The Possibilities - Desire - A Collection of Short Stories (9 page)

Gillian watched him as she made her
way to the back of the bar.  He was a strikingly handsome man, and the
black eye patch gave him a rakish, dangerous look that sent shivers down her
back. He was actually kind of frightening.  Gillian was drawn to him like
a moth to a candle.  Right at this moment, she was convinced that Ranger
was the faceless man who haunted her dreams as she lay alone in her bed at
night, the flames of desire smoldering in her belly.

“Thank you for saving me,” she said,
slipping into a chair and pushing the Corona towards him. His one good eye took
in her tight, low cut jeans, her hard flat belly, the cutoff tee shirt, the shoulder
length deep auburn hair cascading in a cloud around her elegantly sculptured
neck, and her deep, sea green eyes.  Only after he had looked her over
carefully did his eye dart back down to stare at her small firm unfettered
breasts beneath the thin tee shirt.  She flushed, but she didn’t try to
hide the hardening nipples beginning to poke through the thin fabric of her tee
shirt…with a rush of heat, she realized she
wanted
 him to
look.  There was a terrifying mix of emotions inside her at the moment,
and she didn’t know if she wanted to run or throw herself at this walking
paradox.  Finally, he nodded and took her beer after finishing his own.
Half an hour later, frustrated Gillian left the bar.  The man known to her
only as ‘Ranger’ had never uttered a word.

She fumbled with her keys at the
door of her apartment, finally unlocking the door and stepping inside. There
had been no one else in the hallway, but she’d had the oddest feeling of being
watched. A quick perusal of the contents of her purse showed that her compact
had indeed been shattered, and she picked the bits of plastic and mirror out
before turning to get a can of cat food out of the cupboard for Whiskers, her
Siamese cat.  Whiskers was busy weaving between her ankles and rubbing up against
her leg…until the cat food was in his dish, at which time Gillian became
invisible.  She started the hot water running in her bath and walked into
her bedroom to undress.  All through the long soak she turned the
encounter over in her mind.  Even as her rational mind set alarm bells
ringing in her head, Gillian’s heart and body were not listening.

She lay in her king sized bed,
painfully aware of the empty space beside her, vacant since she had thrown her
ex husband out four years ago.

Every friend and family member
Gillian had warned her that she was too young to marry at seventeen, and only
her intent to file suit for emancipation had made her parents reluctantly sign
their permission for her to marry Jason the day after their high school
graduation.  She would only have had to wait two months for her eighteenth
birthday, but Gillian was an extremely determined young woman.

Even after the honeymoon was over
and the questioning jealousy began to spoil her marriage, Gillian held on to
the idea that she could change Jason.  She was very sensitive about his
miserable childhood and the loss of his mother at an early age.  It was
only much later that she learned that his mother had fled because of the
beatings administered by Jason’s abusive father.  After five years during
which Jason had beaten and abused her and continually refused to seek help,
Gillian had finally kicked him to the curb.  She hadn’t dated since she
threw him out.

Gillian had thrown herself into her
work, obtaining her Bachelors Degree by attending night classes at the local
university while working full time during the day. It had meant living tight,
and giving up any sort of social life, but she had done it.  Getting the
degree had earned her a massive promotion at work, and she had rewarded herself
with a late model used Harley Davidson Softail.  Motorcycles were the
shared interest that had tied her to Jason in the first place, and she had
retained her love of the big machines even when her love for Jason had
dissolved.  The ride back from the biker bar hadn’t helped in her
unsettled frame of mind, the rough vibrations of the motor contributing to the
heat between her thighs.

Gillian willed her eyes closed as
she lay on her back.  Moments later, they popped open again.  Getting
up and walking to her living room she checked the thermostat. 
Seventy-four degrees.  She turned the control down and returned to her
bed, leaving the covers off.  Unable to get comfortable, she tossed and
turned.  Her nightgown clung to her, her nipples rising against the subtle
pressure of the fabric, Gillian again stood up and tossed the nightgown to the
floor.

