by Casey Lane
Between laughs, Rod held out a hand and gestured for me to come forward. “Oh my God, this is just too perfect!” He laughed again, but quieter and shook his head. “Ah, you gotta love life’s little ironies.”
I didn’t know why I did it, but I tentatively took Rod’s hand and let him draw me in close. Maybe it was the sensual residue of the spell he’d just cast over me moments ago, or his strange bout of laughter, but whatever the reason, I also held back from punching him when he put his hands on my hips and drew me in even closer.
We were a breath from touching. Rod’s exotic cat eyes were glowing with an emotion I couldn’t name and his lips were quirking up in a rueful, adorable smile.
“I finally tell the woman of my dreams that I love her and she isn’t even listening.”
If he hadn’t been holding me up, I’d have fallen.
“Love me?” I repeated, astounded. “You can’t love someone after only knowing them for ten hours!” I hit him upside the head with an open palm, but not too hard because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or cause a concussion. “What’s wrong with you, are you some sort of whack job or what?”
Rod calmly captured my flailing hands. He pulled them behind my back and held them together with one hand around my wrists.
He lifted his brows. “Hmm, also not the reaction I was looking for when said woman finally listened.” He kissed me on my cheek while murmuring, “You’re right, though, Boudicca. I didn’t love you after knowing you for only ten hours.”
My relief Rod was not insane was short-lived when he smiled down at me. “It took me only ten minutes, but I waited this long so you wouldn’t think me impulsive.”
I snorted, but moved my head away when his lips touched mine. Undeterred, Rod pushed aside my damp hair and nuzzled my exposed neck. Shivers raced up and down my body while I tried to reach him with commonsense. We had to work and live together in tight quarters. I wanted us to remain friends.
“Rod, this is horniness you feel because I haven’t chased you like all the women you meet. You don’t know me well enough to love me. Love takes time to build up and is based on liking…and mutual respect.” I turned my head the other way to avoid his lips that made me lose my train of thought. “You shouldn’t kiss me there. What if we missed a spot of blood?”
He made a consoling noise, but didn’t stop sucking lightly on my neck and nipping my earlobe or maybe it was the other way around. Things were hazy. My back was arched and my succulent strawberries were being rubbed against his bare chest now, the flimsy T-shirt the only barrier separating our damp skin.
My breath was a little fast when I attempted to explain why love was a dumb idea. “I do like you, but this is bad timing. My God, think, man! I could be infected and dead in a few hours, our lives are completely screwed up right now, and you’re much too young for me.”
Rod’s mouth moved against my throat. “Mmm, said my illogical beloved that married a man twenty-five years older when she was only eighteen.” He leaned back and arched a brow. “Wouldn’t the psychiatrists have a field day with that one?”
I tried to pull my hands loose, but Rod’s hand tightened around my wrist.
“I’m flattered you think you love me, but I still love Lawson,” I stated firmly to convince Rod, not responding to his taunt about my marriage. “Please let me go, Rod.”
I stared fixedly at the super hero posters pinned to the wall over Rod’s broad shoulder to avoid staring at the fascinating, intricate black ink curving around the flexed bicep of his arm. Incredible muscles surrounded me everywhere. Rod was a big man, but up close, I was rocked by his powerful strength and sexuality. I swore every pore in his body oozed sex appeal.
“Of course you still love your husband, loyal Boudicca.” Rod’s hand caressed up and down my side. “I would never try and take that from you, but your husband is gone and we’re alive.” He gave me a little shake, but his voice was tender. “Look at me, Acadia.”
I slowly met his eyes, level with mine now that he was seated on the bed. “I don’t think I love you, I do love you. Horniness? Everything about you makes me horny, but after fuc…,’ Rod grinned at me after he hesitated and I could see the arrogant amusement in his eyes when he went on carefully, “after being a single man for many, many years, I know the difference. I don’t care if you’re older. What are you, thirty-eight or so?” He lifted a broad shoulder. “What does six or seven years matter?”
