Touch the Sky
Chapter 11
Delilah managed to get control over her laughter. But once Foster started laughing at his own reflection, she couldn't hold hers back any longer. A short while earlier, she climbed the pull ladder that led into her attic and tossed down anything she thought might fit Foster. There was no way he was squeezing into her late husband's clothes. Not only was Jonathan a good six inches shorter than Foster, he also was much thinner. But John's late father was a large man, even before he got old and gained even more weight. And there was a bunch of his old stuff stored away in the attic.
The motorcycle Delilah rode had originally been his. And the clothes that John saved and packed away in the attic when his father passed were mostly the items the man wore when he was riding. Foster caught the items as she dropped them through the open hatch. Delilah thought most of the clothes she pulled out looked pretty basic as she pulled them from the boxes. It wasn't until she climbed down from the attic to see Foster pulling them on that she got the giggles.
"Well, at least no one will be able to tell you're a Farrell," Delilah said, flopping back onto her bed in a heap of giggles as Foster judged his reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of her closet door. He didn't seem to mind that she was laughing at him. On the contrary, he seemed to find his low-lander disguise just as funny as she did. He came down the mountain in a beat up pair of gray denim jeans instead of a kilt this time. So he kept those on. But he took off his knife and all his furs, exchanging his vest and shirt for a black t-shirt and her father-in-laws leather riding jacket. He tied his long hair back and hid it under a black knit cap to complete the disguise. The clothes looked good on him. She would have found him sexy if he was a stranger at a bar. It was just seeing Foster dressed up to look like someone else that was making both of them laugh.
"Maybe you should try on another shirt," Delilah teased, nibbling the side of her thumb as she raked her eyes over his body. As funny as Foster looked in regular clothes, she certainly enjoyed watching him walk around her room half naked, pulling the shirts she found for him on and off. His chest and shoulders were romance novel level sexy.
Foster turned, grinning when he saw the hungry look in Delilah's eyes. He approached the bed, resting his hands on the mattress as he dipped his head down to kiss her. The moment their lips touched, she could feel the electric tingle in her skin. Delilah was equally sad and relieved when he pulled away and helped her up off the bed. She wanted him. But the intensity of her desire scared her a little. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before in her life. And that frightened her. She'd been through so much loss. She was trying hard to keep the wall up around her battered heart. But despite her efforts, she could feel it crumbling every time Foster kissed her.
The bike Foster rode down the mountain was too obviously Farrell. Riding it around town would give him away. So they rode double on Delilah's bike. He didn't seem to have any objection to riding behind her. But it was hard for her to maneuver the heavy bike with an even heavier man on the back of it. She only made it to the end of her long gravel drive before she stopped and had Foster switch places with her.
They drove through Blackburg, heading for the rock and roll bar that was positioned another town over. It was early. But the parking lot was already starting to fill. The area didn't offer much in the way of entertainment. This bar was one of the few that even hosted live music. Delilah waited for Foster to climb off her bike before she took his hand, holding it tight as she led him out of the fading sunshine and under the neon lights.
Delilah gave the bartender her standard order, a corona in a bottle with a lime. She didn't pick that beer for the taste. She ordered it because the bottle was clear with a tall skinny neck. It would be hard, if not impossible for someone to slip something into it. Years had passed since her college roommate was drugged at a party. But Delilah wasn't any less paranoid now than she was then. Although one glance at the giant mountain man next to her made her feel silly for even worrying about it. No one would fool with her while she was on Foster's arm. And not that she was thinking about it, the possibility that someone might drug or hurt her never even crossed her mind when she was drinking with Foster's kin. She knew she would be safe on the mountain, even though the Farrell's were strangers to her.
"What do you want to drink?," Delilah asked, turning to Foster since he wasn't responding to the bartender's impatient stare. He's never been in a bar before, she thought. It was obvious that he didn't even understand how to order. And he probably couldn't read the specials or the tops of the beer taps either.
