by Bart Tracer
“Okay. It’s just that… well, it seems like you’re pretty into him. Especially now. And if… you know, if you’re…”
“Pregnant, Bill!” Lizzie furnished hotly, her eyes flashing beneath her lowered brows. “I’d think you could at least say the word!”
“Sorry! I’m sorry! Pregnant, okay? Pregnant. If you are pregnant…”
“If I am pregnant,” she took over, “and at this point that’s still a major ‘if’, then we’ll face it together. You and I will raise our child with all the love and affection it deserves! And he or she will call me ‘mommy’ and you ‘daddy’ and nothing else matters!
“Now, as for me being in love with Lance, the simple answer is ‘no’. I am not in love with Lance Corbin!” Suddenly embarrassed by her own fervor, her eyes darted away from mine.
“But you do have feelings for him,” I pressed.
“God, Bill, what do you want me to say? Of course, I have feelings for him! I’m not a machine, you know! In case you haven’t noticed, he and I have shared a few pretty good moments over the past week! And Lance is a really nice guy. So, yeah! I like Lance; I like him a lot. But liking someone, having feelings for someone, is not the same as loving them!” She brought her hand up to tenderly stroke my cheek. “You’re the one I love, Sweetie, nobody but you!”
Staring into her eyes, I knew she was telling me the truth. Whatever Lance might be to her, I was still her husband, and she loved me. I felt a wave of relief wash over me. “I love you, too, Baby,” I murmured, craning my head up awkwardly to kiss her warm lips.
Lizzie wrapped her slender arms around me and pulled me tightly against her chest, laying her head on my shoulder and squeezing me. I held her like that without speaking, my hand idly stroking her lustrous red hair where it fell between her shoulder blades, sharing a tender moment with my wife.
After a few minutes, she raised her head and leaned back, gazing into my eyes. “So, are we okay?” She asked. “Are we both on the same page with all this? Can you live with me having feelings for another man?”
“Sure,” I shrugged, smiling at her. Then, feeling wicked, I added, “It would actually kind of suck if my wife just absolutely couldn’t stand the man who knocked her up!”
“Oh! Oh, my God! I can’t believe you!” she laughed, punching me on the shoulder and jumping up from my lap. “How horrible! I can’t believe I married such an awful, awful man!”
Chapter 5
After lunch, Elizabeth insisted we go visit our injured neighbor, Tom. Even though I had assured her countless times that I had been taking good care of him after his accident, she had her own views on my abilities as a nurturer and was determined to see the unfortunate victim for herself.
“The poor guy is probably living off cold pork and beans and soda pop,” she informed me. “Did you even bring him any warm food?”
“Um.. well, not really…” I stuttered, feeling defensive. “But, he said he had it covered, Lizzie! He’s a grown man, for goodness sake! I didn’t want to be pushy or anything.”
“Ugh! Men! I swear,” she shook her head in disgust. “He’s just being polite, Bill. He doesn’t want to be a burden. That’s all. It’s a good thing I’m here now! Tom would have starved to death if he’d had to depend on you!”
I’d been married long enough to know better than to argue. Tom was about to get the mother hen treatment from my wife, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Actually, I still needed to do his evening chores, so there really was no reason I couldn’t take Lizzie along with me.
I grabbed a quick shower and changed into some old work clothes while she put together a picnic basket full of warm food for him and fifteen minutes later, we were ready to go.
The afternoon sun had done much to drive away the chill of the early morning, but there was still a bite to the air. As I was putting on my old coat, Lizzie joined me in the mudroom, taking down her favorite denim jacket from its hook.
Her flaming red hair was pulled back into a cute ponytail. Watching her put on her jacket, I saw that she had changed into a miniscule pink crop top that seemed to give a whole new meaning to the phrase “less is more”. Lord, it was tight and small! She had also traded in her frumpy gray sweatpants for an exquisitely tight pair of designer blue jeans that hugged her athletic curves like a fresh coat of paint.
