by Vonna Harper
Joe wedged his way into his chair. The waitress leaned closer than necessary, smiled and nodded. Not nearly soon enough, she left, presumably to get her latest customer something to drink and the key to her chastity belt.
“You can take her,” Kat informed her. “Twist her nipples.”
“I can’t—”
“You’d better do something. Forget the damn apple pie. Demand he join us.”
With Kat hauling on her right arm while Squeaky did the same to her left, Lisi found herself on her feet, numb legs propelling her forward.
Music. Loud and fast. People laughing. Lip lock still going on. A couple standing near the bar and the man cupping the woman’s buttocks. Too many warm bodies and not enough air. Her two glasses of wine romping through her circulatory system and her pussy getting wet.
She’d changed before coming here. Her vibrant yellow blouse was little more than cheesecloth and she’d worn her new yellow bra. A hot summer night called for shorts so she’d opted for white cotton even though her panty line showed. Or maybe because it did.
She hoped she looked hot with her hair artfully casual, lipstick hopefully still in place, shoulders back and far-from-spectacular breasts doing the best they were capable of. In her mind, Joe spotted her from across a crowded room. Just the sight of her all cleaned up with her cheeks and throat wine-flushed heated his own cheeks, throat and places south. He’d stand, smacking the waitress in the chin with his elbow and sending her to the mat for the count. Pushing lesser humans aside like bowling pins, he’d close in on her. She’d gaze up at him through her nonexistent false lashes and bat them without blinding herself.
“Hi, handsome,” she’d breathe.
“Hi yourself, beautiful. You ready to get out of here?”
“Maybe. What’d you have in mind?”
“A walk. In the dark. Arms around each other. My hand cupping your ass. Lips latching together and holding on until we both need stitches. A stroll to the town park where, after making sure there are no kidlets around, we’ll roll around in the sandbox.”
“No good. Cats use the sandbox.”
“Okay, to your—ah, my—ah, our house.”
The fantasy conversation might still be going on if she hadn’t reached Joe’s excuse for a table. He hadn’t jumped to his feet, but he was gazing up at her.
“I saw—” she started. “I mean, I wasn’t looking for you or anything, but when I spotted you—I—what are you doing in here?”
If her stumbling, bumbling greeting amused him, he was civilized enough not to let it show. He hadn’t been smiling, but he started to now. Oh yes, the perfect teeth. She felt the sexy grin all the way to her bone marrow.
The frantic guitar playing ended and the drumming took over. The thud-bam-thud rocked her, raced her blood. Most of all, Joe’s eyes and body stirred the already boiling pot.
Wait, he was talking which meant she had to listen. “I heard you mention the Stagecoach. I decided to check it out. It’s noisy. How’s the food?”
She didn’t give a damn about food. Mostly she wanted to touch him, to stand close enough to feel his heat. To yank down on his zipper and pull out the goodies. Maybe take pictures. “Not bad. I’m not much into beer, but word is it’s cold.”
The waitress was back, glaring daggers at her, asking Joe if he wanted something other than water to drink. “Beer,” Joe said. “Something from a local brewery. And get the lady whatever she wants.”
What ‘the lady’ didn’t need was any more wine, but she asked for the house chardonnay. And because Joe buying her a drink sounded like an invitation, she sat. There she was across from him, their knees bumping. She didn’t draw back. Neither did he.
Even before the drinks arrived, they started talking. Or rather, she answered his questions about what she did for a living, explaining that living and working in the same small town had given her roots.
“What about you?” she asked. “You’re new to town, right? Where do you live?”
“Chicago.”
“Chi-cago? That’s more than halfway across the country.”
“I noticed.”
So say something, explain what brought you to Oregon. Unfortunately, he didn’t elaborate, and with their knees exploring, she couldn’t think how to pump him.
“I’ve never been to Chicago,” she finally came up with. “I don’t do cold winters.”
“Just rainy ones?”
“We native Oregonians are used to growing moss. It’s none of my business, but are you planning on being here come winter?”
“Yeah, I am.”
Distracted by her heart’s flip-flop, she wasn’t prepared for the waitress’ return. The woman deposited a pale, frosty glass next to Joe and slid the wine under her nose. What about dinner, she wanted to know. Would Joe like to hear the night’s specials?
“No,” he told her. “Not yet.”
A puzzled mumble and a frown later, the waitress exited stage left. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your plans,” she said. “My friends—I should be getting back to them.”
“Do you want to?”
A casual question? Not if his sexy expression and his knee touching her thigh were any indication. Suddenly knowing she was under his radar scared her. Nothing, really, had happened, but she was already in over her head. Time to take her leave and return to the gang.
Except they’d tease her unmercifully. And even scared, being close to Joe was better than any alternative.
She’d just decided to go for broke and ask why he’d wanted to buy her place when a couple of men in wrinkled slacks and shirts that strained across their bellies planted themselves in front of her.
“So, this is what happens when you decide to take an R and R afternoon,” Mayor Thomas Blackflower boomed. “You said you had personal business to attend to. If I’d known it was this kind of business”—he gave Joe the once-over—“I wouldn’t have been so accommodating.”
