Rough and Ready (28 page)

Spike

did love his cigars, though Serenity made him smoke them outside.

"I don't know. It is from The Horny Toad."

"Oh, my God!" Torolf put his face in his hands, just knowing what was going to come next.

"Uh, isn't The Horny Toad a sex shop?" Geek asked.

"Yea, 'tis," Hilda answered, not at all embarrassed. "Oh, I see you have a gift?

Is that for Spike?" She was looking at the ribbon-and-foil-wrapped box on a side table.

He nodded, even as he was giving the guys dirty looks, encouraging them to leave.

Which they ignored, of course.

" 'Tis good you brought a gift for Spike. I did not realize till too late that I had not bought anything for him. But then my new friends told me that if I told Spike about the gift I bought for you, that would be gift enough for him."

I hope it's see-through undies from Victoria's Secret. No, I don't. I'm just kidding. Hah! Who am I kidding?

Every guy in the room was grinning.

"Uh… what gift?"

"Do not be thinking that you deserve a gift, not after being such a slimy slyboots, sleeping with me after I distinctly told you not to touch me again, but you did remove Steinolf from this world, and for that I am thankful. 'Tis your favorite."

This oughta be a whopper.

She leaned down and took an object from one of the bags, not the Victoria's Secret one.

Cage, who was closest, took the object from her, looked at it, then laughed out loud. "Yep, it's your favorite, Max." Then he paused in a ta-dum manner.

"Chocolate body paint."

Amping up the ammunition… uh, temptation…

Hilda stomped away from her metal keep toward Lizzy's metal keep.

The lout watched her progress, to ensure her safety, he'd said. No doubt he did so with that incessant frown on his face… or a grin. 'Twas ever one or the other with him.

He was sorely mistaken if he thought she was going to stay there and prepare for the birthday celebration with him watching over her shoulder, making observations on every little thing. The lip gloss, which he'd deemed unnecessary. The white silk pant-hees, which he'd wanted her to model for him.

The tight black braies which he'd called slut jeans, even before she'd put them on. Slut had been lying on the bathing chamber floor at the time, splattered out like a rug, and had growled at his master's apparent insult. Hilda was beginning to realize that Slut was not a proper name for a dog… or a woman.

She knew he just teased her, and he was just as uneasy as she about this unwanted attraction they both suffered from, and he was genuinely concerned about her safety, though she failed to see the immediate threat. Of a certainty, there was no need for Torolf to give her an irksome list of orders, as if she was a witless child. "Do not talk to any strangers." "Do not tell anyone you have time-traveled." "Do not mention the eleventh century." "Do not discuss the mudslide and your stay in the hospital." There were so many "do nots" she could have screamed. And when he'd said, "Do not flirt," she'd had enough and picked up the parchment sack with her new clothing inside, declaring she would go to dress with the other women.

Lizzy opened the door at Hilda's knock. "I'm so glad you decided to dress with us. I can't wait to get my hands on that hair of yours."

"Torolf was being a horse's arse."

"Enough said!" Linda peeked out of the bathing chamber.

When she got closer to the bathing chamber, she saw that another woman was in there with Tissie. That woman, who had seen no more than twenty winters, if Hilda guessed correctly, was sitting on the closed seat of the privy, with Tissie applying a flesh-colored, hiding lotion to her face. Her one eye was blackened, and there was a cut on her bottom lip.

It must be Jolene, the abused woman they had mentioned earlier. That fact was soon borne out when Lizzy said, "Hilda, this is Jolene. It took a lot of convincing, but she's going to come with us tonight."

Hilda assumed that the brutish husband must have left… for now. Otherwise, she misdoubted that he would allow the girl out of his sight.

Jolene looked up at Hilda through green eyes reddened from tears. Her black hair was lank and straight. Her petite body was broom-thin.

"Good tidings!"

"Hi!" the girl responded.

Hilda could not help herself. She knelt down in front of the girl and took her in her arms. "Oh, sweetling, in my country I have a sanctuary for women just like you. I cannot tell you how many times I have welcomed women with pain in their eyes… pain usually caused by brutish men. I will help you."

