Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Chad
S mall towns are full of cliques and clichés. Seems everyone’s favorite pastime is passing information. Information about everyone else is the best form of entertainment, and bad news is as good as it gets. And that’s exactly why I’m not back in Meyer.
It’s been great to have Roger settled here. Far enough away from home, but with him here it feels rooted somehow still. Back when Leander, my half-brother, was on trial, you would have thought it was the O.J. case all over again. I remember people actually following us in their cars back home, chasing us down. That entire time in my life is something I’d rather forget. But I remember the pain on my mother’s face, the way my dad got thin and drawn, tired. He never recovered.
I remember being ashamed. Hell, that still hasn’t gone away.
But between my new Viking look, and the distance we’ve put between ourselves and my hometown, I’m feeling like I’m getting a fresh start. And besides, the years out west changes things. I’ve spent my time turning the helpless into the hopeful. The lost into the found. Sure, they had four legs and the smell of horse is not everyone’s idea of perfume, but to me, it’s as close to heaven as I can find here on planet Earth.
Roger barrels down unlit dirt roads chatting it up with the girls, I just keep my eyes forward until the lights of the big barn come into view.
The parking lot at Crutches is half filled with motorcycles and pickups. A baker’s dozen shining Harleys stand near the entrance, probably a local MC, but there are other bikes around the lot mixed up with flat beds still stacked with hay. There are other vehicles here too. Hondas and Priuses that have made their way in from the new suburbs out to the east. As Roger says, you can’t stop progress.
As we pull into the lot we can hear the music thumping, pulsing against the car windows. Roger palms the wheel and settles the Range Rover into a space by the line of trees where the vehicles are sparser.
“Why’d you park so far from the door?” Sally hits the high notes with her displeasure and the fillings in the back of my teeth feel it. “I don’t like to walk.” I glance in my side mirror to see them already refreshing their faces with more makeup.
“I’ll carry you.” Roger puts the car in park and turns to the back seat. “Just hop on.” He glances down toward his crotch then back at the girls. Their laughter isn’t convincing, but Roger doesn’t care.
As they open their doors and start to climb out I grab Roger’s arm. “You need to learn some manners my friend.” My tone is light, but it’s true and sometimes his disrespect to women pisses me off. I would never talk to a girl the way he does.
“Chad, man, you need to learn to lighten up and get laid.” Roger checks himself once in the rearview before grabbing the door handle and stuffing the key fob down in his pocket.
I shake my head without answering his gruff chuckle.
“You’re officially a virgin again, you know that, right? I know you; you didn’t even get yourself a slice of that sweet Oklahoma pie, did you?” He jumps down out the door and slams it behind him.
The girls are ten feet in front of us already as I slide myself out the passenger door and adjust my ball cap down a hitch. Being back has my gut knotted. I shouldn’t feel shitty about what’s happened —it had nothing to do with me. I somehow feel Leander’s mess is still on me.
Roger tips the brim of his hat up and kicks a rock in the dirt parking lot toward the girls making them spin around and yelp.
“Don’t y’all go wanderin’ off now. My friend here needs some lovin’.”
“Shut the fuck up, man. Enough. ” The glare I shoot Roger settles his ass right down because his jokes are getting fucking old.
“Fine, fine.” He chuckles and shakes his head. We close the space toward the door and the girls slow down when they see the bouncer collecting cover charge. “Hey, you bringing Arabelle back?”
I’m surprised he’s interested —surprised he even remembers her name— but then that’s Roger. One moment he’s a cocky pain in the ass, the next he’s genuine and solid.
“Yeah, I am as a matter of fact. I gotta find a place first. I don’t think I can live without her. That’s my girl.” My heart tightens just thinking about her being back in Oklahoma without me. She and I haven’t been apart more than a handful of days since I got her. I’ve got a transport waiting to pick her up, I should just ask Roger to board her at his place. Not sure why I’m hesitating, maybe I’m still not a hundred percent sure coming back to Michigan is the right move.
“I remember when you picked her up over at that livestock auction. Poor filly was a tail hair away from dog food. You do have a way with the damaged ones. Something I’ve never seen before.”
Arabelle was all hip bones and hate when I led her out of that auction ring. Of all the horses in all the years I’d trained, she was the turning point for me. I saw the fire in her eyes; I knew she was special but she’d known nothing but sorrow and cruelty. Now, she’s a champion cutting horse but so much more to me. And as close to a relationship as I’ve ever had. She’s the center of my training program and goes with me to every clinic and seminar I teach.