Trying not to grind her teeth, she introduced Joe to the mayor and his companion, the city engineer. “This is what happens when you live in a one-horse town,” she explained for Joe’s benefit. “Everyone knows what everyone else is doing.”
“Which is what?” Thomas asked, as she knew he would. “I’m delighted to see you out on a date. I just don’t know why you felt you had to try to keep it from me.”
“This isn’t a date,” she protested, determined not to blush. “It’s—”
“Business,” Joe finished. “We’re having a business meeting.”
Thomas appeared to be in danger of giving himself whiplash trying to study both her and Joe. Obviously, curiosity was driving him crazy. Fortunately, the engineer took that moment to grab the mayor’s arm and tug. “The first beer’s on you, remember. My throat’s dry.”
She waited until the two rotund men were out of earshot, then dropped her head to the table. After a moment, not bothering to try to hide her laughter, she straightened. “Welcome to town. Are you sure you’re ready for living in a fishbowl?”
“I find it refreshing.”
“You do?” Lordy, but his eyes twinkled. Much more of that and she really would be jumping his bones.
“You haven’t lived in a big city, have you?” he asked. “If you had you’d know how easy it is to get lost in the crush. How isolating it—”
At that moment, the band kicked into high gear. Hanging glasses behind the bar rattled. Wincing, she clamped her hands over her ears. “Sorry,” she mouthed.
“You want to get out of here?” he mouthed back.
Chapter Four
Night wasn’t going to arrive any time soon, but the sun was behind the surrounding mountains. Most of the businesses had closed for the day and the four-block-long main street, with its historic red brick buildings, gas lamps and well-worn sidewalks was nearly deserted. The few people who were out were more interested in gazing into the shop windows than checking out their neighbors.
Echoes from the band reached her and Joe. She felt quieted
by the music, although maybe the deepening shadows and her companion had everything to do with her floating, drifting mood. Truth be told, she loved the town once the day’s business was over. Decisions no longer had to be made. Whatever crisis reared its head could wait until morning. Evenings were for smelling the summer air, kicking a crumpled piece of paper down the sidewalk and thinking about those responsible for the historic town’s existence.
More important, this evening was about walking in step with a man who turned her on. If pressed, she couldn’t say why. Granted, he was in great physical condition and, she assumed, the owner of a functioning cock. But even though being so close to him had her body humming, it wasn’t all about sex, not entirely. He had a brain. He understood electrical wiring. He was financially solvent. He had great teeth.
“You didn’t get dinner,” she pointed out.
“You didn’t get to finish your wine.”
“That’s all right. It wouldn’t have been my first.”
“That’s right. You were with friends. What are they going to think of my kidnapping you?”
“They’ll say it’s about darn time I got kidnapped.”
He stopped, planted a hand on her shoulder, and turned her toward him. Her stomach lurched and her feet wanted to slide closer. “Sounds like you have good friends.”
“They, ah, they want what’s best for me.”
“What is best for you, Lisi? Beyond getting out from under a house that’s too much work for you.”
“I don’t mind that, never did,” she blurted when, despite the danger, she wanted to take the conversation in a more personal direction. Like, did he ever fuck on the first night and did he know how to handle hopelessly horny females?
“Then what—?”
“I told you, didn’t I? The sale was part of the divorce agreement.”
He didn’t need to keep holding on to her, because she wasn’t going anywhere. But neither did she mind having both of his hands on her shoulders—far from it. Competent. That’s what everyone said about her. Tonight, she didn’t give a damn about projecting that image. In fact, she was getting younger by the minute. Much longer and she’d start giggling like some love-struck adolescent.
Or should she say sex-struck?
On the next street over, the owner of the town’s venerable hotel had built a couple of honeymoon cottages. She’d seen couples emerge holding on to each other as if they were the only people in the universe. Sex had fairly oozed from them, and she’d sworn the shared heat had spread out in all directions. Even as her own marriage had deflated like an old balloon, she’d wished the newlyweds a lifetime of rocking nights.
“I have no intention of leaving Gold Ridge.” She spoke from some deep and true place. “One-horse town or not, it’s right for me.”
“Right? What is that like?”
Something different had slipped into Joe’s voice, a depth of emotion he’d kept to himself. “Are you asking what it’s like to know you belong somewhere?” she asked as she fought the urge to glance down so she could check on what was between his legs.
A simple and not-so-simple nod of the head. Suddenly her arms were around his waist. “You don’t know what that’s like?” she gently pushed.
A shake this time. And his eyes going darker. “No. The thing is, it never mattered before. My family moved a lot when I was growing up. Then I settled in Chicago because that’s where the career I thought I wanted was. There was a lot about the city that appealed to me, the wealth of things to do and see. But there’s also a hell of a lot of anonymity. It’s so different from here.”
“Where everyone knows each other’s business?” They were standing close together, smoking close if she was being truthful. And in answer to her question, yep, the lump was right where it was supposed to be.
“And people care about their neighbors.”
He leaned down. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss the top of her head. Then he straightened, guided her to his side and put his arm around her shoulder, which prompted her to wrap her arm around his waist. Lordy, lordy, lordy. They started walking again, slow and measured, in sync.
