skin of his back. He felt so good. His scent was all male, fresh and clean. His chest was warm, and she could feel the heavy beat of his heart. His arms held her tightly before he bent and pulled back the sheet on the bed.

  “Get in, darlin’. I’ll be right back.” Brady used the bathroom, and when he came out, he left the door ajar and went to sit on the side of the bed. He bent down to kiss her. “I want you naked in my arms.”

  “Did I waste my money on this nightgown?” She giggled happily, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down until their lips were touching.

  The door burst open.

  Brady had no time to lift his head or turn before the barrel of a gun was pressed against it. Margie let out a little cry of alarm. In the light coming from the bathroom she saw the menacing figure of a man looming over them and the gun held to Brady’s head. Brady threw up an arm. The man with the gun backed away.

  “Close the door and turn on the light, little pussy. I want the cowboy and the bitch to see who’s come callin’. What we’ve got here is a bride and groom gettin’ ready to do the nasty. I’ll just help ’em out a little—show ’em how it’s done.”

  The light came on. Brady blinked once, then fixed his gaze on the woman leaning against the door. Sugar smiled and pursed her lips in the form of a kiss. It took Brady a little longer to recognize the man. When he did, his lips curled in a sneer, but he said nothing.

  “Ain’t ya got nothin’ to say, cowboy?”

  “Can’t think of anything,” Brady said easily.

  “You will. Get up, slut. I want to see yore titties, and I just might make you lick my arm where ya shot me.”

  “Stay where you are, honey.”

  “I guess ya don’t know who has the upper hand here.”

  “Yeah, I do. A cocky little shithead who thinks he’s a man because he’s got a gun in his hand.”

  The barrel of the gun shifted to point down at Margie’s face. Homer grinned, showing yellowed teeth.

  “Turn around, cowboy, or I’ll splatter her brains all over the pillow and screw her corpse.”

  Sugar stood beside the closed door, her face hard. Brady turned. His eyes caught Margie’s, and he nodded slightly. She got out of bed and took a step toward him.

  “Stay back,” Homer yelled. “Stay back or I’ll shoot him.”

  Margie stopped, looked at Sugar and, taking a cue from Brady, said calmly, “Hello, Sugar. Nice to see you.”

  Sugar laughed. “I just bet ya are, Miss Prissy Ass.”

  “Come here, pussy. Take the gun, and if this big, brave cowboy moves a muscle, shoot him.” Homer pulled out a knife with a long thin blade. He jerked Margie to him, wrapped his arm around her waist and placed the blade at her throat. “All right, cowboy, turn around. I want you to enjoy this. Make just one little move, and I’ll slit her throat.” He pressed the blade to make a small cut. Margie closed her eyes but didn’t let out a sound.

  “What do you want?” Brady demanded.

  “It’s payback time, cowboy. Remember the fire stick ya were goin’ to shove up my ass? Well, I got somethin’ to shove up the ass of the bitch who shot me.”

  “You followed us all the way from Oklahoma. Slashed my tires and tried to burn my car.”

  “And a good time I had doin’ it—especially since I met a bitch who likes her pussy scratched five times a day and six times on Sunday.” He flicked his eyes to Sugar and laughed. “Ain’t that right, sweet thin’?”

  “Get on with it, Homer. We’ve not got all day.”

  “See what I mean?” He bit on Margie’s earlobe. “My whore’s wantin’ her poontang.”

  Things came to Brady’s mind to say, but he choked them back and spoke calmly.

  “Let her go. I’m the one you want to get even with.”

  “And I’m a-doin’ it. If ya ain’t noticed, I can give her another little nick with this knife.”

  Brady knew he had to be careful if he and Margie were going to get out of this alive. He had underestimated the disgusting, smart-mouthed robber back at the campground in Oklahoma. He was like a vicious little viper, unpredictable and deadly.

  “Get the bitch’s stocking and tie his hands behind his back. He ain’t goin’ to do nothin’. He knows that one swipe of the knife will give his bride a new mouth, right here under her chin.” He nicked the skin on Margie’s neck again, drawing a trickle of blood.

  Sugar yanked the silk stocking off the back of the chair and moved behind Brady. If he’d had a thought that she had been forced into helping Homer against her will, he was soon rid of it. She seemed to take pleasure in tying him as tightly as she could.

  His bright eyes on Brady, Homer put his free hand inside the neck of Margie’s gown and ripped the lace to expose her breasts. He rubbed a palm over them, pinched and pulled at the nipples.

  “She got nice high titties, cowboy. Nipples is good size for suckin’. Take a look. These titties ain’t never goin’ to get a chance to get flat and ugly.”

  Margie’s eyes pleaded with Brady to say nothing. He clamped his mouth shut on the rage that threatened to burn out of control.

  “Have ya busted into her yet, cowboy? I bet ya ain’t. Doggie! I got here in time. I figured her as one of them women that’s got to have a ring on her finger or she ain’t givin’ out no pussy.”

  Brady’s rage was so evident Margie feare
d he would do something that would cause Sugar to shoot him.

  “Get somethin’ to stuff in her mouth. She’s goin’ to be yellin’ before I’m through with her.” Homer, not much taller than Margie, rubbed his erection against her buttocks. “Feel that, bitch? I’m going to shove it up yore ass!”

  “Goddamn you!” Brady’s shout filled the room. “Get away from her.” His control broke, and he took a step forward. “Cut her again and I’ll kill you!”

  For a second Homer’s bravado left him. “Shoot the son of a bitch!” he yelled. “Shoot him!”

  Suddenly the door was flung open so hard it bounced against the wall.

  Harry Wills stood there with a gun in his hand. Alvin was behind him.

  “Let the girl go.”

  Homer’s back was to the door. He turned, dragging Margie with him, and lifted his arm to throw the knife. In the seconds that followed, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Sugar, seeing the gun pointed at Homer, forgot about the gun in her own hand.

  “No!” she shouted, and lunged in front of Homer just as Harry fired. The sound of the shot filled the small room. Blood sprayed, covering her neck and chest. She was thrown back against Homer, then crumpled to the floor.

  Homer dropped the knife to grab for the gun when it fell from Sugar’s hand. Brady’s foot caught him under the chin, sending him crashing against the wall. Then Brady was on him lightning-fast, one foot on his arm, the other on his neck, holding him to the floor, where he squirmed like a poisonous little snake.

  Horrified, Margie stood with her hands to her ears, her eyes wide with fear. She came out of her shock when Alvin draped Brady’s shirt around her, then knelt on the floor beside Sugar. Her eyes were open and staring. There was no doubt that she was dead.

  Harry, as calmly as if this were an everyday occurrence for him, picked up Homer’s knife and sawed through the stocking that bound Brady’s hands; then he squatted down and put the tip of it in Homer’s ear.

  “Are ya wantin’ to live, or do I shove this knife in and tickle that rotten brain of yores?” Homer blinked his eyes rapidly. “Well, shucks. I was hopin’ ya’d be contrary. Put yore hands behind yore back, ya sorry, sneakin’ little bastard. Tie him with that other stockin’, Alvin. Then yank off his belt and bind his feet.”