Cuervo

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Two strangers meet in the desert, both lonesome, both searching for something.

I remember that night well, that night on the edge of the world. Some unholy hour, somewhere between Arizona and Texas. With the coyotes for company, I sat in the front seat of my worn brown Ford with it’s four bald tires. The night’s cold prickled at my skin and the howling wind from the desert did little but dry my lips and eyes. 

 

My boots rested across the middle console and into the passenger seat as I took a sip from a silver flask settled carelessly on my dashboard. Not sure if it was the dark or the mournful sound of the wind through the unsealed doors of that old truck, but I had the worst ache. 

 

You know the kind, that sort that sits in your belly and threatens to force its way up your throat in the form of some profanity at whatever creator thought it was a mighty fine joke, sprinkling men and women far and wide and giving them that one purpose. To somehow ease that feeling that somewhere out there, there’s someone who's broken pieces fit with yours. 

 

I took another slug of vile, cheap whiskey and blinked back what would have been angry tears if I’d let them fall. It was a hell of a night for what I had to do. 

 

I was straight enough to drive, maybe just barely, but straight enough. A moment’s respite, that was all I was looking for as I closed my bleary eyes. 

 

In the back of my extended cab, across the tiny seat, lay a worn and battered guitar case. It was a living, sort of. It kept gas in the tank and food in my belly, which was a hell of a lot better than what my daddy said it would. 

 

Still, it was a sight better than what he did all of his living days. He’d slung dope to keep the tires rolling. I had my demons, but that was one I’d refused to touch. 

 

I took another deep breath and tossed the flask in my glove box. It took a couple tries, but it eventually closed. I’d said for years I was going to repair that truck, get him new tires, maybe a new coat of brown paint, unfortunately the money still wasn’t good enough. 

 

I’d had offers, in my younger years, from rich men, some my daddy tried to set up. His assurances that money was all a body needed to find happiness didn’t exactly sit right with me. Suppose it didn’t matter now, daddy was dead. As for me, I was old by no stretch of the imagination, but I had aged out of the interest of crusty old perverts and their wandering eyes. 

 

I was thin and wiry from years of odd jobs done throughout the southwest, my skin tanned from a half a year running horses in Santa Fe, and my dark hair refused to stay in the braid down my back. I’d never been a classic beauty, but once I’d had age on my side. 

 

I pulled boots in desperate need of re-soling from the seat beside me and placed my feet back on the pedals. The low rumble of thunder seemed to shake the ground around me, the first volley in a battle between land and sky. 

Maybe the rains wouldn’t come and drown the thirsty land. If they did, unseen rivers would course, washing away anything that had the gall to stand up to it. 

 

As I turned the key, the old truck roared back to life. I pulled the button nearest my door on the dash and dim headlights illuminated the desert before me. Pulling onto the deserted highway, I continued on towards Cuervo. 

 

It was little more than a ghost town, but it had holy ground. Beyond that, it had no nosy types to ask me to move along, like I was some bum living in my truck. It was beyond the point that I did practically live in my truck. 

 

As the miles rolled on, and the storm grew closer, I couldn’t deny the weariness that’d set in my bones. I couldn’t deny either that a second set of hands, a second set of eyes, would have made the trip all the easier. 

 

I limped into Cuervo while the sky was still pitch black. With the clouds it looked like even the stars had gone out. I pulled that old Ford into a spot between two oaks. He was smoking pretty good, he always did a little. Yet another repair I needed to make when the money came out right. 

 

Still, shitty quick repairs were for the morning, dark was for a light sleep with my revolver within quick reach. 

 

I climbed into the back, grabbing a worn indian blanket from the seat. The cold hunk of steel lay under my driver’s seat, hidden in the back seat trash. I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and removed my battered dark brown Stetson. 

 

I took a moment to unbutton the front of my denim shirt. Wasn’t the most comfortable pajamas, but it was better protection from the elements than the thin linen they made women’s shirts out of usually. 

 

I sighed heavily as my head hit the seat, it smelled like thirty-one summers, countless nights it’d been my hotel. Even the scent of the cologne from my last lover lingered in the scratchy tan upholstery. 

 

I took a deep breath, I knew he wasn’t right for me, but it had been a painful split nonetheless. An unfortunate case of ‘close but no cigar’, weren’t his fault. 

