Prairie Fire

by Kayt C Peck

  “Honey, we got company coming,” Judy said.

  “If they delay long enough, they won’t be the only ones coming,” Kathleen answered huskily.

  That’s when they heard the bathroom door open. Kathleen hastily pulled her hand from Judy’s shirt, and they worked together, franticly refastening the shirt, having time for only one snap before Pookie walked into the living room, wearing the terry-cloth bathrobe that was a hand-me-down from Kathleen. The two women remained snuggling on the loveseat, but there was a subtle change in position, a less intimate feel, one more appropriate for the presence of their young housemate.

  “What time did they say they’d be here?” Pookie asked.

  “About three,” Kathleen answered.

  Pookie looked at the old-fashioned clock ticking on the wall. The short hand was on two and the long hand at the quarter-hour. “I better hurry.” She looked down at her lesbian moms. “And you two don’t have time for that,” she said, pointing at Judy’s shirt where the top snap on the right side was attached to the second snap on the left side. Pookie turned and walked rapidly up the stairs to her room.

  Judy blushed crimson. “Well, I guess she knows what we were doing.”

  Kathleen laughed so hard she nearly rolled off the loveseat. Judy caught her, holding her in place before she hit the floor.

  “Does this mean I can wear the ‘Boobies make me smile’ shirt around her now?” Judy asked.

  Kathleen wiped at laughter-induced tears. “Yes, honey. I think she can handle it,” Kathleen responded.

  The couple remained snuggled, but their attention returned to the witty repartee between Doc and Chester on the TV screen. The sound was low, offering more of a distraction as they waited than any serious entertainment. When Pookie returned to the living room, she was perfectly tricked out in punk high dress. The studs on her dog collar were freshly polished, and black designer jeans with perfectly positioned wear-holes on the legs, black leggings showing beneath, replaced the blue denim jeans she adopted for ranch work. Her black t-shirt was one Judy had never seen before, the name of a band Judy had never heard emblazoned over her right breast.

  “You look great, Pook,” Kathleen said.

  “Do you think…will she…?”

  “You’ll knock her socks off,” Judy said.

  Pookie sat poised on the edge of the couch. She picked up a copy of the Dulson County Reporter from the coffee table and began tearing little chunks off one corner.

  “Now, don’t you go leaving a pile of trash on the couch. We cleaned this whole place, remember,” Kathleen said.

  Pookie put the newspaper back on the table, and gathered her little pile of paper bits, carrying them to the trashcan in the kitchen. While there, she looked out the window down the county road by the house.

  “Are you sure they know the way?” Pookie asked.

  “Pook, April travels all over the Panhandle for her newspaper. She knows the way to Dulson and Highway 84 north. You can’t miss the turn onto CR 10 at the grain elevator. I’m sure they’ll find us,” Judy said.

  “I hope they’re not late,” Pookie said, still staring down the road.

  “If you don’t settle down, I’ll be tempted to give you one of those tranquilizers the vet gave us for Useless so she won’t puke when we take her in for her shots,” Judy said.

  Kathleen shifted from her position on the loveseat and stood. “Come on, Pookie. Let’s stuff some of those jalapeños.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Judy said. “Everyone loved those at the Ladies’ Room.”

  Pookie looked down at her perfectly placed outfit. “But I’m all dressed.”

  “You can wear an apron,” Kathleen said.

  “Wait!” Judy said, following Kathleen into the kitchen. “Maybe jalapeños aren’t the best idea.”

  Kathleen looked puzzled. “Why?”

  “They can be too hot for some folks,” Judy said.

  “You know good and well that the cheese mixture I use mellows them out so there’s just a little bite.”

  Judy shifted from one foot to the other, until she finally pulled Kathleen close and whispered into Kathleen’s ear. “What if we want to finish what we started after we go to bed tonight?”

  “So?”

  Judy gazed pointedly into Kathleen’s eyes. “Remember the last time?”

  Kathleen’s eyes widened. “Ohhhh…” She reached into a drawer and pulled out a box of latex gloves she kept for cleaning. “Here, Pookie. We better use these,” she said as she pulled a pair from the box and handed them to the younger woman.

