I don’t often attend funerals but felt a need to attend Carl Cranston’s and witness the family moving on. I only owned one suitable outfit, a little black dress that I’d been saving for a date with Rusty. I wore a black sweater over it and attempted to blend in with the others crowding the church building. As Phillip Cranston stood before the gathering speaking about his son, his eyes scanned the congregation until finally settling upon me. I shrank from his gaze but knew he had me pegged. A video was shown depicting Carl’s life and I laughed and cried along with everyone else. A five-year-old in his dad’s work boots, a ten-year-old holding up his first catch, Carl’s high school graduation, then the pride on his face while holding his first son. When a picture appeared of Carl with his older boy the voice of his younger child suddenly piped up, “There’s Three!” followed by the older brother arguing, “I’m not Three, I’m Carl the Third!” Their mother quickly shushed them both. Carl’s sister read a short letter she’d written to her brother then a pastor spoke to their family and friends. It was comforting to see the family had a lot of support. They would be okay.
While filing out to leave, a man standing next to me asked, “How did you know Carl?”
“I didn’t,” I replied, not really knowing where my answer actually came from. “I guess I came to get to know him a little bit. I only knew him through his footprints, but I sensed a firm determination to help his family.” Then I stopped or I’d have lost it again.
Phillip Cranston wasn’t one to stick to formalities. Instead of lining up to shake hands with everybody who attended the service, I found him leaning back against my Jeep. I should have removed the JHSAR sticker in the window. A yellow fire hat was depicted on it and the letters stood for Joshua Hills Search and Rescue. As he stepped away from my vehicle there was a dust colored spot on the back of his black suit.
“Your husband was right, you do prefer to stay invisible. You’re good at it, too. I never would have guessed if I hadn’t seen your picture. You? You’re the one who spent two days looking for my son? You’re the tracker?”
“Yes, sir,” I responded. Phillip Cranston had that authoritative look about him that made me immediately revert to my Marines background. He just looked like people called him sir, so I called him sir, too.
“Why? Why’d you go out?”
“Carl needed to be found. I find people.”
“So I see. Did your husband tell you why I was looking for you?”
“Yes, and he was wise to send you to Lou Strickland.”
“I’d still like to do something for you.”
“We don’t find someone hoping they’ll hand over money, or do something for us. We are just trying to help people, and sometimes… sometimes we get there too late. I’m so sorry. I tracked down Carl hoping he’d be spending Christmas with his family. While tracking I imagined a father playing slot cars with his boys under the Christmas tree. I didn’t know what Carl looked like or even if his sons liked cars. That’s just the image that played through my mind. If Carl had been able to spend Christmas with his family that would have been the best reward I could ever receive.” My voice trailed off and I felt myself close to tears again. At that moment I wanted to jump in my Jeep and take off, but the parking lot was full of people.
Mr. Cranston studied me. Standing before him I felt trapped and needed to do something, anything to work off the emotions. He decided to back off.
“Cassidy, thanks. I think this evening I’ll go play slot cars with my grandsons. They don’t really understand that their dad won’t be back. But I’ll be there for them. You can count on that.”
I quickly decided to give up on the punching bag at the station. A cute blonde in a little black dress taking on the punching bag just sets the guys off for some reason. I received whistles, a few winks and smiles. Nobody ever took me seriously in a dress except Rusty, and that’s because he knew I would only wear one for him. He understood it was an invitation, and he respected it by guarding and cultivating the mood.
“I need a locker. I really need a locker. I need to keep gym clothes here,” I said, storming out on my way to Rusty’s office. He wasn’t there but I waved through Tom’s window as I went by.
I put on the sweater as I crossed the parking lot.
“Cassidy!” I heard yelled from the station door. Rusty jogged up, and after quickly assessing my mood refrained from winking at me. He knew I wasn’t at the station to lure him away. He might have been hoping, but he knew better. Perhaps he’d talked to the guys. Maybe my attitude showed through. “Will you stay in town?” he asked.
“Why?”
“Because… if you go home you’ll change into jeans and cook dinner, and then we’ll spend a long quiet night puttering around the house…”
“When will you get off? And what am I supposed to do in town dressed like this?”
“Can you Christmas shop, for just a little while? Then meet me at Trujillo’s at, oh, sixish?”
“Trujillo’s? The bar or the restaurant?”
“The bar, we’ll figure out the restaurant afterwards.”
“Wow, I didn’t know the power of a little black dress when I bought it.”
“Will you?”
