I was not surprised the cop simply dropped us both in the forlorn, dark parking lot of the huge ex-armory complex and then drove away. What shocked me was the chilling breeze as I exited the cruiser. My brain shrieked, "You can't just leave me out here with this guy!" But nothing came out except the muted chattering of my teeth. The end of October could be quite intemperate in the outskirts of Verdeville, especially for idiots in skimpy costumes.
In the tinted halogen light of a nearby metal pole, Hazzard peered at his citation, then folded it twice and stuffed it in his back pocket. I surely wished I was wearing something warm with pockets. Captain Blood seemed calm enough; he had his vehicle keys.
I looked toward the armory building and wished I'd just remained asleep, locked in that wooden cage, until the county convicts found me on Monday morning. Hmm. Scratch that. Randy convicts might think their generous warden left them a wicked Halloween treat if they found a voluptuous witch confined in a cage. Voluptuous? Well, "curvy" is more accurate. Voluptuous sounded like one of those surgically-enhanced platinum blonde movie starlets. I was not enhanced by anything besides a torturous bustier. I certainly wouldn't mind a fulsome C cup, but my breasts were what I considered B+. Very nice legs, though, according to my friends.
Focus, Kristen. No, I would not be better off still locked inside. But stranded and freezing outside wasn't a whole lot nicer. When I hugged my arms around my trunk, it squeezed my bosom up a bit more, and that seemed a constant distraction for the male standing a bit too near.
Hazzard stomped his feet lightly, as though it would make him warmer. "Here's my truck." He pointed. "What are you driving?"
Hello, there's only one other vehicle in the entire lot. It was about fifty feet away near that ginormous, scary tree. "Over there." I pointed toward my British two-door sedan, which was styled like a miniature station wagon — forest green with a white top. Then I looked toward the armory door. "Think we could get back inside so I can grab my purse? And keys?"
Hazzard didn't avert his gaze from my girls. I'd gotten more eye-prints from that man alone in a couple of hours than I'd had all evening at the festival, as far as I knew. "Not unless you want to set off more alarms and get another cop out here. Maybe next one's not as easily dissuaded as Corporal James."
The pirate had a point. No need re-starting that unpredictable bureaucracy. I was so cold at that point, my teeth chattered as I stood there hugging my own torso.
"Uh, are you wanting a ride somewhere, or something?" He made it sound like I hoped he would donate a kidney.
"Actually…" I hesitated. Momma had told me never to get in a truck with a pirate in the middle of the night. Well, her advice was never quite that specific, but surely the particular current circumstance was included in her frequent admonitions. However, my body's shivering trumped my brain's dim recollections. "If you wouldn't mind too much."
He turned quickly and began walking. Evidently, in rude man-language, that meant, Certainly, I'd be pleased to take you wherever you need to go. So I trotted after him, as my heels made spooky hollow sounds on the expansive black-top.
He got into his side of a full-size American pick-up, probably about three or four years old — plates from a different county. Couldn't tell the color at night, but it was a dark shade of something. Somehow, I'd figured a buccaneer should be driving something with a name like a sword. Ha!
When he unlocked the passenger door, I started climbing. His truck didn't have a jacked-up suspension but it was way high off the ground. Could be tricky in the short skirt of my costume. No time to be a lady now. I just hiked it up and jumped on in. Settling in the seat, I squirmed a bit and tugged on the hem, but it still revealed a considerable expanse of my thighs.
Captain Blood watched every movement. Probably why Momma warned me so fervently. Guys can't keep their eyes to themselves. Especially strangers. I realized I might remain a tad anxious over the next four miles.
"There's a jacket in the back if you'd like to, uh, cover up." Since he'd studied my goose bumps so intently, he already knew my answer.
"Yeah, sure."
His face was very close to mine as he reached back between the front seats for the jacket. Difficult to tell what he'd look like without pirate makeup, but I liked what I could see. With the effort to retrieve the jacket, he grunted a bit and his breath was an unfortunate mix of stale spiked punch and black coffee. Dude, get a breath mint. Of course, mine was likely no better.
Hazzard held out his jacket — faded denim, un-lined. It smelled slightly musty like the truck's interior, but also had that very discernable odor of a man's working body. Not the acrid stink of dried sweat. Just the earthy aroma which could cling to men who didn't wear cologne.
Any mints or gum in his pockets? Nope. Just some lint, a paper clip, and a bent nail thingy with two sharp ends.
He started the engine and waited a few seconds before shoving it into drive. "Where to?"
"Uh, into town on the highway. Shortly after it becomes Main Street, turn north on Adams." On the east side of town, Adams was the main north-south thoroughfare. I watched his face as he exited the lot and headed toward Highway 70. Hmm. There might be a semi-handsome face under that greasepaint. He'd need to find a comb somewhere, though. I remembered that electricity when his hands first touched my forearm as he groped for the latch. After I got over being startled, it felt kind of good. Good? Not strong enough. It felt nice. Hmm. I'd need a thesaurus to describe how it really felt. I just knew it was pleasant — the touch of a man who wasn't Wally the Weasel.
Hazzard didn't speak as he drove toward town, but he checked his mirrors a lot. Seemed unusual for late at night with hardly any other traffic on the road. Who was he checking for?