 

I settled in as best I could, closing my eyes. When I opened them again, there was a bright light shining through my window. I knew the drill, knew who he or she was too the second they knocked with that damn flashlight. 

 

I sat up, still wrapped in my blanket to see a black and white police unit pulled up behind my truck.

 

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as the man asked in a smooth southern drawl, “You alright miss?” 

 

I brushed the unruly brown hair from my face as I looked over at him with tired, dark eyes, “Yes sir...what time is it?” 

 

He lifted his wrist, looking at a watch, “Nearin’ four o’clock ma’am.” 

 

I let the blanket fall into the back seat floorboards as I climbed into the front seat and rolled down the window with some difficulty. The crank handle was beginning to go, another repair on the list. 

 

I yawned as I asked, “Can I help you officer?” 

 

He wasn’t dressed like an officer, figured he was off duty. I wasn’t sure if that meant he wouldn’t arrest me for having whiskey on my breath and being in my truck, but I certainly hoped so. 

 

He studied me with practiced brown eyes, he had angry eyes. I noticed it written all over his face. He’d ditched the uniform for a worn denim shirt and oil stained jeans.

 

He looked like trouble, but the kind of trouble I usually liked to work off a bit of frustration with. Tall and thin, I’d never really favored the muscle heads. I found the skinny ones made the best lovers, if they wanted to be on top there was less chance of those annoying moments where their weight settled and caught my ribs. Besides, they fit nicely on my back seat, at least widthwise. 

 

Everyone had always told me I was a good judge of horseflesh, and way I figured men were no different. They had similar tells, the way a horse and a man carried themselves. He wasn’t much older than me, likely mid thirties, but the crease between his brow told me they were often furrowed. He had an early start on crow’s feet, but who didn’t, between the sun and the dust in the wind. 

 

He raised a brow, looking me up and down, “Think it’s supposed to be me askin’ that ma’am. You alright out here? You got a purpose for bein’ in the ghost town?” 

 

I shrugged, “Court here started smoking pretty good.” 

 

He chuckled, “Court? I take it that’s the truck?” 

 

I scoffed, “Certainly wasn’t me, Officer.” 

 

He nodded, “You’re in luck, show me?” 

 

He made a vague motion towards the hood of my truck, but his eyes were settled on me. I figured it was just the simple fact that we were out in the middle of nowhere. I popped my door open so I could reach the release for the hood. It couldn’t hurt, and if the po-po saved me repairs in the morning, I’d take it.

 

I snapped back, “Generally gotta buy me dinner first.” 

 

He laughed, rolling up the sleeves of his own denim shirt, “Get the feelin’ it ain’t that difficult ma’am. Might consider the buttons of your garment.” 

 

I shook my head as I reached down to refasten my shirt, “Not exactly professional, Sheriff Taylor.” 

 

He scoffed, disappearing under the hood of Old Court, “Might I infer that I have offended you somehow in our brief encounter ma’am?” 

 

I grabbed my blanket again from the back seat and wrapped it around my shoulders. Stepping out, I caught him examining the fluid levels. 

 

I answered, stretching my neck as I approached, “My daddy always told me, any fella who calls you ma’am more than once either thinks you’re old or they want something.” 

 

He nodded, reaching to pop open the radiator cap, “I do want somethin’, I want you on your way ma’am. You do realize the Hell’s Angels come through here with some frequency, right?” 

 

I stood on my tiptoes, peering into the radiator, I could use more coolant for certain. Court ate through it about as quickly as I could replace it. 

 

I turned from truck to man, “I appreciate your concern, Sheriff Taylor, but I assure you, it’d be their mistake.” 

 

He cocked his head, “You armed, ma’am?” 

 

I laid my blanket in the space between the hood and windshield, lifted my shirt and turned a circle, “Not presently, sir. It’s licensed and unloaded in the back seat.” 

 

He nodded, a hint of annoyance in his face, “You do realize you’re supposed to announce you got a firearm first off, right?” 

 

I crossed my arms, I didn’t like the tone he’d taken, “I wasn’t exactly expecting to be disturbed.”

 

He grumbled to both me and himself, “You mind takin’ a seat on the hood of my car while I secure your firearm, ma’am?” 

