A/N: I haven't written fanfiction ever since I started student teaching in college. As you may imagine, it's a lot out of a person to learn, it's even more so to learn how to teach. Plus, my interests seem more fickle than anything, and have been changing drastically ever since my sister got an xbox.

That being said, I got my hands on TF2 and I'm in love with it. Unfortunately for the fandom, that means I began writing a fic in between my classes and work hours. However, my aim for this certain piece is for pure practice: I want to test my pace and word choice. Descriptions, character development...things along that line, and things that seem to be sorely lacking in fanfiction. Hopefully my oc's won't bother people if they keep to mind these things.

Also, make note that while this story IS a TF2 fic, they don't actually go into the fortresses until the fourth chapter. Why? Because I like character development, and first three chapters are purely for that. :I Thus I never uploaded until I did get to that chapter. You can skip if you want to that, but I don't recommend it.

Anyways, this is my latest fic. Consider all others on haitus until this is done.

Title: None Were Angels
Genre: Family, Romance, Humor, General
Characters: Curtis, Roxanne
Pairings: CurtisxRoxanne
Summary: All Curtis and Roxanne Howe wanted was to rebuild the old ranch Curtis's family left him to raise their family on. Money troubles left this dream near impossible, until Curtis is granted the opportunity to join Builder's League United, a shady business promising them enough money than they'll know what to do with.
Chapter One is mostly an introduction to both Curtis and Roxanne as well as the town they live in and it's residents. I'm not too fond with the pace, but this is more or less first drafts. I'll go revise later. Hurr.
Warnings: Curtis and Roxanne fluff moments. Also contains the prelude to sexy times. Oh mai.
Disclaimers: I don't own TF2 stuff, that belongs to Valve. IB

TOWN, 1970

There had been a light rainfall last night, and the only remnants of it had been in the morning dew, which trickled still down blades of dull green and brown grasses. The barest hint of a breeze would pick up now and again, throw these droplets into the sifting dirt, and just like that it was gone.
Beneath the black of the night sky peeked the horizon line, slowly falling back from all the reds and oranges of the rising sun. Stars had long since extinguished, and the moon had traveled yet again to the other side of the sky.

This time, the ascendant of dawn, was when young Robbie Smith left his house with a bag strapped over his shoulders, and a plan in his mind.
Young Robbie was still very much a boy: young faced, wiry, and fairly tall for his age. His eyes still held that childhood mischievousness, even behind all the tired the morning brings. Those same eyes scanned over the layout of the town where he lived, just as he did every morning.

To the right of him, lay the business district where the only business the town had were family run enterprises, such as an old grocery store and a resturant.

To the left of Robbie lay a small group of rickety bungalows, just as old as the one he had left.

The bag on his shoulders was of course the reason he was out so early in the morning. All the letters, and all the packages meant to be delivered to the townsfolk were in them, and in this time where those letters were a source of great importance, they weighed heavier than ever before.

It wasn't just the size of the parcels, neither, but the thought of their contents that made Robbie hurry in his travels. Mrs. Peasely waited eagerly every day for word from her nephew, who was off in Vietnam; and just last week, Robbie had the unfortunate job of delivering the final letter between Mrs. Wright and her son, whom died in the very same war.

So it was with great speed he made his way through this small, Texan community; taking care to be sure every letter and every delivery was made to the right place.

He started it off as he did every day: a slow trot to conserve energy, as he delivered Mrs. Peasely her latest letter, then meandered over to her poor neighbor Wright, to leave more cards of condolences for her recent loss. The Apple's grocery store was next, and there he left several stacks of who-knows-whats, before he crossed the street to the next block over.

It was when he got to the Null family ranch, at the edge of town that Robbie began to pick up speed and run along the picket fences that quickly vanished into nothing but long lengths of fields and a sparse became nothing but earthy blurs to him, as he turned to the Belkin farm, where the smell of freshly turned soil told him that planting season was upon them. The same elderly farmer could be heard arguing with Mrs. Belkin as Robbie neared with their letters in hand. He dashed away before any could sight of him, and ran across to their neighbors.

By now the morning sun had greeted the higher sky, and beat down mercilessly upon his already tiring body. Sweat began to bead up under the boy's cap, and ran down his face as he pumped his arms, slower this time, towards the Howe residence.

They lived far off from town, but not too far to be out of his mailing jurisdiction, in a ranch that had once, he'd been told, had spanned out farther than the town itself in miles of green pasture, with horses and cattle grazing or running freely in happy candance.

Robbie Smith wasn't too sure about that, as he moved up a dusty trail along to the ranch house, still sweaty and already feeling an ache in his lungs. His eyes trailed over what looked to be constant sights of brown, still wet with dew from last night, but dead nonetheless. It was nothing like any green pasture he had seen before, and certainly no life lived there save for a stray jackrabbit or fox.

He didn't know much about the Howes, and hadn't really met either of them, and besides wishing they lived closer to town, he hadn't really thought much on them either. But now, as Robbie closed in on the mailbox and began to empty his bag, the boy couldn't help but take a closer look towards the seemingly endless fields of land so untamed and untapped. Then to the white ranch house, a good two, possibly three stories tall, with a spacious porch holding a comfortable swing with rose patterned cushions. Quite unlike the yard, it looked well kept, with a gleaming fresh coat of paint, and lace curtains drawn in the windows.
But soon enough his bag lay flat and lifeless beside him now, as he dumped a good wad of bills and other assortments into the metal bin, pushing the flag down once finished. And only then did Robbie stop looking to let out a good sigh of relief and took what he believed to be a well deserved break. He leaned against the small tree beside the mailbox, which smelled faintly of apples, and took a few hearty breathes. With each wheeze, exhaustion hit him like a brick, and he found himself wishing he'd taken a drink along with before leaving home.