“Sure, maybe I can find something for your mom. Any ideas?”
“Forget Mom, she likes anything. Go to the antique mall and look for the most obscure band you can find on records.”
“You’re kidding! Who is this for?”
“Cody. He collects old records. Thirty-three and a third, seventy-eights, it doesn’t matter; just find the oddest one in the bunch that’s still playable.”
“Rusty, records are before my time. I don’t know what to look for!”
“Me, too. That’s half the fun of it. Just see what you can find.”
“Okay.”
“Obscure bands? Sure we got obscure bands. Everybody in this place is obscure now, except maybe the Beatles and Elvis and we got them, too.”
An old guy with gray, frizzy hair and thick glasses led me to a corner of the antique mall and showed me a booth full of boxes of thick vinyl records. The boxes were so heavy I couldn’t move them.
“How do you know if the music is any good?” I asked.
I read his nametag. Henery is what it said. Odd name.
“You play it.”
“Do you have a way to play it?”
“Sure, I got a 1954…”
“No, I mean just to test it out. I’ve never heard of these artists. How do I know what to buy?”
“You said obscure bands. You aren’t going to find much good in obscure music anyway. I’ll let you look. If you need any help flag down me, or Rhonda or Miss Molly. Don’t know that we can help in your case but everybody’s got an opinion.”
I flipped through dozens of dusty old records until a title caught my eye. The Chocolate Watch Band. I smiled, how could you not like a group with a name like that? I slid the record from its sleeve and looked for scratches.
The Electric Prunes? Bubble Puppy? The Replacements? What were they replacing? How about Question Mark and the Mysterians? The Dixie Cups? Iron Butterfly? Okay, Cassidy, an odd name doesn’t mean a group is obscure. Still…
The old, frizzy guy passed by on some errand, “Oh, Henery…” I called after him.
Hurrying off down the aisle he called back “No, he’s the author. I’m Henery the Eighth from Herman’s Hermits.”
Herman’s Hermits? I looked through the box and found one of their records. Sure enough, there was a song called Henry the Eighth.
A woman wearing a pink sweater ambled by, and taking note of her name tag I said, “Help me, Rhonda. I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
“Sounds like you do to me,” she answered.
This was puzzling. I knew I was blonde but normally I was pretty much with it.
“You still haven’t found what you’re looking for?” Miss Molly asked.
“Yeah, I mean no. I found it but I don’t know what to buy. I’m supposed to find something for my brother-in-law who collects obscure music.”
“I Had Too Much to Dream Last Night,” Rhonda said.
“Me too,” I agreed, “but this place is helping to get my mind off it.”
“No, it’s a song. By the Electric Prunes. Guess they thought they could get something moving with that one.”
“I Ain’t No Miracle Worker,” said Miss Molly.
“I’m not expecting a miracle, I just need to make a choice.”
“No, no, that’s a song too. By The Chocolate Watch Band.”
“Okay, I give up,” I said totally befuddled. “I’m buying The Chocolate Watch Band, The Electric Prunes and Herman’s Hermits just so I can tell Cody about this crazy conversation. It probably won’t even sound crazy to him but he’ll get a laugh out of watching me tell it.”
It was dark when I left the antique mall so I drove to Trujillo’s. I sat at the bar in my little black dress and nursed a margarita while I waited for Rusty.
“Hi, there,” a man said as he sat down next to me. “Are you alone?”
“I’m waiting for someone,” I answered.
“Can you talk while you’re waiting?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“So, what do you do for a living?”
“I put dinner on the table every night by seven.”
“You don’t have a job?”
Rusty entered the bar and took a seat two stools down to listen.
“Yeah, I have a job, sort of. It’s more like a vocation.”
“Interesting. What do you sort of do for your job?”
“I lead guys on.”
“You know, in some states that’s illegal.”
“Not the way I do it. Besides, most of the guys I lead on carry badges.”
“Now you’ve got me curious. What kind of a job could a girl like you have that would lead the cops on? Undercover cop?”
“Who said they were cops? Lots of people carry badges. If I was an undercover cop do you think I’d be sitting here telling you about it? I don’t think so.”
“Right. So I guess it’s safe for me to talk to you, if you aren’t an undercover cop.”
“Right.”
“So what is it that you do?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“You first.”
“Okay, I sell things,” he stated.
“What kinds of things?”
“Things that make the stresses of big business easier to handle.”
“Oh yeah? Sorry if I’m being naïve here but it sounds like your job might be a little riskier than mine, if you know what I mean.”