 

I answered, going towards his car, “There’s a flask in the glove box too if you want that, if you can get the damn thing to open, bonus points if you can get it to close again.” 

 

I watched from my perch on his push bumper as he pushed the driver’s seat forward. I’d done this a few dozen times at this point and it was always kinda humorous for me, when they saw the gun I’d disclosed. This time was no different. 

 

He pulled the old revolver from its place amongst the fast food wrappers and looked back at me, “You gotta be kiddin’ me. This is your protection?” 

 

I answered back, “No Sir, that’s my gun, protection is in the center console.” 

 

He laughed out loud as he checked the chambers, “You grave rob Billy the Kid for this thing?” 

 

He walked over to me, pistol in hand. He flipped it in his grip and handed back the revolver, grip first. 

 

The man raised a brow, “Due respect ma’am, but I doubt that thing would fire if it was loaded.” 

 

I answered, checking the chambers again myself, “Seems to me, that’s my burden to carry, Sheriff Taylor.” 

 

He rolled his eyes dramatically, “Sheriff, yes, Taylor no.” 

 

I laid my revolver on the hood of his car and stood, offering my hand, “Willa Ward.” 

 

He eyed my hand for a long moment before taking it, “Good to meet you Ms. Ward.” 

 

I turned and grabbed my pistol, heading for my truck, “Well, I told you mine, Sheriff Not Taylor.” 

 

He groused, hiding a grin as best he could, “Beau, Beau Campbell.” 

 

I added, “As fun as this has been Beau Campbell. Believe it or not, even in his sorry shape, Court still starts.” 

 

I climbed into the driver’s seat and turned him over. Court smoked a little, but nothing that’d impede my vision, at least not until I put ten hours on him. 

 

I looked over at the sheriff with a small smile, “He and I just needed some rest is all. He’s cooled off.” 

 

Beau chuckled, going around front and closing my hood, “Coulda mentioned that.” 

 

I had already decided to make my play on the lawman. I was lonesome and judging by his off hour pursuits, so was he. When he came around to the window, he settled his hands on my door, in the hollow the open window left. I took a glance at his left, no ring, no tan line either. He hadn’t just slid it into his pocket like a slimy asshole.

 

He asked, his face growing more serious, “You want me to follow ya into Santa Fe? Just in case...Court…” His tone was one of fond mockery as he spoke the name, “In case Court decides he’s gonna overheat on you.” 

 

I raised a brow at the lawman, “Awful kind of you, but don’t you got places to be?” 

 

He smirked, I knew damn well he didn’t, “Protect and serve, serve is kinda in the job description ma’am.” 

 

I leaned my head back, examining Beau Campbell like a gal picking a mount from a string. He seemed the sort that’d want to go get breakfast in the morning. I liked that sort. The kinds that knew that sex, any kind of sex, wasn’t meaningless. Even two trains passing in the night left their marks on one another. 

 

He’d turned his head at this point, looking over the quiet buildings. Cars passed far in the distance, the old highway had been bypassed by the new. 

 

He asked me, turning back to look, “What on Earth is a young woman like you doin’ out in a place like this, if you don’t mind me askin’?” 

 

Truth was, I did mind him asking, but I put on my best practiced smile and answered, “Just heading to Denver, eventually. Got a gig in a few days, but I can’t exactly take the highway with Court being temperamental.” 

 

I nodded towards the case in the back, knowing he’d seen it in his search for my pistol. A small smile spread across his face as he scratched the back of his head. 

 

“Crap truck, guitar case, shoulda known. Thankfully I’m the sheriff, we got other folks for detectin’.” 

 

I chuckled at his self depreciation, he seemed like a decent kinda guy. Of course I could have been wrong, but I didn’t figure I’d have to live with my mistake very long. I was heading out with sunrise. 

 

He asked, leaning in, “You famous?” 

 

I smirked, leaning forwards, towards him, “If I was famous, mister, Court would have better tires.” 

 

He swallowed hard, wasn’t the only thing about him that was hard I was sure, “Ma’am, would you like me to escort you to Santa Fe?” 

 

I leaned back in my seat with a shake of my head, “Figure Court could use a couple hours, besides, no place to check in this late besides the kinds of hotels that charge by the hour. Wouldn’t want you thinking less of me.” 