Opening the passenger door of the pickup for her, I stepped aside to let her past and enjoyed a breathtaking view of her tight, little, denim-clad ass, complete with sparkly rhinestones splashed across it, when she breezed past me and quickly hopped in. Closing the door behind her, I found myself hoping that our mission of mercy wouldn’t take too long. Damn! She looked fantastic!
Through the tinted windshield, I could see Lizzie removing her jacket while I walked around the hood to the driver’s side. When I opened the door, she was leaning across the seatback and carefully placing the coat on the back seat.
My breath caught in my throat. At first glance, I thought she had taken her top off. The entire length of her elegant back was visible, interrupted only by the two little strings that held the top in place. Her round little ass wiggled and sparkled tantalizingly as she smoothed away the wrinkles in the denim fabric. She smiled warmly at me as I got in, “Don’t want to get too hot with the heater going!”
“Good idea,” I nodded, wondering how I was going to keep from getting too hot sitting next to her. Deep down inside I couldn’t help wondering whether the warmth was the real reason she had stripped off her coat.
One of the things we had both discovered during the past week, was that my sexy little wife liked to show off that tight little body of hers. And from her earlier account of the past three days, she’d been devoting quite a bit of time to exploring her newfound penchant for exhibitionism with Lance.
She settled back into her seat, pulling the seatbelt across her chest, as I turned the key, starting the engine. I switched on the heater and buckled my own belt, then turned at the waist to look over my shoulder at the driveway behind us. I pulled the gear lever into reverse and backed carefully away from the house.
As we rattled over the dirt road that led to our ranch house, I caught myself stealing quick, sidelong glances at Lizzie. But, the road was too rough and winding for me to ogle her properly. It wasn’t until we were safely on the highway that I checked the empty road ahead to make sure no one was coming and then turned my head slightly and took a good, long look at my gorgeous wife.
I’d seen earlier that her crop top was revealing, but upon closer inspection, I saw that it was ridiculously tight and small, with a halter neck. Stopping well shy of her belly button, it showcased her beautifully flat stomach perfectly. As I’d seen, it was, for all intents and purposes, backless. There was only a single string behind her long neck and another in the middle of her back, both tied in cute little bows.
She was obviously braless; the strap would’ve been visible. Her hard little nipples were clearly evident through the thin fabric of her top, like two trapped marbles, trying desperately to escape. For just a second, I stared at her chest, delighting in the way her smallish breasts jiggled each time we hit a bump.
“See anything you like?” Lizzie asked suddenly.
I looked up to find her staring into my eyes. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “It’s just been a while, and…”
“Don’t apologize,” she interrupted with a playful giggle, placing a hand on my thigh, just below my crotch, “I like it when you look at me like that!”
“Look at you like what?”
“Like you want to devour me; like I’m the most attractive woman in the world. Lance looks at me like that, too.” She closed her eyes and stretched, pulling the shoulder belt to the side and arching her back so that her cone-shaped breasts jutted out obscenely. It was now obvious that she was doing this for my benefit. “But, Bill?” she said, innocently.
“Yeah?” I replied, now openly staring at her and hanging on her every word.
“Maybe you’d better keep your eyes on th
e road for now…”
The words had no sooner passed her lips than I heard the rough sound of the tires on the passenger side kicking up the gravel on the wide shoulder of the blacktop. I’d become so preoccupied by my wife’s pretty little boobs that I was swerving off the road!
“Dammit!” I hissed, my grip tightening on the wheel. My head snapped forward once more and, careful not to overcorrect, I gently eased us back into our lane. I blew out a long breath. Elizabeth snickered at my side, causing me to blush at my own foolishness. Not trusting myself to look back at her, I returned my full attention to the road in front of me.
As I willed myself to concentrate on the straight stretch of asphalt in front of us, I continued to ponder her cute little crop top. I had absolutely no idea where it had come from. Like most men, I couldn’t claim that I knew every article of clothing in my wife’s wardrobe, but I had definitely never seen this top before. I would’ve remembered! Without a shadow of a doubt!