Nevertheless, the boy stood there, basking in his small achievement for the day. And all to greet him for this work seemed to be a welcomed breeze which rippled across his sweaty forehead. It was going to be another humid day, just like all the others prior to the rain last night.

Robbie had been too tired to hear neither the door opening, nor the shuffle of footsteps approaching. It was only when a voice softly spoke up that he knew someone was there, and then did the boy finally meet Mr. Curtis Howe.

The man that stood there was a relatively short man in stature, but stocky in width. His shirt bunched at the ends of his broad shoulders as he composed himself as best he could, even while still wearing his sleeping clothes. But the man had a warm face, and an earnest, if not nervous, smile as he greeted the deliverer fondly.

"You're the paper boy, aren't you? Roxanne mentioned seeing you a few times...but I'm usually workin by the time ya'll come by." He spoke softly, words trailing off now and again, and Robbie noted, that while the man didn't turn often enough to face him, the few times he did, the man was surprisingly young looking.

"Well uh, anyways, I saw you fall when I looked out the window, and I got a bit worried. Do ya need water or somethin?"

Robbie's face fell immediately, a sort of embarrassment washing over him, and he was just about to refuse, when that face turned to him again and babbled on. "Well, come...come on in, I have to pay you your tip anyways," His voice fell into a whisper as he turned around, already heading onto the porch and into the house. "And I'm not about to let you go back without drinkin' some water neither..."
The boy had no choice. Exhaustion and a thirst bordering on dehydration made him walk through the doorway after the man.

They stepped into a homely living room that looked like it belonged to a much older couple. Everything was set up neat and tidy, with white walls and dark chestnut brown furniture. The couch and rocking chair even had matching covers draping on their backs.

It was a nice home, looked expensive too, and Robbie couldn't help but feel a new bitterness for the man before him, who had walked into the kitchen and begun to pour a glass of water for him. The Howe couple, as he knew now, didn't look all that old, and from what he had heard, only had been married for a little over a year.

Yet they had all this, while his parents, who'd been married for a good fifteen years and raised four children, were still suffering to make ends meet. He bit back saying anything, though, when Curtis held out a glass to him, and he finally noticed the man's other arm, or what was left of it.

Like the rest of him, Curtis' arms were short but large. The sleeves of his nightshirt were long though, and hung over rough looking hands. The right one anyways. His left hand, where it had been, was completely gone. And when he moved in a certain way, Robbie could see the lonely stump where it had once been.

All at once those feelings of resentment left him, replaced by a quiet pity, as he nursed his glass and gave the man a feeble "Thanks".

Curtis had to turn around to speak more. "If you need more, go ahead and take some. My sink," Curtis gestured towards the countertop. "Is yours." He walked out into the living room, muttering offhandedly about finding Robbie his tip money, quietly shuffling away just as he had approached the boy earlier.

Robbie was left to admire the kitchen, something made out of his mother's dreams. The counter looked homemade, with a matching table decorated with a linen tablecloth. A small statue of a pair of hugging rabbits donned the center of the table, probably a wedding present as the female rabbit wore a veil.

He could hear Curtis' voice from the living room from here, as he took this time to relax. The man seemed to be calling out to someone, before exclaiming he'd found it, so it was alright. Soon enough he was back in the kitchen, giving a half smile at Robbie, before he held out a small wad of green bills.

Four dollars total, that was a big tip to Robbie. He felt each crisp fold of those bills in his hand as he accepted them eagerly, pocketing them right after with a "Thanks, Mister."
"Uh huh, you goin to be alright runnin back in this heat? It's a real scorcher..."

"The trip back is always faster than the trip here, Mister Curtis." Robbie gave the man a smile, as he placed the glass, gingerly, into the sink. He tipped his hat again towards the man. "I'll see myself out. Thanks so much for the water, though, it helped a lot."

"Say hello to your parents for me, son, they're good folks." Robbie felt his face stretch at that, before he strode out the door, and began his jog back towards town, feeling more rejuvenated than before.

Curtis Howe could not help but give worried glances to the figure that disappeared along the top of that hill line, heading back towards the town a little bit too far from his own home. Those feelings quieted soon enough, though, when the sounds of a creaking floorboard alerted him to a presence behind him, and a pair of arms wrapped about his middle.

"Curtis." A voice, husky from sleep spoke up behind him. "You let me sleep in again..."

"Thought you could use the rest." He chuckled, his good hand patting the fingers that splayed across his belly. They removed themselves when the woman let go of the man, and he turned to see his tired looking wife.
Roxanne Howe was a small woman: her frame was shorter than most girls her age, and she was thin everywhere but in the hips, which weren't anything to really look at, according to her. She had a face shape that reminded her of a fruit she once ate overseas, and her pointed nose turned upwards near the end, giving it a larger appearance than what it really was.

To her husband, seeing this girl in her night shirt; far too big and sagging at her lithe shoulders, with doe brown eyes half covered in thick lashes and hair a messy nest, was a sight welcome for a King. He leaned forward and showed his appreciation with a light kiss to the side of her face, which she acknowledged with a wistful smile, and an open-mouthed yawn.

