Chasing Delia

by Aubrey Cara

  It hadn't helped that she had a few too many shots the night in question. And Caleb had taken full advantage. Although if she were honest with herself she knew tequila hadn't made her pants fall off. Caleb had ripped them off. Then he'd tied her up with them before he'd held her down and spanked her ass while she called him every name in the book. She had loved every second of it. She knew for a fact at more than one point she begged for more. Just thinking about that night sent inappropriate tingles to her happy places.

  Caleb McCrae was sin walking on two well sculpted legs. His features were too sharp, and his nose had been broken one too many times to be traditionally handsome. But he made up for it with a body carved out of granite. His short black hair was just long enough to grip, and his eyes were dark enough they almost looked black.

  He had passed through Hope Springs, Virginia during the short time she had been there. Long enough to take her virginity in a cataclysmic fashion and disappear. Not that she had wanted more than a one night stand, she reminded herself. She was the one who had sneaked out that next morning. She just thought he'd have the decency to stay disappeared.

  He'd ignored her since she snubbed him at Jake and Del's wedding three months ago. Well, ignored her when he wasn't checking her out like she wasn't covered from head to toe and stinking of sweat and whatnot. Like he was remembering exactly how she looked and tasted naked when she was much cleaner. Which he unfortunately knew from experience.

  The bottom dropped on her stomach every damn time he gave her those sexually charged looks, and she'd turn beet red. He'd smirk like he just won some kind of game she hadn't realized they were playing. Those looks had been annoying the hell out of Kat on a very regular basis for the last three damn months. Every time she turned around he seemed to be right there these days.

  Instead of all that she just said, “There's a lot less single, desirable men out at Circle F than you'd think. Plus, most of the guys see me as one of their buddies.” At Mimi's eye roll said, “They do! I help bring in feed and muck out shit. I'm just one of the guys.”

  It was true, and Kat liked it that way. She imagined it would be hard on the guys if they saw her as a desirable female. She'd rather be seen as their equal anyways. She didn't want any preferential treatment because she had tits and a vagina.

  She was slicing limes behind the bar when she heard a loud man say,“Hey there, I'm gonna need three Budweisers, one vodka tonic, one jack 'n coke, and your phone number.”

  Kat eye rolled. Pasting on her own fake smile, she turned to look at a big, hairy fellow leaning his beefy arm along the bar.

  “Nice try,” she said. “How bout just the drinks for now?” He laughed like she had said the funniest thing. His friends must have been the middle aged guys occupying one of the high tops by the pool table. They were already laughing and cutting up. Kat knew the type. They'd be blitzed in an hour and getting a ride home from one of their wives or buddies by nine.

  “Having a boys night out?” Setting his beers on the counter, she began filling drinks.

  “You bet honey. My buddy Joe over there is getting a divorce.” He leaned in and said conspiratorially, “She was a cheating whore. She left him for a Mexican and left Joe her yippy as shit chihuahua. Can you believe that?”

  Kat shook her head in sympathy, when really she wanted to laugh. Most men were left bemoaning the fact their ex took their dog. This guy got left with a broken heart and an angry chihuahua. Kat imagined that was equivalent to leaving a bag of flaming dog doo on a guy's porch everyday for fifteen years or so.

  “That is bad. Poor bastard,” she said sympathetically. She knew the drill. Smile, flirt. Get a nice tip. She put all the drinks on a tray so the man could easily carry them back to his table. “Here's a shot of club soda for your friend. On the house.” Kat winked, giving Mr. Burly a big smile.

  The man again gave another big hoot of laughter, “A shot of club soda. That's a good one. I like you, Red. Here's my credit card. How 'bout you start a tab for me. I'm paying for this round but those bastards can pay for the rest of their drinks themselves.” With a wink he grabbed the tray and made his way back to his friends.

  Kat looked at the name on the credit card to remember later. Ron. She started Ron's tab just in time to start another drink order. The patrons of Rusty Spur always trickled in during happy hour, then by ten this place would be so packed out she'd barely have time to fill drink orders. By two her feet would be ready to fall off and she wouldn't care if they left a tip or not.