Unaccountably irritated at the reminder of Rod’s vast experience with women, I was about to correct his wrong assumption of my age when both of our cell phones rang and my Uncle Coop’s voice bellowed up the stairs, “Where is my niece and who the hell kicked in my door!”
I pulled away from Rod and grabbed the bag off the dresser.
Behind me, the golden-voiced pied piper commanded softly, “Acadia, say you love me.”
“I can’t! I still love my husband! You don’t know me at all! I’m too messed up inside!”
The frantic words sounded desperate even to me.
“Acadia, say you love me.”
Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and looked Rod in the eye.
“No.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Tread softly and carry a big stick; you’ll go far.” -Theodore Roosevelt
We were in the city of Lakeville, twenty-six miles due south of Minneapolis on I-35W.
I imagined the day had started as a typical Thursday morning. Families prepared for work and school, made lunches and walked their dogs. Many people probably only heard about the virus spreading across the Twin Cities when they had their first cup of coffee and flipped on the TV or scrolled on their phones. They had slept through the scattered news reports during the night and were slow to react this morning. Some people would not believe they were in any immediate danger, or some may recognize the danger, but not know what to do.
Liz was driving the Cadillac and I kept my eyes moving over all the traffic around us, especially behind us. Interstate 35W was straight ahead. Past the tall cement guardrails, I could see long lines of traffic. North and south, the pace was stop and go. It was hard to say if the traffic was caused by people fleeing or the constant road construction Minnesotans have to deal with on any major interstate until the snow flies. South of Lakeville, 35W had been down to one lane in either direction for months and was always backed up.
Hwy 50, the road we traveled across Dakota County, didn’t seem much busier than normal, despite the news reports from Minneapolis getting worse by the hour. More reports of the virus were springing up in other cities. The message was still to stay home and stay safe. A couple of local TV stations were now playing loops of emergency broadcast information, as were a few radio stations. Our phones had service, but texts had to be re-sent with more frequency, incoming messages were often delayed, and outgoing calls were getting circuits busy signals.
Liz tailed the big quarry truck as Bobby drove out of the parking lot at Gander Mountain. A couple more families had arrived on the farm while I was with Rod getting decontaminated in Coop’s shower. I was able to jiggle the work schedule to have Bobby replace the infected Johnny to drive the truck.
The road curved as we drove under the 35W overpass. I caught a glimpse of Rod’s blonde hair in the front seat of the quarry truck ahead of us. He was riding shotgun. I was happy for the reprieve from Rod’s presence, if not for the reason that it happened.
Our supply run to Gander Mountain in Lakeville had been wildly successful. We had arrived at their doors not long after they opened at 9:00 AM. I thought the place would be packed, but we were able to park in spaces right in the front. We left Bobby and one of the Martin’s sons, Danny, to guard the truck and Cadillac.
Liz went right to the firearms counter to validate her state permit and photo I.D. Once her federal background check was completed by the gun clerk, we could load up every rifle, shotgun, and handgun the brothers had ordered online last night from the store’s in-stock inventory. I wanted
to use Liz’s permit instead of mine because if the gun purchase were to be traced for any reasons, it was her home address on the sale and not King House.
T-bone, Rod, Liz, and I then proceeded to check off my lists and buy out the firearms super center with amazingly little competition and a lot of cheerful assistance from the store manager and his team.
Rather than leave the goods stacked in the store, we had agreed in advance to purchase our merchandise every time our four carts were filled and then load up the truck before shopping for the next load. My three fellow shoppers said this worked slick and took the attention off the massive amounts of merchandise we were buying. The men rotated the watch on the truck, and after we loaded the guns and ammunition, we shopped in every other department at Gander Mountain for over three nonstop hours.
Liz and I were at the back of the quarry truck, handing up the last bags to Danny from her cart. Rod and T-bone were finishing up their last sale at the checkout counter, backslapping with the young manager who had gotten up the nerve to ask the men if they were Rod Ramaldi and T. Bookerson Brown.