"You want me to make breakfast this morning...or do you want to do it?"

Curtis smiled. "How's about we make it together, Darlin'?"

The kitchen Robbie had been admiring earlier was filled with the sounds of crackling bacon and scraping of metal utensils against a pan. Curtis watched the meat pop and slowly curl, the scent whistling past his face, as he flipped them capriciously. A little slip, and he felt hot fat fly out and land on the inside of his left arm. He recoiled, giving a short call that alerted Roxanne from cracking eggs into a bowl across the room from him.
"Curtis? Did you burn yourself again?" She admonished, quickly grabbing her husband's elbow and pushing it under a stream of cold water from the sink. Rinsed, he pulled it out and sighed:

"Got it wet doin' that."

Roxanne rolled her eyes and plucked up a towel from the cupboard and grabbed his wrist. She dabbed across what he worried over, and frowned, meeting his eyes. "...turn it around."

Curtis glanced back down to his wrist, which no longer remained the simple stump Robbie had noticed earlier that day. There was now a completely metallic hand, with wiry digits that seemed as lifeless as the coils that attached to the fleshy part of his arm. Then, surprisingly enough, those same finger-like appendages picked themselves up and moved. They made a whirring sound, of gears pressing into other gears, and this was likely the squeaking of the water as an added lubricant.

Roxanne pressed her towel into them, quickly and quietly dabbing away the droplets between each groove and crevice there. Curtis watched her work, before his hand rotated completely backwards, the palm facing upwards, and she dried this as well.

"There." She smirked up at him before she reached upwards, pinching the tip of his nose with the soft towel still in her hands. "And no rusting isn't that amazing?"

"Very funny." Curtis smiled anyways, before he pulled away and checked on the tinge of red where the burn mark would appear later. "...maybe I should make the cakes though."

"I think so too." A covered whisk was thrust into his face, and he took the handle from her fingers as Roxanne meandered to the bacon; which was seconds to burning, and she quickly pulled the pan off in attempt to save them. She sighed at the sight of the blackened meat. "Well...I guess some of it survived. You like it overcooked anyways, right?"

He chuckled as he whipped the concoction she had already started. "You know me well, Darlin'."

Breakfast after that was uneventful. The couple's quiet conversations mostly going over the day's chores and Curtis' work schedule.

"Belkin needs his machines fixed." Curtis said, as he took his last bite and picked up his plate, stacking it on top of Roxanne's and bringing both to the sink.

"Again? Honestly Curtis...isn't this the fifth time this month alone?" He chuckled as he watched her say this with her cheek still half full of toast. She took another bite as he answered:

"But it's good money. Belkin might not know how to take care of his things but...he does sell some of the finest veggies this side of the U.S. So he pays well. Especially in these times."
Roxanne closed her eyes as she chewed this time thoroughly, and swallowed before talking. "Oh, alright." She said. "But try not to stay too late tonight."

Curtis turned on the sink and began to rinse the dishes with his good hand. "Tonight?" He set them in, and turned off the running water. "What'dya got planned tonight, Roxy?"

"I was thinking we could try again tonight." He felt those arms around his middle again, as his wife squeezed up against his much larger frame. Curtis's face began to burn, which she giggled at, tickling her fingertips into the curves beneath his breast bone. "If you're feeling up to breeding with me." She laughed when he scoffed, and wrapped her arms about his shoulders as he turned and leaned down to kiss her. Their lips pressed warmly together, hugging in all its perfection, and they separated on a beat, smiles still playing on their faces.

"Darlin," Curtis ran a wet finger down the side of her face. She blushed when that fingertip landed at the corner of her lip, and his face broke into a wicked smirk of his own. "Sometimes you say the weirdest things. ...but they always manage to grab my attention anyways." And he leaned forward to press his lips to hers once more.

Suddenly the telephone began to ring, interrupting the motion, and they exchanged breathy giggles before she patted his thick arm with a petite hand.

"Go get dressed for work then." And she turned to go answer the phone while he did just that.

Minutes later, and Curtis couldn't find his goggles. He'd thought for sure he'd left it in the gloves he wore to work, but he found them quite empty when pulling them over both hands: organic and metal alike.
Briefly going over the bedroom and the tabletop in the hallway, he found himself still without his eye protection and walked downstairs to implore Roxanne of this.
"Darlin'," Curtis called out once he got to the bottom of the stairs. His hands patted over his pockets once more, unconsciously searching. "Roxy?" He said once more when she didn't answer right away, before he found her leaning against the kitchen door frame.

"Daddy, I'm sorry," She said into the phone, briefly catching Curtis's gaze. She answered the quirked brow with a roll of the eyes, to which her husband only chuckled at. Roxanne sighed. "You'll just have to find someone else for it...yeah, I know. I'd love to otherwise. ...you know how it is." Slowly she turned away from Curtis and to the key rack beside the phone. Her hands nabbed at the goggles she found hanging from there before tossing them to her husband. Curtis mouthed out a "thank you" before he slid them on, and walked outside to his truck.

Upon opening the porch door and stepping outside, Curtis was met with a wave of heat, and he ignored this. What stopped him, however, was when he saw the car coming up over that hilltop in the road. At first it was nothing more than a slight black shape, another mirage created by the heat and the haze of the day, but as it crept closer yet to the farm house, he knew whoever was driving it was heading here purposely.
And that wouldn't be unusual, for the most part, if it weren't for the fact that the car was a very nice one. It was long, and sleek, and shimmered like a black onyx in the sunlight, as if it were being showcased. It was certainly not the kind of car for driving over dirty roads in a small backwater town as this. No, it was a car that screamed money, and lots of it. Curtis could already feel his nerves becoming frayed as it pulled closer yet.