  Kat smiled. Her night had begun.

  *** ***

  Kat grimaced. Her night had blown. They had run out of one of the beers on tap, which would have been fine had she not had to go get another keg herself. She dropped it off the dolly onto her foot, which was now swollen and bruised. She then had to tap the keg herself, something she deplored doing because she was so bad at it. After spraying beer foam all down the front of her, Mr. Burly Ron wanted to check out his tab. The cheap bastard had left a three dollar tip on a seventy-five dollar check.

  When he'd seen her wet front he'd told her, “You need to clean yourself up, honey.”

  Had Kat seen his lousy tip by then she would have replied, “Thanks Captain Obvious, why don't you go fuck yourself!” But she hadn't seen the tip yet, so she had kept her inner beast from Boston Mass on the leash.

  The rest of the night seemed to follow suit. A group of young schmucks came in and were starting shit with the regulars. Turned out the lead schmuck was Candice's boyfriend from one town over. While he was starting fights with every group of guys that were unfortunate enough to give Candice their drink order, his friends were rudely hitting on women. Mimi had to physically pry one of the guys off her.

  Luckily Kat hadn't had to deal with them much. Rusty Spur didn't have much in the way of security. They had a door man, starting at nine on the weekends, who wasn't very intimidating. They did fortunately have John.

  John was the owner of Rusty Spur. He was in his sixties, he drank too much, he smoked too much, and from the extra weight he carried, Kat would guess he ate too much. But he was 6'6,” at least 300 pounds, and a rifle wielding Texan. That made him damn intimidating.

  He'd walked out with a rifle and said, “Time to go.” When one of the assholes was about to argue—because he was either too drunk or stupid to care that the southern version of Andre the Giant was about to kill him—John lifted the rifle and said, “I'll give you to the count of seven, since that's my lucky number. Then I start shooting. One, two...” By five they had all scrambled out the door. Everyone in the bar had cheered, but by then it was near closing time. Most of the patrons had already started clearing out for the night.

  Her head pounded from too much cigarette smoke and overly loud music. She was ready to go home for the night. Fortunately it was Kat's night to leave early. Early being one-thirty in the morning, but it still beat closing.

  She pulled her jacket tighter around her as she stepped outside. Breathing in the crisp, fresh air, she sighed in relief. The smell of garbage and spilled beer washed away on the cool breeze. She still couldn't believe it was December. Back in Boston a night like this would be more likely to be found in late September. All the musty scents and loud sounds of the bar faded as she walked to her car. The crunching sound of gravel under feet not her own made her look up.

  One of the aforementioned trouble making schmucks from the bar was still in the parking lot. He was leaning on the tailgate of what she assumed was his truck, smoking a cigarette. She hadn't been paying attention and nearly ran into him. She nodded as way of greeting before putting her head down, planning on shuffling past him. He obviously had other plans. His arm snaked out as she walked by, grabbing her around the waist. He roughly pulled her against his lean frame. She pushed at him but he wouldn't budge. He stank like tobacco smoke and a brewery. He was probably three sheets to the wind.

  “Get off me, asshole!” she said as she tried to shove him away.

  He just chuckled a
nd tried to kiss her. “What's the matter? You know you want to fuck.”

  With that he grabbed a handful of her breast and twisted, causing her to cry out, and her panic went up a bit further. His arm was like a vise grip when he started dragging her between two trucks. His hands worked at the clasp of her pants. Kat started fighting like crazy in reaction. She bit down on his hand as hard as she could until she tasted blood. She tried to knee him in the groin, but it hit more of his thigh. Lost in the haze of the fight, she didn't see his fist until it cracked into her face. Stars exploded behind her eyes as the force of the hit sent her sprawling out in the gravel parking lot. She shook her head trying to clear her vision. Cheek stinging, she scrambled up, digging in her purse for her keys with her pepper spray on the chain.

