Jagger

by Kristopher Rufty

  He looked at the rest of her. She wore a sundress that hung low on her chest, showing the bulging slopes of her breasts. She must have had a strapless bra on underneath because he couldn’t see any hint of her nipples in the front, and all that was on her shoulders were the noodle-thin strings of her dress.

  She looked great, like always. She wore no make-up, but she had the kind of face that didn’t require it. He would bet she had some kind of Indian in her blood from the black hair and how dark her skin always seemed to be. It was the smoothest he’d ever felt. Slick and velvety, his hand would glide across.

  He felt stirring in his pants.

  “Stop staring at my tits, Clayton.”

  “I wasn’t,” he said, facing the front. At some point they’d gotten on the main road and were heading back to Brickston. “I was looking at your legs.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  She’s really pissed.

  And he couldn’t blame her for it. But right now, he really needed her not to be.

  “Thank you for picking me up,” he said.

  “My fucking pleasure.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “To stop this bullshit.”

  If only he could. “I’m trying.”

  “Are you?” She turned to him. “Are you, really?”

  “I’m trying to try.” He sighed. “Got any cigarettes?”

  “You don’t?”

  “I don’t even have my wallet.”

  Teresa thrust her chin forward. “Glove compartment.”

  Clayton’s knees brushed the dashboard from how close the seat had been moved forward. Reaching between his legs, Clayton pulled the lever and the lid dropped open. The cigarettes rolled out. He caught them before they fell between his legs, then flung the compartment lid up. It clicked shut.

  “Grab me one too,” she said.

  Clayton opened the flip-top box. A lighter was inside with the few remaining cigarettes.

  Hopefully she has another pack somewhere. These won’t last us long.

  He pulled out the lighter with two cigarettes. He pinched both cigarettes between his lips, using the lighter to light both cigarettes at once.

  He passed one to Teresa.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Sure.”

  She rolled her window down a crack. Wind gushed in, pulling the smoke out and flinging Clayton’s hair across his face. He cracked his window as well. The heavy gust slackened, and the draft seemed to settle the force throwing his hair around. He tried running his hand through it, but his fingers got tangled in the knots. He felt clumps of dried blood matting it together. Letting his hand drop in his lap, he sighed.

  He needed a shower.

  “Going to tell me what happened?” she asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “To me it does.”

  Knowing she cared so much should make him feel good. Instead, it annoyed the hell out of him. He wished she didn’t care. It would make his being mean to her so much easier. “Some guys kicked my ass.”

  “What’d you do?” She puffed on the cigarette, blowing the smoke out the side of her mouth. The wind snatched it through the window.

  “Why do you automatically assume it’s my fault?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Clayton flung his hand up, letting it slap his leg. “Well...yes and no.”

  Teresa didn’t say anything. He realized she was waiting on him to elaborate. And he was angry at himself when he realized he was going to.

  He told her about Bruiser and Freddy’s claim that he could get Brock to take it easy on him for a while. Naturally he’d left out how he had to get Freddy to do this.

  “So they beat you up anyway?”

  “Yep.”

  “And this is good?”

  “It’s not great, but it’s better than them killing me.”

  Teresa looked pained. “Think they really will?”

  “If I don’t get Brock twelve thousand dollars, yes.”

  “You should go to the police.”

  “Oh, sure. And tell them what? ‘Hi. I’ve been helping some people run a dog fighting thing and my dog was killed. Lost some people a lot of money. Can you help me?’” Clayton shook his head. “They’d bust my ass.”

  “I’m sure they’d give you some kind of deal.”

  “I’d go to jail no matter what. If I wasn’t killed before then, somebody would knock me off in there.”

  “But they’d lock up this Brock guy, right? They wouldn’t put you in the same place as him.”

  “Please. I wouldn’t make it that far. Brock has cops on his payroll. He’s a dick.”

  “Well...how do you plan on getting him the money, if you’re not going to do the smart thing?”

  Teresa’s comment stung. He felt himself starting to sweat, despite the cool air blowing from the vents. He scratched his head hard enough to make his scalp burn. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “Oh?”

  On the naked tractor ride back to Mitch’s house, it had been all he could do. The only option he felt he had was simple, and it probably wouldn’t work.

  “I’ve got to get another dog and win some fights.”

  Teresa groaned.

  “It’s either that or kill them all,” he quickly added.

  “Do you even hear yourself when you talk?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Teresa tossed her cigarette out the window. It was a bad idea considering they were in a rural area that hadn’t had rain in two weeks. Might start a fire and burn the whole town down.

  Maybe I could burn the barn down. It’ll get them off my back even longer until I can figure some things out.

  Teresa sighed as if she’d heard his idiotic thoughts. He looked over at her. She had her elbow on top of the door panel, leaning her head against her hand. Her fingers were burrowed into her thick, raven-black hair and held it away from her face.

  Damn, she’s so pretty.

  He couldn’t help thinking that every time he saw her. Sometimes the sight of her stole his breath. Other times it made his chest tighten with pain. Then other times he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her really hard. He’d never been a guy who could hit a woman, but he was fond of shaking them if he had to.