For many years, since I-40 had been complete from Knoxville to the east side of Nashville, Highway 70 was mainly used for local traffic. We passed a non-descript sedan heading the other way and I suddenly thought of the corporal's pumpkin pie. Don't know why my mind works like that. My stomach grumbled loudly.
"Uh, you want to stop anywhere?" When he asked, his hand opened, palm up.
"What do you mean 'stop'?" My right hand reached toward the door pull.
"Well, you know. Grab a coffee or something to eat."
I couldn't believe my stomach gurgle transmitted that far. The answer I almost blurted out was, "Yeah, I'm starving." But my instincts — and all those warning lectures from Momma — kicked in. "No, thanks. Just want to get home and get out of these shoes and this…" I looked down toward the same expanse he'd been surveying.
"Okay. Just checking." As best could be discerned in the darkness, there was a slight smile on his nicely shaped lips. "I've kinda worked up an appetite."
After we reached the city limits, Adams Street was about half a mile ahead. I wondered what he did for a living. No clues in the truck, unless being messy was a profession somewhere. "Adams is just up there." I pointed.
Hazzard nodded. He evidently knew local geography despite his out-of-county license. We reached the intersection — a blinking yellow light at that time of night — and he looked both ways before turning. "How far up Adams?"
Fact is, I didn't really want him to know but there was no other way to get home. "Little over half a mile. Turn left on Fleming Lane. You'll see storage buildings off to the right."
It didn't take long to drive that distance and I spent the time studying Hazzard. I wondered what he'd look like when dressed and groomed normally. Wondered, very briefly, what the etiquette was for saying good night to the guy who kind of rescued me but kind of frightened me the entire time we'd been together… then kind of drove me home. Hmm. Definitely not a kiss.
Hazzard turned on Fleming Lane and squinted into the darkness. "Which place?"
It was a spacious subdivision from the 1980s — the trees just reaching serene maturity. "All the way to the end, 506, right at the tip of the cul-de-sac." Didn't need to point, but my shaking hand did so anyway.
He chuckled softly. "I had you figured for an apartment somewhere."
Lots of people figured me for an apartment. What was it about a single woman that just screamed "apartment" to most folks? Good grief. "Renting here was affordable."
He looked around, though not much was visible around two a.m. "I wouldn't figure this neighborhood for affordable."
"Well, I don't have the entire house."
"Oh."
That shut him up. I didn't need to explain that my landlord kept his unspecified junk in two of the three bedrooms and the entire garage. The house was about seventeen hundred square feet, but I didn't have access to much more than eleven hundred.
Hazzard pulled up to my address but kept the engine running. "I'm actually familiar with these properties. You're almost surrounded by a forest out here. It's a nice neighborhood and seems real, uh, settled. You know, for you and your housemate."
Oh, he was fishing for more info on me. Not a chance. I just tugged on the door handle I'd been clutching for most of the ride home.
"You have a way to get your car tomorrow? And purse?" He tapped a hairy knuckle on the steering wheel.
"Yeah, I can get the Mayor's secretary, Mizz Cowan, to let me in — she's had the armory key for most of October." Reda was more than an acquaintance but less than a buddy. I'd been one of her three "right-hand-women" during that entire festival business.
"Cowan. I might know her." His head nodded as though he was pretty certain.
That surprised me. I wondered how this newcomer could know Reda.
He stopped knuckling and yawned hugely. Nice teeth, from what I could see. "Okay. Well…"
I got out of the seat and stood in the open doorway of his pickup. With the light from the lamp pole near my driveway, I could see two large mounds in his truck bed. Wonder what he has all covered up with those tarps? I shivered again from the cold. "Oh, your jacket…"
"You can wear it in, if you want. It's still cold between here and your door." He acted like he wanted me to keep it.
That made me want to give it back, despite the temperature. "No, thanks anyway. It's not that far, but I appreciate it." I took off the heavy denim and resumed shivering immediately. Should've kept it.
"Change your mind?" He seemed too hopeful.
I don't need your stinkin' jacket. "No, I'm sure." I handed him the garment and started to close his truck door. "Oh, by the way, in case I haven't thanked you yet…"
"You haven't." Big smile. A bit too big. He put his jacket on the seat beside him.
"I mean, I'd intended to thank you earlier for getting me out of that cage and bringing me home, and all."
He nodded and chuckled again. "Plus, I talked that cop out of taking us both downtown."
"Yeah, but we still ended up with tickets!" A small grin slipped out even though I hated getting citations.
"Oh, right, that summons." He leaned over and retrieved his from a back pocket. It was already curled from the contour of his rump. "Mine's for Wednesday morning at eleven." He tapped its edge on his steering wheel. "When do you report?"
I looked at my empty hands. Where was my ticket? No pockets in this get-up. I turned around slowly like it might be behind me somewhere. "What on earth did I do with it?"
Hazzard turned on a secondary light and picked up his jacket. "Here it is. Guess you were sitting on it."
I reached for the ticket, but his large hand got there first. I could tell his eyes scanned it quickly. Between shivers, I held out my hand and he flipped it over into my open palm. I stole a quick peek. Wednesday at eleven. Crud! I clutched the ticket and wrapped my arms around my body again.
"Okay, I'm heading on home. Can you get inside?" He flipped off the dome light. "I mean without your keys?"