 

He started to say something, but stopped himself. Figured he knew he was riding a dangerous line. 

 

I raised a brow, “There a law against me sleeping in my truck, Sheriff?” 

 

He shook his head, “You’re out of my jurisdiction anyways, so I couldn’t enforce it if there was.” 

 

He added, his brow deeply furrowed, “But there is a safety issue. Hell’s Angels, human traffickers, they like spots like this, and a single woman with six shots ain’t gonna dissuade them, if ya catch my meaning.” 

 

I asked, “How long before your next shift, Sheriff Campbell?” 

 

The furrow in his brow disappeared immediately. He’d gotten my drift I figured. 

 

I motioned to the back seat with my head, “Ain’t much, but it’s too damn cold to sleep in the bed and I shutter to think what’s gone on in your back seat.” 

 

The look on his face turned to pure shock at the suggestion and he stammered, “Due respect ma’am, but you just met me. You got no way of knowin’ if I’m some kinda maniac or serial killer or somethin’. To that end, I got no way of knowin’ if you’re any of those things.” 

 

I laughed, “Not exactly the kind of vehicle a serial killer drives, I mean, there’s no space for a body in here.” 

 

He gnawed on that logic for a moment before removing his tan Stetson and tossing it through my window to rest with mine in the passenger seat, “You got a fair point there, ma’am.” 

 

He reached around and grabbed my blanket from the hood before he popped open my door and said, “Climb on in the back ma’am.” 

 

I climbed back, grabbed my case from its place upright behind the passenger seat and shifted it to the front seat. Space cleared, I started on my denim shirt, but he paused as he slid into the front seat, “Are we makin’ a really poor choice?” 

 

I answered, “Ten months...it’s been ten months since I struck out on my own and tonight the lonesome hit me like a brick. If I can beat it back for a few hours, I don’t think it’s likely I’ll regret it. You?”

 

He chuckled ruefully, “Two years, woke up a few hours ago with a powerful hurtin’. I swear I wasn’t out lookin’ for it, just drivin’ around until it passed.” 

 

I laid back, having divested myself of my denim shirt, “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with beating back the lonesome for a few hours Sheriff.” 

 

He laid his sidearm beside mine on the dash and locked the front driver’s door before reaching for the glove box. It took a couple tries, but he managed to pop it open and retrieve the silver flask. It was half full, but more than enough cheap whiskey to loosen us both up.

 

He closed it hard, only for it to fall open. A second try and a third did no better. He left it hanging open, I’d get it in the morning, there was a trick to it. 

 

He grumbled, mostly to himself, “How the hell you even get around in this thing?” 

 

I answered, “Court’s been more faithful than any man, Sheriff. He’s given me his loyalty, least I can do is return the favor.” 

 

He looked over his shoulder at me, lounging, waiting for him on the back seat. It wasn’t very wide, but it’d do for our purpose. I could see the ghost of uncertainty pass over his face, and I saw the moment it broke. 

 

He unscrewed the top of my flask and took a long pull. He wouldn’t be driving until sunup. He pulled off his denim shirt, leaving his undershirt, one of those horrible scratchy waffle knits. 

 

I ran my hands up under it, he was warm and solid under my hands. I searched the hollows of his ribs and grazed what had to be an old scar from a bullet. 

 

His face flashed a moment of discomfort and I pulled away, “Ain’t since, huh?” 

 

He shook his head, “No ma’am. Knockin’ on the doors of Glory, well tends to leave a man questionin’, and she wasn’t much interested in the answers I was seekin’.” 

 

I reached up and ran a hand through his mid-length dark hair, it was tamped down by his hat, but beautiful nonetheless. 

 

He breathed a ragged breath, his weight held above me by two wiry arms, “You sure about this ma’am?” 

 

I chuckled softly, looking up into that face. Some folks said it was the least flattering angle a person had, which spoke to just how appealing the sheriff was because looking up at him as he looked down at me, my stomach twisted into a knot.

 

I answered, “Been sure since you popped the hood, Sheriff.” 

 

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and added, “Please, Beau, callin’ me sheriff makes this feel even more unseemly than it likely already is.” 