And, that left me with two possibilities: it was either one of the articles of clothing she had purchased for our trip to Lance’s ranch that I hadn’t yet seen when I left, or it was a present that Lance had given to her!
Lance! Either way, it was evident that the crop top was tied to him. A thrill ran through me with the realization that my wife’s clothing was connected to her lover. And what clothing it was!
Just a couple of months ago, there was no way Lizzie would’ve left the house dressed as she now was. She had always been demure and modest, opting for baggy tops and casual-cut, practical jeans. Her current attire was the antithesis of that. Tight and revealing, it did absolutely nothing to hide her sexy body.
It was hard not to see her changing taste in clothing as a physical manifestation of the change that had taken place in our marriage. The boldness of the outfit she had on perfectly mirrored the brazenness of her actions.
Hazarding another quick glance at her next to me, I struggled to recognize any vestige of the shy wallflower that had been my wife, replaced now by a vibrant, confident, sexual being who knew what she wanted and was no longer afraid to admit it.
This change in her frightened me. How could it not? This was unfamiliar territory. My staid, dependable wife was now impulsive and passionate. It scared me, but the thing was… I liked it, too.
I liked the new Lizzie. The sexy, self-assured Lizzie. The Lizzie who knew just how to tease and tantalize me. The Lizzie who had fucked another man. The Lizzie who might even now be carrying another man’s child inside her.
There it was. Just like that, that terrible, haunting idea once more sprang to the forefront: Lizzie might be pregnant by Lance! Oh, my God! What were we going to do?!
In a way, I suppose it never really left my mind. It was always there, just below the surface. A dull, aching terror that wound itself around my icy guts, it squeezed my very soul like some enormous, malevolent serpent; the thought of my darling wife carrying his baby. It was hard to breathe when I considered the implications.
I shook my head, forcing the thought from my mind, and concentrated on the changing scenery for the rest of the trip.
Chapter 6
I was debating how to broach the topic of my wife’s revealing, somewhat inappropriate attire as we pulled into Tom’s driveway. To my profound relief, she turned and retrieved her jacket from the back seat as we rolled to a stop. She shot me a conspiratorial grin and pulled it on over her slutty crop top, buttoning it up securely.
“Don’t want to give old Tom a heart attack, now do we?” she asked. Then, taking her food basket, she got out and went up the steps. She was already pressing the doorbell by the time I closed my door.
Tom had been delighted to see us. He had lived alone since his wife passed away five years ago, and I knew the old guy got lonely. Since he had broken his leg, he’d been confined to the house and, as he’d been quick to point out, “A person can only watch so much TV!” It was obvious that he welcomed the company.
As expected, Lizzie had made a huge fuss over him, showering sympathy on him and insisting that he immediately eat the hot food she had prepared for him. For his part, Tom had been more than happy to follow her directions, and he and Lizzie had chatted happily as I took care of the chores.
It was dark by the time we got back home. Dark and cold. We’d stayed at Tom’s longer than I’d intended. The bright headlights of the pickup swept across the yard, momentarily illuminating a solitary cottontail rabbit grazing in the short, brown Bermuda grass near the barn. Pulling up next to the porch, I put the pickup in park and killed the engine.
“Why don’t you go on inside,” I turned to Lizzie and handed her the keys. “I still need to feed and water the horses.”
“Thanks, Babe,” she said. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Go on in and warm up! I’ll just be a minute!”
She flashed me a quick smile of thanks, then threw open the door and quickly scurried up the steps and through the door, affording me a fleeting glimpse of the tiny rhinestones on her butt glittering in the glow of the porchlight.
I had to admit, those designer jeans of hers sure looked good. But, her attire, while undeniably attractive, was a poor choice for the weather. Especially that ridiculous little top, I thought to myself. Then again, I was pretty sure practicality hadn’t played a major role when she picked it out.
Shaking my head, I got out and softly closed the door of the truck and, pivoting on my heel, started toward the barn. I turned my collar up against the cold north wind as I walked.