The hulk guarding the bar door looks like he just stepped out of the old West. Cowboy boots and a Stetson, jeans so tight his left-hanging package draws a giggle and some admiration from the girls as they wait for us to catch up.
We both reach for our wallets at the same time, but Roger puts a hand on my wrist. “Whoa, dude, I got this.” He stops next to the girls and pulls out a crisp hundred. “Put your money away. Welcome home.”
“No, I got it.” My wallet is stuffed with far too many Benjamins to be in a bar, but I didn’t think of that when I emptied out my checking account yesterday. I left most of my money in two investment accounts I’ve been playing with, but I didn’t want to leave a pile in Oklahoma State Bank it doesn’t make sense but I want to take her away from here so no other man can ever put his eyes on her again.
It takes super human effort to hide everything that is happening inside my body and mind right now. Feelings I cannot identify are creeping up from my toes until they wrap around my skull. The feelings are not just inside either; there are great heaving feelings in my crotch ready to stampede their way out of my Levis.
I may cum just from looking at her dimple. Can that be possible? I don’t give a shit; my hard-on sees the same thing as me and sooner or later, she’s going to get a good look at just what her dimple does to me.
“Chad.” Roger’s laughter shakes me from my trance. “You going to order or just make the poor girl stand there being uncomfortable for the rest of the night?”
She’s fighting another smile and I don’t see discomfort. I see tiny sparklers lighting up her chocolate brown eyes. She’s magnificent and I take another step forward to which she counters back.
“Do you want a drink or not?” She loses the smile and I see her swallow.
“No, I don’t want a drink. I want your number.”
Roger lets out a hoot then interrupts. “Sorry. Look, Lori, he’s been in a secluded mountain cabin for a few too many years so his social skills, although lacking before, now seem non-existent. He doesn’t bite though. Well, not unless you want him to.” Roger licks his lips and the thought that he’s looking at her with anything but the purest of notions makes me want to level him.
“Okay.” She tips her head trying to establish if we are done here.
She lets out a little girlish giggle and I lose my fucking mind. All that sexy with an innocent sweetness on top and drops of cum begin to soak my boxers. It’s like I’ve been saving up every lustful thought I should have had over the last God-knows-how-many years and they are all coming to call right now inside my fire-seared brain.
I don’t want her to walk away, but I’m not sure I can tie her ass up and sling her over my shoulder without raising some eyebrows. So I just soak her up and smile.
“Well, I’ll be back with your drinks.” She turns away, and my eyes follow.
Her waist is the perfect size for my hands, her ass is the perfect size for fucking, sucking, biting and watching. In fact, there isn’t a part of her that isn’t the perfect size. She’s all slow s-turns and deep valleys. Who wants a boring straight-away; I’ll take all she’s got and make the most of every luscious inch.
I tilt my head to get a better angle watching her move through the crowd. She’s wearing these shiny ballet flats the color of an Oklahoma spring sky, not boots or high heels like the other waitresses. Her matching baby-blue skirt hits her mid-thigh.
My eyes follow the curve down her inner leg, past her knees as she bends them and walks up on her tip-toes like she’s being careful not to disturb someone, sidestepping a couple of Barbie-bar flies with makeup so thick it looks like they’re wearing Halloween masks. But the way she walks, it only gives me a better perspective, and all I can think is just how much I want to trace those curves, memorizing them with the tip of my tongue, then start all over with my fingers. Rinse and repeat.
I’d never considered what my ‘type’ might be, but seeing her it dawns on me that there’s a reason for that. I don’t have a type.
It’s her. She’s it. My type is this one girl. Ripe and lush and as sweet as apple pie.
I don’t know if she has a boyfriend, if she’s married or hell, she may have a wife for all I know. But one thing is clear in my mind, whatever she is, there’s part of me that’s already decided I need to be part of her life.
She makes her way past a group of five city boys wearing jeans without a Levi’s or Wrangler label. In fact, I think they may have taken a wrong turn and shopped in the women’s department for those fancy pants.
There is something about a dude that cares a little too much about his appearance that ruffles my feathers. Like they don’t have enough to offer from the inside and that makes them a bit too concerned over what they look like on the outside. Doesn’t send up real-man signals as far as I’m concerned.