Now, to be fair, Curtis Howe was a man commissioned by others to fix things; so he did get a few visitors coming to seek his guidance or skills in one way or another. But they didn't come often, especially during these days, and never before had anyone come in such a fancied up vehicle as this one. He had to step back as the car pulled up the front of his mailbox and fence, and felt almost under dressed upon seeing his reflection in the windows before him. The black sheet, along with his surprised face, soon rolled down from sight though, and took all those feelings away from him once he saw the driver of the car looking right at him.
He had a square like face, wide in jaw and forehead, and these beady dark eyes that rivaled the sheen of his car. The look he gave Curtis, scanning over his dirty work overalls, smudged up with grease and oil at the knees, was obviously one of disappointment, but he hid it well enough when he smiled up at him.

"Curtis Howe?"

"Yes sir." Curtis barely stuttered out, before the man's lips pulled back, and he saw the biggest canines he'd ever laid eyes upon, complete with a golden tooth he was sure he would be able to see into the reflection of, if he'd leaned in any closer. A hand was thrust in his direction, to which he cautiously held out his right hand, and took it in grasp. The man had a strong handshake, much like the rest of his appearance, and he squeezed Curtis' fingers tightly together before he did finally let go.

"My name is Leon Rickman, Mr. Howe. I work for the Builder's League United, and my colleagues and I have become fascinated with your work."

"My work, Mr. Rickman?"

"Yes, Mr. Howe, the stuff you've fixed and the rate you've fixed them at is astounding. You remember Egypt, 1966 through 68 right? You were called up by a Mr. Smith, your present day father in law, to join his team as an engineer in saving the Abu Simbel temples?"

Curtis moved from one foot to the other, shifting from just a little deterred to downright uncomfortable. "...can I ask how you know all this stuff, Mister?" He asked in that hushed tone of his, almost unable to look the man in the eyes now.

Rickman's smile couldn't get wider if he tried, that golden tooth glinting as he gave Curtis this knowing look. "You remember Doug Elliot?"

"Doug... Should've known." Curtis breathed out. "How's he doin', anyways?"

"Good, good. Working for us now. Recommended you highly when we were going over recruitment issues. He had some interesting stories to share about your...endeavors while you two were up there." At this, Curtis watched those beady eyes move down the span of one of his arms, and land on the gloved hand that lay sluggishly at his side. He cautiously moved it behind himself, feigning an itch, and Rickman's eyes flicked back to his face, all Cheshire smiles yet.

"So...would you mind having ourselves a man-to-man conversation, Mr. Howe? This employment opportunity, I assure you, is one you should most consider."

"They all are, Mr. Rickman. But I can't say I've ever heard of your company; a Builder's League sounds like somethin' I'd be knowin' about-"

"No time like the present, Mr. Howe." Curtis found he really hated the way this man chuckled.

Roxanne had taken a few minutes longer than predicted, but she blamed not just her jabber-mouth of a father; but also her good Sunday sandals, and the buckle that just had to break when she was pulling them on earlier. She emerged from the house, ready to explain why she was wearing her work boots that her husband was sure to tease her about. But then she saw the very nice car, and Curtis hunched over it, talking to the driver.

Now, usually Roxanne would let this be and stand aside politely to 'let the men talk business'. But this visitor, as mentioned prior, was a strange one to the pair, and knowing her husband's innate shyness, curiosity bested her. She walked over, intent on 'casually' reminding Curtis they did have appointments to make. And as she predicted, Curtis' face read he wanted to leave, but their visitor (whom reminded her of those old gang movies she used to love as a child) continued to talk and refused good natured Curtis to get a single word in.

"You see," Roxanne heard the man speak. "Our military front does not, in fact, reside in Vietnam but in the deserts nearby La-"

"Military?" Both men seemed surprised to see Roxanne as she made herself known: Curtis, relieved, and the strange visitor, scorned. This didn't deter her, and Mrs. Howe was anything but shy. She planted herself firmly in front of her much larger husband and faced up to this classy looking gentleman, in his fancied up car and his golden teeth and spoke:

"My husband has been asked by several recruiters before, Mister. And each time he refused not because he didn't want to either, he can't. Curtis is an amputee, and unfit to serve."

Rickman stared for a moment at this woman before him, mouth only the slightest ajar, until finally he gave an airy chortle and Roxanne was glaring at herself inside that golden tooth set in his rough smile.
"This is Mrs. Howe, then?" When he wasn't answered right away, the man continued, never once taking his eyes from hers.

"I couldn't help but admire your home from here, Mrs. Howe. I heard it's been in your husband's family for generations. Must be hard for a young couple like you both, unemployed at that, to keep it up and running, hm?"
"You hear quite a bit then, Mister. A bit too much, if you ask me. Thank you for the concern, but we get by just fine." Her tone read she was done with him, and he almost seemed smug about this. "Curtis gets commissioned by a farmer that pays him handsomely. In fact... we really do need to keep an appointment with the very same man."

"Oh?" That damned smile was lost a moment then, as Rickman turned back into his car, only to return with a thick folder in hand, outstretched to Curtis' direction. "Well then, I won't keep you. But...do take a look at it, Mr. Howe. I think you'll find the pay to be quite formidable."