 

I nodded, I couldn’t miss the softness in the man’s eyes. I wondered for a second when that’d happened, but I didn’t have long to wonder. He pulled the blanket from it’s place on the center console and pulled it over his shoulders as the first flashes of lightning caught up with us and the tell tale metallic clanks of mid winter rain drummed on the top of the old truck. 

 

He was even warmer, pressed on top of me, the worn Indian blanket bottling in his heat. He reached a hand to my cheek and ran his thumb across it, soft like we’d been lovers for years. 

 

I’d misjudged him, I figured, he wasn’t an angry fella. There are worse things to be wrong about. He leaned in, the whiskey was sharp on his breath, even though he’d only had a sip. It was a smell I knew well, one I usually avoided on the breath of lovers. Whiskey made men rough and evil most days, gave them untoward inclinations. 

 

I knew he wasn’t drunk, just gathering what courage he needed to go through with what came next. As I murmured lowly, “It’s alright Beau,” his mouth crashed into mine. 

 

That first kiss was needy and wild and it tasted of cheap whiskey and blood from my cracked lips. 

 

My fingers again searched under the thermal top he’d yet to shed. He didn’t shy when my thumb grazed the scar, between his forth and fifth rib. I was a doctor by no means, but I’d seen enough to know that it had likely been a hell of a wound. 

 

He seemed to be putting all of his energy and focus into the kiss, exploring the depth of my mouth, my chin held as if to prevent an escape I wasn’t planning. 

 

When he came up for air, the traces of uncertainty were gone. He looked down at me with fire in his dark eyes. I sat up as he leaned back. He started to pull off the thermal top, but when it came to his left side, he struggled in his haste. I took the end of his sleeve and pulled, sliding it off easily. It was then I noticed the second scar, thick and waxy on his left shoulder. 

 

I reached for it, eyes examining, concern surely written all over my face, “Musta been a hell of a gunfight, Beau.” 

 

He paused and looked at me, “Yes ma’am, it was.”

 

I wanted to ask more, but he leaned forward, helping me to shrug off my shirt at last. It was then I remembered what bra I was wearing, old reliable. I looked down at the offending garment and couldn’t stifle the chuckle, it was in as sorry a shape as the truck. Not because of lack of others, but because it was the most comfortable I had. It’d been with me for two whole presidential terms, and hopefully it’d last a third. 

 

Beau chuckled as he reached around with his good arm and unhooked it clumsily, “We all got that pair of sweatpants that are too broke in to replace, Ma’am.” 

 

I raised a brow as he pulled the bra away, holding it up in some kind of mock triumph, “Willa, unless you want me to go back to Sheriff.” 

 

He growled, “Got a point there...Willa.” 

 

He tossed the bra to where my shirt had landed, it’d help sorting out what was what in the morning, He ran a hand down my side, my body told stories too, maybe none as dramatic as his, but stories nonetheless. 

 

He ran his thumb across a blackened bruise on my upper arm, then lower to the thing that made me most self conscious, a ropey slash from hip bone to hip bone in a futile attempt to save an innocent life. It was long healed, but some days the wound was as fresh as the day it’d been cut.

 

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. We knew the score. His hand rested on the brass button of my jeans and he gave me one long moment to protest before popping it open. I shimmied out of jeans and underwear all at once and they joined the pile. 

 

Laying bare before Beau, I felt a strange sense of comfort. Just two trains passing, knowing the other’s true form even if only briefly. 

 

I reached for the button of his jeans, but he stopped my fumbling. Placing his hands over mine, he murmured, “Two years...don’t expect me to have much control. Least I can do is get you off first.” 

 

I gave him a glint of a flirty grin, “Don’t expect too much in round one, Sheriff.” 

 

He laughed, “I’m not here on an official capacity ma’am.” 

 

He pulled the blanket over himself, and I pulled it up until it covered my breasts, thanking fuck that I’d showered that morning. The awkward lump under the blanket moved and melted against me, his head resting on my chest, hands stroking my sides, before he sucked a puckered nipple into his mouth. 

 

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the feeling, the relentless pull. In the dark of the cab, all I could hear was the raspy breath of Beau and the wind from the desert. As he lay listless in the dark, mouth formed to my breast, I carded my hand through his hair. 