  “Where’s my pair?” Judy asked.

  Kathleen swatted Judy playfully on the behind. “Go watch Gunsmoke. Stuffed jalapeños are Pookie’s and my specialty.”

  Judy gratefully obeyed, leaving the kitchen for the living room. As they worked, Kathleen and Pookie heard the television volume increase slightly. Judy really did like the old Western.

  aaAA

  Pookie wiped sweaty palms against the legs of her jeans. Sketches, paintings, and small clay sculptures covered the drawing board, the desk top, the futon, and even the floor. For such a young artist, Pookie had an impressive portfolio. She had been so relieved when her mother agreed to ship all of her art she had to her new home in Texas. Judy and Kathleen moved furniture in the office/studio they all shared and emptied a closet so that there was a place for Pookie’s collection. Now, feeling as though she were exposing her very soul, Pookie showed it all to Terry.

  Terry stood, moving only slightly in tight little circles so that she could take in the panorama of art surrounding her. Her face showed only surprise, her mouth hanging slightly open. For the longest time, she said nothing.

  “I’m…I’m sorry there weren’t enough horses for us to all go riding at once,” Pookie said, fidgeting nervously at a loose thread on the strategically worn holes in her jeans.

  “I’m not.” Terry stood straight, appearing to rein in the amazement that left her speechless. “Pookie, you are an amazing artist.”

  The usually unflappable Pookie blushed. “You really think so?”

  Terry sighed, shaking her head, her mouth working soundlessly as she sought words for her feelings. “Pookie…I…I can’t tell you how moved I am by your art.” She gazed directly into Pookie’s face, her expression intensifying. “How moved I am by you.”

  Terry reached for Pookie’s hand and raised her from where she sat in an office chair. As she stepped closer, Terry wrapped her arms around Pookie, holding her close. They stood in a long, slow embrace. Respiration for both women became rapid and shaky. In time, Pookie leaned back to look into Terry’s eyes and then gently touch her fingers along the side of Terry’s face. The kiss was long and slow, growing in intensity as the young women used tongues and lips to explore the intimate interior of the other’s mouth. The passion became so intense that Terry’s knees weakened, and Pookie wrapped her arms ever more tightly around Terry as she felt the other sway. Pookie guided Terry gently to a seat in the office chair and then turned to gather the eleven-by-seventeen mixed media depictions of the sculpture she and Judy were creating from where they stood upright against the futon back. She placed the art carefully behind a filing cabinet and then took Terry’s hand to pull her softly toward a seat beside her on the futon.

  Making out is such a coarse term, hardly accurate to describe the gentle intensity with which Pookie and Terry kissed and as their hands and mouths became bold in where they touched and tasted. Terry moaned as Pookie nibbled and licked at the gentle curve where neck met shoulder.

  “You are so different from Marilyn,” Terry said, breathlessly.

  Pookie stopped what she was doing, but kept her body intimately close to the woman beside her. “Marilyn…your lover who…who…?”

  “Who killed herself, yes.”

  “How am I different?” Pookie asked.

  “You’re bold and brazen, not caring what people think. Maybe because of that, everyone seems to love you.”
/>   Pookie laughed without humor. “Not my stepfather.”

  “Then he’s a fool.”

  “Well, yeah. That’s a given,” Pookie said.

  Terry laughed. “See. That’s what I mean. Marilyn…Marilyn was so afraid, cared so much about what her parents, the preacher, people in the church —heck, even God—she cared so much what others thought of her.”

  “I was lucky. My dad taught me when I was little not to be afraid to be me,” Pookie said.

  “How did he die?”

  “Car wreck on an icy road. He had a job to deliver in Castle Rock. I wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t let me because the weather was bad.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Pookie.

  Pookie pulled away, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees. “I grieve sometimes still, but then I remember, at least I had him for a time. If I hadn’t had that, I wouldn’t even know that I was supposed to grieve the best dad in the world.” She turned to look at Terry. “That would be a whole lot worse.”