Roxanne stepped back and watched Curtis lean and take the offered paperwork politely, before her eyes locked once more to Rickman, who winked.

"You two have a great day," The car started up again, and began to back up lazily away from their fence and home. "It was a pleasure to meet you, both of you."

And then that stunning car turned away, and disappeared over the hill and from sight once more.

"Well." Curtis picked up his head to watch Roxanne dust off the front of her skirt idly."They just don't know when to give up, do they?"

"Not at all." He breathed out, and wiped at his brow once more, unsure if the sweat was from the heat or not. The folder in his hands felt heavy, and he tucked them beneath his arm. "Well...we, we best be gettin' to town. ...and Belkin."

"The old man will be crabby enough that you can't stay late." Roxanne teased, as she made her way to the passenger seat of their truck parked nearby. Curtis followed, but stopped suddenly at his door, eyebrow perched in question. "What?" She frowned. "Oh, don't tell me you forgot about-"

"Nah, just wonderin' why you're wearin' your work boots into town is all." Curtis laughed at the roll of her eyes before he got into the driver's seat and tossed that folder back carelessly.

The drive to town was unusually quiet, and left Curtis nervously wringing his fingerscoiled about the steering wheel as he stole glances now and again at his wife. Roxanne seemed content to simply stare out the window though; half rolled down, and let the wind whip strands from her face to dance behind her head. Her chin resting in her hand, she looked deep in thought, and he didn't know what to say or if words should be spoken at all.

"These fields would be good for a horse or two." Curtis's gaze moved from the road to Roxanne once more. A strand of her dark hair flicked across her face in the same way the tall grass along the old fences pranced about so capriciously. He smiled warmly and once more looked as the small town came into view.

"Yeah, it would."

"You aren't going to keep that folder are you?"

He shook his head. "You know how I am. It's already forgotten, Roxy."

"Good..." Curtis thought to something, anything, to keep her mind from what had occurred earlier. It didn't take him long to think of it, though.
"And once we have two horses...what do you think about a few sheep or goats?"

She smiled fondly at the idea, tucking that hair behind her ears as she sat back into the seat. "I want a cow, first." She said. "Cows are good for making money, too."

"We'll need a bull with a cow."

"And thousands of dollars for a bull...or any of them really. Not to mention we need a new barn." They both heaved sighs at once, the silence coming again just as they turned the corner and Apple's Groceries came into view. Roxanne moved her feet back into her clunky work boots that were a size too big, and turned to roll up the window.

Curtis pulled before the old building, with it's faded words and sales signs decorating slightly smudged windows, and parked. They sat there for awhile, staring ahead until Curtis smiled.
"...when I do get a full time job, Roxy. We'll have the money we need then."

"I know Curtis." Their eyes met, and she leaned up to him. "And I'll take care of all the animals and the baby."

"Just as we said." He smiled, leaned down towards her.

"And just as we planned." They kissed briefly before she got out, clunky work boots and all, and walked into the store.

Like Curtis, Roxanne wasn't exactly occupied with a job. She wanted one, and had asked about for an openings at the few businesses that made up the town: the diner, the post office, the drugstore, even here at Apple's Grocery. But as she'd half expected, a town built by men who passed on their enterprises to their heirs, who passed it on to their own and so on and so on had no room for someone outside the family. The Apple's, however, particularly Mrs. Apple, held a soft spot for her and she let Roxanne come in for some 'paid volunteer work' now and again. It barely made her a few bucks, but the work was simple and she enjoyed the older woman's conversations. They were warm, and put her at ease even on days such as these.

"It's because you're a city girl, just like I used to be." Mrs. Apple told her that very morning as Roxanne was pushing a box full of melon towards their proper place. Fixing her white hair into a bun, Apple was the ideal homage to her age. She was sweet, chipper, and boasting with energy that belonged to people years her junior. It took but a look into her eyes to see the woman had a certain glint in those dark orbs of hers yet. As if telling others to "just wait, just wait and see what I can do". And most did, Roxanne certainly listened as the older woman continued. "Those boys from there, they'll come down here and talk to boys like your Curtis and rile them all up. Then you come along with your own experience with slick talkers, and they have no idea what to do. I only wish I'd been there to see it." She seemed satisfied finally, and let her arms fall from her white hair to fix the apron she'd pulled on earlier.

"I don't know Mrs. Apple." Roxanne sighed as she thought back to the recruiter and what he had said earlier, and began to pull a melon from the box, setting it onto the shelves. They smelled good, she noted, and wondered if she should buy one for dinner tonight. "I get worried Curtis feels like I'm talking for him when things like this happen. He's good with people, when he tries, but the man is so shy around strangers it's hard not to…I don't know…what's the word…"

"Protect him?" Apple chuckled, and leaned forward on the counter top she was standing behind. "Honey, all husbands are our biggest babies. My husband couldn't feed himself if he tried, and he probably would've stuck to his Mama's teat into his twenties had I not intervened. Big old baby."

Roxanne chuckled. "I don't think Curtis is quite that bad."

"Oh no, I know he's not." Apple smiled softly, before she peered towards the window to see a few cars arriving now. "And here comes old lady Peasley now…" She muttered, Roxanne and her watching as a feeble looking woman emerged from one of the older looking cars, hobbling on her cane towards the doorway.