  “Where am I taking you?” she asked, sounding irritated and ready to be done with this car ride.

  “I don’t really know. I guess we’ll try Charlie’s Mart first. Hopefully my truck’s still there.”

  Teresa didn’t acknowledge he’d answered her.

  Clayton leaned back. He smoked the rest of his cigarette and held it until the cherry burned out. Then he tossed out his window.

  As he was rolling the glass up, he saw Charlie’s Mart up ahead on the right. It was a small brick building with four gas pumps out front. The parking lot was oddly shaped and awkward. No matter how many cars were parked there, getting in and out was a hassle.

  His truck was parked at the edge, the front facing the road.

  “I’ll be damned, they actually left it.”

  “Luck you,” she said.

  Clayton frowned.

  Teresa slowed the car down to pull into the parking lot. She drove over to his truck and parked next to it. Leaning up, Clayton looked past Teresa so he could see his truck. From where he sat, it looked okay. The windows hadn’t been busted. The tires on this side were still inflated.

  Maybe they left it alone. How could they expect me to get them their money if I had to pay to get my truck fixed?

  “Thanks for the ride,” he said, opening the door. “I won’t bother you again.”

  He started to climb out.

  “Clayton!”

  He paused. “Yeah.”

  “Wait.”

  Clayton dropped back down in the seat. He felt like he was about to be scolded by a teacher for shooting spitballs. “What?”

  “Look at me.”

  He didn’t want to, but he turned his head. Their
eyes locked. He felt that tingling pinch in his chest. His heart started to pound, making it hard to swallow.

  Her dark eyes were full of hurt that he’d caused. But behind those sad orbs was love for him that hadn’t been broken.

  He was about to apologize again when she suddenly leaned over. She gripped his shirt and pulled him close. Her lips pushed against his. It hurt where his lip was split, but he didn’t stop her.

  They kissed, fervently and quick, unable to get enough of each other. His hand reached between her legs. It was stopped only for a moment by her closed thighs, but she parted them so his fingers could delve. They slipped behind her panties and went in.

  She gasped in his mouth. He moved his hand back and forth inside her wet heat, thrusting with his fingers. She clamped her thighs around his arm so he couldn’t he pull it away.

  “I love you so much,” she whispered.

  He felt the breath of her words on his lips. He smiled.

  They started kissing again.

  Chapter Eight

  Jim Riley stuck the empty coffee can into the bag of chicken feed and scooped some out. He scattered it around the yard, throwing little grits all over. It looked like bug poison on the grass.

  The chickens ran toward the feed, wings spread and chests fluttering. They clucked and screeched with eagerness as they pecked at the ground. The little ones were getting big. Soon they’d be laying eggs of their own. Might be a good idea to start keeping them separated. He didn’t want to have an out of control fowl population on his hands.

  Amy would have a fit. She didn’t like the chickens he had now, though he gave her fresh eggs every month as a courtesy. She didn’t mind taking them, no sir. And she also didn’t mind reprimanding him whenever they wandered out of his yard.

  He didn’t have a fence, or the money to put one up. Usually the coop at the edge of his backyard was all he needed. They were decent birds and kept close to home most of the time. Every so often they made their way into the neighbors’ yards or up the road toward Amy Snider’s place.

  He actually liked when they snuck over there. That meant he would have to bring them back, so he’d have to pay a visit to the Snider place.

  Last month, he’d caught her sunbathing in her backyard. On her back, she had been on a blanket folded out on the ground under her. He hadn’t been able to see her eyes behind the sunglasses, but how her chest had moved, he could tell she’d fallen asleep. She’d had on a purple bikini that was just a triangle over each nipple and a small patch covering her groin.

  He was sixty-one, but his penis wanted to grow rigid like a teenager’s whenever he thought back to how her body had seemed to shine under the sunlight. It had looked coated in oil, bright and tanned and slippery.

  He imagined his hands sliding all over her skin as he massaged her. Her large breasts filled his hands when he grabbed them behind the triangle-shaped shields of her bikini top. He just knew they would feel soft and springy, yet a little firm.

  He’d watched her for several minutes from behind the trees at the verge of her property while his chickens had searched the ground around his feet for food. Wanting a closer look, he hadn’t dared to try.

  The big dog had been sleeping beside her.

  Amy never went outside without the big beast. He’d heard neighbors say he weighed somewhere around two hundred pounds.

  Jim didn’t doubt it. Seeing him sleeping beside Amy, he’d looked like a bear lying next to Goldilocks—a sexy Goldilocks sparkling under the late May heat.

  He wondered if she was lying out in the sun right now.

  Probably not. She was just walking that big monster a little bit ago.

  Wearing those short shorts that barely covered her full ass. Her legs had looked muscular and curvy, leading up to her buttocks that flared out before reaching her flat lower back.

  Looks like she has jelly beans packed in her shorts.

  And he bet they tasted as sweet as candy.

  Jim licked his lips.

  “Jimmy-tot! Get your hand out of your pants!”

  Jim jerked at the humiliating shout from his wife. His heart lurched. He looked down and saw his hand had slipped into his robe and down his pajama pants. “I was scratching it!” he shouted back.

