by Advocate
RJ shifted to face the trucker fully and after pouring the coffee, braced her elbows on the white, slightly coffee-stained Formica countertop. She sipped her coffee and when she was completely sure she had Leigh’s undivided attention, which, in truth, she’d had from the moment she walked in the door, she pointed to her own eye and mouthed, ‘You okay?’
Leigh’s fingertips grazed the bruised flesh on the side of her face, but she smiled back and nodded her head. It was tender but not excruciating. I’d be more okay if you were sitting in my lap naked. God, I love butch.
RJ winked and then turned so she could yell through the serving window to Pete, who was still fiddling with an ice pack.
"Just so you’ll know, at this rate her eye will be healed and her grandchildren will be grown before you get that back out here," she tormented, stealing a piece of bacon off one of the plates a hefty black woman had slid forward through the service window for Mavis.
Leigh sucked in an appreciative breath. Now that her head wasn’t spinning from the impact of the door, she could for the first time truly hear and appreciate the sweet Irish lilt that laced RJ’s words.
"Fitz!" Mavis barked, automatically adding more bacon to the plate in her hands. If RJ had been anywhere near it, the waitress knew it would come up short. "Take yourself outside and find something useful to do. Don’t be in here causing more trouble." Mavis’ warning was said in such an aggrieved, mothering tone that it caused the young couple in the booth near the door to cover their mouths to hide their sniggers at RJ’s scolding.
"I’d like to know what I did the first time." RJ crossed her arms over her chest, obviously waiting for an answer. "It’s not like it was my fault that she got hit in the face with the door."
"Fitz, out!" This time the order came from the group of men playing dominoes.
RJ shot the rusty codgers a dirty look. "I’m going. I’m going. I know when I’m not wanted." She pulled a soft cotton cap from her back pocket and tugged it onto her head, her wavy, collar-length locks sticking out in wild directions in the back. "I’ll just go out back and play with a very sharp ax."
She grabbed a pair of well-worn leather gloves from her other back pocket and slipped one on. When she walked passed Leigh, she grinned and flashed the fairer woman a heart-stopping smile. "Hope that eye feels better, miss. I’m sorry I can’t stay and chat, but as you can see, I’m being kicked outta here on my arse."
Leigh couldn’t help but laugh along with the other diner patrons. She had never actually heard someone with such a charming accent. .. . She smiled at RJ and the tall woman disappeared out the door.
Pete returned from the kitchen with an ice pack and a delicious-smelling plate of food, which he slid in front of Leigh. "There you go, young lady." He sheepishly gestured at Leigh’s face. "I really am sorry about that."
"It’s okay." Leigh shrugged, her mind more on RJ than her conversion with Pete. "These things happen."
* * *
RJ peeled off her shirt and tossed it onto a picnic table, leaving her clad in a white men’s sleeveless undershirt. Her pale, slightly freckled skin instantly warmed in the strong morning sun and she sighed contentedly, rolling the shoulders that were now free from any constriction. Then she moved to the old stump where a long-handled ax was buried and yanked it free. Next she picked up a one-foot maple round that needed to be split so it could be used to fire up the open-pit barbecue later in the week.
Forest-green eyes flicked up and stared at the diner. She could see inside through the open, back screen door and had a perfect view of Leigh’s left leg. To RJ, it seemed that the vibrant woman was having a good time, drinking her coffee and devouring her breakfast. And so what if I can only just a little bit her leg and foot? It’s a very expressive foot!
Without looking, RJ drove the blade of the ax directly into the center of the round, chopping it neatly in half. Years of chopping wood had made it second nature, and she proceeded by rote, her mind wandering as she picked up one of the half-rounds and placed it back on the stump to be split again. Right now, her thoughts were wandering all over a certain petite, blue-eyed blonde trucker. Just like her hands were itching to do. RJ moaned. Loudly.
Flea shuffled around the side of the building and flopped down in the shade of a large tree. She yawned and began licking her paws as her piercing yellow eyes watched RJ chop wood. Flea was glad she wasn’t human. Too much work. Losers.