“I trust you. You just have that look about you. Now, what do you do for your job?”
“I’m a tracker.”
“You’re kidding.”
“That’s what everybody says. Look, if I wanted to fabricate a glamorous job for myself I’d say I was a movie star. Who would choose a tracker as a fake job?”
“Okay, you’re right there. So you are a tracker?”
“Yeah, I lead guys on and find people. I follow tracks and bring in help when someone is lost in the woods.”
“O…kay.”
“Oops, I see my husband is here now, so I have to go. It was nice talking to you…”
“Stan. Stan the High Way Man.”
“Um, right.”
“And you are?”
“Cassidy. Have a good evening.”
“You too.”
I picked up my barely touched margarita and moved down two stools behind Stan.
“Rusty, next time you agree to meet me, please, just meet me! Having you hang around and wait is nerve wracking.”
“And useful,” he said quietly. “How do you do these things?”
“I didn’t do anything. I just sat at the bar and he came up and talked to me.”
“You’re right, maybe you are a magnet for trouble.” While Rusty was speaking he watched Stan behind me. He appeared nervous, which was unusual for Rusty. “These tall stools are uncomfortable, let’s go find a table,” he suggested, leading me away. We took a corner table where Rusty sat with his back to the wall so he could watch the room. I drank my margarita slowly while Rusty sipped his beer. He was obviously waiting for something.
A waitress set down chips and salsa.
Stan left the bar and approached another woman who was by herself. Rusty watched as he was turned away. Stan roamed the room socializing with several different people. Most of them were well dressed: people on their way home from work, including stressed out businessmen and career women.
The chips and salsa on the table magically disappeared even though I didn’t remember eating any. If Rusty ate any he did it without looking at them, because he never took his eyes off the room.
A businessman approached Stan and there was a complicated handshake. Stan spoke to the man in an animated manner before leading him out the door. As they left Rusty relaxed.
“Where’d the chips go?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Are you hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“Me too, maybe the tortilla chip elves ate them.”
“Tortilla chip elves make chips, they don’t eat them,” he pointed out.
“Thanks for sending me to the antique mall for the afternoon. That was just what I needed to get my mind off this morning.”
“Did you find something?”
“I think so. We won’t know for sure until we talk to Cody.”
“What’s with the black dress?”
“I went to Carl Cranston’s memorial service. I wore a sweater over the dress.”
“Much to the disappointment of the guys there.”
“Rusty! It was a funeral. Guys don’t watch for girls in little black dresses at funerals!”
“They don’t?”
“Okay, maybe they do. I wore the sweater over it because it seemed more appropriate. I found out Phillip Cranston has eagle eyes. He spotted me right away.”
“And?”
“He’s going to play slot cars with his grandsons.”
“Well, at least you didn’t have a boring day at home. I think you ought to avoid bars though. Pretty soon Tom’s going to ask you to finish academy and go undercover. All you have to do is enter a bar and the most wanted person in the place hones in on you. I could have sat here with you for an hour and never recognized Stan, but you sit and talk to him for ten minutes and get his life story.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know, that’s just my point. You do these things without even trying.”
“Get me a permit to carry concealed and I can just hang out and reel in the felons.”
“No. You’d put me out of a job.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Okay, then, no, it’s too dangerous.”
“Forget about Stan. We’re both here, all dressed up, ready for a night on the town, so what do you want to do?”
“Let’s get a bite to eat, then there’s someplace better we should go.”
“Really? Where?”
“Nancy Schroeder throws a Christmas party every year. Since we’re in town and all dressed for a party we ought to go. It’ll be fun.”
“You think I might catch Schroeder smiling?”
“If you leave the sweater in the car,” he said teasingly. “He’s not as gruff as you make him out to be, and despite his attitude he really does like you. He says you’re good for me. Before I met you, he used to call me at the office late at night and tell me to go home. He used to yell at me for being too impulsive.”
“You? You’re about the least impulsive person I’ve ever met.”
“When there was only myself to consider, it didn’t take much thinking. If something needed to be done, I did it,” he said dipping a taquito into nacho cheese sauce. “When we met I felt like I should watch out for you. Widow, living all alone. You needed a man to call on. I didn’t know at the time that you knew more about cars than I did or that you were as good a shot as me. At first Schroeder thought it was a good thing. Then, when he realized you got into a hell of a lot more trouble than I ever did, he got worried. He’d seen his share of women trouble makers, embezzlers, bank robbers, drug dealers, hookers, women just on the wrong side of the law. You didn’t fit into that mold. Eventually, he concluded you were on our side and that your talents were needed on our side, too.”