  “Sure you were!”

  Groaning, he pulled his hand out of his pants and turned around. Ellie stood on the top step at the back door. The wooden frame had warped and leaned slightly to the side, so she had to hold onto to the aluminum railing to keep from falling.

  Seeing her now in her pink robe, with her once-pretty hair pulled tightly behind her head, made it hard to believe she used to look something like Amy back when they had been just a pair of frolicking youngsters. Way back when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

  He supposed Ellie’s body was still all right. She had an ample bosom, but it was becoming too heavy for the skin that connected them to her chest. So her breasts drooped more than he liked. Her legs were in great shape, tight and lined with muscle from working hard all her life. They were just so pale he could see the blue smears of her veins through the skin. Wide hips combined with a tight waist gave her a nice hourglass figure, though he could go without her slightly pudgy belly.

  Her face could be better. The wrinkles and stress lines made her look ten years older than sixty. And she smoked like a damn chimney and had a cough that never went away. Sometimes they fooled around, and when she got too worked up, she’d launch into a coughing spell that caused her to pee herself.

  At least she doesn’t look as bad as me.

  Jim had no hair left worth combing, other than the frizzy patch that wrapped around the back of his head. The skin under his chin hung like a beard of flesh and he had gray hairs sprouting from his ears, around his nipples, and even more grays infesting his pubic area. His legs were scrawny with knobby knees that popped with nearly every step he made.

  “I’m thinking you like those damn chickens too much, Jimmy-tot!”

  She’d called him that as long as he’d known her. Whenever she referred to him by his proper name, he sometimes didn’t realize he was supposed to acknowledge her.

  “Can’t help I itch,” he said. “Sometimes when I itch, I have to scratch, you know.”

  “That’s the kind of scratching you should do in private, where nobody can see.”

  He wanted to remind her that their backyard was private. Thanks to the trees that surrounded them and the woods behind them, it looked as if they lived in complete seclusion. He didn’t say that, of course. Being snarky would only cause her to get louder. He might not be able to see his neighbors, but they could hear Ellie’s loud mouth whenever she got aggravated.

  “Aw, leave me alone,” he said, turning his back to her. He bent over, ignoring the pain in his lower back, and scooped out another helping of chicken feed. He flung his arm out. The grain pebbles sprinkled across the yard in an arc.

  He heard the steps groaning as she came down them.

  “Breakfast is almost done,” she said. “The grits aren’t quite boiling yet.

  “Fine.”

  They’d only been up for four hours, so naturally she’d waited that long to cook it for him.

  “And yes, I put a lot of butter in them.”

  “Good. I don’t like them to be dry.”

  “I know. They taste like salty bricks.” She stepped next to him, crossed her arms, and watched the chickens strut about. Her arms pushed against her robe, making a gap at her chest. He saw a glimpse of a white slope and the purple jut of a nipple. “I got more coffee going, too.”

  Jim looked away from his wife. “Thanks.”

  She bumped him gently with her hip. “Going to be another hot one today, isn’t it?”

  “Seems like it.”

  “I saw Amy walking around earlier. You’d think she would know better than to dress like that in this neighborhood.”

  “Hmmm? Didn’t see her.”

  He felt Ellie’s unbelieving eyes on him. “Oh
? I thought that was why you was in the bathroom so damn long earlier. Watching her walk around.”

  “Nope.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He hated when Ellie accused him of being a peeper. It wasn’t because she was wrong, but how she seemed to always know exactly what he was up to whenever he was doing it. And Jim didn’t want to ogle Amy Snider. He just couldn’t help himself. After all, he had a daughter around Amy’s age, and grandkids. He shouldn’t be lusting after a woman other than his wife anyhow.

  “That dog of hers would keep anybody from messing with her,” he said, hoping to get the focus away from his bathroom visit.

  “Oh, please. That dog’s a giant softy. He won’t do nothing to nobody. He’s all show, but really that’s all you need.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I worry about her a lot,” said Ellie.

  And Jim supposed she truly did. Through her gossiping was a woman who didn’t know how to accurately express her concern. Jim could see it, but others would be fooled by it.

  He walked over to one of the nests. He saw a couple of eggs inside.

  “Got some this morning?”

  “We do. Looks like four.”

  “I’ll check the others.”

  “I got it. I’m sure the grits are about done by now.”

  “Probably right.”

  She turned away from him and headed to the rickety steps that led to the back door. He watched her walk like someone who didn’t suffer from achy hips. She never seemed to be in any kind of pain. The pink tail of her robe fluttered a little and he got a glimpse of the bottom of a buttock. It was pale and curved, dimpling where it curled to her thigh.

  He looked back at the nest. He had four here, hopefully there were some more in the others. The chickens had their little constructed egg baskets all over his backyard. If he could gather up a dozen, he’d take them down to Amy Snider.

  Maybe she’d be lounging out in the sun.

  “Grits are done!”

  Jim jumped at Ellie’s shout. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the window above the sink had been lifted. He could see the pale smudge of her face leaning down.

  “All right!”

  Damn. She was bound to give him a heart attack today for sure.