 

He murmured something soft against my skin, but I didn’t catch it, mind already foggy with what I knew came next.

 

I answered back, “Appreciate the foreplay Beau, but I’m gonna need you to head South. If you got a thing for tits, we can do that after we’ve satisfied that hunger.” 

 

Beau grunted in acknowledgement and pulled his mouth from my nipple with an audible pop. He sidled down, trying to keep his balance on the thin seat. I scooted up , tenting my legs to give him space and after a few awkward attempts, he ended on his knees in the passenger side floorboard. 

 

He grumbled, “If we do this again Willa, we’re gettin’ one of them shady pay by the hour hotels.” 

 

I laughed, “Wouldn’t be shameful for the sheriff to be seen at such an establishment.” 

 

He grabbed my thighs and pulled me closer, the blanket sliding behind him to be forgotten in the floorboards, “Only if somebody sees me.” 

 

He looked up at me with a scruffy grin from the space between my lily white thighs and I just grinned back, “If I’m in Santa Fe again, I’ll call you. Number’s still nine-one-one right?” 

 

With a gruff chuckle, he dipped his head and I closed my eyes. The inside of the truck was dank with the stink of sex, despite the act having been as of yet committed. Even if someone had come looking, the fog on the windows would have assured our modesty. 

 

He was tentative at first, a long lick through my slippery slit. I groaned, it had been so long since anyone but myself had been down there. He must have found something he liked as his mouth settled against my lips. His scruff bristled against my sensitive skin as my hand went for his hair. 

 

He dipped his tongue to my entrance, testing the waters likely. With a shaking breath, snaked his tongue up until it circled my pearl. I was throbbing, I’d never needed a release so badly. 

 

With the slow, languid strokes of someone who had once been well practiced, he brought me to the edge as I clawed at his dark hair. 

 

I whimpered, “Beau...Beau...please.” 

 

He grumbled gently into my flesh, “Willa...I swear I know what I’m doin’, just put a little trust in me, darlin’.” 

 

I nodded, gripping the seat with one hand as he went back to work. He flicked my clit with the tip of his tongue, eliciting a needy groan. 

 

Leaning in, he gave it a quick suck and I very nearly came apart then and there. He backed off, resting his chin on my hairy snatch, he didn't seem to mind so I wasn't gonna bother with worrying about it. Wasn't like I'd gone out seeking him.

 

He grumbled, his voice going through me like a knife, "You are...magnificent, Ms. Ward."

 

I felt a flush spread across my cheeks as I murmured, "Ain't so bad yourself, Sheriff Campbell."

 

He reared up, fumbling with his belt, "I ain't opposed to finishing the job as a prelude to round two, if it pleases ya ma'am."

 

I answered, coming up on my elbows, "By the looks of the iron you're packing there, Beau, doubt I'll need satisfaction after the fact."

 

He snorted, pulling off his belt, "That was terrible, I'm still gonna love you up, but that..."

 

I watched as he pulled off his jeans with some difficulty, he was magnificent, even with the wide waxy scars.

 

Having finally managed to free himself, I reached a hand towards his 'iron'. It was right around six inches and wide enough. He was ungroomed, although I'd believed him before when he'd told me he didn't come looking for a screw. Wrapping my fist around it, I gave him a couple good tugs, but there was no need to get him riled up. Iron looked soft by comparison.

 

The lightest touch had him with his eyes closed, head back. I could believe he hadn't had any in two years. He mumbled, "Next time, we don't do this in this cramped truck."

 

I answered, "Awful presumptuous, who says there's gonna be a next time."

 

He opened his eyes, looking down at me, he didn't have to say it, I was already thinking it, 'I hope there is'.

 

He reached around me once more and helped me back. I assumed he figured I'd hit my head, but I knew that truck like most people knew their own faces.

 

I braced myself against the panel behind me, taking care not to lay my head on the busted vinyl armrest as he settled between my legs again. His hands stroked my body, my sides first, then down to my hips, then across my belly. His hands didn't linger on the scar, maybe the hitch in my breath told him it was a subject I'd rather not discuss with a casual lover. His hands gripped my hips as he lined up to push through my soaked lips.