I finished off my share of the taquitos.
“So, what kind of conclusion did he come to?” I asked, wondering how Schroeder thought of me now.
“He hasn’t. Nobody has. You are an ongoing mystery with two sides that are as different as night and day. One side is a very capable tracker, scout and outdoorswoman. The other is this adorable young woman who all the guys want to guard and protect. They see a darker side of the city, full of people and situations they don’t want you involved in. As soon as there’s a crime that involves tracks everybody’s all gung ho, ready to watch you in action. Then just as quickly they stop to reconsider. If it’s a scene of violence they don’t want you exposed to it because that reminds them of the violence you’ve already seen. If it’s an apprehension, they don’t want to bring you into a potentially dangerous situation. Schroeder knows you’ll never be a cop, and neither one of us wants to see that happen. He almost kept you out of reserve academy but knew you had talent and he realized to really tap into that talent you needed to complete academy. You convinced him that you needed the training. So basically, where we stand now is you have the qualifications if Schroeder needs you and the training and authority to defend yourself if put in a tight spot. Now the goal is to make sure you don’t get into any tight spots. But Schroeder does like you and says you are good for me. He’s also glad to see you working with Strict. So,” he said, standing and reaching for his wallet, “you ready to go party?”
“Sure, but do you really think this dress is alright?” I asked, turning this way and that.
“Ooo yeah,” he said with a mischievous gleam in his eye. He wasn’t very convincing. Rusty’s reaction made me wonder who else would be there.
The Schroeders lived in a large, two story home surrounded by neatly trimmed and rounded landscaping bushes and a seasonally dormant flower garden. A wreath hung on the door and Christmas music could be heard playing inside. A young boy dressed in Superman pajamas greeted us at the door.
“Scotty! It’s your Grandma’s party. She gets to answer the door,” a woman’s voice scolded. Scotty ran off, taking a flying leap and landing square in the middle of the living room sofa. “Good evening, Rusty, come on in.” Rusty showed me in the front door where introductions were exchanged.
“Linda, this is Cassidy. Cassidy, this is Linda, Schroeder’s youngest daughter. Last I heard you had two boys.”
“Scotty and Nate, and as soon as I get them upstairs to bed the party can really get started. Dad told me you recently got married, Rusty. He didn’t tell me you robbed the cradle!”
“I didn’t,” Rusty said a little defensively. “Cassidy is your age and the wedding was in July. That’s hardly robbing the cradle.”
“I think last I saw Dad he was letting Nate run his train. Mom is in the den with the others.”
“Thanks. Cassidy, you’ve gotta see this.” Rusty grabbed my hand and led me to a room that would have been a library or a study in anybody else’s house. We stood in the doorway and watched.
“What’s this?” Schroeder asked his little grandson. Nate was maybe two.
“Chain!” he said enthusiastically.
“Good boy! Make it go. Not too fast, it’ll crash.” The train slowly moved around the track, clickety clacking along but much too slowly for Nate. Schroeder stood holding the boy close. He pointed to the town, carefully laid out on the train board. “Can you find a doggy? Where’s the doggy?” Nate pointed. “Good boy! Now where’s the horsey?” Nate squirmed to get down and ran over to the country side of the board. Three tiny HO scale horses stood in an HO scale corral. “What does a horsy say?”
“Neigh, neigh!” said Nate.
“And what does the doggy say?”
“Woof, woof.”
“And where’s the boy? Do you see a boy like you?” Schroeder asked.
Nate looked and looked. Tiny HO people walked the sidewalks of the town. This was like Where’s Waldo?
“Up!” Nate called, needing a bird’s eye view.
“He rearranges all the people when we come so they are never in the same place,” Scotty informed us. “I have a store named after me in Grandpa’s town. It says Scotty’s Toy Shop on the sign. Nate has an ice cream store named after him. Nate, look for the boy in the park! There’s always kids in the park.”
Rusty led me away. “So much for gruff old Schroeder,” he observed. We went to the den and joined the group. I knew Landon was there before I actually saw him. I felt his stare from across the room. Landon’s gaze felt much different from Rusty’s. When Rusty looked at me it felt as if he was savoring the view. It was slow, sensuous and pleasurable, making a woman desire more. Landon’s look was piercing and intense. I blamed the little black dress.