A white truck, a Chevy Silverado, slowly drove by us. The windows were tinted, but not so dark I couldn’t see the four men inside. Two men in their late twenties dressed in black MultiCam and dark sunglasses rode in the open bed in back. Their hands weren’t visible, but their heads were pointed in our direction while they coasted at a snail’s pace past our truck.
The Chevy pulled in across the wide aisle opposite us and parked. The men in the back stayed put, sunglasses on us.
Could be they were fascinated by Liz’s beauty, or maybe it was my new do. Liz had facetiously named it ‘Apocalyptic Angst’ when she first saw my choppy, short haircut. I had quickly hacked off my new, wet braid up in my bedroom before we left on the supply run. But no, as desirable as Liz and I were, my instincts said the men in black camouflage were scoping out the goods in the quarry truck.
I moved my cart casually to the left, so that Bobby would see me in the truck’s side view mirror from his spot behind the wheel. He nodded slightly; he was watching the men in the Silverado, too.
There had been plenty of other customers inside Gander Mountain during the time we’d shopped. We had exchanged brief, wary looks and tight smiles with those people, but it was quickly obvious we were all focused on getting what we needed and getting out. The four men inside the truck had not opened their doors yet.
Perhaps they were innocently discussing their shopping lists, but I was going to be proactive. It was a well-known fact men hated shopping. I didn’t want them to get any stupid ideas that they could skip their shopping experience entirely and simply hijack our full truck.
I kept my back to the white truck and said urgently, “Don’t look behind us, but we may have unwanted company. Liz, pass Danny your last bag and then return your cart to the store. Get Rod and T-bone out here.”
Liz had already handed the shopping bag to Danny and wheeled her cart away towards the store front doors before I was done talking.
I yelled after her, “You are worth your weight in gold, girl, and can be my bestie anytime!”
Her return laugh was carried away on the beautiful breeze.
I pulled my cart over and let it roll almost behind me. With the cart full of shopping bags as a barrier, I drew my gun while waving my right arm, as if gesturing animatedly while saying to Danny, “Okay, crouch down like you’re looking for a place to stuff that bag. Now move deeper into the truck out of the light and find some cover. Have your gun ready if those men come this way. If they point their guns, shoot first and ask questions later, alright?”
I didn’t know him well, but Kate Martin’s tall, husky son had inherited her brains, as well as her apple-cheeked looks, because he did as I asked without any show of fear or hesitation.
Instead Danny laughed loudly and said, “Hold your horses, let me find a place for this bag before you hand up the rest.”
He disappeared into the big truck and I pretended to adjust the bags in the cart. Without looking directly at them, I could see the men in the back of the truck hadn’t moved, but were still observing me and the quarry truck.
I pantomimed digging with my right hand frantically through the bags like I’d lost something. For me, it was one very tense minute later until Rod and T-bone pushed full carts out of the double doors. If they hadn’t pushed the carts with one hand, I might have thought they led a fun parade. They were surrounded by the store manager, four men employees, and Liz. All of them were laughing and talking.
Rod insisted the store manager and the employees didn’t need to help unload, so they continued to stand around and shoot the breeze with Rod and T-bone while we all quickly packed up the truck.
I grinned and shot Rod a half-appalled look when I realized he’d cleverly positioned the Gander Mountain people between us and the Chevy. I knew he saw me, but Rod’s eyes didn’t meet mine with the usual shared humorous sparkle. Since his declaration of love, Rod had been quiet and not saying much to me.
We were almost finished when Liz went over and got behind the wheel of the Cadillac. She backed out and came up alongside the employees, forcing them to step closer to the back of the quarry truck. The SUV provided another barrier that totally blocked us from the view of the men in the Silverado. The second Liz stopped, T-bone hopped up into the back of the truck beside Danny and then Rod slammed the doors shut.