She lay back in the bed, luxuriating
in her nudity, stretching much the same way as Whiskers did when he was
settling down for sleep.  Fifteen minutes later she was staring at the
ceiling again, her fingers inching towards her center.  It was no
use, she knew what she would have to do to get any sleep at all tonight. She
opened the drawer of her bedside table and withdrew her battery operated
buddy.  Switched on, the comforting hum of the device lulled her and the
image that had unsettled her to begin with rushed to the forefront of her
mind.  She could feel the day’s growth of stubble as he kissed her, and
his patch was not intimidating as he rose above her in her fantasy.  His
fierce and dangerous demeanor changed to something else, something deliciously
wicked as her mind and the electric device transported her to another plane of
existence.

BRIGHT NEW DAY

The bright light of day told her
that she had slept late, but it wasn’t important because today was
Saturday.   She stretched languorously, relishing the slightly
decadent pleasure of awakening nude and unfettered.  Childishly aware of
the impropriety of running around nude in the house (
oh my, aren’t we being
wicked
), she padded to the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. 
She looked through the kitchen window and saw her good looking neighbor
emptying his trash (
maybe he’ll look through the kitchen window and see me
naked
).  Astounded at the thoughts running around in her head,
thoughts the like of which she hadn’t experienced since she was a teenager,
Gillian decided that a long ride in the country would clear her head.  The
sweeping curves of the lake road would be perfect.

Still filled with an odd feeling of
wildness, Gillian slipped on a fresh pair of ultra low rise jeans she had
ordered online.  They fit very tightly and comfortably on her slender
body, but they were a little more daring than she had intended. Above the
fastener sprouted a small forest of auburn curls.  On a whim, she decided
to wear them anyway and slipped into her bathroom to shave.

Looking in the full length mirror,
Gillian was glad she had decided on daring. The jeans looked sexy as
hell.  Eyeing her small firm breasts, she decided to forego the short
sleeved midi shirt she had selected earlier and reached into her closet for the
unadorned leather vest that hung near the back. She slipped it on and then tied
a bandana around her long hair, letting it fall free in the back. Kicking on a
pair of shortie boots, she carried her coffee cup with her to the garage where
she kept the spotless purple and white Harley.

Wheeling the big bike out into her
driveway, she took her time wiping down the spotless bike with a soft cloth she
kept in one saddlebag.   Out of the corner of her eye she saw the
neighbor staring at her.  It pleased her, and she got a perverse kick out
of his wife coming out to fuss at him for doing it. The woman was still making
disapproving noises as she herded him back indoors.

Giggling, Gillian drained her coffee
cup and took it into the garage and set it down.  Drawing on her gloves,
she started the shiny bike and slowly motored down the driveway and out into
the street.  Free at last!

All her problems took a back seat when
she was riding, especially when she was riding as she was now, along the
water.  The years with Jason, the altercation at the bar last night, even
her gorgeous and dangerous looking rescuer, everything was behind her when she
had the wind in her face.  The winding, soaring turns of the lake road,
perhaps thirty miles from the beach, was one of her favorite rides, though she
usually stopped about halfway around the huge impoundment and headed home or to
one of the biker gathering spots on the beach. Today she was in the mood to
explore.  Just a little further than she usually traveled, she saw a
gorgeous little hardpan road that fed off the main road.  It was overhung
with giant water oaks and Spanish moss hung down thickly over it, creating a fairy
tunnel that looked like the doorway to a different dimension.