  Terry used her right hand to trace random patterns gently on Pookie’s back. “Yes, it would.”

  “So, I’m a lot different from Marilyn. What about your other lovers? Am I all that different?”

  Terry sat perfectly still. She turned her face to look out the window. “I…I haven’t had any other lovers.”

  Pookie took Terry’s hand in her own. “You know, you don’t have to stop grieving to get on with your life,” she said.

  Terry put her hand on Pookie’s arm and pulled her back into a close embrace. “You know, I’m learning that. I met this amazing girl, and she is teaching me so much.”

  They kissed again with renewed passion.

  “Pookie.” Terry said her mouth close to Pookie’s ear.

  “Yes?”

  “Why don’t you show me your room?”

  Pookie leaned back, surprised. The surprise evaporated quickly, replaced by a mischievous smile.

  “It would be my pleasure,” Pookie responded.

  “But,” Terry looked out the window intently. “What if they come back while we…?”

  “Don’t worry,” Pookie said. “Judy said she was going to take them to the spring in Duran Canyon. I’ve been there, and even when we rode pretty hard, it was over a two-hour ride. Since April and Sophia aren’t experienced riders, they’ll take it slow, and Kathleen will want to gather some watercress at the spring. We have time.”

  aaAA

  Kathleen poured four huge tumblers of sweetened iced tea as April and Sophia walked a tad unsteadily through the back service porch and into the kitchen. They each gratefully accepted a glass and downed much of the contents in rapid gulps.

  “I didn’t realize riding could be such thirsty work,” Kathleen said.

  “The sugar’s good for you too. We expended a lot of energy on that ride,” Judy said as she followed her guests into the room and accepted her own tumbler of tea from Kathleen.

  Sophia and April moved to take seats around the kitchen table, each lowering herself slowly to the chair.

  Kathleen laughed as she watched. “It does take a little time for the body to adjust to time in the saddle,” she said.

  “I’ll admit I’m a little sore,” Sophia said.

  “A little sore, and the world looks just a little funny to me,” April said, confusion in her tone.

  “I still get that, even though I’ve ridden all my life. After a while, your body adjusts to the different height and balance that comes with being on a horse. My guess is it’s a little like getting your land legs back after being at sea,” Judy said.

  “That makes sense,” April responded.

  Sophia shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

  “You two can help yourselves to the Jacuzzi tub in the master bedroom for a nice soak, and I have some salve that’s good for saddle sores if you need it,” Judy said.

  “For people or for horses?” April asked.

  “Yes,” Judy answered.

  Sophia smiled as she looked toward Judy and Kathleen. “Thank you so much for that wonderful experience. I had never ridden except short rides when I was a girl visiting a friend who had a pony, and renting a horse for an hour’s ride in New Mexico.”

  Kathleen moved to the sink and emptied a shopping bag full of watercress into the sink. She began a thorough washing of the wild salad.

  “I’ve never eating wild…what did you call it?” April asked.

  “Watercress,” Kathleen answered.

  Sophia breathed deeply, closing her eyes to enjoy the scent. “What is that wonderful smell?”

  Judy walked to where the crock-pot simmered on the counter, lifting the lid. “It’s some of Kathleen’s famous Irish stew.”

  “Honey, the ladies would probably like a snack. Would you get the jalapeño poppers out of the refrigerator?” Kathleen asked.

  Judy pulled the plastic container filled with stuffed peppers out of the refrigerator, removed the lid, and took one from the top layer before setting the bowl on the table in front of their guests.

  “I remember these from the potluck,” April said.

  “Me too,” Sophia said, as she took her own pepper from the bowl.

  Kathleen retrieved small plates and paper napkins from the cupboard, setting them on the table. “Forgive Judy. Sometimes she forgets that people like to be civilized when they eat.” She gave Judy a loving tug on her ear.

  “What can I say? I’ve eaten too many meals out of a saddle bag or sitting on a tailgate,” Judy said. She paused, looking around. “Hey! Wonder where the girls are?”