The girl's tears soon soaked her neck as Hilda made soothing noises. This country may be different than hers, this time period might be different than hers, but this one thing Hilda understood: Women needed other women to survive bad men.

Once the tears stopped and warm cloths held over Jolene's eyes to reduce the redness, they all dressed and got ready to go. It took them two hours, but what a picture they made when they all piled into Tissie's red Jeep and drove to Fire Hall.

Jolene's bruises were still visible, but not so much as before. With some face paint and hair ornaments holding her hair off her face, she looked very pretty and younger than her age.

Hilda had also undergone an amazing transformation. Her hair had been curled with hot rollers, and subtle paint had been applied, giving her face a natural glow. And blessed Frigg, her eyelashes were so thick and long now, she could scarce lift her lids. She wore the tight black slut braies that Torolf had commented on, and it had taken her lying down on the floor and sucking in her stomach to get the zipper pulled up. She had no idea how she would manage if she had to relieve herself during the evening. As for her upper attire, the only word that came to mind was wanton. She would have never worn the busty-air, which also required her to suck in a deep breath, if not for the sure knowledge that Torolf would disapprove. In the end, she'd lost her courage and would not wear it unless covered with a sheer white blouse studded with gold stars, which she tied at the waist. It was still wanton, in her opinion.

A box inside the horseless carriage box was playing loud music, something about rolling stones and satisfaction.

Tissie, who sat with Hilda in the backseat, glanced at her and smiled.

"Sweetie,

you look hot!"

"Will Torolf think so, too?" Hilda realized that she was starting to care too much what Torolf thought of her.

"Oh, yeah! Him and every other male in the hall."

"Good," she said, but what she thought was, Am I pushing the bounds of decency just to make a point with the lout? Am I playing a fool's game here, and me the biggest fool of all?

Just when you think you've figured women out… Bam!…

"She's driving me crazy."

Cage didn't even have to ask him who he meant. "Good crazy or bad crazy?"

"Definitely bad." He took a long swig of beer from his glass. There was a keg behind the bar on which he and Cage leaned at the local fire hall. The place was all decorated with crepe paper and balloons for Spike's party. He and Cage had been among the first to arrive, but people were streaming in steadily, many arriving on motorcycles if the rev of motors outside was any indication.

Serenity, who was in the kitchen fussing over the food to be served, had invited more than a hundred guests.

The five-piece band, in cowboy gear, was tuning its instruments as Spike came up to them. "Damn, I need a beer," he said, waving to the bartender.

"Happy birthday, big boy," Torolf said.

"Thanks, but I don't think there's all that much to celebrate. Lose hair, gain weight, piss more, have sex less. What's to celebrate? This is all Serenity's goofball idea."

"Hey, I hear she bought you a gift at The Horny Toad," Cage mentioned.

"No kidding?" Spike grinned. "Maybe this birthday business won't be so bad, after all."

JAM and Geek came in then and told them that Pretty Boy insisted on coming alone. They all had beers in hand, and the band was playing Hank Williams Jr.'s "All My Rowdy Friends Are Coming Over Tonight," when Pretty Boy strolled in.

"You are freakin' unbelievable!" Torolf told Pretty Boy.

"What?"

"Who wears a silk T-shirt and a sport coat over designer jeans to a fire hall?

And where the hell did you get those creases in your jeans? Don't tell me you iron?"

The others began to razz Pretty Boy, too, with remarks like, "You're a freakin'

Brad Pitt." "Is that mousse in your hair? Or snot?" "You smell good enough to eat, boy. Oops, I guess that was your goal, huh?" "You so pretty, y'all could make a gator sigh, yes."

"Hey, we're talking tattooed and pierced women here. Gotta pull out all the ammunition if I'm gonna be the first one to strike pay dirt." Good ol' Pretty Boy. Always playing the odds.

"First? Says who?" Cage jabbed Pretty Boy in the arm.

Soon they were all placing bets on the bar as to who got lucky first, and then arguing over what specifically and graphically denoted lucky. Despite the teasing, Torolf opted out. "That's all I need, to go off with some woman and leave Hilda here alone to fend for herself. She'll feel out of place."