"Now whatever you do, Honey," Apple began, her tone hushed and low. "Don't even mention the word baby around her."

"I heard baby! You'se finally pregnant Mrs. Howe?"

Apple sighed, "Too late," and leaned away from the counter top as Roxanne turned towards Peasley, whose wrinkled face was suddenly all smiles and coming closer. The gnarled hand on her cane fidgeted excitedly as she made her way towards Roxanne, whom was still bent over with a melon in hand.

"What you doin' workin' in your condition, Honey? Stand up, lemme see that bump." Roxanne started to talk, but felt a cane tap at her hip and she stood upright enough for the old woman's face to nestle beneath her breast bone. "Oh…" Peasely breathed against the fabric of Roxanne's shirt. "Oh yes, s'gonna be a boy, I can feel it."

"Roxanne's not pregnant, Mrs. Peasely." Apple laughed at Roxanne's sudden stillness, and the look of alarm on her as the old woman still clung onto her frame. "Let the poor dear go, already, you're making a scene in my store."

Mrs. Peasely made a face but did as she was told, fidgeting with her cane as she had to crane her head up to get a good look at Roxanne.

"S'been a year since ya'll came down from the city on that Curtis boy's arm. When are ya gonna see fit to give 'im an heir already?"

Roxanne could only give a light laugh, unsure exactly how to respond. "We've been trying Mrs. Peasely," She said. "We have."

"Hmph. Try eatin' mo grapefruit."

"…excuse me?"

"Mo grapefruit." Peasely repeated, she wiggled her cane towards Roxanne's midsection. "Makes the junk in ya settle down so an egg'll get fertilized." Roxanne jumped when the end of the cane connected with her rear with a soft 'whap whap' as Peasely continued on. "And I bet that boy o' yours is wearin' his pants too tight. Tell 'im to wear his Daddy's old pants. He was a big man, should hang nice and loose and keep his b-"
"Mrs. Peasely!" The old woman jerked her head towards Apple, who had been beside herself trying to hide her laughter behind her hand. "We have a sale on that apple sauce you like so much, maybe you should get it before the neighborhood kids get it."

Immediately Peasely's face changed, and she was licking at her lips with a sputter. "Oh yes." She exclaimed. "I do likes me some apple sauce, best be gettin' it then…it was nice talkin' to ya Mrs. Howe. Ya'll should come over and visit me sometime…bring that husband o' yours too." She continued to mutter even as she hobbled towards the back shelves of the store, only the words about tight pants and their peculiar problems still being heard before Roxanne finally averted her attention back to Apple.

"Thank you." She breathed, and the two women smiled at one another until they could hold it no longer and burst. Their peals of laughter could be heard shrieking throughout the store, and Roxanne had to steady herself on the shelf, only managing to wiggle it enough that a melon fell and collided into the floor. It cracked and juice sprayed all over, but this only made the two laugh harder.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Apple…I'll pay for it." Roxanne finally panted out, still all smiles even as she bent over and began to pick up the green shells.

"Don't even worry about it, Dear." Apple breathed, dabbing at her eyes as she walked into the backroom behind her to pull out a mop. The two went to cleaning, soft chuckles being exchanged as they heard Peasely still talking to herself, something about apple sauce and something about babies.

Either way, it really didn't matter.

Curtis arrived at Belkin farm soon enough, he detected. The old farmer had just gotten out of his house, and was chewing at the insides of his lower lip as he watched Curtis pull up and get out. From behind, the scents of a finished breakfast still wafted out, so he knew the man was full. And when he was full, he'd be in a good mood.

"Mornin' Mister Belkin." Curtis greeted as he got out of the truck, shutting the door behind him and walking towards the back to get out his toolbox.

"Hn…good to see ya, Curtis." Belkin greeted in return, rubbing at the inward slope of his belly, and scratching at his rib cage that was surely visible if the thin man ever deemed it necessary to remove his shirt. His fingers, darkened by years in the sun motioned towards the shed. "It's the tractor again, damn thing just stopped workin' on me last week."

"Have you been oiling it regularly?" Curtis asked as he made his way towards the building. It loomed above him, and smelled of fresh paint. Apparently they'd just redone the whole layout, even the driveway looked newer, cleaner.

"Yes, I have. Every ten hours." Belkin puffed up proudly, and Curtis smiled sadly.

"Ah…I told you every one hundred, Mr. Belkin." Belkin immediately scowled, his image deflated for but an instant as he yanked open the shed door for Curtis, whose hands were quite full with his toolbox. "But it's alright, it means I can fix it faster for you." The younger man added it on a note, as he set his box down with a loud plop, the metal contents inside rattling together as he took in the image before him.

The machine was new, something Belkin had begrudgingly bought after his old one refused to work no matter how many hours Curtis put into it. It cost him a pretty penny, and it was a very nice one at that, but the man still cared for the new one like he did his old. Curtis found out quickly that trying to explain how both machines from different times and manufacturers meant different care guidelines just wasn't going to go through Belkin's stubborn mind.

Not that it mattered too much. Whenever something broke, Curtis was sure to be called and paid. And that cycle was rather pleasant.

"Good to hear," Belkin eyed his tractor. "I need to get them seeds out in the ground before the heat gets too bad."

Curtis nodded as he came to the large machine and began to examine it over quickly. Moving a gear, he heard the tell tale squeaking he'd been expecting and nodded to himself. Next the hood was set up, and his fingers began to move along as he bent closer towards the engine. All the while, Belkin watched from a short distance, chewing on his lower lip or scratching at his jeans.