“Rusty! Cassidy! I’m so glad you could come!” Nancy gushed. She was wearing an emerald green sweater dress adorned with bright red jewelry. The Christmas tree was just as colorfully coordinated as she was. Shiny gold and red balls hung amongst antique ornaments. Shimmering tinsel and garland spiraled down in neat, precise drapes. Plates of divinity, fudge, sweet breads, brownies and other homemade candies dotted the tabletops. Nancy pinned two little, homemade Christmas pins to my dress and another set to the lapel of Rusty’s coat. “For the benefit of those not in law enforcement we are playing a little game. If you talk in codes or acronyms and someone catches you, you lose a pin. If you catch someone talking in codes they have to give you their pin.”
“Okay!” Linda announced. “The kids are officially in bed with orders to stay upstairs. You are welcome to spread out and make yourselves at home. I’m taking the hors d’oeuvre out of the oven.”
The doorbell rang and Nancy rushed off to answer it while her guests started milling around the room. The Christmas cards placed on the mantle drew my attention and I admired several depicting nature views. What really intrigued me though was the possibility of learning Schroeder’s first name. At last, some clues! Surely someone had written a greeting and called him by name. I reasoned that, if the Schroeders wanted their cards to remain private, they wouldn’t have them on display. Besides, I wasn’t planning on reading the notes, I just wanted to see the names written inside. “Schroeder and Nancy,” “Nancy, Schroeder and family,” “Nancy, Schroeder and anybody else who might be reading this…” that last one kind of caught me by surprise. No one, not one person, had called Schroeder by any name other than Schroeder.
“Good evening, Cassidy,” came a voice from over my shoulder. I jumped. I thought it was Rusty, since he knew how curious I was.
As I turned around I said pleasantly and a bit nervously, “Hi, Schroeder, I am dying of curiosity. Is there anybody who calls you by your first name? Anybody at all?”
“No.”
“Not even your mom? What does your mom call you?”
“Schroeder.”
“Even your mom calls you by your last name?”
“Yes.”
“What does she call your brothers and sisters?”
“They actually have first names. If I show you why she calls me Schroeder will you quit looking for my first name?”
“I doubt it. I know I could find out what it is if I really wanted to dig. I just don’t like to pry and it feels invasive to search for it. I’m a tracker, not an archeologist. I was hoping someone might have left a few tracks on your mantle.”
“Follow me.”
“If this involves a picture of a little blonde boy at a toy piano…”
He suddenly turned around.
“You’re kidding,” I said apologetically, “just like in the cartoon strip?”
“I took lessons real early,” he said, leading me back to the room with the train set. “In those days they didn’t start teaching kids until much older. I started at six and kept at it through elementary school. In junior high sports took over. It wasn’t cool to play piano. Football was cool. I only played the piano for my own pleasure until I grew up and then I relearned the value of it. I branched out, still for my own enjoyment, but at least I didn’t lose it. I mostly play classical, a little rag, some of my favorite popular tunes. I never cared much for complexity as long as I could perfect an easier version, so I’ll never be a master piano player.”
“Will you play for us?”
“No. Maybe someday if it’s just for you and Rusty. Even though I enjoy it, and others do too, it doesn’t fit in with the job description. The name still fits because the guys call each other by their last names a lot anyway. So I’m just Schroeder. Even Nancy calls me Schroeder. Here,” he said, handing me an old black and white photo. Pictured was a full sized piano and there he was playing as a young boy with slicked back hair and wearing an intelligent gleam in his eye. He was dressed in a white button down shirt and tie, pressed black slacks and shiny black shoes. “It was my first recital. I had to play three pieces.”
“There’s no music.”
“We were required to memorize all our recital pieces. Actually, now I credit the memorization I did at such a young age with helping me to easily recall descriptions and numbers at work. I remember details much easier than most people my age. I think it’s because I started early.”
“Did you play Beethoven?”
“Yeah, I know several works by Beethoven. And, yes, I can play Linus and Lucy.”
“Schroeder?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. It’s nice to know you’re a real person. I’m surprised you told me, though.”
“I trust you.”
“The last guy who said that to me probably got arrested for it.”
“Oh yeah? Who was that?”
“Stan. I don’t know his last name. Sells drugs at Trujillo’s, well, he did until today. Based on Rusty’s reactions, they brought him in nice and quiet.”
“We’ve been after that guy for weeks, only had a general description of him from people who didn’t want to snitch. I’ve got to hear this.”
“Ask Rusty, I’m not sure exactly what happened except that I talked to the guy for about five minutes and then Rusty watched the room very carefully. Rusty can probably tell you what really happened.”
