Run Away with Me

The Rockies loomed ominous and foreboding ahead, their peaks snow-capped and turning a vibrant shade of lavender as the sun began to set, it's golden rays spiking between the crags. It was warm, the windows of her little Volkswagen bug rolled down and the fresh rare came in bringing with it the scents of grass and pine. Natasha took a deep breath, enjoying the smell and the straight endless road of this Montana backroad. The prairie was giving way to forest. She didn't know when she'll stop, maybe when she hit Spokane or Seattle, but for now she was going to enjoy the drive. Her camera in the front sit next to her and her equipment in the back seat. She had up and left New York and headed west, looking for something to spark her creative drive again.

Montana was big and open, the sky a beautiful shade of blue, the western edge turning a ruddy golden orange. It was only three-thirty and the sun wouldn't set for another five hours, she had plenty of time to find a motel in one of the small towns and bunk down for the night. She turned up the radio when her favorite song came on. She hummed along, watching the miles tick by along with the faded billboards advertising intriguing locations. A vintage looking sign — 40s style art, faded paint, some bird poop splatters here and there — declared that the town of Hope Springs was only twenty miles ahead, with a population of a thousand and a handful. She was confident that she could find a motel there and a nice mom and pop restaurant and continue on the next day.

The deer bolted from the edge, she screamed, slamming on the breaks as the animal halted, staring at her with wide stupefied eyes before bolting back in the direction it came. "Stupid fucking deer," she grumbled and stepped on the gas and her car lurched forward. There was a sputter and a bang and then it died. "Damn it." She turned the key, trying to get the engine to start up again, her car hummed to life for a moment or two before dying again. Grumbling, she got out and popped the back of the car, coughing as smoke billowed up. Something's stuck, she thought and looked at the engine, unsure if she should poke it or not. With a sigh, she closed the trunk and pulled her phone out. She got some cell reception and called AAA, spoke on the phone for a few minutes before going back in and turning on her distress lights and waited.

A few cars passed by, giving her a wide berth, none bothering to stop. One guy flipped her off. "Yeah, fuck you too," she said, flipping him off as he drove on in his big pick-up truck. "Fucker." She went back to playing Bejeweled on her phone. She liked the Zen mode, it was a good time killer. It was four-thirty when another truck came rumbling towards in. The truck was a handful of years old, purchased in the last decade if she had to guess; white and stained with mud and grease with the words Captain America's Roadside Assistance and Auto Repair blazon in patriotic colors. It stopped a yard from her car and the drive got out. It was a young man, in his late twenties or early thirties if she had to guess, dressed in cowboy boots, faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt with some grease stains and a faded bald eagle on it. He wore a camouflage hat that resembled one of the eight-point military hats (only without the octogen shape). He wore a pair of aviators and was whistling as he walked towards her.

"Hi!" he waved a large hand with slender fingers, she eyed his arms, corded with tendons and muscle. He stopped in front of her. "You're the girl whose car broke down?"

"Took ya long enough to get here," she said, and he flushed, ears going pink as he kicked a pebble. A car rumbled pass leaving them bathed in the scent of the pavement and exhaust. A dove cooed in the distance as the sound of the car faded.

"Sorry, was busy." He walked around her bug, looking at it. His accent was familiar, not a Montanan accent, somewhere back east though. He lifted his cap up, scratching at his blond hair before jamming it back onto his head. He asked her to pop the trunk and she did so, watching him as he looked at the engine. "Seems to me like something got stuck or your battery died."

"I figured that," she said. She could tell there was more coming as he straightened, closing the trunk. "Can you fix it?"

"Sure, I can fix it," he said, "gonna need to take it back to the shop though, maybe a few days if I need more parts. You in any hurry to get anywhere?"

"No." She smiled blithely at him. He nodded, hands on his hips — he was a perfect Dorito shape — and chewed his lip. "Something wrong?"

"Nah. Just gonna turn around and hook your car up and we can head into town, we'll take her to my shop."