Finally Curtis sat back, a good layer of oil soaked on his person and he pulled his goggles off to clean them.

"How bad is it?" Belkin asked. "And don't be holdin' back on my account, boy. You tell me the truth."

"Mmmn…" Curtis rubbed his goggles against a clean pant leg before he pulled them back onto his head, snapping them into place. "Give me three days, and she'll be good as new."

Belkin seemed satisfied by this; he gave a wry smile as he pocketed those dark, itchy fingers of his. "I'll pay you two hundred a night, if'n ya come in and work on it from about ten am to seven or eight pm, sound reasonable?"

"Sounds just fine, except for tonight; Roxanne wants me home by six." Curtis was pleasantly surprised to find Belkin only agree with him with some slow nodding. Breakfast must have been real swell, he thought, as Belkin pulled out a pinch with his finger from his jean pocket, before spitting and shoving his fingertips into his mouth. He chewed.

"You're a good man, just like your Daddy was, Howe. I'll pay ya full time for tonight too. Just get my machine fixed."

Roxanne had long finished mopping the floors about the area, and was idly sitting beside the counter top, rearranging for probably the third time the candy bowls set up in front of her. Her eyes watched an elderly woman rummaging about beside Peasely, who had been pushing her cart about the store for hours now, full of apple sauce.

"If you want some, you can have some, Honey." Apple emerged behind her from the backroom, a package full of tobacco under her arms.

"No thanks, Mrs. Apple." Roxanne pulled her fingers from some brightly wrapped, green caramel pops and looked out at the town. "Seems so quiet," she muttered, seeing a stray person walk from out of the diner not too far off from her window view. Probably moving towards the drug store, way on the other side of the building.

"That's the thing about the country, Honey. We city girls grew up used to seeing all kinds of people, all the time. It's nice and quiet here." Apple hummed, moving a sales sign in front of the cigarettes.

"Yeah, it still gets me sometimes." Roxanne admitted, but she smiled. "But I love it here."

"As do I, Honey. As do I. Ah, can you ring Mr. Yearly up for me, Roxanne? I've got my hands full here…"

Roxanne moved out to do so, and had just about finished packaging the man's groceries when the door burst open with about as much gusto as Peasley's earlier entrance.

"Apple?" A shrill voice broke through, and both Roxanne and Yearly looked to see a woman of Roxanne's age walk in, carrying the heat of the day inside with her. She waved her hand before her sweaty face, a slight smear of her makeup already threatening to drip and run down her cheeks.

It was Mrs. Harper, a woman known for her love of talk and gossip. Upon seeing her, Yearly immediately made for his wallet, taking the bag of oranges from Roxanne's hands even before she could package it up for him.
"Thank you kindly, Miss." He said. "Keep the change, and he shuffled on past Harper, who looked back and shrugged.

"Now what do you suppose got into him all of a sudden?" She spoke, tottering on over to the counter and practically falling against it with a feigned sigh. "Oh I bet it's because he doesn't want to hear about how I saw his boy, Junior, kissing up to three girls yesterday at the park. No respect, that kid has. None. With a capital N!" She waved her hand to Roxanne, chuckling lowly as she did so. Roxanne herself only smiled softly as she began to leaf through the money Yearly had shoved into her hands. Carefully peeling a twenty from a five she tried to make conversation out of politeness.

"Hot outside today Mrs. Harper?"

"Oh it's a scorcher, Honey!" Harper groaned, fanning herself yet again. "I swear, it hasn't been this hot after a day of just rain since before my Mama was my age. And did you know, back then, she said that they'd get rain up to their ankles? And, get this, she said her Mama said, they'd get it up to their knees, and even then, she said her Mama said, that her own Mama said-"

"That they'd get it up to their thighs?"

"Well how'd you know I was going to say that?"

"You shoot your mouth off enough, Honey, anyone around here could tell." Apple finally spoke up, clapping her hands together as the younger woman only laughed this high pitched little giggle, patting at the counter top.

"Oh Mrs. Apple!" Harper crowed. "You sure know how to crack me up."

"Don't we all…" Apple gave a light smirk, flashing Roxanne a look before she crossed her arms before her chest. "So what'd you need from me today?"

"Well," A dark violet purse was set in front of her, and Harper moved to finger through the contents. "I was actually hoping to buy some of those melons today, and I was on my way to, when I saw it!" Suddenly those eyes on her face, covered in smeared make up widened up enough she almost resembled a bug. "It was the most beautiful car I'd ever laid eyes on. And it drove through our town. Can you believe it? Maybe they're finally going to be bringing in some businesses and get this place growin' again!"

"Now that you mention it…" Apple trailed off, looking to Roxanne. "Didn't you say the man who visited you today was driving an expensive car, Roxanne?"

"Well, it looked like it cost him a pretty penny."

"Oh you met the driver? Oh do tell me more about it, Roxanne, do tell me puh-lease!" Roxanne didn't know to be flattered or remorseful that the woman was so intent on hearing about this lone visitor, strange as he was. She settled with a sigh before muttering:

"He was just some army recruit, looking to give Curtis a job."

