Free The Possibilities - Desire - A Collection of Short Stories by Stormy Adams Page A

Brian’s name and address and tossed it into a
nearby wastebasket.  She wouldn’t contact him again, but she would never,
ever forget him.

 
    SPANISH MOSS AND HONEYSUCKLE
    CHANCE
MEETING
     
    “I said no! ” Gillian said to
the crude drunken biker with the massive arms and foul body odor, pushing him
away from her.  His huge paws had been rubbing on her body since she
arrived at the biker bar, and she was mad as hell.  No one made a move to
help her, they were afraid of him.  She knew she was in the wrong place at
the wrong time…but she had come here for a good reason.  Gillian knew that
she was dressed more than a little wild, but she was angry because the way she
was dressed didn’t give anyone the right to manhandle her.  True, she
accepted the fact that when she went to the biker bar dressed in low cut tight
jeans and a tee shirt cut just below her firm braless breasts she was going to
get a lot of attention.  She craved attention in the worst sort of way and
she accepted that some of the guys staring at her were not going to be the guys
she wanted to hang with…but looking was one thing and touching was something
else again.  She swung with her long strapped purse and connected with the
Neanderthal’s hard head.  Something inside it shattered with a tinkle of
broken glass, and she thought it might be her compact.
    She had drawn a small trickle of
blood, and the bald Neanderthal touched the side of his head, drawing back his
hand with blood on it.  He grinned at her in a frightening way, and began
backing her into a dim corner.  Gillian was in deep shit, and she knew it.
She prepared to swing yet again when she noticed a sudden silence in the bar
behind her.  The Neanderthal licked his lips and his eyes shifted
nervously from her to the silence behind her.  There was a fierce flame in
his eyes, but it seemed to slowly flicker out.  Suddenly, Gillian was more
afraid of what was behind her than she was of the mean bastard in front of her.
    Spinning quickly, she turned to see
what had silenced the bar and her mauler.  What she saw froze her in her
tracks.  He was tall, probably six-one in his stocking feet, and he wore
faded jeans, a black pocket tee shirt, and a worn leather bomber jacket. 
His feet were clad in a pair of Acme walking heel cowboy boots that were
scuffed and a little down at the heels.  He didn’t have the massive
muscles of the Neanderthal, his were long and ropy and just plain dangerous
looking.  Wavy black hair shone in the dim light of the bar, and a lock of
it fell over one eye or rather, the patch where an eye used to be. 
Apparently the stray lock didn’t bother him, because he made no effort to tuck
it back into place.  He had a square jaw with a day’s growth of stubble
still on it, a nice complexion, and dazzlingly white teeth that barely showed
through the tight grin on his face.
    One piercing blue eye showed out
from under his thick black eyebrows, and he simply stood behind her, saying
nothing at all.  The silence extended, and there was no sound in the
bar.  Gillian noticed a small black metal insignia with white writing and
red trim pinned to the chest of the worn bomber jacket.  The white letters
spelled out ‘1 St Ranger Bn’.  It was a scroll, and there was
something faintly familiar about it, she had seen it before. Then she noticed
the man’s unearthly stillness, she couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.

                            
   
    Neanderthal was the first to break
the silence.  “Just havin’ a little fun here, Ranger,” he said nervously,
“I didn’t know she was your woman.”  Trying his best to maintain his
dignity, the scarred bald man stood erect and walked warily around the quiet
man and out into the parking lot.  It was still so quiet inside that
everyone could hear the sound of the old shovelhead Harley being kicked to life
and roaring away into the night.  His woman?
    The sound came