RJ finally looked down at her four-legged companion and cocked her head to the side. "All right. I admit it. She’s a nice looking dame. Too bad she’s not –"
Before the woman could continue her conversation with the cat, Leigh came around the side of the building with her backpack slung over her shoulder. She marched right up to RJ, allowing her eyes to sweep the length of the taller woman’s lanky frame.
Leigh’s admiration of RJ’s body was so frank and unabashed that RJ actually felt her cheeks heat as she lifted her ax for another swing. Lord! I don’t feel this exposed in my own birthday suit!
The blonde woman smiled, pleased at the sweet flush covering RJ’s face. "Excuse me, but umm, Pete said there was an actual shower I could use around here somewhere?" Her tone was doubtful, though she had no real reason to mistrust Pete. He had given her a free breakfast, and in the great pecking order of life that put him just below her dead father and above everyone else.
RJ completely missed the half-round and, instead, buried the blade into the stump the maple block was sitting on. She groaned inwardly, thinking she was lucky she hadn’t cut off her foot. She pushed back her supreme embarrassment, outwardly projecting an air of total confidence and serenity. RJ jerked a thumb toward the ax and said casually, "I meant to do that."
Leigh glanced down at the ax that was imbedded at an odd angle, nearly shaving off the outside edge of the stump. "I’m sure you did," she said seriously, all the while wrestling the smile from her face.
RJ pulled a white handkerchief out of what Leigh was beginning to suspect were bottomless back pockets and wiped her forehead.
"Shower?" Leigh reminded.
"Oh, yeah, right in there." RJ tilted her head toward the building next to the diner. "It’s the old garage. You won’t find anyone lurking about in there unless it’d be George working on that clunker automobile of his. And I don’t think he’s here today. But there’s a full shower in the back and a rack of clean towels besides. Help yourself."
Leigh smiled and adjusted the pack on her shoulder. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask RJ on a date or to join her in the shower. One or the other. Hell, she’d never been shy around women and her gaydar was pinging so loudly when it came to RJ she was surprised she could still see straight. So to speak. "Thanks. Will um –" Leigh paused when she spied an old rusted-out 1942 Ford pickup parked alongside the garage. She snorted as she took in the ill-kept machine, saying the first thing that popped into her mind. "What self-respecting soul could drive such a piece of shit?"
RJ looked at the black truck, her brow creasing. Piece of shit? She scratched her jaw. "I guess that person would be me. Seeing as how that’s my truck."
Leigh’s eyes widened. Oh, my God. "Ahh…" She winced and tried to think of something nice to say about the dilapidated machine.
Leigh had no qualms about bullshitting the ladies. Hell, she’d learned at her daddy’s knee. And his nickname wasn’t ‘Tom Cat’ for nothing. When he died two years ago and she’d gone from doing the family bookkeeping to driving the big rig herself, the trucking community had taken to calling her ‘Tom Cat’ too, though usually not to her face.
But she never, ever, stretched the truth when it came to trucks. Even itty bitty ones. A woman had to have some principles. "I’m sorry."
RJ put one hand on her hip, easily sensing Leigh’s quandary. "Are you sorry that it’s my truck, or for insulting it so?"
Leigh bit her lower lip. "Yes."
RJ’s eyebrows jumped. She’s a sassy enough thing, that’s for certain. But still, there’s no denying
she’s got a great backside. RJ pulled the ax free and straightened the half-round she’s missed on her last swing. She didn’t bother to look at Leigh when she said, "Shower’s in the garage. Door’s unlocked."
The tall woman’s demeanor had definitely cooled, and Leigh tried not to visibly frown. Great. She’s the sensitive type. Secretly, Leigh believed that if you weren’t so sensitive that you’d actually be caught riding in — or worse driving — a piece of shit, you shouldn’t get upset when people commented about it. True, the truck was unfit to share the roads with decent, well-loved vehicles, but it had been Leigh’s experience that nobody really liked to hear that. She gave a short nod and quickly began making her way to the garage, muttering another apology under her breath as she passed RJ.
And though it wasn’t easy, at the same time Leigh categorized RJ Fitzgerald in that ever-so-tiny compartment of her brain she’d dedicated to ‘those that got away.’ Now she was heading for a hot shower and later — the peace and loneliness of the open road.