She nodded, stepping off the road as he went back to his truck, turning it around and backing up to her car. He got out again, hooking her car up to the towing part of his truck and hitting a button, craning the car up onto its back wheels. "Well, that's that," he said, double checking to make sur he didn't miss anything. "Get in," he said. She nodded, heading to the passenger side and a furry head popped up. A little gasp escaped her throat when a caramel and white dog popped up, sticking its black nose at her twitching in excitement and its pink tongue stuck out in an attempt to lick her. "Dodger!" he shouted, opening the driver's door and reaching for the animal. "Dodger, no bad dog," he said and hooked his fingers into the dog's collar and yanked him back. "Go on, get in the back seat," he grumbled, manhandling his pet into the back seat. "Sorry about that, he likes to come, falls asleep in the car."

"Didn't expect a dog," she mumbled and got into the seat the dog was moments ago. The dog nudged her elbow with his nose, looking at her with big brown eyes. She gave the dog an awkward pat and buckled in. He did too. He started the car and it rumbled to life, after a moment they rumbled onto the highway.

"Didn't get your name," he said, after a few minutes of silence. "I'm Steve."

"Nat," she said, giving him another faux smile.

"Short for something?" he asked, as she slipped her shoes off and propped her feet up on the dashboard. "Feet off the dash, please."

She hmphed, taking her feet off the dash and gave him a genuine smile. "And yeah, it is." She watched as Dodger gave up trying to be her friend and went over to his master, worming his furry head beneath Steve's arm. He rubbed the dog's ears as he drove. "You from around here?"

"Nah, from back east, came out here after the Army. Just… y'know, had to get away," he said.

I do. "Yeah," she said. "Is that how you got Captain America—"

He laughed, and she realized she liked that sound. "Yeah. Went and made myself into a big damn hero, my friend — Bucky — started calling me Captain America and it just stuck. Helped that I was a captain, but still." He grinned. "Kinda lame if you ask me."

"Don't think so," she said. "Very American." He laughed at that. "So what brought you out West?"

"Bad break up," he said, "got a dear john letter and well, it was just a nasty break up and I needed a change of scenery." He looked at her, an inviting expression on his face. "Not that Brooklyn isn't beautiful but" — he shrugged — "you know."

She did know, it was why she was heading west as well; minus the nasty break up. "Sorry about that."

"Eh, it's life. Moves on," he said, slowing down as they came closer to the town. "Found this place and set up shop with Bucky, he came with me too. Thank god he did. Would've been terribly alone out here without a familiar face."

Aw, damn, he's gay. "Well, I'm glad you and your boyfriend are uh… enjoying life in Montana."

"My boyfriend...?" Steve asked, and then barked a laugh, slapping the steering wheel. "Bucky isn't my boyfriend. Nah, he's like a brother to me."

"Oh." She looked at him. "So that break up was with—"

"My girlfriend, well… ex-girlfriend, Sharon." He shrugged, the town appeared. It was quaint, weatherworn wooden buildings and some stark grey concrete or brick ones in between. Almost every front lawn had a flagpole and flew the national flag and below it the state one. She spotted several buildings with the stick supporting the National Rifle Association.

Definitely, not in New York anymore.

"It's nice here, though the people are pretty tight-knit," Steve said, breaking her thoughts. "I know a few people, but I really just talk to Bucky and Dodger." He patted the dog's head. "Still, I like it here."

"That's good," she said, looking around as Steve pulled to a stop light. It turned green and he made a right down a two-lane road. They left the main part of the town and into a more wooden section, mixed with some shops and houses (and combinations of the two). At the end of the road in a clearing was the mechanic shop. A circle with red-white-and-blue, a white start in the heart and the same title as on the side of Steve's truck, below it with a red star superimposed on a field of silver was the words: Winter Soldier Pawn and Trade-Ins.

"Your friend a pawn broker?"

"Yep. Makes good money and sometimes tv show people come through to look at his stuff," Steve said as he drove into the garage. He turned off the car and smacked his forehead. "Aw, jeez, should've dropped you off at the motel. Sorry."

"It's fine, I can walk."

"No, it's at the other end of town." He turned the key and the truck rumbled to life. "I can't believe I forgot and—"

"Hey, you're back," a man said, he had blue-grey eyes and lanky brown hair that was pulled back into a tail at his nape. She thought it looked rather greasy as if he hadn't washed it in a while, plus the days' worth of stubble on his face didn't lend him any points in the I'm-not-a-creepy-backwoods-loony department either.

At least Steve's clean shaven, she thought glancing at Steve. "It's fine, I can walk."

"Who's the girl?" the man asked.

"Her car broke down, the one AAA contacted me about," Steve said. "Nat, this is Bucky. Bucky, Nat."

