On the Record- the Complete Collection

by Lee Winter

  Lauren slid into the wetness beneath her fingers. Catherine’s soft groan hit her hard. Looking into her lover’s blissful face, she began to slip her fingers in and out.

  “Imagine,” Lauren whispered, a taunting smile curling her lips, “that we’re back in that bed, and I’m making love to you right now. We never stopped. I’m all over you. My fingers, my tongue, my touch. I’m still against your back. My bare skin’s sliding against yours.”

  Her thumb nudged against Catherine’s clit and rubbed. That earned a choked moan.

  “You’re helpless to stop thrusting up against me. You don’t care how loud you are. Look at you, coming to pieces. You can’t hide how much you need it. How badly you want it. How desperate you feel.” Lauren’s lips pressed against her ear. “Look at that. Refined, cool, beautiful Catherine Ayers, a writhing mess.” Lauren pressed harder on her clit and thrust deeper into her. “It’s delicious, isn’t it? This feeling, on the edge. Like liquid and warmth and honey. It’s so exquisite, and you’re right there. Desperate for more. So desperate.”

  “Ah. Lauren… Oh.”

  “You’re mine, Catherine. God, I love you so much.”

  Catherine’s back arched off the blanket, and a flood of wetness coated Lauren’s hand as she tumbled over the edge. Her face was so unguarded, so vulnerable and beautiful, that Lauren’s breath hitched.

  After a few moments, Catherine’s breathing steadied. “Well,” she said, and regarded Lauren with a slow-curling smile. “I can certainly see why you like this tree. I believe it’s my favorite part of Iowa now.”

  Lauren’s immediate laughter died slowly at her burning look.

  Catherine ran the back of one elegant finger down Lauren’s cheek, heat and desire rippling across her expression. “My turn.”

  Chapter 10 –

  Butter Cows

  Iowa’s State Fair was a big, big deal. Catherine knew this because Lauren had told her so. Often. As had her brothers, father, and Meemaw over breakfast that morning, while pointing a gnarled finger at her as though daring her to disagree.

  Catherine wouldn’t dream of it. Well, not publicly.

  She had agreed to go for two reasons: one, to take Lauren’s mind off yesterday’s suit-shopping debacle; and two, attendance appeared to be mandatory.

  Catherine was sliding on her brown ankle boots when Lauren blew in like a hurricane, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail.

  “Hey. You still getting ready?”

  She rolled her eyes at the obviousness of the answer.

  “Well, don’t take too long. Can’t you hear the boys? They’re close to a riot.”

  It was hard to miss the honking from outside the window below, followed by booming masculine laughs.

  “I may have noticed your brothers’ impatience,” Catherine said. “Aren’t they working today?”

  “No working when it’s our family fair day. Although Dad has to stay home to finish off the mayor’s car. Meemaw can’t go anymore because it wipes her out. But I’m under instructions to take photos of the winning pickles, pork, apple pies, gourds, jams, corn, soybeans, and legumes.” She checked them off on her fingers.

  “Quite a list. I, for one, can’t wait to see the winning legumes.”

  “That’s what they all say. You know Meemaw used to win in some of those categories, so she’s got a competitive interest.”

  “It all becomes clear.” Catherine reached for her sweater, draping it over her shoulders.

  Lauren took one look at her. “Man, they’re gonna eat you alive.”

  “What is?” Catherine stood, tightened her belt, tucked her pale blue shirt into her jeans, then carefully turned up her sleeves.

  “Not what, who. The entire population of Iowa. You’re fancy even when you’re trying not to be.” She glanced up at her top. “If you want to blend in, it’s shirt out and sweater in the bag. This isn’t America’s Next Top Model. Gotta look relaxed.”

  Catherine pulled the linen blouse from her belt and tried to straighten the newly formed creases. “I can do relaxed.” She handed Lauren her pale blue sweater and winced as it was unceremoniously crammed into a backpack.

  “If you say so. But I’ve yet to actually witness it outside our home.”

  Catherine resisted the urge to offer a snide rejoinder. There was relaxed, and there was Iowa relaxed.