"Army recruit?" The look of disappointment on Harper's face couldn't get any more obvious until she clucked her tongue. "Well what in tarnation are they doin' comin' up to see your husband, Roxanne? He ain't fightin' material. My mama always said he was the quietest Howe she'd ever met. And she's met a lot of Howe's, believe me. Why they've lived here since before Harper's even moved in-"

"I know Mrs. Harper." Roxanne's face rose to meet the other woman's. She frowned. "They found out he was an amputee and left, end of story." And with that, she picked up Yearly's money and began placing it into the cash register.

Harper opened her mouth to continue, but stopped as soon as her eyes caught the warning glower Apple gave her. Her teeth clacked together as she shut it tight, lips pursed as she twiddled her fingertips along the counter top.

The quiet didn't last much longer, though, as Curtis Howe made his way into the store, covered from head to toe in dried up oil and looking down carefully as if watching his step. He looked up once Roxanne said his name, and that warm smile of his immediately greeted her.

"Got off a bit early, Darlin." He explained, looking towards the clock that read thirty minutes after five. He adjusted the rim of his goggles on his forehead, and nodded towards Apple and Harper sheepishly. Neither said anything but smiled, Apple fondly, and Harper with a quick eye analyzing what she could out of him.

It was Mrs. Peasely that spoke up.

"Curtis Howe! When in hell's name are ya gonna get a baby in that wife o' yours?" She hollered once in view, hobbling about on that cane of hers and approaching faster than any woman in her condition should. "Youse wearin too tight o' pants boy, I just know it! Yo Daddy didn't wear no tight pants, that was fo sure. And here ya youngins are, wearin' them tight pants and tryin to show off what the Good Lord gave ya in ways ya should never be showin' em!"

"Oh for Christ sakes Mrs. Peasely-" Apple laughed, unable to contain herself at the look that Curtis gave once the old woman had come into view. A quiet alarm, much like his wife's, he fidgeted in place when the tip of her cane poked towards his belly, whapped him on the outside of his thigh, and then tapped at the toe of his boot.

"Your Daddy gave ya that ranch to raise a family on it, dagnabbit boy." Peasely continued. "Not to be sellin' off the animals so ya can go to some fancy old college before ya return with a young filly on yer arm. The least ya can do is give him a grandbaby so he ain't rollin' round in his grave no more!"

"Mrs. Peasely, that's enough. Let the poor man go home with his wife already." Apple chortled, silently thanking Harper, who had then taken the initiative and lead the elderly woman away from the couple and towards another shelf, speaking about fancy cars and pants all the while. She sighed. "I'm sorry Mr. and Mrs. Howe. You know how she is, she's got no one left but her nephew, so she's got to be sticking her nose in everyone's business."

"It's fine." Roxanne smiled softly, as she came to her husband's side, patting his large arm. "We're going to go now, thanks for having me over, Mrs. Apple."

"Come by tomorrow too, alright?" The woman smiled. "I have a bigger order of those melons coming in, and I'm going to need the extra help."

There had been no rain on this hot and humid day. But as the sun slowly dipped towards the horizon line and the darkness of night began to stretch it's fingers across the sky, soft droplets of dew formed outside. A welcome cooling was brought to the town, but it went unnoticed at the Howe Ranch, where the young couple had long since strolled upstairs to their bedroom.

"You're going to need another pair of overalls, aren't you?" Roxanne scooted back on the bed until her back pressed into fat pillows, and she leaned in until her upper body was cushioned by these.
Curtis stood beside the closet across from the bed, pulling off his dirty clothing and glancing towards his wife lounging about, watching him.

"Unless you can get oil out." He said as the said overalls dropped to the floor, and he crawled onto the bed in nothing but boxers. The same pair that Roxanne called ugly, but he dubbed comfortable. Thus, they stayed even if she rolled her eyes at the sight of them.

Taking his place beside his wife, Curtis managed to squeeze at least one pillow from her, and placed it behind his head with a sigh, laying back. And as soon as he did, she sat up and leaned over him, pressing their lips together. He lay still in quiet response, the ends of her long hairs tickling along his face as their mouths separated, and they stared for a moment longer at one another.

Her fingers raked over the expanse of his chest, creating white lines beneath a thin layer of hair before it began to bounce with Curtis's laughter. She recoiled a bit, flushed, before she smiled and asked: "What is it?"

Suddenly Curtis's face turned serious as he craned his neck to look at his wife. She didn't know what to think until he asked, in a very hushed tone, "Do you think I wear my overalls too tight, Roxy?"

"Curtis-" Roxanne laughed as she pulled away from him and fell back into the pillows, rustling beneath the blankets. "Why did you have to go and ruin the mood like that?"

He only laughed harder as he sat up to quietly remove the mechanical hand he'd forgotten. With a twist at the wrist, a light hissing sound followed a click as he slowly detached it. "I thought it was an important question." He chuckled, carefully placing all pieces together before leaning to place it on the bedside table at his side. A slight weight added to his shoulder opposite his face, and when he turned around to look, he was met with a small curled up toe.

His eyes traveled up the expanse of Roxanne's leg, to her face, which lay so nestled deep in the pillows that her hair became a crown of dark chocolate browns, her eyes sparking within this above a pair of quirked up lips. Curtis breathed, and unconsciously licked his dry lips as the toes resting on his shoulder pressed into his cheek, and directed him to turn towards her. He did so, slowly, and ran his lone hand up the outer thigh of the same leg she had upon him. His fingers found the loop of her underwear hanging about her knee; something she had done on their wedding night just to tease him.

It worked. Curtis, completely red in the face, crawled towards her, with no more words to exchange just yet.

A/N: R&R please!