WhiskeyBottleLover

by Robin Leigh Miller

  Hayes rolled away and let her sit up. “Sixteen?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but my mother and father both passed from illness shortly after we arrived here. A few women in the town looked after me but mostly it was up to me to survive. It didn’t take long to see what I had to do.” She grabbed her blouse, holding it over her bare breasts.

  “No point in hidin’ from me now,” he chuckled, gripping the thin material and jerking it away.

  “Have you eaten lately?” she asked, brushing the stray strands of hair from her face.

  “I haven’t.”

  “I’ll fetch you some food. You can stay here until I get back.”

  She quickly dressed and then hustled out of the tent. In short order she returned with a worn basket and crawled up onto the bed with him. They ate together in silence. When they finished she cleaned up the mess.

  “Where are you sleeping tonight?”

  Hayes grinned. “Under the stars, where every wanderer sleeps.”

  “You can stay here for the night,” she said, never making eye contact with him.

  “I’m much obliged. What can I pay you for the courtesy?” As if he didn’t know. It always went this way.

  Annie froze a moment and then turned. “Make me climax again,” she blurted out.

  No hardship for him. Hayes enjoyed her body, undressing her, listening to her breathy little moans, and when she finished she eagerly brought him release. As they recovered beneath the thin blanket he decided to make a proposition.

  “Come with me for the winter.”

  Annie went still. “What?”

  “I’m headed into the mountains for the winter. Come with me.”

  Silence filled the small tent. “Why?”

  “It gets lonely and I’d appreciate the companionship.”

  “And the free sex,” she added with humor in her voice.

  “Not so much free.” His hand slid across her bare tummy, up and then cupped her breast. “I would be feedin’ ya, keepin’ ya warm, taking care of ya. What would you have here?”

  She said nothing and he knew why. Her options here were bleaker than what he could offer. At least on the mountain she would have plenty to eat, a fire to keep her warm and more than a tent over her head.

  “What do you have to lose?”

  Annie rolled over, tucked her arm beneath her head and sighed. “You don’t know me, or I you. You could be a brute for all I know.”

  “Oh darlin’, I promise I will make you scream, but not from pain. Never pain. Only pleasure. Hurting a woman is for the weak man. I have confidence to spare.”

  Annie giggled. “Yes. You do.”

  “After I buy supplies in the mornin’ I’ll be headin’ to the hills to build a cabin and prepare for the winter. You’re welcome to join me, or stay to continue this life of emptiness. It’s up to you.” Hayes snuggled against her back and closed his eyes. He’d give her until morning to think it over.

  Before the sun rose she awakened him with a warm, wet kiss on his cock. Her sweet little mouth sucked him hard until he could no longer hold back and spurted his seed over his belly. Annie grinned with swollen lips as she wiped him clean.

  “I have money hidden to help buy supplies. Other personal items I’d like to take along. If you can wait until I return with them, I’ll go with you.”

  Hayes grinned, grabbing a fistful of her long brown hair. “You won’t be sorry. Oh, and since we’ll be living together. What’s your name?”

  “I don’t like my name. It brings back too many painful memories of loss. What would you like my name to be?”

  Hayes wondered about that but had all winter to learn her secrets. “Annie, you look like an Annie to me.”

  “Then Annie I shall be.”

  He spent the day bargaining for an extra horse, a broken-down wagon and basic supplies he needed to get through the winter. Annie took off, promising to be back by nightfall. He offered to ride along but she insisted she go alone. He spent the late afternoon in the saloon, drinking and waiting. By the time the first stars began to appear in the sky, he’d downed almost an entire bottle of whiskey.

  Stumbling out into the crisp evening, he wondered if she’d run into trouble. It wasn’t safe for a woman to travel alone. Too many brutes, as she called them. He’d seen his share of women in the hands of drunken, hateful men who showed their masculinity by beating someone weaker. Even put some hot lead into one.

  Hayes stumbled across the dirt road toward his horses and wagon. He’d wait for her. If she didn’t show by dawn he’d go looking. Where the hell to look he didn’t know. Annie didn’t give any clues as to where she was heading.