  “I dread to think what sarcastic little commentary is going on in your head right now, but I probably won’t like it,” Lauren said with a laugh.

  “You know me so well.”

  The car horn sounded again.

  “Oh boy,” Lauren said. “They’re sure desperate to be there.”

  “Why?” Catherine glanced at Lauren, who was stuffing her wallet into the navy-blue backpack. She looked spectacular even in old khaki shorts, a T-shirt, and a tractor cap. The tractor cap. She smiled when she recognized Lauren’s paint-spattered old favorite.

  “They’ve got some buddies they’re meeting at the Cantina bar. I gather much beer consumption will be involved.”

  “Can’t they do that anytime?”

  “Yeah. But it’s more fun there. It’s the atmosphere. Besides, they like being a little buzzed and then doing the grape stomp. It’s tradition.”

  “Tradition. Ah.” Catherine slid her purse into a chic tan handbag.

  “Nope. Leave the bag, take the purse. Or…” She pointed to her open backpack.

  “Who knew fairs had so many rules.” Catherine slipped the purse into her pocket and tossed the bag on the bed.

  “That’s the spirit.” Lauren shouldered the pack. “We’ll make a local out of you yet.”

  “No need for insults,” Catherine teased, and led the way down the hall. “Now, the main thing is we get to see that butter cow. I recall you listed it as a highlight of your early journalism career in Iowa.”

  Lauren followed. “You just love to remind me of that.”

  “Mm. I’m picturing you on that hard-hitting dairy-produce beat. Tradition is important, is it not?” She headed down the stairs.

  “You’re really annoying. You know that, right?”

  “I take my wins where I can. Especially since I’m going to a fair for the first time in my life.”

  “First time? Christ, what did you do all childhood long? Macramé? Chess?”

  “Bracing flans, remember. And dressage on the beautiful Spanish Andalusians at our local equestrian center.”

  “Yikes. Well at least you’re starting with the world’s best fair.”

  “So I hear. It’s not like any other one was turned into a musical.”

  “You butter believe it.”

  Catherine shot her a long-suffering look.

  “Puns are language’s lubricant.” Lauren grinned.

  “No, they’re grounds for a trial separation. And Iowan puns will end it all.”

  The honking outside turned into a long, low moan.

  “Do you think I could trial-separate from my brothers?” Lauren sounded wistful.

  “Excellent question. Why don’t you look into that?” Catherine suggested hopefully. She glanced around. “Are we ready? Apparently, I have a cow to meet.”

  Lauren groaned.

  Lauren’s excited brothers ditched them the moment they got through the gates. The price for that freedom was a promise to attend a tractor pull with them all later. Catherine gave an internal sigh of relief at their disappearing forms.

  The King boys, she decided, were like a liberal-arts student’s Starbucks order—tall, fat-free, slightly obnoxious, and best stomached in small doses. Catherine’s favorite King brother, however, remained the eternally absent Tommy. That must be some girlfriend he’d found.

  Lauren shook her head at the haste of her brothers’ exits. “I swear they’re not usually like this. They’re actually fairly normal.”

>   Catherine left that one well alone.

  “Okay, what do you want to see first?” Lauren asked.

  Catherine wondered whether saying beyond butter cows the State Fair held nothing of interest in her life. However, to be reasonable, she didn’t know that for certain without a closer inspection. Those prize-winning legumes could amaze and delight her.

  Her nose twitched at the smell of straw, livestock, and assorted frying foods. Catherine’s stomach clenched in horror at the latter. “What’s on offer?”

  “Animals and exhibits that way,” Lauren pointed. “Food over there. Thrill Ville that way.”

  “Thrill Ville?”

  “Thrills and skill games. There’s also a grandstand and speeches and stuff. A concert later.”

  “Speeches? As in politics?”

  “Trust you to home in on that. The Des Moines Register has its Political Soapbox, which usually attracts someone quirky with a view or two.”

  “Anyone interesting this time?”

  “Unlikely in a non-election year.”

