BODACIOUS

by Sharon Ervin

  And the way she loved him.

  She had said the words to him. The revelation should not have come as a shock, but it did. She loved this unlikely man with every beat of her heart.

  He had asked her to marry him. Maybe he loved her too. She never dreamed that mutual love could generate so much pain.

  Bo brushed the hair back from her face and pressed his lips to the side of her forehead.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “Take me with you. We don’t have to be married. I want to live with you, sleep beside you, anywhere. Nothing else matters.” She hesitated. “Don’t leave me.” Her voice faltered. “Please.” Unbidden tears continued their run down her face.

  A wizened old man shuffled out of the station. “Help you, folks? You needin’ some gasoline?”

  Bo shook his head. Her face smushed against his chest, Sara clung to him.

  A Frito-Lay® truck pulled into the driveway. As the delivery man hurried to open the van’s doors, the elderly attendant abandoned Bo and Sara, responding instead to the newcomer’s hello.

  Sara pushed herself back to look up into Bo’s face. Tears trickled through his beard.

  What was wrong? Why was he so sad? If he wanted her, she was his.

  “You hold the keys that unlock my soul.” She caught both his hands. “You hold all the joy in my life right here in these two hands.” She made no sound as she peered into his eyes and again mouthed the words, “I love you.”

  A skeptical smile played at his lips. He looked at the delivery man who was ogling Sara. Her eyes followed Bo’s. The man hoisted a plastic carrier of chips to his shoulder and grinned broadly. “Hello, there.”

  “No, no, no, Bo.” She put her hand on Bo’s face and turned it, forcing him to look at her. “There won’t be anyone else. Please, Bo, please don’t leave me.”

  He smiled grimly and shook his head.

  She tried again. “If our positions were reversed, I wouldn’t leave you.”

  His bearskin coat hung open. She slid her hands inside and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling herself against him. “Kiss me. Give me a kiss that will make you take me with you, or one that will last until you bring us together again.”

  He put his hand under Sara’s chin, tilted her head and planted his mouth over hers. She pulled her body hard against him. She wanted to remind him of his need, of how she satisfied that need. She captured his tongue, that thick, elusive member, sucked it deep and held.

  He yielded, obviously warming to her. He laced his fingers into her hair and pulled her head back. She inhaled her victory. She had him, certain now he would do as she asked. He kissed her face and neck as she swayed, rubbing herself against his body, all but gloating. She had won.

  Abruptly, he pushed her to arm’s length. Then, before she knew what was happening, he was on the motorcycle. Stunned, she stood speechless as the machine roared to life and, in a moment, he was gone, riding back the way they had come.

  * * *

  Sara stood unmoving, confused. The old man and the delivery guy seemed not to have noticed the passionate good-bye or Bo’s sudden departure.

  Abandoned, suddenly again on her own, Sara grappled for ways to console herself. She would manage, reconnoiter, rethink things, eventually recover. She would be fine. Just fine.

  First? What was the first thing she should do? Get a grip, woman, she chided. He’s gone. You get to begin your life all over again, starting now.

  She needed answers, needed to find out where she was before she tried to go anywhere.

  There were telephones in the station. But she didn’t want to call her parents. Not yet. Her emotions popped like frayed nerve endings. She was too wired to answer a bunch of questions, or to withstand a deluge of unsolicited advice.

  Besides, she wanted to give Bo a chance to get as far as possible, in case they wanted to accuse him of...what?

  The delivery man held the door for her as she entered the store. “Hey, sweet thing, where’re you from?” When she didn’t answer, he tried again. “Okay. Where’re you headed?”

  She scowled. Those were hard questions. Sara didn’t attempt answers. He serviced his displays, eyeballing her periodically, and left.

  Sliding into one of the three vinyl booths lining the front windows inside the store, Sara concentrated on the old man as he emptied ash trays and refilled salt and pepper shakers.

  “Where exactly are we?” she asked finally.