She couldn’t think of anything to say, or rather, the things she wanted to ask were too personal, questions one stranger had no right to ask of another. Their pace was a dance of sorts, muscles meshing. If only they were naked.
Naked. Walking into the night. Accepting each other’s bodies. As oblivious to the world as honeymooners. Heading to a place and time of sex.
A stranger. He was little more than one.
And yet here she was holding on to him with the wine running through her and the need to fuck his brains out expanding.
“The shops here pretty much cater to tourists, don’t they?” he observed, slowing to study a window featuring period costumes.
Think. Engage brain.
“Ah, most of them.” This particular business offered photographs of visitors dressed as everything from gunslingers to soiled doves. “What appeals to you? Maybe you’d like to dress like a banker. No, too stiff. How about a prospector?”
“I’d rather be a claim jumper or horse rustler.”
“Hmm.” She studied, or rather pretended to study, the canvas trail duster in the window. “That’s kind of an unstable career, not one known for its longevity.”
“At least I’d make the wanted posters. I’ve always wanted to see my mug on one of those.”
Studying him, she tried to imagine him wearing a ten-gallon hat, with a rifle slung over his shoulder and six-guns at his hips. Unfortunately, the image included a noose around his throat. “Not going to work.”
“Why not?”
“Okay, here I am, the local schoolmarm heading for her fainting couch because this dark and handsome stranger just rode into town. The next time I see him, he’s heading for the gallows.”
“Point taken. Except I don’t see you as a schoolmarm.”
“Oh?” She had no doubt her eyes were twinkling. “Then what am I?”
“Can-can dancer.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Sticking out her leg, she tried to imagine a red garter around her thigh and black fishnet stockings. “Let’s see. You’re a bank robber, a highly successful one. You’re on wanted posters, but because no one has seen anything except your mask, you don’t worry about being recognized. You walk into the saloon where I’m working, our eyes meet across a smoky room and—”
“Some drunk’s giving you a hard time. Trying to get into your pantaloons. You are wearing pantaloons, aren’t you?”
This was fun, and seductive at the same time. They’d started ambling again, body-wrapped arms keeping them together, hips touching and the heat index heading higher with each step.
“I’m not sure about the pantaloons. They might cover more territory than a can-can girl wants covered. I have a room above the saloon where I entertain certain select customers.”
“Am I one of them?”
“You better believe it, big boy,” she drawled. “I’m a sucker for low-slung revolvers and steely eyes. You do have steely eyes, don’t you?”
“Of course. And I’m a deadly shot. Ride a big, black stallion.”
“Then it’s no wonder I invited you up to my room.”
“And I came,” he said softly. “Placed my six guns on your dresser and kicked my boots and spurs under your bed.”
They were being silly, playing around. And yet the undercurrent pushed her even closer to heatstroke. She suspected the wine no longer had anything to do with it. “It doesn’t bother you that I’ve entertained other gentlemen?”
“How can I object when I’ve left broken hearts in every cow town I’ve passed through?”
“Good point.” Stop walking. Melt into him, stand on your toes and kiss him, long and hard, until everything sizzles. “So, this roll in the hay we’re having, it’s a one-night stand?”
“Depends. How good is the local sheriff?”
“He’s a bumbling idiot. Elected to the position
because the crooked banker pulled some strings.”
“Then we’ll take each night as it goes. See what happens.”
Silence. Walking with their shoes slapping softly on the worn sidewalk. Coming to the end of the commercial district and turning left. His long legs working in a smooth rhythm and her shorter ones easily keeping up. The air cooling, daylight fading.
They reached the residential area, with its old, proud houses surrounded by white picket fences and sheltered by trees that had been planted over a hundred years ago. Walking on the side of the road because there was no sidewalk here, breathing in the scent of roses and lilacs.
She didn’t want to be a can-can dancer after all—not that there was anything wrong with the career. Instead, she wanted to keep it simpler, clearer. Soiled dove meets outlaw. Everything laid out on the table. The moment he rode into town and spotted her lush breasts barely contained in the tightly laced top, he knew what she was. He paid his money and she led him to her crib out back. Naked even before he’d gotten out of his boots, she knelt before him and went straight for the family jewels.
Whew!
This was her street, familiar and safe, houses belonging to neighbors and friends, but she’d never walked down it like this before. Not with her arm around a man she’d just met and a hooker’s heart beating in her chest.
Sex. Simple. No dancing around, no ‘glad to meet you—where have you been all my life’ crap. Heeding the hot message in her head and the even more powerful one between her legs. Feeding a hunger so deep she wondered if it might drive her crazy.
She was hungry all right, revved up. Shivers running along her shoulders and down her spine. Just thinking about what waited beneath his slacks nearly made her scream. They’d keep things simple and straightforward.
“My ex left a couple of condoms behind if you—”
“No need. I’m always prepared.”
“Works for me.”
“The question is, will this work for both of us?”
“I hope so. And, ah, I don’t have a lot of experience. There haven’t been that many men in my life.”
“This is about you and me. Tonight.”