Whatever, what they wear is none of my concern, but what is my concern is the way the fuckers eye her as she tries to squeeze through and don’t give her the goddamn courtesy of stepping aside and giving her room to get by.
She’s forcing a polite smile, but I see the discomfort on her face. She’s pissed, but she’s too polite or too shy to say so. Instead I see her mouth the words ‘pardon me,’ her full lips shaping each syllable like the words are made of fucking clay, but the douche patrol ignores her and I’m seeing red.
Disrespecting her and not giving an inch in the opposite direction? That’s pushing all my buttons. They make her shove her way through, causing her ample tits to brush against the shoulder of one of them and my blood is on boil. She has to raise her tray above her head and tuck herself tight. Her embarrassment and desperation show in the way her shoulders pull toward her ears and she loses her smile.
Fuckers. Someone may have a lesson in being a gentleman coming very soon.
“Chad, hey.” Roger smacks the back of my arm from behind. “Jesus, man, are you gonna stare at that all night?”
I gather my restraint. He might be my friend, but right now that doesn’t seem to mean a whole lot to me. Hearing him call her ‘that’ makes my fists ball.
“Careful. Watch your manners.” I grunt at my childhood friend.
“What the fuck.” His face lights up into a toothy grin and he slaps the table sending a squeal out of the girls who, thankfully, seem to have lost interest in what is going on behind them. “You know her? Huh? Some old flame? Maybe you fucked her once, although I doubt you could remember that far back—”
“You better shut your fucking mouth. You say another fucking word and I’m going to send your teeth to your tonsils.”
Roger pushes his tongue into his cheek. His eyes still sparkle with amusement, but he gets the message. It’s nothing personal, but I meant what I said.
“Okay, buddy. I’m just glad to see you back in the land of the living. Go get what you want.”
I turn back around grumbling under my breath. “I intend to.”
She’s two douches into the crowd of city boys now, trying to squeeze by the five of them, when one steps behind her and blocks my view. His crew look on as he dry humps the air behind her ass, and they think that shit is funny, but I’m not laughing. In a heartbeat, I’m headed their way, heat gathering in my chest and radiating down my arms to the clench of my fists.
“Hey, where are you—” Roger calls after me but I’m on a mission as I clear my way through the crowd. I don’t know this girl, but I know that in my presence no one will ever disrespect her like that.
They are still cuttin’ up like they are in some comedy club when I bow up behind the air-humper with his cocky attitude and slicked back hair. I’m a quiet sort, but I’ve never been one to shrink from a fight.
Three of the guys see me coming, I’m hard to miss. The dick head about to be schooled has his back to me but it only takes him a split second to pick up on the signals from the looks on his friends’ faces that something big is happening behind him.
My head spins with the variations of how I’m going to play this. I’ve been in my share fights, but this piece of shit holds no sway. I have a sixth sense when it comes to people, and he’s no match.
By the time he turns around, the decision is made. I want to lay the fucker out and use the heel of my boot to grind some manners into him, but getting my ass thrown out of this place will not serve my new purpose for the evening, which is keeping my eye on her.
“What the fuck do you want?” The little fucker suddenly has a set of balls. They may be the size of a couple mouse turds, but balls nonetheless.
I smile, and palm my beard as I look down at him. I catch a glimpse of his back-up squad lining up to cover his ass, and it makes me embarrassed for them. That shit ain’t gonna be any deterrent.
“You’re going to go and tip that waitress that just walked by.” My voice is clear, rumbling out of me like the eleventh commandment.
“What? Fuck you.” He snaps with an over dramatic eye roll. “You better step back.”
I drop my hand from my beard and brush some invisible shit off the guy’s shoulder with my fingertips, invading his personal space like it’s my God-given right. Being around horses all my life, one thing you learn, you always stay calm. No matter what may be churning around me, I’m unflappable.
I clear my throat and nod toward where I can still see Lori moving through the crowd. “That waitress. You just insulted her and that shit doesn’t fly with me. So unless you want to be wearing your ass for a hat, you are going to apologize to her by digging in your wallet, coming up with a hundred bucks, walk your sorry ass over there and put it on her tray. You tip her, or we’ll have a different conversation.”
I drop my hand from his shoulder and thumb the stiff handle of the knife I always carry in my front pocket. I pinch it between my thumb and forefinger, inching it out before stuffing it back down inside my pocket with a grin. If my general size isn’t intimidating enough, with my hair nearly to my shoulders and my beard meeting it, I’m sure I look scary as hell to these city boys.