Linda brought a tray of stuffed mushrooms to the buffet table, so I made my way across the room. The aroma of Italian cuisine was coming from the kitchen. No wonder Rusty only wanted an appetizer at Trujillo’s. Rusty was standing with a group of guys, a plate full of Christmas candy in one hand. Schroeder had joined them. I selected a couple of stuffed mushrooms, placing them on a small snowman plate.
Glancing up, I realized Landon was near, his eyes resting on my body, studying me up and down.
“Ten eleven,” he said quietly.
“Landon, you said that on purpose.”
“So I did.” He removed his pin and stepped forward, glancing at the dress, wondering where he could pin it. I saved him the trouble and I took it from him.
“What do you mean, ten eleven?” I said, handing it back.
“Think about it.”
Ten eleven meant, “identify this frequency”, oh, duh. At least his sense of humor was intact.
“Rarely,” I replied.
He fiddled with the pin. “I heard about your ten fifteen,” he said, stepping closer. A ten fifteen was a prisoner in custody. So Stan had been picked up.
“He wasn’t mine. I just talked to him for five minutes. Ten three,” I said nervously. Stop transmitting. I handed the pin back to him. Nancy, this game of yours isn’t working for me at all, I thought.
“Ten one,” he replied. “Ten nine.” Reception is poor, repeat last transmission. He removed another pin. Now I had to come up with two ten codes.
“Landon, ten three or you are going to be a ten ninety-one D.” Stop transmitting or you’ll be a dead animal. Okay, so it was lame.
“Ten four,” he said, smiling. He looked at me, amused now.
“Okay, one pin, just one, your game is over.”
As Landon stepped forward, Rusty asked, “Did I hear a ten sixty-seven?” A call for help?
“Not quite,” I answered, “he’s just a ten twenty-nine M.” Wanted for a misdemeanor.
“Ten twenty-nine H,” Rusty warned Landon, tossing him a pin. Caution- severe hazard potential.
Landon stepped forward, attached one pin to my dress gently and left with a smile.
“I’m glad he didn’t get into the penal codes. He’d have lost me,” I commented as Landon walked away.
“Why do you let him pull things like that?”
“He knows his limits.”
“Does he still give you trouble on the job?”
“No, I think it’s this little black dress.”
Landon worked the game to his advantage collecting pins from the guys, and then “accidentally” needing to pin them on the girls. I think Nancy was onto his little pursuit, but everyone was having fun, so she let him be. The game backfired royally. Codes and acronyms flew and little Christmas pins were being actively exchanged. I’m not sure who won the game. Landon certainly scored, but Terry Brooks ended up with the most pins, probably because she enjoyed Landon’s slips.
“That dress is just begging to come off,” Rusty whispered as he brushed past me. A shiver went up my spine. That rascal, he knew exactly how to tease me. I thought of the long drive home through the dark hills. Okay, two could play at this game. I found my purse and brought it to the powder room where I locked the door behind me. Then I quickly removed my underwear and balled up my bra and panties small enough to stuff into my purse. I turned this way and that, studying my reflection in the mirror to make sure it wasn’t too obvious. I freshened my make-up to convince anyone who might be watching that my visit to the powder room had been for a legitimate reason. Later in the evening as I passed Rusty I took the opportunity to plant my bra in his right hand coat pocket. He was standing with a group of officers. I didn’t see his initial reaction but I stood off at a distance and watched as he fingered the lacy, slinky material in his pocket. Occasionally he’d glance around searching for me.
“Why are you hiding?” Nancy asked.
“I’m playing games with Rusty,” I admitted.
She scanned the room until she found Rusty. “So I see!”
“You do?” I blushed. I didn’t realize it was that obvious.
“That man is going to jump your bones before you get home.”
“Nancy!” I gasped.
Rusty glanced around the room again, hand in pocket. He turned back to the group, but it was obvious that he wasn’t listening.
“Don’t be mean to him. The poor man. What did you do?”
“Nancy!”
“What? Just because I’m fifty-five doesn’t mean I can’t act like I’m twenty again. A woman my age needs a few tricks up her sleeve, too.”
“I’m sure you’ve already thought of most of them. I slipped my bra into his pocket.”
“Oh, you didn’t!” she said laughing.
“He started it.”
Rusty glanced at his plate, downed the last two hors d’oeuvre and headed back to the buffet table, all the while casually glancing around the room.