 

He was slow about it, and I was grateful in that moment. It had been a long ten months and the intrusion felt strange. I'm not sure if his pace was for his own benefit or for mine, but after a few moments his pubic bone rested against mine. His thin body was all the paler as the moon peeked from behind the retreating thunderstorm as he propped up on his arms and smiled down at me.

 

His voice was pure gravel as he whispered, "Tell me...if you don't like somethin' and we'll find somethin' you do."

 

I grinned up at him, "Same goes for you, Sheriff."

 

He winced at that and added, "Due respect madam, but I ain't got somethin' shoved up somewhere tender. 'Long as you don't bend it in some kinda acrobatic feat fit for the circus, I'll be just fine."

 

I reached up for the man and he melted against me once more, head rested against my breast. I clutched his shoulders as he began to slowly pump. He didn't want it to end, I could sympathize.

 

I reached for his face, pulling it to mine. I wanted to look him in the eye, but he had other plans. He leaned in and locked lips with me. The prickle of his stubble, the scent of me on his face, there was something in the desperate act that lit the fire in both of us.

 

His hips crashed into mine, I couldn't fight the whimper. He paused and I murmured, "More...please Beau."

 

One arm went around my back, forcing us closer together, the other braced above my head, against the panel. Another hard trust, another cry in the night until the truck rocked violently and the distant wails of the desert creatures were drown out with howls of our own.

 

I could see when he got close, he lifted his head from our kiss and his panting grew more ragged, along with the pace of his hips. His arm around me tightened as he pressed in as deeply as he could. I could feel the twitch against my cervix, like he was knocking, asking if his swimmers could come stay a while.

 

The haze of his own orgasm past, he reached between us, his long thin fingers searching for a perfect pearl in the flush of fluids from both of us. There was no gentleness in his movements and I didn't want gentleness. As his fingers made quick circles, he leaned in again to kiss me. I'd take it, I'd take what he had to give me.

 

He growled, running his fingers through what was leaking out of me to lubricate my clit again, "You gonna come for me darlin'."

 

I closed my eyes as his gravely voice rumbled through me, and that was when the levy broke. With a cry, my body stiffened and arched into him. He craned his head to gently kiss my neck as he slowed the pace of his fingers.

 

I panted, laying my head back as my body bucked against his continued attention. He murmured into my sweaty skin, "Magnificent...Ms. Ward."

 

I closed my eyes as he pulled his hand away, his softening cock came with it, resting messily against my leg. He reached for the blanket in the floor board and asked, "You need me to get up so you can get out and take a piss, Ms. Ward?"

 

I knew he was right, but I just shook my head, "I'll risk it, take it you're asking leave to get going?"

 

I was pleasantly surprised as he grumbled, "No ma'am, just figure it'd be more comfortable for both of us if our sleepin' positions were reverse to the ones we just took up."

 

I sat up, reaching for the tie that kept my braid in my hair, it was a mess anyway at that point. He positioned himself behind me and with a hell of a lot of fumbling, soon I was resting at his side as best I could, halfway on top of him with my head on his chest.

 

With my baser needs met, I took advantage of my newly cleared head to examine his features in the pink early morning light. I knew it then, an angry man, with a streak of something better somewhere in him. I noticed it in the furrow of his brow and the set of his jaw as he brushed the ropey scar on my hip bone with his thumb.

 

He cleared his throat in the dark as he asked, "I do ask your leave in one respect ma'am..."

 

I answered breathily, starting to drift in the warmth of his presence, "What's that Beau?"

 

He asked, "Ten months ago, he the one done that to you?"

 

I answered softly, "No one did that to me...things happen, and some can handle them...and some can't."

 

He seemed unsatisfied, but just laid his head back, his thumb making circles on my hip.

 

 

That morning I woke alone, wrapped in my blanket. I sat up, at once impressed he managed to sneak out so silently and disappointed that he hadn't said goodbye. The only evidence he'd been there at all was the heavy smell of sex and the hint of his cologne. As I reached for my underpants and jeans, I mentally cursed myself, I'd been so caught up I'd forgotten to insist on a condom. I figured I'd limp into Santa Fe with my tail between my legs and go seek out some plan b after I cleaned up a bit.

 

I found old reliable amongst the floorboard trash and pulled it on. It might have been stained and threadbare, but it had only tried to stab me in the heart once when the underwire had come loose. That was a significantly easier fix than a man's wandering ways. I started to reach for my old denim shirt.