"I doan know 'bout that," Cage said with a big grin.

His other buddies looked in the direction Cage was staring, along with other men in the hall. One by one, grins passed over their mouths like the wave in a college football stadium.

"Hot damn!" JAM said.

"Wanna borrow my silk T-shirt and jacket?" Pretty Boy inquired too generously.

Then they all looked at Torolf, just waiting for his reaction. I have a feeling I am not going to like this. The band launched into a loud version of Toby Keith's "How Do You Like Me Now?" which was really appropriate, Torolf realized, as he finally turned around.

Hilda came in with her new friends… a Hilda so far different than the one he'd known back in the Norselands he hardly recognized her… in fact, far different even than the one he'd seen leaving the trailer earlier tonight. And, oh, yeah, Toby, I like her now. A lot.

She'd poured herself into a pair of tight black jeans, which showed off her exceptionally long legs. On top, she had some kind of black bustier thing, which was visible through the sheer white blouse she wore over it. The most amazing transformation was her hair and face. Her long blonde hair had been curled and blown so that it looked like one of those fantasy sex kitten spreads in Playboy…

the kind where the girl said she likes long walks on the beach and giving blow jobs. Her face had been made up to be all eyes and pouty red mouth.

She is so far out of my class now she won't give me a chance. Not that I want a chance, but if I did, she'd blow me off, and I don't mean blow job.

The other guys had already pushed themselves away from the bar and were practically tripping over each other to be the first to introduce themselves to Hilda's friends. Hilda ignored them and strutted up to him, chin raised defiantly, as if she expected him to say or do something offensive.

"You look great."

That took her by surprise. "You do not disapprove?"

"Not at all." Except it should be only for me… and in private. "Did you think I would?"

"Yea, I did."

And that's why you dolled up like this, isn't it? To annoy me? Well, guess what, cupcake? I'm likin' it.

"I can hardly breathe." She put one hand over her flat tummy and another over her bustier.

His heart began beating so fast he could almost hear it, like it did in the middle of some high-tension live ops. "I can hardly breathe watching you hardly breathing."

She tilted her head in question.

"You turn me on."

"I do?"

"Always."

"What does it mean? That I turn you on?"

"You arouse me."

"Oh."

"I'd say that outfit, especially the bustier, is my second-best rig on you."

"You know what a busty-air is?"

He grinned. "Honey, all red-blooded men know what a bustier is. Likewise garter belts, fishnet stockings, and stiletto heels."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Suffice it to say, you are the hottest woman in this room."

"And the best is what?"

It was his turn to say, "Huh?"

"You said this," she waved a hand to indicate her attire, "was your second-best rig on me."

"Nothing, baby. Just bare skin."

He'd expected her to say something shrewish, like "lackwit son of a troll,"

and

storm away. Instead, she said, "You look good, too."

Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man! She is about to reel me in, hook, line, and sinker.

And do I care? Hell, no! "Yeah?" He didn't want to examine his elation too closely, or else he'd be forced to run like crazy.

She nodded. "But I still do not want you touching me."

"Did I say anything about touching?"

"Your eyes did."

"Hard to control my eyes, sweetie."

"See? You should not even be calling me sweetling."

"Why?"

"Dangerous."

"Dangerous to whom?"

"Both of us."

"Do you wanna dance?"

"You change subjects like a bird flitting from one tree to another. I can't dance."

"I'll teach you, like I did before."

"You mean that foresport business? Oh, that will tamp the danger down."

He loved the way she could make him smile, even when she was being sarcastic, even when he could swear that smiling was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

Taking her by the elbow, he steered her out onto the dance floor where the band segued into that old Ray Charles hit, "I Can't Stop Loving You."

Pulling her close, he arranged her arms around his neck, and he put both his arms around her waist. Her face was close to his, and his heart started racing like the repeat on a machine gun. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat! For just a second, he closed his eyes and relished the feel of Hilda's body in his embrace… the lightness of the fit. "Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss off that red lip gloss?"

Instead of making a disparaging remark, she confided, "It's strawberry flavored."

"I love strawberries."