  “That’s right. I didn’t see them outside, but maybe they went for a walk.” Kathleen grasped the cabinet door she’d left open after taking plates from a shelf. She swung it closed, making a sound loud enough to be heard throughout the house.

  All four women heard a thump from the floor above.

  “Uhhhh…that’s from Pookie’s room,” Judy said.

  The muffled sounds of scurrying could be heard above, followed shortly by the “thump, thump” of someone hurrying down the stairs. Terry appeared in the doorway, looking artificially nonchalant.

  “So, did you all have a good ride?” she asked.

  None of the older women answered. They sat in silence, each wondering if they should tell Terry that her shirt was inside out.

  “Yes, we…uh…had a great ride,” April said.

  “The spring was beautiful,” Sophia added.

  Pookie followed Terry at a somewhat more relaxed pace. She appeared in the doorway, stepping directly into the kitchen. “Oh great, the poppers are out.” She took two from the bowl, one in each hand. As she ate one, she took the other to Terry and raised it toward her lips. Although she blushed, Terry smiled as she ate directly from Pookie’s hand. Pookie glanced at Terry’s attire, then leaned close to whisper in Terry’s ear.

  Terry made a noise very similar to the sound of a strangling cat and rushed out of the room and back up the stairs. Pookie returned to the table, placed four poppers on a plate, and then picked it up along with a handful of napkins.

  “I better go see if I can help,” Pookie said as she left the kitchen and followed Terry up the stairs.

  The kitchen was painfully silent for a moment.

  “Kathleen, honey, I don’t think we need to make up the futon in the office tonight,” Judy said.

  April was the first to laugh. The others followed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Godsend?

  Joe Bob spread the plans for the new fire station on the folding table where all the Coldwater Volunteer Fire Department officers now gathered. As chief, Joe Bob had followed the precedent established by Ted Rome when he chaired the organizational meeting. The agenda was written on the black board. There were three items:

  1. Fire station

  2. Stuff from the County

  3. What’s next?

  “Well heck, Joe Bob, I can understand the basic schematics for the building, but there’s a bunch of stuff here I just don
’t understand,” Brad said.

  Judy traced a finger along a series of lines, apparently water pipes, that ran along the top of the equipment bays. “Why the heck they got plumbing up on the ceiling?”

  “Damned if I know,” Joe Bob responded.

  “Wait,” Judy picked up the blueprints, studying up one small segment. “Here it is. Ohhh, that makes sense.”

  “Well then, explain to the rest of us,” Brad said.

  “They have huge spigots right over the trucks. I bet it’s so you can fill the tanks without having to move the trucks.”

  Joe Bob pointed at the designation for propane heating units suspended from the ceiling at all four corners. “Be handy in the winter. Plumbing won’t freeze like outside water supplies.”

  Everyone looked toward Kathleen as she let out a low whistle. She sat at a separate table, looking through the budget and accounting forms Joe Bob had picked up from the County Manager. As treasurer, she was the one tasked with interpreting the financial bureaucrat quagmire.

  “What’s up?” Judy asked.

  “When we get our station built and the two trucks Ted Rome arranged for us, we’ll qualify as a ‘sub-station.’ Do you know how much we’ll get from the state every year just for operation?”

  “How much?” Martha asked. She sat beside Kathleen, taking notes for the minutes.

  “We’ll receive $120,000 from the state fire fund.”

  “And that’s not all,” Joe Bob said. “When I went by to pick up our paperwork, the County Manager sat me down to talk about the grants we need to apply for so we can start buying trucks and equipment. There’s state money and FEMA money through the Assistance to Firefighter Grant and some other programs. He said we need to get a new Class A pumper as soon as possible and said it would be at least a quarter million dollars.”

  “Holy crap! That’s even worse than a new combine,” Brad said.

  “You’re telling me,” Joe Bob responded. He tugged at his mustache and looked into the faces of his officers. “Folks, we’ve taken on a big job here.”

  Martha’s lips lightened into a thin line. Angrily, she set her pencil down on her note pad. “And it’s worth every nickel—our money, state money, federal money—if it will keep one person from going through what my Harold went through.”