  “South end of the Ozark National Forest, ‘bout halfway between Little Rock and Fort Smith.”

  “How far is that from Settlement?”

  “Is that in Arkansas?”

  “Yes.”

  “Been here seven years. Never heard of it.”

  Apparently the proprietor was accustomed to visiting with addlepated people. He answered her questions carefully, even got a road map and patiently pointed out their location. He kept his voice to a steady, patronizing tone.

  After thinking a while, staring out at the mountains, Sara made a decision. She would try to pick up her life where she’d left off. She’d go to Overt.

  That seemed sensible. Yes, the plan seemed sound so far as it went. Then, if she still had a job, if she decided to stay, to live there, she’d expand on her plan. So far, so good.

  How much time had passed? She’d lost track of the days. She’d been abducted on Halloween, October thirty-first.

  She got up and strolled over to check a newspaper lying open on the counter. The dateline was Saturday, November ninth.

  “Is this today’s paper?”

  The old man didn’t seem surprised by the question. “No ma’am. That’s Saturday’s. Should have one today, but it’s a holiday, Armistice Day, Monday, November eleventh. Won’t be a new paper out ‘til tomorrow.”

  An eighteen-wheeler rumbled in, lining itself up with the outside pumps. A solemn middle-aged couple climbed down, stiff and badly wrinkled.

  Had they started out lusting after one another, Sara wondered, only to wind up bumping along side-by-side, tolerating each other in the truck?

  The woman said something. The man looked up, obviously surprised, and grinned, then let out a loud guffaw. The woman twittered good-naturedly and patted his shoulder as she sidled by him and into the store.

  The woman thrust a thermos on the counter. “Fill it with the high octane caffeine, Omer, and remember, extra packets of cream and sugar.”

  The old man grinned.

  She stuck coins in the juke box and hit the buttons without looking at the selections, then ambled into the ladies’ room.

  Sara wondered about her lost days, her twelve days in the mountains. In the scheme of things, what was twelve days out of a lifetime? Not much, really. Not even two weeks.

  Yet the past twelve days had been significant, perhaps the most important of her life.

  The music from the juke box swelled, filling every cranny in the building with strains of “How Am I Suppose To Live Without You.”

  Tears gathered as she listened. “...now that I’ve been loving you so long...” It wasn’t all that long, really. “...when all that I was living for is gone...”

  Sara sat down and put her forehead on her arms folded on the table in front of her.

  The door slammed and a man’s voice called out warm hellos above the music. The attendant’s voice boomed, engaging the visitor.

  Looking up, Sara coughed to disguise her melancholia, pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser and blew her nose.

  She stood, straightened her shabby clothing as much as possible and drifted over to look at the chips. Corn chips, potato chips, displays just like ones she had seen a hundred times before. They hadn’t changed, the same before Bo and now...after.

  “What would you say if I told you, I’ve always wanted to hold you...” the next selection blared, again overwhelming all other sounds in the building.

  Chip displays had not changed much in twelve days, Sara mused, fingering crisp little bags. She had.

  Bo
did it. In some respects, he had actually introduced her to herself.

  “...nothing would change if we made love...”

  Her chin quivered.

  “...so I’ll be your friend, and I’ll be your lover and I know in our hearts we agree, you don’t have to be one or the other. You can be both to each other...”

  That’s the trouble with women these days, Sara thought, angrily sniffling. We’re getting our philosophy from juke boxes.

  Well, if he thought he could hide from her, Bo whatever-his-name-was was seriously mistaken. She could live the rest of her life without corn chips, if she had to, but she did not plan to last another seventy years or so without sex and Bo was her teacher, her tutor, her guide. He had taken her, taught her, made her responsive. He had a responsibility to her now and she’d, by gosh, see to it that he honored that obligation. She was a damned good investigative reporter. She’d find him.

  Of course, now that he had shown her the way, maybe she could enjoy sex with someone else.

  But she didn’t want anyone else.