  “You look lost, my friend.”

  The deep, foreign-sounding voice came from the shadows. Hayes put his hand on the butt of his gun and froze. Damn the drink buzzing through his system. He wouldn’t aim straight if his life depended on it.

  “Easy. I’m just a man wallowing in his solitude like you. Come, have a seat with me and we shall commiserate together.”

  Hayes frowned as he inched closer to the voice. “Where you from?” he asked, only seeing the man’s silhouette. “You sound different.”

  He chuckled, a deeper baritone sound than Hayes had ever heard before. “I am a long way from home indeed.”

  Head spinning from the cheap alcohol, Hayes dropped down on the log beside the man. His dark skin nearly made him invisible in the night but his size was hard to mistake. “You’re a big sumbitch, ain’t ya?” He took another swig of his whiskey.

  Again the man chuckled. “I get my girth from my father and his father. We are unique even in my homeland.”

  “Huh, and where’s that?”

  “No place you’ve heard of I’m sure. So what do you seek on this quiet night?”

  Hayes couldn’t quite keep his brain in focus. “I’m waitin’ on my lady. She was supposed to be here before dark.” Maybe he should take a ride out and see what he could find.

  “You are a lucky man to have a woman. I have long wished for that myself.”

  More concerned about Annie than this man’s sob story, Hayes downed more of his whiskey and watched the road. “Plenty of women around, pick one,” he said absently.

  “It is not that easy. I cannot offer women what they need, unlike you, a man of the earth who can take care of such a precious gift.”

  “A man of the earth? What’s that mean?” Damn it, he wanted to be on the trail by now. Maybe she changed her mind, decided living alone with him wasn’t what she wanted.

  “You are mortal. I am not. I have been alive for over two hundred years and living confined to a bottle for most of my existence.”

  “Sure you have,” Hayes muttered. Hayes thought he sounded stupid drunk.

  “’Tis true.” The man picked up a bottle with a short neck and bulging body. In the dark it looked to be black but when it caught the moonlight he could see the dark-green glass. “My home.”

  “You want me to believe you live in that,” he said, pointing at the thing. Hayes barked a laugh that echoed in the darkness. “Stranger, you think I fell off the wagon yesterday? You’ve either had too much to drink or not enough.”

  “I know it must be hard for you to believe. Living this miserable existence limits a man with the knowledge needed to expand his horizons. Nonetheless, what I speak is true. I am a genie and this is my home.”

  “A genie? What the hell is that?” Hayes kicked back, entertained by the man’s fanciful stories. If he had to wait on Annie, might as well pass the time with some fun.

  “I grant wishes, my friend. Anything a being desires can come to be if they rub my bottle and release me.”

  Hayes half-assed listened as the man explained how it all worked. Every time he heard the whinny of a horse he looked down the road. No Annie. Where the hell could she be?

  “So if you have all this power why not make yourself free? Simple enough.” He had power all right, the power of the bottle. If this is wha
t drinking did to man, he should consider sticking to water.

  “Someone must wish for my freedom, you see. I can grant wishes to others but never myself. I will only be freed if I have someone to replace me.” The man leaned back, pulling his knee up to mimic Hayes’ position. “Who would want that much power to grant peoples wishes?”

  Hayes scrubbed his face with his hands. “If you can only come out of your bottle when someone rubs it, how the hell are you sittin’ here tellin’ me this foolish story?” The town doc should take a look at this guy. He was a few logs short of a stack.

  “I have one more wish to grant my master, but he is inside that place.” The man pointed to the saloon. “One wish before I am imprisoned once again.”

  “Tell ya what, Stranger.” Hayes got to his feet with his empty whiskey bottle in hand, ready to climb in the back of his wagon and sleep off the buzz until Annie returned. “I wish you were free and I’ll take your place. How’s that sound?”

  Suddenly his legs grew heavy, making it impossible to move them. Even his arms felt weighed down. The stranger stood and all Hayes could do was watch as the man towered over him, laughing with that deep, booming voice.

