He slowed down for a better look at the hitch-hiker, and seeing it was
a girl, he began to apply the brake, pulling the 9 millimeter Smith &
Wesson from behind his belt to tuck it under the seat. She was already
pulling the cab door open even before he'd reached halfway across to
do that for her.
It was clearly reflected in marbled green, the sparkle of appreciation
in her eyes during that moment of pause before her hand pushed down on
the cu****on for the lift she needed to come aboard. He was used to it,
but never shy of liking the way girls so often looked at him like
that, even though some might say it rendered a certain cast of
arrogance to his expression. As he sat there tickling the whiskers of
his chin, in appraisal; she saw that he liked the way her tan thighs
were feathered in the shag from those red-denim cut-offs she wore.
Reaching out to take his hand she said, "I'm Shawna. Pleased to meet
you." Then she laughed to see him do such a funny thing, the way he
didn't let her take his hand, but kept his fingers under his own
control, to use them like you might if you wanted to tickle somebody's
hand with a peacock feather.
The rubber was smoking over the Oklahoma tar as the maroon '95 Dodge
Dakota took off screaming into the still torpid air and burnt umber
light of an early September late afternoon.
"You're cute," she giggled. "Nobody never shook my hand like that
before." No two ways about it, she liked the way he looked as he shot
her his "you ain't seen nothin' yet" glance that gave her a tummy a
tight feeling of excitement. He was clean shaven over his upper lip--
or close to it, but considering his busy morning with that Missouri
man and his daughter, back there some five hundred miles where he had
to leave them adrift in a Dead Sea of blood, for the keys to this,
their Dodge pickup truck: it was little wonder that he should be
showing a shadow of mustache by now. But it looked good on him, she
thought.
"Kinda ***y," she said.
His eyes narrowed under slightly sun-burned furrows of a high,
aristocratic forehead; his blue eyes contrasted much with the reddened
whites around them as he gave her his glance. "***y?"
"What you did!" She showed him her palm "To my hand."
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry," he said. "I didn't get much sleep last night.
She had a handful of hair, dragging a blue rat-tail comb through it
all the way down to her thigh. "I know," she said. "Your eyes look
like two pee-holes in the snow."
"I'll just bet." He nodded grimly. "So where you fixin' to go?"
"Oke City, if you're headed that far."
"That far!" He laughed. "Shoot, baby. I'm bound all the way down to
old Mexico."
--
JM http://whosenose.blogspot.com/
http://jesu***egesis.blogspot.com/
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