  “Oh.” Catherine deflated. She’d have quite enjoyed pricking the bloated ego of a local blowhard. That was always fun. Who needed Thrill Ville?

  Lauren shook her head. “You’re probably the only person in America disappointed by the lack of politics at a fair. Come on. Let’s do a tour and see if anything else grabs you.”

  By late morning, they’d indulged in everything from a tractor pull and a chair lift to witnessing various prize-winning junior livestock. When they exited the Ag building, Catherine’s mind was reeling from the sights, cacophony, and rustic smells of the fare inside.

  “Well,” she said, sliding her sunglasses back on. “That was illuminating. I particularly appreciated the ‘How to Bootleg Your Own Bourbon and Whisky’ stall.”

  “Don’t forget rum,” Lauren added cheerfully. “They cater to all tastes.” She pocketed her cell phone with which she’d taken liberal snaps of winning vegetables for Meemaw.

  The legumes had been about as entertaining as Catherine had envisioned. “God forbid I forget the bootleg rum. But at least I got to see a particular miracle of fats and sculpting.”

  “Seen one butter cow, seen them all.” Lauren shrugged.

  “Not for me. That was my first. So, did it bring back memories of the glory days of rural roundups?”

  “You’re loving this, aren’t you?” Lauren folded her arms.

  “Possibly. But this is how we met. Me teasing you, you drowning in embarrassment.”

  “Okay, first, you never teased me, you attempted to slice, dice, and julienne me with your vicious little tongue. But I like to think I gave as good as I got. Don’t make me remind you of Craigslist.”

  Catherine’s stomach fluttered at that heady night. “I did appreciate your originality of placing a fake ad for an assistant for me. I quite possibly fell for you that day—not that I was aware of it at the time. But hindsight has been quite a revelation.”

  “You are kidding me.” Lauren’s eyes went wide. “But you were so mad at me that night! The crappy things you said to me!”

  “I was a little riled,” Catherine conceded. “Some days I wonder how long I’d have spent wallowing around at rock bottom if you hadn’t turned up to irritate me back into life.”

  “That’s…” Lauren shook her head. “Actually, it’s a little crazy.”

  “No, crazy is me at Iowa’s State Fair, on a quest for so-called ‘highlights.’” Catherine smiled but suddenly spun her head around, having the oddest prickling sensation, as if she were being watched. Her gaze shifted across the crowd, but she couldn’t see anyone paying attention to them.

  “Oh, please,” Lauren announced. “This is a cultural experience, and you know it.”

  “Really?” Catherine turned back to her. “Well, the hard-boiled eggs on a stick were a nice touch. I’d never have thought to combine the two.”

  “Failure of imagination, Ayers. Wait till you see what else they put on sticks around here.”

  Five minutes later, Catherine was staring at the unholy temple of fat-soaked hell. “Deep-fried cheesecake? Deep-fried Twinkies? Golden-fried peanut butter and jelly on a stick?” She gasped. “Fried fruit kabobs? Frying fruit? Fruit? That is…unspeakable.”

  Lauren laughed. “I know, I know. It’s part of the fun, okay? Not like we eat this way the rest of the year.”

  “Glad to hear it. Wait…” She squinted at a nearby stall. “Why are they frying butter? Oh, I get it—is this all part of some cunning anti-obesity initiative? Revolt the people into moderation? It could work.”

  “Sadly, no. But it’s not all bad. Look—apple tacos!”

  “Where’s the ‘not bad’ part?”

  “The apple part. It’s healthy.” Lauren laughed.

  “Ah. That explains the lack of a line.” Catherine’s eye fell to a crowd spilling out the doors at the Steer ‘N’ Stein. “Whatever they’re selling over there looks to be the most popular. I’m probably going to regret this, but I have to know what wins the hearts and stomachs of Iowans.”

  “There you go again, always getting to the bottom of all those hard-hitting mysteries.”

  “What sort of reporter would I be if I didn’t?” Catherine teased. They drew closer until she could see the sign. “Oh God,” she whispered. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Lauren craned her neck. “Pretty sure, yep.”