  Time stood still, the air stalled around him. In that moment Hayes knew he’d made a grave mistake. The man’s eyes glowed green in the darkness as a misty haze lifted from his body. Hell yeah, he’d made a huge mistake. Either he’d made a deal with the devil himself or what this man spoke of was true.

  “I thank you.” The stranger bowed as the greenish mist hung between them. “You have given me freedom and in return I give you immortality.”

  Hayes tried to shout, tell the man it was all a mistake, but he could barely breathe much less move. His eyes tracked the mist as it came closer, his heart racing so fast it hurt.

  “Tricked. Me.”

  “You will soon see it is the way of the genie. With the bindings comes knowledge. Use it wisely and to your benefit when you can.”

  The mist came closer. Hayes trembled beneath the heavy fear taking over his body. He didn’t want to live in a bottle. He wanted to live with Annie. Slowly, the cool cloud engulfed his body and with every breath it entered inside him. The leaden weights in his limbs lifted, replaced by invisible shackles at his wrists and ankles. He could feel the cold steel biting into his flesh yet saw nothing.

  “You will become accustomed to them,” the man said. “Eventually you will no longer notice.”

  “Make it stop,” he spoke between frantic pants.

  “I cannot. You made the wish. I simply granted it.”

  The whiskey bottle pulled from his hand, floated out in front of him and hung in the air. Hayes watched it carefully. This couldn’t be happening. None of this could be possible. He’d had too much to drink, that’s all. It happened before. He hallucinated strange, large, hairy animals walking on two legs in the mountains. Yeah, in the morning he’d wake up with a headache and dry mouth.

  “I wish you luck, my friend,” the stranger said and then turned his back and walked away.

  “No!” The last of the mist absorbed into him. Even with the weight of the shackles, he felt himself lighten as if his body didn’t exist. The cork of the whiskey bottle popped out, dangled in the air and then he felt himself being sucked inside. “No!”

  Chapter Two

  Present day, central Pennsylvania

  “I’ll give you twenty bucks for the box.” Chance Cook enjoyed haggling over the price of a box full of odds and ends. It got her blood pumping and the juices flowing. Untold treasures could be found in boxes like this.

  “Thirty,” the woman counteroffered.

  “Twenty-two and not a penny more. You know as well as I do the stuff in here isn’t worth that much.” God, she hoped she was wrong. All she needed was one little item made of gold or inlaid with a diamond and she’d make her money back plus profit.

  “Okay. Twenty-two.”

  Chance handed the money over, picked up the box and headed toward her car. She had one more stop to make this morning and then she could return home and go through her treasures. Her old Honda was packed to the gills and Chance had to push and shove to get the box inside. If she found something significant at the farm sale she was out of luck.

  After punching the address for the sale into her GPS, she set out on the forty-five-minute drive. It was barely eight thirty in the morning and she’d already hit two yard sales. But making a living off other people’s junk meant getting started early before the good junk was gone.

  Sometimes she got lucky and found valuable items that she sold on the internet, making enough to pay her bills for a couple of months. The rest she repurposed and sold in her little shop, The Treasure Trove. She certainly wasn’t going to get rich but she lived a comfortable life and that’s all she wanted.

  Chance turned off the main road as directed by her GPS and headed down a country lane lined with colorful trees. Fall was her favorite time of the year with all the color. You couldn’t beat the warm temperatures during the day and crisp nights that made for comfy sleeping.

  The tiny little house she bought a year ago wasn’t anything fancy but it was sound, warm and perfect. Out back she had a little barn where she did most of her work and kept her items before taking them in to the shop. Yeah, life had done a one-eighty for her and she couldn’t be happier.

  Up ahead the farm came into view, its quaint appearance disheveled by about twenty cars parked in the yard. Maybe she should have come here first. All the good treasures were surely taken by now. She found a spot to park, slid from her car and breathed in deeply, enjoying the fresh fall air. Leaves crunched beneath her feet as she hurried toward the house.