"Wine," Foster said, the order sounding more like a question. "Do you have wine?"
The bartender raised his eyebrow at Foster, glancing at his biker gang attire and confirming that he heard him right. "You want a glass of wine? All we have is moscato…" Foster nodded, unaffected by the unfamiliar word. Wine was wine, he told himself. It wasn't until the bartender slid the fancy fluted glass across the counter to him that Foster began to question his decision. Delilah giggled as she handed the bartender a few papers. And then she took his hand and led him further into the smoky bar.
As they walked, Foster lifted his tiny glass and took a sip of the oddly colored liquid inside. It took everything in him not to spit the mess out onto the floor. He swallowed hard, nearly gagging on the sharp and sickly sweet flavor.
"I wouldn't feed this to a damn goat," he announced. Delilah glanced up at Foster with amusement sparkling in her eyes. Her smile lit up the room, almost making him forget what he'd been complaining about in the first place. She paused their progression through the crowded space and lifted up onto her tiptoes. Even then, she still had to pull him down to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.
"Let's find my friends first," she suggested. "...and then I'll order you a cold beer, okay?."
Foster nodded, holding tight to her hand when he noticed a table full of young men glancing in her direction. Foster was so worried about his own attire, he hadn't really noticed what Delilah was wearing until now. Farrell women didn't usually wear pants. So he'd come to think of the garments as masculine. But the tight denim jeans that Delilah shimmied herself into were anything but manly. Unlike a flowy dress, her pants put every inch of her slim curves on display. And suddenly wasn't so sure if he liked every man in the place being able to see the rounded curves of her ass and hips.
Delilah found her friends. Foster smiled as he watched them take turns embracing her. They greeted him warmly as well, by clasping his hand and pumping it up and down. When they got done laughing at the fluted glass of pink garbage in his hand, one of them asked him a few questions about what type of beer he liked. Then the man flagged down a woman with an apron on and asked her for something Foster didn't think he could have repeated if he tried. He was skeptical when she returned, setting a large frosted mug down in front of him. But one sip was enough to make him a believer in the man's beer ordering skills. The liquid was a pale amber color. And he could tell it was made from wheat. But there were other flavors there, like something fruity mixed with something spicier. Foster had no idea that lowlanders had any sort of skill at beer or wine brewing. He was pleasantly surprised by how good the beer was. And by how friendly Delilah's friends were. He was almost disappointed when they left the table and headed up to take their places on the small stage that was off to one side of the dance floor. But since their absence left him alone with Delilah, he wasn't going to complain.
"Are you okay?," she asked, resting her hand on his thigh as she leaned in to speak to him. The live music hadn't started yet. But with the jukebox going and everyone talking, it was still loud inside the crowded bar. "If this is too much for you, we can leave."
"No," Foster told her, shaking his head. "I like it." He glanced towards the open area where there were currently only a few people dancing. And then he flicked his eyes over Delilah's slim curves. When she was drinking on the mountain, he was laid up with the wound on his side. He never got a chance to dance with her. "I want to dance with you."
Delilah laughed, giving him a flash of her small, perfectly even white teeth. She was still smiling when she leaned in and pressed a kiss against his cheek. Her hand lingered on his thigh for a moment longer before she pulled it away and reached for her beer.
By the time they both finished their drinks, the music was starting. The songs weren't familiar to Foster. But he was still able to follow the beat as Delilah's body moved in rhythm with his. Foster couldn't remember the last time he had so much fun. He was dancing with Delilah and they were even dancing a little with another couple that neither of them knew. And when the tempo of the music slowed down, he was able to take her in his arms and hold her against him.
The song ended and Delilah broke their embrace so she could make a trip to the bathroom. Foster returned to their table, leaning his elbow on the back of one of the chairs instead of sitting in it. The aproned woman stopped by and asked him if he wanted another round. Foster was pretty sure that meant more beer, so he nodded his head. After she hurried away, another woman approached. This one was not wearing an apron, so he was curious to see what she wanted.