  She heard the approaching rumble of another large vehicle.

  “Is there a bus?” she called to the attendant, her voice breaking with her effort to stifle her unsteady emotions. The jukebox fell silent.

  “One’s coming now.”

  “Does it go to Overt?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Can I get a ticket?”

  “Fourteen dollars. He pulls in here for maybe three minutes. Just long enough to get stopped good. Get your money out.”

  She opened the wad Bo had given her. Fifty dollars. Why so much? He’d given her enough to go a long, long way. Well, that was just his tough luck. She wasn’t going all that far.

  * * *

  The bus was sparsely filled. Some passengers dozed, some read or stared straight ahead, but all of them seemed to disapprove Sara as she climbed on board.

  Okay, so she didn’t look too good. Who did they think they were? Judging by their wardrobes, they hardly looked qualified to critique hers.

  She peered down again. Her denim dress was badly torn and amateurishly mended. She had layered shirts over it to ward off the chill of the November afternoon. The heels were missing from her shoes, her hair hadn’t been shampooed in two weeks. She had no make-up, no purse, no suitcase. She sighed. No wonder they regarded her oddly.

  One by one they diverted their gazes. Obviously, no one wanted to encourage her to sit by them. Who knew what she might be carrying, fleas, lice, communicable diseases.

  Selecting a vacant seat near the back, Sara slid across to stare out the window.

  She would call her parents from Overt. They would help her recover her car...her clothing...her life.

  She leaned her forehead against the cool window.

  No matter how kind they were or how enthusiastic their intentions, she feared no one could help her recover the one loss that mattered. No one could help her retrieve Bo.

  She began to weep, grieving quietly. Eventually a woman across the aisle handed her a wadded tissue.

  Two hours and a half-a-dozen stops later, as the bus pulled into the terminal at the edge of the business district of Overt, Sara blew her nose loudly, sat up straight and smoothed her tattered dress. She was about to reenter the real world, a place where she at least understood the rules.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Sara?” Her mother’s voice broke when she answered the phone at the Loomis residence in Lone Branch. “Oh, baby... Is it really you? Are you all right?” There was a click. Someone had picked up an extension at their end of the line. “Where are you? Oh, honey, it’s so wonderful to hear your voice. Tell me where you are. Daddy and I’ll come get you right this minute.”

  Sara smiled and suddenly realized, she was a grown woman, autonomous, no longer dependent on her parents for her identity.

  When she was allowed a word, she said, “I’m okay and I’m really glad to hear your voice, too, Mom. I’m in Overt, in the same clothes I was wearing when they kidnapped me.”

  As she heard her mother repeating her words to her father, another voice broke on the line.

  “Ms. Loomis, this is Agent William Krisp with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We are eager to talk to you.”

  “Fine.” She hadn’t realized the FBI would be at her parents’ house. Of course, they were involved. It was a kidnapping. Their turf. She knew that from TV.

  “Where in Overt are you?” he asked.

  “At a drugstore, corner of Third and Lamar.”

  “We have an agent there in town. His name’s Kevin Larchmont, that’s L-a-r-c-h-m-o-n-t. Have you got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stay on the line. I’m going to contact him now while you visit with your parents. He’ll pick you up. Be sure to check his identification. You are to go with him, do you understand?”

  “Agent Krisp, I just got off a bus after twelve days in very primitive conditions. I don’t need another road trip. I will meet Mr. Larchmont, but I am not going anywhere. I’m staying right here in Overt. If you want to talk to me, you’ll have to come here.”

  She was a law-abiding citizen. He had no authority to make her do anything she didn’t choose to do. She’d been bullied enough in the last twelve days to last her a while.

  There was a long delay and an excited, muffled conversation in the background, then her dad’s voice boomed.

  “Sara, honey, do you need to see a doctor? Are you, ah...injured...”

  Krisp’s gruff voice interrupted in a businesslike tone. “Have you been sexually molested?”

  “I’m all right, Dad. No, I don’t need a doctor.”