“You get out there,” Nancy insisted. “I’m going to check the tortellini. You’ll be lucky to make it through dinner.”
I sauntered up to the buffet table. Rusty ran a hand up my hip as he moved past me, noting the obvious lack of underwear.
“You want them?” I whispered.
He didn’t have to answer. His eyes said it all. He wasn’t interested in the panties. He wanted more.
“You sure know how to torture a guy,” he whispered back.
“You want me to stop?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I don’t have much more I can take off,” I revealed quietly.
I absentmindedly placed a couple of hors d’oeuvre on my plate and walked away. Let him stew. Just knowing I was walking around with nothing on under my dress was enough to get his imagination going. He abandoned the food and sat on the couch watching the room. I mingled between each group of guests. Sometimes it was small talk: who are you and how do you fit in here? Sometimes it was cops deep in shop talk. The officers were exchanging stories of odd pullovers. There was the guy who insisted he had to get his wife to the hospital but there was no woman in the car. He’d been in such a rush he’d driven off without his wife. She had to call a cab, but the driver wouldn’t take her since she was in labor, so an ambulance was called. The expectant father was frantically trying to track down his furious wife, and the baby was nearly born by the time he reached the hospital. Then there was the woman on her way to work at a bikini bar. The officer asked for her ID, but it was in her purse and locked in the trunk. She was too drunk to even tie a knot and her bikini top kept popping loose. She ended up in detox wearing only half a bikini to sleep it off.
“There was this one guy I pulled over,” Ben Tomlin started. “He was driving a rental car erratically down Desert Boulevard. Claims he just got out of the hospital and that he was attacked by a tiger. A tiger? I said, ‘Yeah right, like tigers run loose in the middle of the desert,’ and I gave him a ticket for reckless driving and speeding. Can you imagine trying to get away with that?”
Everybody laughed with the exception of Rusty, Landon and myself. We still clearly remembered the tiger loose in the desert. Rusty caught my eye and patted the couch beside him. I made my way across the room and joined him.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“We can’t. Nancy’s betting we won’t last through dinner,” I answered quietly.
“We won’t.”
“Aw, come on, you can make it through a plate of tortellini. Just think what could be done with all that sauce. We’ve never done it Italian style before.”
“Cass... do you know what you’re doing?”
“Yeah, I’m stalking.”
“Stalking.”
“Yeah, just wait until I finally get to touch you. It’ll be worth the wait.”
I’ve never seen a man so anxious to get his hands on a plate of tortellini. I laughed quietly as he pretended to eat slowly and make conversation. He politely turned down Black Forest cake, insisting everything had been so good, he didn’t have room for dessert. Then he did his best to herd me out the door while making polite comments about the great party.
I heard Nancy mutter, “I gotta give him credit, he made it through dinner.”
I slid onto the passenger seat of the Explorer and Rusty gave me a long look before starting up the engine. The lights of the Schroeders’ neighborhood passed by slowly, cheerful Christmas lights shining in the night.
The mood in the truck was not cheerful. It was charged. It was seriously charged. It was find-a-dark-place-and-park charged. The only problem being that there wouldn’t be any dark places until after we left town and started up into the hills. Rusty pulled off onto a lonely dirt road, bumped along it a little ways then parked. Oh man, those eyes spoke volumes.
“You’re sure? You don’t mind?”
“Fold down the seats.”
He jumped out and pulled the latch, quickly folding the backseats down. Rusty took off his coat and crawled into the Explorer’s expanded luggage compartment. It was like being in the hideout. No headroom, barely enough floor space, but it didn’t matter. I crawled from the front seat to the back giving him a full view down the front of my spaghetti strapped dress.
“Cass, come here. Every swish of that dress, every touch of that bra in my pocket, every look across the room... What am I going to do with you? You drive me crazy.”
I’d never seen him quite so aroused before. Rusty seemed to be at odds kneeling in the back of the truck gazing at me with so much longing, it looked as though he was going to explode. Yet he seemed to be holding back. I had been prepared for an all out attack. Hell, I wouldn’t have asked for one if I wasn’t prepared for it. I motioned him closer. As I started unbuttoning his shirt he went straight for the belt and then the clasp. We didn’t even wait for him to undress. His loose, half unbuttoned shirt provided caresses and the cold belt buckle sliding up and down my side delivered a shiver of stimulation. The change in his pockets clunked with every movement and the force of his lovemaking filled me. I clutched at him, as the waves grew stronger. He looked at me in surprise as I lifted him off the floor of the truck in a sudden flurry of excitement and then we both laughed as we lost the rhythm. The Explorer rocked and the movement flowed through and around me in a rough and tumble romp in the back of the truck. Afterwards I realized I was still halfway in the dress, too. The spaghetti straps were down around my waist and the skirt was bunched up in a wrinkled mess. The smell of sex was everywhere. The windows were fogged. The night was freezing and we were torn between making a quick drive for the house or snuggling closer. I popped the driver’s seat forward and Rusty rested against the back of it. Then I climbed into his sticky, wet lap, snuggling close. He pulled his coat over us and we lay there just enjoying the closeness, the warm dampness, the moment.