"Well aren't you a tall drink of water," the woman said, moving in close and running one of her hands up his arm. He cringed back slightly, confused as to why the unfamiliar woman was touching him like they knew each other. She wasn't exactly unattractive. But also not the type of woman he would have given a second glance. Her blonde hair was full of something that made it look weird and crispy and her clothes were so tight he wondered how she managed to squeeze into them. "No need to be shy, honey," she cooed, moving towards him even though he'd moved back in an attempt to put some distance between them. The woman was close enough now that he could smell the sickly sweet aroma that was wafting off her. She smelled like the nasty wine they served him before Delilah's friend ordered him a beer.
Foster fought the urge to physically shove the woman away from him. On the mountain, unmarried women were free to do what they liked with their bodies. But he'd never seen one try to force herself on a man that clearly wasn't interested. He wasn't sure if this was normal behavior for a low lander woman. Or if this woman was just being overly aggressive. And he also wasn't sure what the best way would be to get rid of her.
"I'm married," Foster said, hoping the woman might leave him alone if she knew he was already spoken for. Instead she tossed her crispy hair back and laughed. There was red paint on her lips. And some of it was smeared across her teeth.
"Don't worry," she chortled. "I'm married too."
"Where's your husband?," Foster asked, hoping the man was nearby and might be willing to come and get his wayward wife. He wasn't sure how townsfolk did things, but he couldn't imagine the men down here would appreciate their wives having sex with random strangers.
"He's out of town," the woman explained with another tooth exposing laugh. "Where's your wife?" Foster glanced around the bar, trying to pick Delilah out of the crowd. She wasn't really his wife. But he hoped her presence might be enough to get this stinky wine smelling woman away from him. Foster combed the room with his eyes, smiling when he finally spotted Delilah. She was leaning forward towards the bar, grabbing two large mugs of beer from the bartender.
"She's right there," Foster said, pointing towards Delilah. "In the red shirt."
For some reason, seeing Delilah made the woman laugh even harder. The way she tossed her head back and exposed all her teeth reminded Foster of a braying nanny goat. She slapped her hand against his broad chest. "Don't worry," the woman said. "I'll take care of her."
Foster watched with some concern as the woman weaved her way through the crowded bar until she reached Delilah. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could see the different facial expressions that were flickering across Delilah's face. At first, she looked confused. But that was slowly giving way to annoyance. And finally anger. Her angry expression only lasted for a moment before she was covering the woman with the large mug of beer in her hand. Delilah tossed the liquid directly into the woman's face. She waited a moment for the woman to get her bearings. And then she repeated the attack, dousing the woman with the second full mug. Foster's eyes widened. He wasn't sure what was about to happen. But he was sure it wasn't going to be good. He pushed forward, weaving his way through the small crowd that was already forming around the altercation. He wasn't moving with any urgency until he saw Delilah drop both empty glasses onto the floor and swing her closed fist at the woman.
A moment after the first punch, the bar erupted into chaos. People started fighting and throwing shit. He pushed his way more forcefully through the mess, reaching Delilah just as the crispy haired woman's friends were getting ready to jump her. Foster wasn't going to hit a woman, not even a stinky crispy haired one. Instead, he grabbed Delilah and wrapped his arms around her. Putting his back to the women, he used his body to keep them from hurting Delilah as he back them both towards the outer edge of the room.
"We better get the fuck out of here before the cops show up," Delilah hollered. Foster nodded, moving her towards the table and grabbing both of their leather riding jackets. They escaped out a side door, spilling out into the parking lot with the sound of the angry barfight behind them. Delilah pulled her jacket on as she swung her leg over the bike, gripping him tightly around the waist as he fired up the engine. Foster gassed it, speeding out of the packed lot. He headed in the direction they came from. And it was only about a mile before several screaming police cars passed them going in the other direction. Foster let them pass before he increased his speed, smiling as he felt Delilah's hand creep up under the hem of his shirt.