Unable to resist the lure of the
fascinating tableau, Gillian throttled down and turned into the green and gray
tunnel.  As soon as she entered the road she began to catch a whiff of
honeysuckle.  Motoring along in first gear, she soon burst out the other
end of the row of oaks and found the source.  Wild honeysuckle grew in
profusion along the old wire fences on either side of the road, which stopped
abruptly in a clearing occupied by an old and shabby concrete block
house.  It looked clean, and none of the windows was broken.  There
were no rusting cars or trash in the yard, which was more wild grass and
palmettos than anything else, and there were no blinds or curtains, indicating
to her that the place was empty.  When she turned off the Harley, she
could only hear the buzzing of insects and the twitter of birds.  The
place was far enough off the road that she didn’t even hear the sound of cars
passing by on the road. She
could
hear the sound of a powerboat, far out
on the lake.

Peeling off her gloves, she walked
over and peered inside, the front window, seeing nothing inside indicating the
presence of people.  She turned on the porch, and noticed that the house
was located at the end of a long, narrow lagoon that necked down to a narrow
channel curving out into the lake. You could swim in the lagoon and no one from
the lake would be able to see you.  In her weird frame of mind, another
freaky idea struck her, and she raced down to the rickety old dock.

Exhilarated, she stood on the dock
and stripped off her vest and jeans, kicking off her boots and stepping off the
near end of the dock into the cool clear waters of the lagoon.  As she
swam out into the lagoon, the water was so clear she could see the sand boiling
at the bottom and realized that she was in a giant spring that fed into the
lake…which explained why the water was so much cooler out here in the deeper
water.  It was a very weird and kind of exciting feeling, skinny dipping
outside in the bright sunshine.

Gillian felt renewed, and the joy
that she had been missing in her life had come back.  For the very first
time since she had gotten rid of Jason she felt as if she was in control of her
life.  She stood on the rickety old dock and dried herself in the sun,
feeling no rush to put her scanty clothing back on until she was fully
dry.  Her hair was still damp, but she tied the bandana around it, knowing
it would be really frizzy by the time she got home…and she could care less.

Before pulling back out on the main
road, she stopped at the end of the road to write down the address off the
mailbox. The last name on the box was Burns, and it didn’t ring any bells in
her memory.  A friend of hers, Cindy Tramm, ran a realty company, and
could check the property out for her.  Gillian shouldn’t have any problems
financing the place if it was for sale.

MYSTERY SOLVED

“It just came out of Probate,” Cindy
told her, “and it’s owned now by a Staff Sergeant Sawyer Burns.  I can
give you a local telephone number, I got it from the Court Clerk, but it’s not
on any of the local listings.  Sorry I couldn’t come up with better news
for you.”

“Thanks Cindy, you’ve been a big
help,” Gillian said into her cell phone, “It’s really not much of a place, but
I felt so comfortable there.”  She smiled to herself as she remembered her
afternoon there.  There was no answer at the number Cindy had given her,
and impatient, Gillian had emailed a friend at the Police Department and asked
her to check a city criss cross directory.  Shortly thereafter, she got a
response with the information she had requested.  The number came back to
an Avery Burns at an address near her home. She put the address in her purse
and decided to stop by on her way home from work.

The house was an older one, though
it bore a fresh coat of paint, a new roof, and new screens on the windows.
There was an old 60’s model pickup truck in the driveway, one that had
obviously been well cared for over the years.  Parked in front of it was a
brand new Harley Davidson Heritage Softail Classic.  It was a gorgeous
bike, and it looked as if it had just come off a showroom floor.  Whoever
owned it obviously loved motorcycles. There was a small metal badge on the side
of the gas tank, and a matching one in precisely the same spot on the other
side.  

She was staring at it closely, and
wondering what it represented when she heard footsteps behind her. 
Whirling around rapidly she found herself face to face with the one eyed man
who had figured so prominently in her private dreams lately. “It’s…it’s a
beautiful bike,” she stuttered.’

Maddeningly, he cocked his head to
one side, his eye more appraising than piercing this time.  For the first
time she heard him speak. “Why are you here?”  It was simple speech, but
his voice gave her the same thrill his appearance had.  It was quiet,
barely more than a whisper, but it carried.  It was low, confident, and
deep, the kind of voice a man who was used to being listened to.