  Her father exhaled quietly. “Thank heaven.”

  “Agent Larchmont will take you to the Homestead Motel there in Overt,” Krisp said. “He’ll provide whatever you need. You can clean up and have food sent in. Stay put. Your parents and I will be there in less than three hours, sooner if the weather holds and we can fly.

  “Ms. Loomis,” Krisp lowered his voice, “don’t talk to anyone, do you understand?”

  “You mean about my abduction?”

  “What else?”

  “I have a phone call to make. I want to talk to the managing editor at the Gazette about my job. Make sure your agent understands I’m not a prisoner. I’m allowed phone calls.”

  Krisp hesitated. When he spoke, he didn’t sound pleased. “All right. I’ll tell him, but nothing about the case. Do you understand?”

  “Right. Daddy?”

  “Yes.”

  She choked, cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “Me too, sugar. We’re only a couple of hours away. Take it easy. We’ll be there in a little while.”

  Sara hung up the telephone and turned to find a tall slim young man in a dark suit and sunglasses coming through the door of the drugstore. He walked directly to her, producing a badge and identification as he approached.

  The druggist and three customers, who had gotten their purchases but remained in the store, gawked at Sara and whispered to one another. Seeing they were all talking at once, Sara wondered if anyone heard anything the others said.

  “I’m Larchmont,” the young man said quietly, removing the mirrored shades.

  “Sara Loomis.”

  He grinned, grabbed her hand and shook it. “I’m sure glad to meet you. We’ve been looking everywhere.”

  “I was there, waiting for you to find me.”

  His toothsome smile continued as he moved his hand to her elbow and guided her out to a late model vehicle with antennas. He put her inside.

  “I’m not supposed to ask you any questions. It’s pretty tough. We’re all damned curious about where you’ve been and who you’ve been with. But I guess you need to hold it a little longer until Krisp and the others get here.”

  Sara nodded, thinking about what she would tell the investigators. She was too good a news person to withhold details of her story from
law enforcement people; pertinent information, that is. But could she talk about Bo yet? The awful grief swept over her again. Maybe if she wrote it out first, unemotionally, objectively, as if she were doing a news story. Writing it would be therapeutic, help get her psyche back to normal.

  Maybe she could give the FBI an official version omitting some things the investigators didn’t actually need to know. She’d see.

  “Is there a Wal-Mart store here in Overt?”

  Larchmont chuckled out loud. “A Wal-Mart in an Arkansas town of thirty thousand people? Are you kidding?”

  “If that’s a ‘yes,’ I need some things.”

  “Today’s a holiday. Everybody in the county’ll be there. You’d better keep a lower profile than Wal-Mart. How about you make a list and I’ll get what you need. Your picture’s posted everywhere. Someone’s bound to spot you in a public place.”

  Maybe her picture was the reason people on the bus and in the drugstore had stared. This guy was probably right.

  As he checked her into the motel--Sara remained in the car--she made a list of items of apparel and sizes and a longer list of make-up and hygiene items.

  Self-conscious about Larchmont purchasing the personal articles, she stammered as they reviewed the list.

  He smiled. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’ve got it down here in detail. I’ll let a sales clerk do the choosing.”

  From her dress pocket, she scooped the currency left from her bus ticket and tried to hand it to him but he waved it off. “I’ve got it. You’d better hang onto that for emergencies.”

  She smiled halfheartedly and he gave her an earnest stare. “You don’t act like you’re afraid to be left alone.”

  “No, I’m not afraid. No one’s after me.”

  He nodded but seemed to be stalling. “I’m not really supposed to leave you, you know.”

  She snorted a disdainful little laugh. “There’s no where I want to go, Agent Larchmont. If there were, I’d be there, with or without the FBI’s permission. I’ll bolt the door, put the chain on, not open up for anyone but you or my parents, okay?

  He nodded.

  “Oh, I also need a curling iron, probably one with a three-quarter-inch barrel.”