Signs

Abby was beginning to wonder if Andrew Jackson Greywolf had not simply headed for the hills while the getting was good, as Nana would have said. Although she had no accurate recollection of what time he had left, she knew that she had wasted at least ten or fifteen minutes just sitting on her bed pondering the imponderables. Add another good fifteen to twenty minutes to dress and pack, and there went the half-hour he promised.

And she knew for a fact that she had been sitting here for another twenty…correction twenty-five minutes. So, how long did a girl sit swinging and waiting for a groom that might never show up? Five more minutes. That was it. Then she was packing in this whole crazzy show and going to try her best just to forget that last night ever happened. Even before she finished that thought, her hand slid to protectively cup her lower abdomen, and muscles that had never been used before screamed in denial.

“Who are you kidding? If you could never completely forget Andrew Jackson Greywolf when he was just a fantasy, how the hell you think you can after…” Abby’s gloved hand left her lap and brushed lightly at her eyes. Damned bright mid-day sun.

She sighed and had just stood up when some monstrosity from Woodstock stopped in front of the house. She frowned for a moment, wondering what more could Fate would throw at her, when the door opened, and the man himself stepped out. Her frown deepened until her brows knit together as he stopped at the foot of the porch steps and looked at her luggage.

“We shouldn’t leave Nana’s car sitting at the bar?” She cringed at how whiny she sounded.

“I brought you home in it last night because I didn’t want this town gossiping and ruining your reputation. We want them talking now, remember?”

She nodded as she stepped forward and bent to pick up her case. His hand stopped her, “I’ll get that. But, woman, how many clothes you need? A suitcase, a garment bag, and a hatbox?”

She blushed and stammered, trying to think of what to say without revealing the whole truth. “It’s a new dress. One I have never worn. I just thought, you know, the saying…something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.”

“Yeah, I just realized how complicated a wedding could be.”

Abby was silent as they walked fifteen or twenty feet from the front porch to where his van was parked near the road. She felt that same panic that she had earlier as she squinted into the sun and fought back the tears. But she found her voice, “If you’ve…”

As they came to rest next to the side of his truck, his fingers gripped her chin firmly and forced her eyes to look into his, “Second thoughts, baby girl. Maybe I need to remind you just how special our chemistry is?”

He opened the sliding back door of the van and stowed her stuff there. She noticed one other battered bag and assumed it was his stuff. When he was finished, he turned back towards her and stepped closer, his body towering over her. But rather than feeling insecure, Abby felt…protected? She did not have time to analyze it when his other hand traced lightly up and down her arm, igniting old flames that had merely been smoldering. “Fuck, who am I kidding? I want to taste you.”

His growl deepened as his mouth covered hers, then his tongue demanded entrance, and she was lost in the feel and as he said the taste of this man. For a woman, who had once thought herself frigid, it was a new sensation. And each time seemed more miraculous than the last. Would she ever get enough of this man? Most people said that fantasy was usually better than reality, but not with Andrew Jackson Greywolf. None of her trashy erotica or late-night fantasies matched what happened to her body when he touched her. Not even Mercy’s ebooks came close to this.

The cold metal of the truck barely registered in her addled brain, especially with the burning heat of his body pressing into the front of hers. She moaned into the depths of his mouth at the feel of his chest through the soft cotton of his t-shirt. The pounding of his heart beneath her fingers tips was doing funny things to her tummy. If that was not bad enough, his hand gripped her thigh and brought it up to wrap about his hips, and she could feel every hard inch of his cock pressed right where she wanted it. She moaned in frustration at the layers of clothes that kept her from what she wanted most – him buried inside of her once more.

He broke the kiss but made no effort to step back. Instead, he leaned his forehead against hers and smiled. “I think we can both endure a few complications of a wedding…for that,” he drawled.

She was about to nod when she saw a car slowing down as it passed. She automatically stiffened a bit when she recognized Sybil May, the owner of Sebida’s one beauty shop, as they still called it since salons were for city slickers. “Oh my…” her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ in shock and dismay.

---

Jack just chuckled, “Damn, I couldn’t have planned that better myself if I tried.” His smile widened even more, “Seems you have to marry me now, Abby Jean, cause after who just saw that little kiss, this whole fucking town is going to be talking before we even hit the county line. So, if that bag contains the new, I have the old. By my reckoning, that just leaves borrowed and blue.”

He drew back reluctantly only because he realized that the sooner they got this whole damned thing on the road, the sooner he could once again enjoy the full, ripe pleasures of his wife’s responsive body. That word should have scared a man, who had waited so damned long to take ‘the plunge’ as it was sometimes called, but it did not…not when it was applied to her.

His hands steadied her as he watched her face. She really was a completely open book, right down to the pouty bereft look on it when he stepped back and ushered her into the confines of his Baby. He could not resist a brief and almost chaste kiss before closing the passenger door.

He whistled as he walked around the back of his truck to the driver’s side. If it was a bit of trouble getting his hand into his pocket to retrieve the keys, well, he was not going to complain. He tossed the keys in the air as he thought about this latest turn of events. He had asked his Grandfather for a sign. Then Sebida’s queen of gossip just happened past at the exact moment that they were lost in an erotic kiss to end all kisses? Jack was not sure precisely what would constitute a sign to his ancient people, but damn, he was willing to go with it.

“Thanks, Old Man,” he muttered as he opened his door and slid into the seat next to her. He shook his head and unbuckled her seat belt. Jack was eternally grateful that he had managed to find an original bench-style front seat as he tugged her across to the middle seat and fastened the other seat belt across her. “That’s better.” Every moment spent reupholstering the thing was worth it. She looked down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. Damn, white gloves? His cock hardened even more. How the hell had he missed those? As fantasies multiplied in his head.

“I wasn’t sure. It’s a long drive. So, I thought maybe you needed more room. You know to get comfortable,” the pink dusting across her cheeks and the soft, stuttering lilt of her voice only excited him further.

Almost twenty hours with the soft feminine smell of her rose shampoo and soap filling his senses and her pressed against him. Was this heaven? Or hell? Did he honestly care? “Get comfortable, sweetheart, ’cause you’re right where you belong.” Jack had never been more certain of any words he spoke.

Of course, if things got too hard, like his cock, he could always pull over and take her into the back. The curtains closed, and that old mattress was surprisingly comfortable. He wouldn’t exactly be breaking his vow if he ate her until she screamed while he stuffed his cock down her throat, so no one heard.

Fuck, he cussed; this was love, wasn’t it? But he had twenty hours of mostly long roads through the desert to think about that. And he was sure that she would sleep through at least some of it. He stuck his phone in its holder on the dashboard and selected a playlist. The smooth, sultry voice that came from the speakers was almost as sweet as hers. “Sorry, it might not be your thing, but on a long drive like this, a bit of music is nice.”

She smiled and shook her head as she joined in with the singers, “Who in Texas doesn’t love the Chicks?”

Jack chuckled as her less than stellar singing mingled with the country trio, “Cowboy, take me away…”

Well, at least the woman was not perfect, he thought as he pulled the truck onto the road. But the gloves and now the Chicks. Damn, those signs kept piling up, didn’t they?