If this guy has any sense, he can read the crazy in my eyes, and realize it’s in his best interests to settle this without blows. I want to spend the rest of this evening admiring the miracle that just walked into my life, but I’ll do what I have to do to make sure he treats her with the respect she deserves.
His four comrades are flanking him but I lock eyes on him and repeat my order.
“A hundred bucks. Right fucking now. You go tip her and this can be over. Or…” I crack my neck and release a deep breath. “…you and your bridesmaids are going to be on the floor trying to pick up each other’s teeth.”
He gives me his best Scarface nose twitch and his buddies straighten up behind him.
“I’d say two hundred is more like it.”
I don’t need to turn around to know Roger’s voice. He’s to my left, he matches me in height and outweighs me by another twenty pounds he wears in his gut so we are a solid wall facing down their rhinestones and hair gel.
“Fuck off.” The dipshit’s voice is losing some bravado. “I’ll give her a hundred.” His whole group shifts back, their chests deflate and shoulders drop. Inside my head I’m laughing my ass off imagining this group of glitter boys going toe-to-toe with me and Roger.
But on the outside I’m all business.
I have to keep my eyes on the prize, and right now getting escorted out of the bar for stuffing my fist down his gullet would not bring me closer to her.
He reaches around and digs in his back pocket, pulls out his wallet and waves a hundred-dollar bill in my face.
“Okay?” He swallows and the fear in his eyes would be visible from a hundred paces, but he’s trying to save some of his pride.
“Go give it to her, say something nice and I’ll be watching from over there.” I jerk my head back toward where we were sitting.
He nods and turns to walk her way.
She’s at the tail end of the bar, giving drink orders to the bartender and it rakes my nerves that her tank top is cut too low. I can tell she’s sweet, kind and from the rest of her outfit, she’s not the type to dangle her goods for the world to see, so that shirt will have to go.
Other waitresses are wearing the same thing, so I know it’s the bar’s uniform shirt, but I don’t give a shit about them. I give a shit about her, and any other fucker that has his eyes on her sends my protector instinct into overdrive.
Her tits are full and proud, like a goddamn American flag flying above the indent of her waist. And fuck if I’m not feeling mighty patriotic right now.
Just watching the swell and flow of that ass of hers has me rolling in the dust, thinking of how I’d train her, teach her things that an angel like her hasn’t imagined. She’s casual and understated, but she’s put together like a show pony. Neat and carefully groomed. Her hair hanging down over her shoulders gleams under the flashing lights and even from here I can see that she’s wearing just the right amount of make-up.
Most women overdo that shit but I like it natural, clean. Fuck, she’s as perfect as I’ve ever seen. I’ve never even touched her, and already this lush little dove has me whipped.
I imagine taking her out to the field, laying her out and messing up her hair, thrusting into her until she tears at the grass underneath as she tries to hold on. I want her wearing my cum like a badge of honor. I want her covered in me so everyone knows she is more than just taken by me – she’s ruined in the most magnificent and gorgeous way.
She’s tapping her foot to the music and tracing ChapStick over her lips as she waits for her drink order, so she doesn’t see the douche bag pushing through the last few people to get to her. She snaps around as he comes up next to her, then he lays the money on her tray, says a few words and turns back.
I’ve known her for all of five minutes, but I pick up clues. It’s body language, and I know body language. It’s another side effect of my work with horses. They’re great communicators if you know their language. And when it comes to people, we’re not that different. The set of her jaw, the slant of her hips. I think I know what she’s saying better than she does.
She’s happy. I see it in her eyes, her body. And I’m happy simply because she is.
I imagine the touch of my fingertips on those plump cheeks. How soft she must be, like the petals of wildflowers. How I’d draw her next to me, kissing her hair after I’ve fucked her and done things to her God didn’t intend. Teaching her the meaning of the word pleasure.
Her face lights up as she picks the money off the tray, stares at it in her hand for a long moment.
Then, it happens.
When her eyes finally raise under her lashes, they flicker across the mass of people and light on mine. It only lasts a second, but she breaks into a dimpled smile that starts on her lips but finishes in her eyes and that shit’s all mine.
That’s my new purpose in life. To make her smile all the way to her eyes. Every fucking minute of every single day just so I get to see that dimple again and again.