Looking over his shoulder, Rod said in a clipped voice, “Acadia, get in the SUV and let me know if their truck follows us.” He grinned and touched his hat to the store manager and his employees. “I owe you guys. Don’t forget what I told you.”
They assured him they wouldn’t, said their excited goodbyes, and took off back into the store. I slipped into the back seat of the SUV while I wondered what Rod had told them they shouldn’t forget. He disappeared around the side of the quarry truck. A second later, Bobby started the truck and pulled out.
I looked over my shoulder, my eyes glued to the white truck getting smaller behind us. It was in the same spot when we left Gander Mountain’s parking lot and still hadn’t moved when we turned into the curve of the frontage road leading back to Hwy 50.
Once we were out of sight, I relaxed a little. When we passed under the bridge below 35W and drove through the congestion at the next few traffic lights with no problems, I relaxed even more. I texted Rod, but got the message to retry. I called him and got a busy signal.
“My phone’s not working.”
“Mine wasn’t either a few minutes ago.”
Liz and I both let out loud, impatient breaths at the same time and then we laughed together.
“Please tell me that you aren’t feeling any symptoms?” Her voice was level, but her glance in the rearview mirror was anxious.
Rod and Danny had ridden with us in the SUV to Gander Mountain, so this was the first time Liz and I had a chance to talk privately.
“I’m not.” I was feeling the lack of sleep, but not feverish or ill. It had been over four hours since my blood bath, and I was allowing myself to be optimistic I’d be fine. Oh my God, Liz and I were alone. If I turned while she was driving…“You don’t have to be nervous, I’d tell you the second I even suspected I had a headache.”
Liz scoffed, “Like I was worried you wouldn’t.” She bit her lip, and concentrated on her driving. “If anything, I’m selfishly worried how bored I’ll be on the farm if you turn into a crazy and I have to cut your head off.”
I smiled. After my narrow escape from getting bitten, I didn’t want to leave anything important unsaid, so I copied Bobby. “I love you, too, Lizzie Borden.”
My tough friend blushed slightly while she kept her eyes on the road and sniggered, “Oh hell, I suppose you want to take a selfie of us now?”
I laughed, and then turned around to watch the busy traffic for signs of the truck. My thoughts went back to Rod, as they had a dozen times since my uncle interrupted us in the bedroom. I was still blown away that Rod thought he l
oved me.
I was on edge that Rod would continue to press me after I told him no in the bedroom, but he hadn’t. He asked me only one, very odd question on the drive back to King House.
“Acadia, do you have Cheyenne blood running through your veins?”
“Gee, I wonder who told you that--Jane or Liz?”
Rod’s face showed a flash of surprise at my accusation, but he simply shook his head and smiled in satisfaction. As if I’d answered all his questions, he murmured, “Contrary warrior.”
I was sure he meant that in a general term, much like he called me Boudicca. But my great grandfather had been a full-blooded Cheyenne warrior. It was a racy family story how he had captured my great-great grandmother when she was fifteen during a raid on a white settlement out west in Montana territory, impregnated her, which I always assumed was the familial scrapbook revisionism of rape, and then they’d fallen madly in love, which left me not knowing what to assume about my family other than, ‘You had to be there.’
I did, however, have a clearer understanding of the word criticism. An old Indian proverb hung on my vanity mirror for years that quoted, “Never criticize a man until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins.” My ancestors were married for seventy years and died within a week of each other. They left their tribe and family to be together, and settled in Minnesota on the land my great-great grandmother had inherited and where Uncle Coop now lived.
Since his odd question, Rod hadn’t spoken to me unless it was about defenses or the supply run, but that didn’t mean he ignored me.
At King House, everybody’s worried eyes were on me as the countdown began to determine if I was infected or not. The worry turned to nervous concern after I chopped off my hair. I was happy to change clothes--I put on a sturdy sports bra this time, and quickly leave the farm.