  “The Pork-Almighty. People’s Choice Award top-three finalist.” Catherine looked at the photo of a bowl of beer-battered twister fries covered with cheese sauce, smoked shredded pork, sautéed onions, green peppers, barbecue sauce, and shredded cheese. Cheese atop cheese. The mind boggled. The calorific sticker shock was not the most alarming thing, however. The bowl was stuck to the top of a large soft-drink cup. A straw ran from the fizzy, liquid-filled cup, through the middle of the food bowl, and out the other side. One could hold their food and drink all in one hand.

  “Wow.” Lauren blinked. “That’s design genius right there.”

  Catherine’s mouth moved, but she couldn’t find the words.

  “Want one?” Lauren asked. “It’s only twelve bucks. And on the plus side, you’d never have to eat for a month.”

  “To think I mocked the egg on a stick,” Catherine said dryly.

  “Okay, maybe it’s not for you.” Lauren drew her away from the crowd. “I can see you probably need a breather from all the exciting food on offer. So, let’s hit Thrill Ville.” She began to shake out her right arm. “It’s either that or the weeds-identification competition.”

  “Now I know you’re making things up. That can’t be legal.”

  Lauren grinned. “Weeds, not weed. Hey, do you like pandas?”

  Catherine’s head spun at the abrupt shift. “Who doesn’t like pandas?”

  “Good answer. Let’s go.”

  Lauren pushed her way through the packed food-and-drinks area, leading Catherine to a wide open space that contained a series of small, square, primary-colored tents, twirling rides, and screaming children. Machines spun, flung, then dropped people from a great height.

  “I’m sure our washing machine could do the same for cheaper,” Catherine said, aghast.

  “Did you really never do any of this as a kid?”

  Peering at the rides again, Catherine shook her head. “I think the difference between your family and mine is that we started out old and stayed that way, and you started out young and stayed that way.”

  Lauren’s glance was startled. “Okay, I know how it probably looks, but just give my brothers a chance. I swear they’re not normally this juvenile. I think you make them nervous. And they’re really excited—their big sis is getting married to someone semi-famous. Actually, it’s likely just the getting married part. They can be grown-ups when they have to be. Promise.”

  “Lauren, I
’m not judging your family—just stating a fact. I was expected to be an adult very young. You weren’t.” Catherine pressed her lips together at the unsavory reminder. “Let me put it this way: I know which family has more enjoyment in life. And it’s not the one that encourages little girls to perfect a dressage serpentine just because it sounds impressive to her mother’s friends. It’s the one that has a bunch of grown adults thrilled about Softball Sunday.”

  Lauren’s smile blossomed. “Ah. You know, it’s not too late to poke your inner kid into life. In fact, we’re in exactly the right place for it.”

  “I think maybe all this is a little more than my inner kid could handle on short notice. I’m still not over car drifting.” Catherine winced. “And you introduced me to that two years ago.”

  Laughing, Lauren said, “Good point. Okay, let me ease you into it. Wait right here.” She headed to a kiosk and whipped out her wallet. She jogged back, waving a pair of gaudy wristbands. “Right, we’re all set and loaded with credit. Now we have fun spending it.”

  She pointed to a bright yellow tent with rows and rows of stuffed toys. “And here’s our prey.”

  Catherine glanced at the back of the stall to see half a dozen thick brown bottles, stacked in a pyramid, which had to be knocked over. Six of these pyramids were set up, side by side. Not much of a challenge to that.

  As if reading her mind, Lauren nudged her and nodded toward a pair of boys at one side of the booth. “It’s not so easy. Watch them.”

  The children were given balls that appeared squishy and insubstantial, like a stress ball. How could they knock even one of the bottles over, let alone all of them?

  Each boy had a go at throwing the balls, but they bounced harmlessly off the bottles. The final attempt, done a little firmer, shifted a single bottle.

  “Sorry, kids,” the stall worker said. “Want another go?”

  They mumbled no, looking disappointed, and stepped back.

  Lauren moved forward and slapped a wrist band on the wooden counter. The man took one look at her and produced a long-suffering sigh. “Yes?”