"Sup," Bucky said. "I'm closing up shop, Yvonne's got dinner ready. You coming?"

"Nah, you go ahead," he said and flashed her a grin, "can't abandon a lady."

"Oh please, I can take care of myself," she said, wishing she had just kicked the engine a few times to see if that had dislodged whatever was wrong it instead of this. Steve seemed like a nice guy, but Bucky screamed psychopathic axe murderer. It was a remote location with dense forest all around, perfect for shallow graves that Bucky could go back and visit and relive his kills of innocent redheaded victims from outta town. In fact, it was the perfect set up: nice wholesome as American pie best friend, who was a mechanic and he gets the calls to pick up the hapless girls and then at night Bucky takes them out to the woods and chops them up and buries them. This was starting to feel like a bad horror movie or Far Cry 5 (minus the crazy cultists). She just wanted to get outta here.

"It's a long walk," Steve said.

"I can drive you, my cousin's house is on the way," Bucky said, jerking his thumb over at his beat up Honda Accord. She arched a brow at the car that looked that had seen at least two hundred thousand miles.

Probably keeps his bloodstained axes in the trunk. She smiled. "Nah, I'm good, I'm serious about walking."

"It's a long way though and some of the folk here are kinda rough," Bucky said.

"I'm from New York," she said with a shrug.

"So are we and but this is a different type of rough," Bucky said and pulled his keys out fo his pocket. "Well, suit yourself. See ya Steve." Bucky headed to his car and drove off. Steve looked at her.

"Are you sure you don't wanna go to the motel? It's nice. Clean and free wifi and breakfast."

"I can walk," she said.

"Sorry, but I'm not letting you walk that far." He backed the truck up, twisting around to look out the back.

"Where do you live?" she asked. He stopped and gave a nod. "Can I stay with you?" He stopped the truck and took off his aviators. The breath caught in her throat at the sight of his blue eyes, bright as the Montana sky.

"Are you flirting with me?" he asked. She smiled, leaning forward a bit.

"Is working?" she asked, a smirk on her lips as his cheeks heated up. "I'll promise to be a good girl" — she let a little bit of teeth show and worried her lip just a bit — "or a bad girl if you rather have that." Dodger whined and licked her face, she sputtered, pushing the dog away and spitting out to get the taste of dog tongue out of her mouth. Steve laughed and pulled into his garage.

"Okay, fine. I'll set up the guest room for you," he said, "but only for tonight." He turned the car off and got out, Dodger scrambling over the front seat and jumped out, fluffy tail wagging. She followed, looking around at the tools and cans of grease, the vintage American signs and the classic motorcycle in the garage. There was dusty picture, she wiped away the greasy dust to see a woman and a man, the woman was wearing a wedding dress and a pretty Catholic church was in the background. She looked up when Steve came to stand beside her. "My parents," he said, "Da died before I was born, Mam raised me on her own. She died right before I joined the Army."

"I'm sorry," she said, turning away from the picture. "You must miss them."

"Miss Mam, never knew Da so—" he shrugged. He lowered her car from the back of his toe truck and popped open the hood, so she could grab her bags. "Grab what you need, I'll show you the guest room."

"You're sweet," she said as she grabbed her bag and closing the hood. "For letting a strange woman stay with you."

"Well, you aren't an axe murderer… I don't think," he said with a teasing grin on his lips, "so I'll be safe. Plus, Dodger likes you so that's always a plus." He walked to the back of his garage and she followed. He unlocked the door and lead her into his house. It was small, cramped, a stack of magazines supported the three-legged couch and there was a pile of canvases in one corner, some painted and others not. Pictures hung on the wall, paints and charcoal sketches of landscapes and wildlife. A beat up looking fridge and a rickety dining table and chairs.

"It's uh… quaint," she said, sitting down at the table. He shrugged and went upstairs. It was gone for a few minutes before returning.

"It's all fixed up."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Ever thought about running away?" she asked. He didn't answer, getting things ready to start cooking. It wasn't until sausages were sizzling in the pan and water boiling for noodles.

"Yeah, a few times," he said. "But never did it."

"If someone asked you to run away with them, would you?"

"Depends on the person."

"If I asked you to run away with me, would you?"

I give up. This was supposed to have sex. But blargh, it didn't. Cause reasons and ugh

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