  A fist in her hair yanked her head back hard, making her eyes sting. He said, “Feisty redhead.” Then he growled in her ear, “You're gonna get fucked you little, fat bitch.”

  Kat closed her eyes tight as she could, aimed her pepper spray in the general direction of his face and sprayed, hoping not to get any in her own face.

  Screaming, her assailant shoved her forward, kicking her in her side as she went down. She fell skidding across gravel on her hands and knees, barely noticing the pain. Opening her eyes she scrambled up, running to her car. She stumbled, then fumbled with the door, cursing until she got it open. Once inside she quickly slammed the door shut and hit the locks. Her hands were shaking so badly it took her three tries to get the key in the ignition.

  She turned the key and nothing. She did it over and over, hitting the steering wheel, “Dammit!” she screamed. She could still hear him cursing and yelling. Ringing started in her ears and she thought she might pass out. Panicked beyond rational thought she started sobbing and hyperventilating while frantically turning the key to her useless POS car.

  She glanced around to see if he followed her but he was getting in his truck. The engine roared to life and peeled out. Tears steaming down her face she slumped forward, her head resting against the steering wheel in relief.

  She was a mess, but she knew she had to get back to the bar. Get someone to call the police. There were still plenty of vehicles in the parking lot, and she needed help. She could barely open the door her hands were shaking so badly. Her legs were numb and she stumbled, falling out to the gravel. The sharp piece of rock bit into her already abused her hands and knees as she landed. Kat stayed there, breathing hard. She put her forehead down on the gravel and cried.

  *** ***

  Caleb had been back in Gibson, Texas for three months now, and he was still getting used to being 'back home'. He instinctively knew it might take even longer before he got used to being a civilian again. He kept waiting for his commanding officer to call him with new orders. But he didn't have a commanding officer. He had resigned almost a year ago.

  He had been special forces for over a decade. At eighteen he'd only wanted a life away from being con-artist/convict McNeil McCrae's kid. The military seemed like as good a way as any. His progression in the military had been natural but had kept him reeled into the military for longer than he had meant to be.

  He had started feeling disjointed from life and the world around him years ago. When he started feeling as burnt after his leave was over as when it had begun, he knew it was time he step away from the military for good. He hadn't wanted to wait his five years for retirement. He didn't think he'd make it. He had started feeling chased by death. Every mission he watched someone die and wondered why it hadn't been him. He figured he only could survive so long before his ticket would be clocked.

  His commanding officer had known it was coming. Caleb himself wasn't sure if he would have passed a PTSD evaluation a year ago when his contract was up. He had felt haunted even when he was awake, which left him feeling on edge. He could hide it well, but then it would sneak up on him when he least expected it.

  Coming back home and working on the ranch had been the right choice. His best friend Jake Forrester's parents owned Circle F. Over the years it had come to feel more like home than his actual home. Jake's parents Jack and Diane had always been like a second set of parents to Caleb, ever since second grade when Caleb and Jake had become inseparable.

  Caleb and Jake had joined the military on the same day, ready for adventure and a new challenge. When Jake had gotten out of the military to raise his son Steven, Caleb had stayed in. Jake ended up joining the police force, never wanting to take over the ranch. Yet Caleb always knew he'd end up back here working the Circle F.

  Every time Caleb came home to Gibson, he was surprised by how many things had changed and how much had stayed the same. One of his best friends from high school, Mason Coleman, was now the owner of Coleman Automotive, one of the largest auto repair franchises in Texas. Mason had fifteen shops spread around Texas and said he may even open some more. As it was, Gibson County got all the work and maintenance on their police and sanitation vehicles done at Coleman.

  Even though Mason no longer drank alcohol he insisted they go hang out at their old stomping grounds. The Rusty Spur. It had been good catching up, but once Caleb had spotted Kat Martin tending bar he had a hard time paying attention. Kat Martin was a red headed she-devil that had fired his blood since the first time he met her at a dive bar in Hope Springs, VA, where his buddy Jake lived. That was a memorable night. She had taken one look at him and told him to scratch his itch elsewhere. No one else had been able to scratch his damn itch ever since.