Only being married four months didn’t seem to lessen the desire to learn about each other more intimately. We enjoyed the familiarity of our relationship in some ways, but in others each experience was new and exciting. We had sex, nice polite, consensual sex. Hot, steamy, touchy sex. Playful couch sex. We always knew what the other wanted but we were still actively exploring the other side of our relationship.
“Why did you hold back?” I quietly asked into the folds of his loose shirt.
“I could hear my dad’s voice, his words were echoing through my brain during the party, ‘Don’t let the act become more important than the person,’ he’d warn me.”
“If the person flat out begs for the act, it’s okay,” I gently advised him. “I won’t give you mixed signals.”
“Still, I don’t want it to be one-sided.”
“Rusty, I’m yours. Whenever you want me, I consider myself yours. I wouldn’t have married you if I hadn’t made that commitment.”
He pulled me closer, carefully mulling over my words.
The cold of the night seeped through the foggy windows and forced its way into the truck. Rusty opened the side door to get out and pop the driver’s seat back into place, but a chorus of raucous barking erupted nearby. I instinctively shrank into Rusty. I knew the bark of a dog wasn’t necessarily bad and it probably came from a pet confined to a nearby backyard. I knew dogs were usually friendly but a large, barking dog now struck terror into me. Understanding my fear, he slammed the door shut.
“Come here, it’s okay,” he said gently.
“I know. It’s all right. Just a first reaction.”
“Can I take away those memories? Just slip them out of your head and give them to me.”
“I wouldn’t consider it even if it was possible, not even for a minute.”
He crawled into the front of the truck and pushed back the driver’s seat from the inside. I wriggled out from my wrinkled mess of a dress and pulled on his sports coat, then crawled into the front seat. We drove home, heater blowing, toes still cold, hearts warm. After a short while the truck became toasty warm and I let the coat fall loose.
“Don’t get in a wreck or we’ll never hear the end of this,” I joked.
He pulled into our driveway and parked the Explorer next to my Jeep. I was grateful that our nearest neighbors lived a quarter mile away as I left the truck wearing only Rusty’s sport coat. I tender-footed it to the front door and stood on the warmer doormat. He unlocked the front door and we made our way to the den where Rusty lit a quick fire while I let Shadow outside.
“We should buy one of those soft fur rugs for cuddling in front of the fireplace,” I commented. “We sure enjoyed the fireplace on our honeymoon, partly because of that soft rug.”
I found a blanket and laid it out in front of the fireplace and curled up in it. Rusty changed into lounge pants and lay down behind me. Pretty soon his hands wandered. I turned so I could see him.
“Again?” I asked playfully.
“My hands are jealous,” he answered.
“Your hands can do anything they want. You have magic fingers. Anything is possible with magic.”
“You seem so comfortable without clothes. Were you always that way?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Why?”
“It wasn’t acceptable. In the real world clothes are required.”
“Oh come on, surely Jack…”
“No, Rusty, don’t. That was another life. I don’t want to live in that life anymore. I prefer this one.”
My words appeared to catch him by surprise. I’d spoken about my first husband before. It just felt so long ago, so far away. I barely remembered what Jack looked like, especially after his pictures had been destroyed in a fire. There was no way to bring back the fading memories so it seemed best to let them go.
“You’re willing to talk about being beaten, shot at and stalked, but not about Jack? Was he mean to you?”
“No, not at all. He was kind and dashing and… regimented. I guess regimented is the best word for him. We were in the service. Everything is regimented in the service and he fit in well with that, in his personal life as well as his work. He never understood my yearning for the mountains, the need to feel earth beneath my feet. The military was his life and he was comfortable as long as he was in his military bubble. So I’d go off to the mountains where I could think and breathe. He never hurt me, he was always kind to me, but I never felt free with him. I would never have been free with him. You free me.”
“He didn’t know what he was missing.”