This began as an answer to a prompt in norbelulah's meme "Summer in Harlan". It's been begging me to extend it for quite awhile but I've been distracted by other things. Now seemed like a good time. More to come...
Salt Lake City; 1998
She sits at the bar because Katie is late, just like Katie is always late, and the booths are all full with the after-work crowd, and she doesn't feel like waiting in the car. "Bourbon." She tells the bartender. "Straight up." It isn't her usual drink. She sticks to beer, mostly, or maybe a margarita, but something is making her inexplicably homesick and Daddy always drank bourbon, Mama, too, hell, in Kentucky everyone drank bourbon. So bourbon is what she orders.
"I'll have what she's having."
All she sees at first is the hat. Cowboy hats are not a rarity in Salt Lake City, but this one is different: less western businessman, more true cowboy. He lifts his head and gives her a grin that turns his handsome face boyish and open. The hat fits him.
They exchange names and acknowledge having seen each other in the courthouse.
"I know that accent," he says, sipping the whiskey. "You're from Kentucky." It's not a question.
"Lexington." She says. It's close enough to true.
"The big city." He laughs. "I'm from Harlan County."
They talk about home, about getting out, about never wanting to go back. He orders them a second drink, and after that one she glances at the clock and realizes Katie isn't going to show up. She's not sure she minds. There's something happening here, and three might most definitely end up being a crowd.
"Nice hat," she says. It's said flippantly and she regrets it immediately. He's instantly self-conscious. He doffs the hat, sitting it on the bar, and the conversation lags. Then she asks him about his job and he becomes animated again. He talks with his hands, and watching him is as intoxicating as the whiskey burning in her throat.
At some point they move to an empty booth and food is ordered, along with more bourbon. The hat goes from the bar to the tabletop, but not back on his head. She fingers it as she listens to him, running her hand along the brim as the waitress clears their plates and brings another round. She's lost track of how many they've had.
He's around her age, she thinks, although it's hard to tell. There's a hard line to his jaw, and fine lines around his eyes and on his forehead that crinkle into deeper ones when he smiles.
She knows he's observing her, too, looking her over when he thinks she won't notice, sizing her up. It's almost predatory, but in no way menacing. It makes her skin tingle with anticipation.
A band begins to play a passable cover of a popular country-rock song and the crowd phases from the quiet after work clusters to a rowdier after dinner throng. It's harder and harder to have a conversation without shouting and his eyes roam the room. She's noticed it's a habit, maybe something to do with being a lawman, she supposes, but she wants his eyes back on her.
Impishly, she picks up the hat and puts it on. She has to tip it way back on her head so that it won't slide down and cover her eyes. She's sure she looks ridiculous but he doesn't laugh when he finally looks at her.
"Nice hat," he says. The boyish grin is back.
She giggles. God. That's the whiskey. She sounds like a smitten schoolgirl. This is silly. She reaches up to take the hat off.
"Leave it on," he says. She meets his gaze and swallows hard. His eyes are bottomless. He reaches across the table and takes her hand, touching her for the first time. "Let's get out of here."
She nods, unexpectedly unable to form words.
His hand on the small of her back as they walk to the door feels like a branding.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
They walk a half a block or so like that, his hand at her waist, one of hers grasping her purse, the other holding onto the hat so it doesn't either slide off the back of her head or down over her eyes.
She's not sure why she's expecting a pick-up truck, but she's surprised when he stops walking and they're beside a dark blue sedan of some type. She's never been good at cars. He unlocks it and holds the door for her to slide in. They don't speak on the drive, but at every stop he turns his head to smile at her. She smiles back.
His apartment isn't far. As they walk to the door, it registers somewhere in the back of her mind that for the first time ever she's going home with a man she just met in a bar. A man she doesn't know. A man who carries a gun. But none of that frightens her. He doesn't frighten her at all. He makes her feel eager and alive and somehow, surprisingly, safe.
To say the apartment is spartan would be gracious. There's a futon, a small end table with a lamp, a dilapidated recliner, and a television. He tosses his keys on the table and turns to her. "It's not much." He shrugs.
Her place is nicer, but she has a roommate with a steady boyfriend. "I've seen worse," she says. They're suddenly shy with each other. She kicks her shoes off and, out of habit, stoops to place them neatly side by side next to her purse.
Standing, she moves to take the hat off again, but this time he grabs her wrist gently and murmurs. "Leave it on." He takes a step and closes the space between them. One arm slips around her waist, pulling her close, and his mouth finds hers. His lips are soft and insistent and he tastes like whiskey and she wants the kiss to never end.