  Several people who’d already purchased their lot passed. Chance tried to ignore what they carried. No point in becoming depressed over items she missed. She had to concentrate on what had been left behind for her. Shoving her hands into her jacket pockets, she scanned the tables as she meandered by. Knickknacks, a box of buttons, odds and ends, kitchen supplies, some unique picture frames—it all turned the wheels inside her head.

  Unfortunately she already had a store full of this sort of thing. Buying more would be senseless. No, she needed to find items that popped, something that would feed her creative mind. At the end of the house she saw some old boards stacked along with a few wooden spools. That’s what she wanted.

  With her sights set on what would be seen as garbage to others, Chance hustled over, bumping the edge of a table with her hip. An old glass bottle jostled and fell to the ground. She picked it up, ready to set it on the table when a strange current flowed up her arm and tingled in her shoulder. It didn’t hurt but it did pique her curiosity.

  More focused on the pile of junk that could be made into money, she shrugged it off, set the bottle back on the table and continued on with her mission. Kneeling down beside the wood stack, she lifted planks and made sure they weren’t rotted. A little worn but this old lumber could still be used and make some beautiful furniture. Maybe a few Adirondack chairs, an end table or two. The spools had potential as well. Put some wheels on them, some paint and a few dowels and a person had a cool bookshelf. She even had a light fixture she could add.

  “Now why would a pretty lady like you be interested in this pile of junk?”

  Chance looked up at the old man. His silvery-gray hair shimmered in the morning sunlight and his smile, laugh lines and all, conveyed a friendliness that made her grin. “You see junk,” she answered, standing and brushing her hands off. “I see a million ideas. How much for the pile?”

  The man rubbed his chin and then scratched behind his ear. “Well, I hadn’t really planned on selling it. Figured I’d have a bonfire.”

  Horror speared through her at the thought of this magnificent old wood being set ablaze. She actually made a strangled gulping noise. “Oh please don’t do that.” His warm chuckle eased her panic slightly.

  “For the life of me, I don’t know what you’d do with this stuff, but if you wan
t it, it’s yours. Thirty bucks for the pile?”

  “That sounds fair.” Chance held out her hand and shook on the deal. “I’ll have to come back for it with a truck. Promise you won’t cook any marshmallows ’til I get back?”

  “You have my word. Anything else you’d like while we’re at it?” He swept his hand through the air, motioning toward all the other goods for sale.

  “I’ll have a look around.” Chance made the rounds but didn’t find anything that struck her fancy. As she made her way back to the pile of lumber she spotted the old bottle once again.

  Wrapping her hand around the neck, she picked it up and instantly that warm current of something zipped up her arm. Not an unpleasant feeling, simply odd. The cloudy glass made it impossible to see clearly through and the cork didn’t seem to want to come out. Still, she could tell it dated back to at least the eighteen hundreds.

  “You like old bottles?” an older woman asked.

  Chance smiled. “I like everything old.” She turned the bottle over, admired the way the glass swirled at the bottom and decided it might look charming on her kitchen windowsill with a few fresh flowers in it. “How much?”

  “One dollar?”

  “Sold.” She paid the woman, tucked the bottle into her jacket pocket and made arrangements with the gentleman to pick up her lumber.

  Eager to get home and borrow the neighbor’s truck, Chance rushed to her car, tossed the bottle on the passenger’s side floor and forgot about it. The next three hours consisted of running to the neighbor’s, undergoing twenty questions about why she needed the truck, returning to the old farm, dropping her lumber at her barn and then returning the truck, followed by another twenty questions. When she pulled up in front of her shop she felt as though she’d already put in twelve hours of work.

  “Wasn’t sure you’d make it in today.”

  Jenny Marshal, a seventy-eight-year-old woman who kept after the shop for her, sat outside in the warm sun in an unsafe lawn chair. She and Jenny had adopted each other when Chance first opened the place. Jenny would wander in every day, look things over, chat, tell a few stories and, before Chance knew it, had become a confidante. Jenny had become the closest thing to a grandmother Chance ever had.