The full moon, which was now just peeking shyly over the tops of the tall old cottonwood trees to the east, cast a well-defined shadow on the icy ground in front of me as I walked across the yard. The air was crisp and clear and smelled like snow.
Buster whickered softly at me when I walked through the side door into the barn. After all these years, he knew me by the sound of my step. I switched on the light and walked to his stall, reaching through the bars to scratch his ears.
“Hey, boy,” I said quietly. “Did you miss me?”
He put his nose up to the bars in response, his breath warm against my face when he exhaled. From the other side of the broad aisle that ran down the center of the barn, I heard Lizzie’s mare insistently bump the plastic feed bucket that hung on the wall of her stall with her nose, causing it to slap loudly against the side of the stall.
This apparently gave Buster an idea, and he turned his attention to his own bucket. Soon they were both nuzzling their feed buckets impatiently, the sound reverberating in the cavernous space beneath the rafters above.
As annoying as the racket was, I couldn’t really blame them. After all, they were hungry. And why wouldn’t they be? With our trip to Tom’s, it was more than an hour later than their usual feeding time.
“All right, all right!” I chuckled, holding my hands up in surrender. “Give me just a second, guys!”
I walked to the tack room and pulled the heavy sliding door open. As I stepped inside, my hand found the light switch on the wall and flicked it upwards. The naked bulb above threw a feeble glow across the small room, revealing a row of saddles on racks, bridles hanging from wooden pegs along one wall, and a scarred wooden grain bin along the other wall with two white plastic buckets on top.
Taking the buckets from the lid of the grain box, I placed them on the dusty concrete floor at my feet. I removed the carabiner hook that secured the hasp and opened the enormous bin. The rusty iron hinges of the old box creaked loudly in protest. Resting the heavy lid against the wall, I reached for the aluminum scoop that lay on top of the loose oats inside and thrust it deep into the feed, pouring a single scoop into each bucket.
Tossing the battered scoop back into the grain bin, I carefully closed the lid and secured the hasp once more. I lifted a bucket in each hand and walked back into the main aisle of the barn.
After I had grained both horses, I threw them each a heaping pitchfork full of hay. Then, I checked their water before returning the
empty buckets and the pitchfork to the tack room and turning off the light.
I stood for just a second in front of Buster’s stall, watching him as he chewed his oats contentedly. Usually, I stood and talked to him for a while, but tonight I was impatient. I wanted to be back inside. Back with Lizzie.
As I turned to leave, my eye was drawn to something out of place behind Buster. One of the boards in his stall looked different than the others. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it had come loose from the wall and was slanting outwards, a large, rusty nail protruding ominously from its back. Shit! If I left it that way, I knew damn well I’d have a hurt horse when I got up in the morning, and I definitely didn’t want that. With a reluctant sigh, I walked toward the old workbench in the corner of the barn to get a claw hammer and some nails.
Twenty minutes later, I had fixed the board and put away my tools. Sliding the toolbox back under the workbench, I stopped to scratch Buster’s forelock and talk to him for just a moment, then turned off the lights and closed the barn door behind me.
Stepping into the yard, I headed toward the house, where my wife waited. All the lights were still on, the small windows glowing warmly in the dark night, beaconing to me. Lizzie would most likely be wondering what was taking me so long.
I stomped my boots on the door mat and then stepped inside and closed the door after me. Rubbing my hands to drive away the chill, I toed the bootjack away from the wall in the mudroom and pulled off my boots. I shrugged off my heavy coat and hung it on its hook, then carefully placed my cowboy hat over it. Satisfied, I returned the bootjack to its place against the wall and neatly arranged my boots beside it.
The house was warm and inviting after the chill of the barn. I peeked into the kitchen, expecting to find Elizabeth there. After all, the room’s overhead lights were still blazing merrily. But, she was nowhere to be seen. I slapped the switch downward, casting the room into darkness, and moved into the living room.
Here, too, the lights were on, but again, there was no Lizzie. Walking to the wood-burning stove, I opened the damper and then the door and peered inside to check on the fire. The fire box was empty except for a bed of glowing coals lining the bottom.
