Hhmmflfhbgt!
“I checked out some history books last week. Did you know that there were two outlaws named Pablo and Sancho who supposedly rode with Joaquin Murietta?”
Brrgdll!
“And Rich Bar was just like we saw it. And, honey, there really was an Indiana Girl and Yank and Curtis Bancroft. I’ll show you some of the books later. After our honeymoon.”
Arrrggghhh!
Finally they stopped, and Rafe helped her out, releasing her ropes and gag with apologies for having had to restrain her.
“That’s a really nice gown, sweetheart. Your mother’s? Will you be wearing it for our wedding?”
She sliced him a scorching glare as she stood on wobbly legs and looked around at the secluded cabin. Then she punched him in the stomach.
“Ooomph! I deserved that, honey. Do you want to do that again?”
She did.
“Ooomph! Feel better now?”
She did.
While he carried in numerous boxes of supplies, she stormed toward the cabin. “Planning on staying for a while?” she snarled.
“Yep,” he said and made a big point of showing her the car keys, which he then tossed in a wide arc into the thick forest.
“Are you totally insane?” she raged, beating at his chest. “We’ll never find them now.”
“I know. But, not to worry! Tony knows where we are. This cabin belongs to his boss. He’ll pick us up in three days.”
“Three days!” she sputtered.
“Uh huh,” he said, toting in the last of the boxes. “Consider it our honeymoon.” Then he winked. He winked. “It will take me at least three days to teach you something I learned in that Mexican prison.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“There was this guy in the next cell who knew a whole lot of good stuff, and, boy, did he like to talk.”
“I don’t want to know.” Helen folded her arms over her chest. Somewhere along the way she’d lost her veil. Her hair was half in an upsweep and half straggling down her face. She saw at least three runs in her stockings. And she did have to pee. She was not in a good mood.
“C’mon, Helen. Don’tcha want to know what he taught me?” Rafe prodded with a big grin. “It’s the art of…” He paused dramatically.
“What?”
“Corkscrewing.”
Helen refused to talk to him all day.
While she was in the shower, he hid her clothes. All of them. Now she had only a blanket to keep her warm. And him. She declined his latter offer with a silent, contemptuous lift of her chin.
She ate the tortilla he made for their dinner, but wouldn’t react to his ongoing monologue on love. And it was really good.
He threatened to sing to her, “Wind Beneath My Wings,” and she put her hands over her ears. He liked that because it made her blanket slip.
So, he decided to tell her exactly how corkscrewing was done, in explicit detail. She didn’t say a word, but he could tell she was interested.
After that, she declined his offer of a glass of wine. So he chugged down a beer, and she sipped at a lemonade.
It was time for his “Hail Mary pass.” His long shot. His last chance. Going to the closet, he took out several burlap sacks and placed them on the table in the center of the room. Then he started to take off his clothes.
Helen was sitting in a wingback chair near the fireplace. She pretended she didn’t notice when he took off his boots.
“God, my feet hurt. How do cowboys wear these high-heeled boots all the time without getting fallen arches?”
No response.
“I don’t suppose you’d massage my feet.”
She scowled.
“Maybe later.” He chuckled.
Next he took off his shirt and saw her eyes widen. Good. He stretched and rubbed his face with a palm. “Do you think I should shave, hon?”
She cast him a double scowl.
Good.
He undid the buckle on his belt, and she stood abruptly. The blanket slipped again.
Good.
Loosening the top button of his jeans, he said, “Where do you want to live, Helen? After we get married again, I mean. My practice is in L.A. but if you want to live in Sacramento or anywhere else, let me know.” He pulled the zipper down and her eyes followed its path.