 

It wasn't were I had recalled throwing it the night before. In it's place, the dark denim that the sheriff had been wearing. I smiled to myself as the crunch of tires filled my ears and I looked up to see a black and white cruiser pull up beside me.

 

I pulled on the denim shirt to preserve my modesty, just in case lightning had struck twice in that old ghost town.

 

As the door opened, he looked even better in the morning light. He looked at ease, a fast food bag in one hand and a flashlight in the other. His hair was still mussed from our activities the night before and he wore my signficantly smaller denim shirt. I chuckled to myself at the thought of the man going into some poor fella's restaurant with his open buttons and sex hair.

 

I laughed as he knocked on the window with his flashlight and called, "Miss, everything alright?"

 

I rolled down the window with some difficulty and answered, "I don't know...seems someone stole something of mine and left a reasonable replacement in it's stead."

 

He furrowed his brow, chewing the inside of his cheek like he was deep in thought, "Don't suppose it could have been an honest mistake do you?"

 

I answered, "Oh no, Sheriff, this was absolutely an act of malice."

 

He nodded, then held up a bag from a place apparently called the 'Tune-Up Cafe', "Don't suppose we could discuss you dropping charges over the best breakfast burritos in Santa Fe, could we?"

 

I answered, climbing out of the truck, "Only if we can eat in the bed or something, it absolutely reeks of sex in there."

 

He added, "Then you can tell me what you're doin' out here."

 

I paused, it was my turn for a furrowed brow, "What do you mean, I told you, gig in Denver."

 

He nodded, handing me the bag and popping the tailgate, about the only thing that did work every time on Court. He took the bag again as I climbed up to sit and said, "Which is the other way, Ms. Ward."

 

He turned back for his car and I was honestly scared for a moment that he was going to get handcuffs or something of the like, and not in a good way. Instead, he leaned in and grabbed something from the center console. Straightening up, he held up two drinks triumphantly. I cocked my head as he walked back, placing one Styrofoam cup before me. He hopped up and reached into the bag, offering me a burrito.

 

He grumbled, "Seein' how's I just met you, there's likely no way I got your order right. Just didn't want to wake you up to ask if you liked eggs."

 

I laughed, he was impossible not to like, "If you got salsa, I'll marry you."

 

He reached into the bag and held up two of those little clear cups with the tops, one salsa, one Pico de gillo. He raised a brow, "Think of the scandal, sheriff goes out into the desert and finds himself a wife through the exchange of salsa..."

 

I unwrapped the foil around the burrito and added, "Which begs the question...you were headed away from Santa Fe last night...don't tell me you were just trying to drive until you weren't horny anymore."

 

He chuckled, "Wasn't exactly horny I was runnin' from. Wasn't exactly runnin'..."

 

I answered, "Seeking, those answers that Two Years Ago didn't like. You were looking for them, weren't you?"

 

He answered, taking a bite of his burrito, "You're a better detective than I am, Ms. Ward."

 

I reached for my cup and answered, "Only because I'd heard about something...unwholesome...in these hills."

 

I took a sip and coughed, laughing, "What the hell's that?"

 

He answered, taking another bite of his burrito, "Cranberry juice, you forgot to piss last night. I need you sharp and not havin' to piss every five minutes if we're gonna go look into this...unwholesomeness."

 

I popped open the salsa, "Suppose I'm sticking around for a few days, Sheriff."

 

He nodded, looking out to the far white mesa, "Looks that way, you're welcome to bunk with me, in the interim, if you'd like a place that didn't stink of sex."

 

I took another sip of my cranberry juice and answered, "Might be prudent, easier to discuss what we know."

 

He reached across the tailgate and wrapped his large hand around my smaller one. They seemed to fit, like the last two pieces of some broken thing somehow falling back into place.

 


Submitted: February 01, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Alice Holt. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Spyguy

Very engaging story! Salsa gets a wife, brings a better life? Helps a town end strife?!?

Fri, February 5th, 2021 10:13pm

Author
Reply

Thank you so much! We'll see if Beau and Willa get that happy ending...and you know, a happy ending.

Sat, February 6th, 2021 12:28am

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