Runaway
CWE Picture #24
“Hey, handsome”
The voice sent a shiver of both pleasure and apprehension down his spine and he turned to look into a familiar pair of beautiful blue eyes. “Hey back,” he mumbled, cursing himself silently for the tongue-tied mess he so often found himself becoming in her presence. He leaned the pitchfork against the wall.
“Ah, so shy, yet so sweet.” She moved closer, a basket in her hands. Leaning in, she pressed her hip to his. “I brought a picnic. Do you know any tall redheads who might want to share it with me?”
He felt his heart jump and turned slightly so she wouldn’t see that his body had responded as well. “Um,” he started, “I only get half an hour.”
“That’s plenty. Ask Moby, okay?” Setting the basket at his feet, her hand slipped into the front pocket of his jeans and fished out a set of keys, her touch making him stifle a groan. “C’mon.”
He turned and called out to the stable manager, Richard Leeds, affectionately nicknamed, ‘Moby Dick’ or Moby. “Hey, Moby! Mind if I take my lunch?”
“Go ahead, Rusty,” the man called back.
He shook his head. Moby liked to give everyone a nickname. With a wry grin, he picked up the picnic basket, a little startled by the weight. She was strong for such a tiny little thing. Or maybe not so little. He watched her walk out of the barn in front of him, her jean clad hips swaying rather hypnotically. At the office they both paused to remove their boots. He slipped on a battered pair of Vans while she slid her slender feet into a pair of sandals. He admired the pearly pink paint on her toes. It was so girly, and he well knew this girl could heave hay bales with the best of the stable hands.
His vintage GMC pickup was parked behind the barn in the employee lot, shaded from the glare by the nearby row of black walnut trees. Giving him a wink, she grinned at him over her shoulder as she clambered over the dark green tailgate and into the truck bed. He handed her the basket and followed suit. To his surprise, there was a brightly colored patchwork quilt spread out in the bed. She was already unpacking the wicker basket, and his mouth watered at the sight of thick ham sandwiches—or maybe it was the way her baby-blue t-shirt clung to her curves. Either way, he wiped the corner of his mouth before taking the can of soda she offered. Dropping down beside her, he popped the top and took a long drink, letting the cold liquid soothe both his suddenly parched throat and flushed face.
They ate in relative silence. The air was thick and hot, the nearby Lonely Lake contributing to the humidity, but in the back of the truck, the mugginess went unnoticed. When he had finished eating, he stretched out on the quilt and dangled his legs over the tailgate. She tucked away the remainders of lunch and stretched out beside him, scooting down so her shorter legs joined his longer ones. With a giggle, she leaned her head against his chest. “This is nice.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, enjoying having her next to him. “Yeah, it is.”
“Are you going to stay past summer season?” she asked.
He didn’t answer for a long moment, trying to ignore the uncomfortable heaviness creeping into his stomach again, vying for room with his ham sandwich. She was waiting, and he knew she would outlast his silence, so he mumbled, “It depends, I guess.”
“Why are you hiding?” she asked softly. “I know you ran away, but from what?” He slender fingers tapped out a gentle rhythm on his thigh.
“I’m not a runaway,” he protested. “It was time for me to be out on my own, that’s all.”
“Riiiiiight,” she drew out the word. “And I suppose you’re actually twenty-six, too.”
He chuckled. “No, I’m seventeen, I promise.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” she inquired. “Well, not about your age. I’ve seen your driver’s license, but you’re definitely on the run. What from, though? A criminal past? A network of enemy spies? An evil king? A wicked stepmother? Those seem to be the story book standards, but I’m not sure any of them fit what I know about you.” She pulled in her legs and turned to face him. “It’s in your eyes--a sadness. Like you’re missing someone desperately. Who is it? Is it…”
He cut her off. She was far too close to the painful truth with her fanciful wonderings, so he did the one thing he knew would shut her up. He kissed her. It worked pretty well. Her soft pink lips parted under the pressure of his mouth, her hands reaching up to link around his neck. The kiss deepened as he pulled her down on top of him, his hands completely ignoring the little voice telling him to slow down. His fingers moved deftly under her t-shirt, stroking baby-soft skin. Finding the clasp of her bra, he fumbled with the hooks.
She giggled against his mouth and pulled away, slightly. “I think your lunch break is almost over.”
He sighed and rolled her off of him, knowing his face was flushed as bright red as his hair. Sitting up, he ran a freckled hand through his hair. Flashing her a smile, he looked at his watch and agreed wistfully, “Yeah. Just about. Later, maybe?”
“Later, definitely,” she told him, sitting up herself and leaning against the side.
He leaned toward her, only to be interrupted by the stable manager yelling, “Rusty! Ruuuuuuuuuusteeeeeee!”
With another frustrated sigh, he turned to see his boss walking around the side of the barn. “What, Moby?” he called out. “I’ve still got three minutes.”
“You also got yourself a visitor,” Moby said, his next words setting ‘Rusty’s’ heart spiraling into his stomach. “He says he’s your father.”
Author’s Notes
Thanks to Mal for editing. “Thanks, Mal!”
This is part of my “Alternative” Universe. One of these days, I’ll be posting it. Until then, any guesses as to my redheaded runaway?