CHAPTER II
RJ STEPPED INTO Sam’s barbershop. Flea had wrapped herself around RJ’s shoulders and was using the tall woman as a cat taxi. When RJ shut the door behind her, she gave a little shrug and Flea jumped down, immediately finding the soft pillow in the corner of the shop that was reserved solely for her.
RJ removed her cap, stuffing it in her back pocket. She huffed to herself, noting that every pair of eyes in the shop had trained themselves on her. With a quick movement she stuffed her aviator sunglasses into the front pocket of her shirt.
The brunette stared back at the small crowd of men. "What? Did I grow another head? If I did, I’m sure it’ll be needing its hair cut too." She settled down in the chair, kicking out long legs in front of her and giving an almost dirty look to Sammy, the barber.
"You know," Sammy started, even as he snapped the cape around her neck, then ran a comb through RJ’s thick hair. "You are a woman. It would be okay if you wanted to let this grow out."
RJ’s hand immediately went to her head. Her hair was barely trimmed up off her ears and worn combed straight back. It was longer on top, her uneven, reddish-brown waves just grazing the bottom edge of her shirt collar in back. "I know I’m a woman, you silly bastard. I also know I like my hair just fine the way it is. It’s easy to take care of this way. So just cut it and keep the commentary to yourself."
"Yes, ma’am," Sammy snorted, taking his scissors in hand. Much to RJ’s mother’s chagrin he’d been cutting RJ’s hair ever since Mildred, the owner of the local beauty salon, refused to give RJ her preferred short cut when RJ was still in high school. They had the same argument every time she came in. He always waited until she called him a ‘silly bastard’ before he started cutting her hair. It was his own half-hearted protest. He knew that some young women liked it short nowadays, though why was still a mystery to him.
A man whose face was still shiny and stinging from the aftershave that had been slapped on it sat alongside RJ. He turned the page of his magazine. "That little trucker at the diner had pretty blonde hair," Luke said, his eyes never leaving the magazine. "Still, my tastes have always run to longer style. Remember Rita Hayworth? Now that was some lovely hair."
"Remember?" Johnny replied incredulously. "Do I look senile to you?" He leaned against the table that held the shop’s cash register. "But the trucker was a looker." Johnny gave RJ a shit-eating grin. "I’m thinking her hair was damn near the exact color of sweet corn in the summertime." He shrugged. "Short and shaggy-looking, but still feminine." The slim man strolled over to Luke who was now chuckling and holding his magazine unnaturally high so as to cover his face. "She was a real looker, wasn’t she, Fitz?"
"I didn’t notice her hair." RJ shifted uncomfortably in her chair. I should have known coming here today would be a mistake!
A third man with a rotund belly and a half-smoked cigar hanging out of his mouth croaked from his spot at the checkerboard in the corner, "Of course not, you were too busy looking at her boobs."
"I was not!" RJ defended, almost coming out of the chair.
"Damn it, RJ, settle down before I scalp you bald!" Sammy ordered, pushing the woman back into the chair and resettling the cape around her shoulders.
"You’re all nasty old goats. The lot of you." RJ’s cheeks were flaming hot, and by the intensified laughter among the men, she knew they looked as flushed as they felt. "I don’t know why I put up with you."
"Because this is the only barbershop in town and if you didn’t come in here you’d be forced to cut it yourself. Then you’d be in a real mess." Johnny grinned as he crossed over to the checkerboard and jumped several of his opponent’s pieces. "King me, Charlie."
Charlie’s eyes turned to slits, and he yanked his cigar from his mouth. "I’d like to king you, you cheatin’ rat bas–"
Johnny tossed the magazine into the pile, then leaned over to the old-fashioned cooler where Sammy kept a stash of frosty root beers. "So, if you didn’t notice her hair and you weren’t looking at her marangas, what did you notice? Her butt?"
"It was shaped just right," Luke cooed dreamily, just to torment RJ further.
"Bunch of perverts. I can’t count the years between you and you were staring at her backside? Hey," RJ pointed at Johnny, "don’t even think of opening that root beer unless you’re prepared to share with Flea. She has feelings too."
RJ’s words proved prophetic, and the cat silently wandered over and flopped down in front of Johnny. She scratched her face with one slender paw before rolling onto her back and opening her mouth, waiting.