  He hadn't known Kat worked at the Rusty Spur, not until he saw her from across the bar. He and Mason hadn't been in her section and just as well. She hadn't exactly been friendly since their one night together in Virginia. He'd thought often about that night. She had been on fire. No woman had turned him on as much before or since. Kat was all woman and then some. And he was pretty certain she had been a virgin. A twenty-five year old virgin. His pants grew uncomfortably tight just thinking about it.

  She had rocked his world. Taken everything he dished out and gave him back some. Then she had left, taking off before the sun was fully up. He liked to think he would have gone after her, but when the door to his hotel had slammed shut, he had been transported to different place. A flashback. PTSD hell. When he had finally come back to himself he had been sweating and shaking. Not fit to go chase after a girl he had no business starting a relationship with.

  That had been nearly seven months ago. Thankfully those kinds of episodes were few and far between for Caleb these days. He could actually feel a part of himself he thought long dead start to awaken, as if it had only been sleeping, and it felt good.

  He would have liked to have started at least a little something with her three months ago when he first saw her again at Jake and Del's wedding. She barely even acknowledged him that day. She had been prickly as a porcupine anytime he had tried to make small talk.

  Then she had stayed on in Texas to work and learn ranch work. At first everyone thought she was crazy and wouldn't last a week. She'd knocked herself unconscious on a metal fence gate. Slipped and fell in shit. Got bitten by a calf and screamed loud enough to damn near start a stampede when she came across a snake. Despite being accident prone she had dug in and shown up some of the regular guys. Kat was no fading flower. She was a spitfire. She was one of the toughest women he knew besides Jake's mom Diane. And she wasn't afraid of getting dirty or breaking a nail. She could definitely hang with the guys and she never backed down from a challenge.

  Most men might find that unappealing but that just made Caleb want her more. To him she was all round soft curves and spunk. He could see past her hard exterior to the gooey soft woman that swore like a sailor and begged like a wanton slut when he'd had her bent over his hotel bed.

  Tonight she looked frazzled as hell, and there was a group of young bucks making trouble near where he and Mason sat tucked back into a booth. Caleb could just imagine all the retorts Kat was holding back. Caleb could practically hear them spilling forth in that heavy Boston acc
ent she got when she was riled. She looked like a tea kettle ready to blow.

  Caleb had wanted to wait around and walk her out to her car—maybe rile her up just to hear her curse him out—but when he'd looked up she had been gone. The other workers had been cleaning up, but no Kat in sight. When he'd asked a waitress if Kat were still around she said she was off for the night. When he'd gotten up to head out, Mason had said he was going to stay behind and talk to Mimi. That was the first time all evening he had noticed their waitress had been Miriam Westfall. A girl they had gone to high school with. And a testament to how distracted by Kat he had been.

  “I didn't know she lived in Gibson,” he said in reference to Mimi.

  “Three damn years now. She had been married to an idiot, but came back home three years ago without him.” Mason said this without taking his eyes off the woman. Looked like Mason Coleman had a bit of an obsession himself.

  “Did you know her husband then?”

  “No, I just know she's not married to him anymore. That's all I need to know. That and I hear she's having trouble getting a day job here in Gibson. I think I need a new business manager.”

  Caleb got up and tipped an imaginary hat to Mason. “Well, good luck to you then. I'm gonna head out.”

  Mason swung out of the booth to pump Caleb's hand and give him the two pats on the back equivalent of a man hug. “Don't be a stranger now that you're back for good. We need to get together again sometime. Why don't you come out to my house Sunday? I'm thinking of having a few people over for a barbeque.”

  Caleb agreed he'd see him Sunday and headed out of Rusty Spur with a smile on his face. He was making his way to his truck when he noticed Kat's old tan Toyota Camry was still in the mostly empty parking lot. From where he stood he could see the driver's side door was open, so the interior light was on, but he didn't see Kat. When he spotted a purse in the gravel behind her vehicle—contents spilled out—a chill went down his spine as he jogged over to her car.