His long fingers begin to undo the buttons of her blouse and she has a fleeting moment of doubt, her mother's words about cows and free milk ringing in her head. Then the blouse slips from her shoulders and his hands are on her and she forgets she has a mother at all.
The zipper on her skirt is next. The silky fabric glides off her hips and pools at her feet. She steps out of it wearing nothing now but her practically nonexistent panties and a cowboy hat.
He stares at her and takes a ragged breath.
Emboldened by her nakedness, or his reaction to it, or maybe it's the hat, she gives him a push and he falls back onto the futon. She straddles him and gets busy with the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers fumble, and, impatient, he yanks the whole thing off over his head, pulling the undershirt along with it. Skin to skin he draws her into another kiss. He's good at this, or they're good together, and everything slows down for awhile as they discover each other.
Her hands roam his back and tangle in his hair as his mouth traces the hollow of her neck, her collarbone, her breast. Eventually he reaches for his belt and she raises her hips to make it easier for him to take off his jeans and boxers. There's nothing between them now but the thin span of her lacy underwear and he hooks his thumbs in each side and slides them off her hips. He reaches between them and guides himself inside her.
His eyes lock on hers and his hands hold her hips still, fingers digging in. She'll have bruises tomorrow but she doesn't care. She lowers her mouth to his.
"Don't move." He murmurs against her lips. "I need a minute." She smiles at his admission, his sudden vulnerability. He breathes deep, regaining control, and she rests against him until he loosens his grip and starts to move slowly. She matches his rhythm and there's nothing else in the world but this. At some point, later, she throws her head back and the hat slips off onto the floor.
He doesn't notice.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
She wakes slowly, her eyes adjusting to the moonlight that seeps in through the thin blinds casting shadows on the quilt he's pulled over them. The warm, solid weight of him presses against her back, one long leg slung possessively over hers. She lies perfectly still for a moment, until the memory of the evening breaks through the fog in her head. Smiling, she stretches, running a foot along his calf until he responds. Long calloused fingers entwine with hers and he pulls her closer, planting a soft kiss on the back of her neck. She turns around toward him, brushing the hair from his face, meeting his eyes as he hitches one hand under her thigh sliding it over his hip and wordlessly pushes in, filling her.
She rocks her hips against him with each slow stroke, listening as his breathing becomes shallow and ragged. Heat spreads slowly through her, releasing her muscles, loosening her bones until it feels like he's the only thing keeping her from melting into a pool of liquid fire. She moans into his shoulder and they shudder together.
"You're beautiful." He whispers. He kisses her forehead, her cheek, her mouth. She lays her head on his chest and closes her eyes, drifting back into sleep. She hasn't even known him for twenty-four hours. She doesn't really know him at all. But he doesn't feel like a stranger. He feels like home.
Sometime later, consciousness arrives again, this time accompanied by an enticing aroma. The space beside her is empty. Sitting up, she grasps the quilt with one hand to cover herself and opens her eyes to see him perched on the edge of the bed. "Coffee?" He offers. The hat's on his head, and he's obviously been out and back while she slept. The elixir he holds is in a paper cup.
"God, yes," Sshe croaks, reaching for it. She closes her eyes and takes a sip. It's wonderful; black and rich with just a hint of sweetness. "Ummmm," she murmurs, smiling. "Perfect."
"I guessed."
"You guessed right, Cowboy."
He tips the hat and gives her the same boyish grin that pulled her in the night before. She can't help smiling back.
They sip the coffee in silence for a few moments and then he sets his down, tosses the hat on the table and stretches out on the bed beside her, hands behind his head.
"What time is it?" She asks.
He yawns. "About ten-thirty."
Her stomach growls in answer and he laughs. "You want to go get somethin' to eat?"
She glances at her skirt and blouse, lying in a wrinkled pile on the floor where they fell the night before. She won't be going anywhere in those. There's a change of clothes in her gym bag but it's in her car and her car is...
He's followed her gaze. "Ah. I could...take you home first to change."
She tells him about the gym bag and he suggests a shower while he goes to get it. She fishes the keys from her purse and describes the car. He shows her the bathroom and hunts down a clean towel. An hour later, her damp hair pulled back into a ponytail, they're sitting across from each other eating pancakes. She watches him, the same silly smile on her face, and he peers back at her from under the hat.
"What are you thinkin'?" He asks.
She blushes and shrugs. She's not sure what's happening or where this is headed so she keeps her answer simple. "I'm happy."
He raises an eyebrow. "You oughta be." There's a flash of that grin again and he reaches for her hand, squeezing it. "So am I."