"You spoil her." Johnny pried the top off the bottle with the opener attached to the machine, careful not to let the bottle cap drop into Flea’s gaping mouth.
"That’s what she’s here for, among other things — to keep me company and so I can spoil her. You’re just jealous."
"Bet she gets steak or liver two times a week, doesn’t she?" Johnny drizzled a little of fizzing liquid into the black cat’s gulping mouth, then he took a long drink himself before wiping his lips on the back of his sleeve. He looked at his sleeve and smiled at the small stain. He was damn near positive he’d gotten it all out of his mustache in one try. His horoscope had been so right. Today was going to be a great day!
RJ tilted her head down and Sammy snipped no more than a quarter of an inch off the back of her auburn locks. He gathered a little of RJ’s hair in his hand, thinking she could wear it in a tiny ponytail if she had a mind to.
"Flea gets liver twice a week, steak twice a week, and chicken twice a week. On Fridays we all have fish." RJ’s tone turned irritated. "We’re Catholic, you know."
Luke sniggered. "You might be Catholic. I’m not sure Flea is."
"Doesn’t matter. I eat fish. Flea eats fish. We’re a team."
Sammy jabbed RJ in the shoulder with his finger. "So tell us about the little blonde with the big red truck."
RJ tried to shrug, but Sammy held her shoulder firm, silently scolding her for the anticipated movement. "What’s to tell? She came into the diner, got knocked senseless by the door. Pete fixed her breakfast, she took a shower in the garage. And then she left." Her smile was brighter than the morning sunshine. And if she’d asked me for a tongue bath instead of a shower, I’d have been more than happy to oblige. But did she have to insult my truck so? "Not too damn much, if you ask me."
Sammy cleared his throat and grinned at his friends in the shop. "What color were her eyes?"
"Blue," RJ responded automatically, sending the entire room into a fit of laughter.
Charlie nearly choked on his cigar.
"All right! That’s it!" RJ bolted from the chair, ripping the cape from her neck. She tossed it into her empty chair, then pulled her cap from her pocket and jammed it onto her head. Digging in her pocket, she pulled out some money, which she pushed into Sammy’s outstretched hand. "You’re all just … just … Aww, hell! Come on, Flea!"
The snorts and knee-slapping laughter could be heard out onto the s
treet as RJ and Flea made a hasty exit. The cat let RJ get a few steps in front of her, and then, with a running start, she bounded up RJ’s back and settled on her shoulder, sneezing when she inhaled a small cut hair that had worked its way under the barber’s cape. RJ didn’t even slow her stride.
"Silly sons-a-bit –" she stopped suddenly when she realized her grouching and her cussing were about to be overheard by Mrs. Amos. RJ smiled and tried to look properly contrite as she moved to the door of the grocer’s and extended her arms. "Can I give you a hand with those, Mrs. Amos?" She inquired, pointing at the two large paper sacks at the older woman’s feet. The elderly tended to use the old grocer downtown, while everybody else frequented the newer, bigger building on the edge of Glory.
Mrs. Amos, a contemporary of RJ’s grandmother, pulled on her white gloves, buttoning the small pearl at the wrist, and adjusted her handbag on her arm. "That’d be very nice, Ruth Jean, thank you." She held out her arms and Flea happily jumped into them, purring when Mrs. Amos gave her belly a good scratching.
RJ winced at the use of her much-hated full name and muttered, "My pleasure, ma’am." The young woman knelt and scooped both bags into her arms, then prepared for what would no doubt be an excruciatingly slow walk back to Mrs. Amos’ house.
"How’s your mother, Ruth Jean?"
"She’s fine, ma’am. Busy as always, puttering around the house. It’s this week I think she’s planning on painting the dining room. She wants it done before Easter, you know."
"Of course. Your mother’s Easter brunches are legendary. Mr. Amos and I are looking forward to it, as always."
"Hmm, yes, ma’am, that they are."
"So," Mrs. Amos primly adjusted her handbag again, her gait so short and slow that RJ began to wonder if they were moving at all. "Mavis mentioned that the diner was busy yesterday."
RJ groaned.
Flea laughed. Sort of. Hell, even she felt bad for RJ. Sort of.
