Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

A quick recap of the Story Thus Far: Rural paramedic Nettie Hastings finds herself in the middle of a flurry of unexplained overdose calls and, with the help of her best friend and former lover, Terry Wilder, has begun putting clues together linking the source to her own hometown. Some suspect Terry’s involvement, as his ex-wife is a convicted drug trafficker. A DEA agent named Bridgette Ramscone is brought in to work the case, and she takes a special interest in Nettie who, in the meantime, has entered into a clandestine affair with Terry’s preteen daughter Halee. After a late night sex party at Nettie’s, Halee accidentally discovers that her long out-of-the-picture mother Kathryn is involved in the overdoses. She slips out on her own, intent on confronting her mom. Nettie and Terry follow, but too late – Halee arrives first. The three of them are captured by Kathryn and her gang, and in the melee, Halee is shot. Kathryn is persuaded to let Halee go, along with Nettie to take care of her, but she holds onto Terry as a hostage.

For a more detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by Rachael Yukey

Late that evening, I sat alone in Terry’s living room. I’d liberated a small pile of records from my apartment while I was picking up a few changes of clothes, and was indulging a long-held desire to test out my own music on quite possibly the only audio system in town that was superior to mine. Sure enough, it sounded fucking great. King Diamond’s horror-story classic Abigail, of which I had recently obtained an original 1987 pressing in mint condition, was full of body, depth, and rich dynamics. Poor stereo, I mused. The bad man is wasting you on crap like Chopin.

I felt a sharp pang at the thought of Terry, wondering what he was going through at that moment. I knew where he was; the media had picked up on the hostage situation, and helicopters carrying camera crews had followed the two Ford Explorers on their trek north. At one point Terry had even briefly appeared on TV, when he exited an SUV, entered a service station in the company of two of Kathryn’s men, then came back out again. Now the two vehicles were hunkered down in Smokey Bear State Park just outside of International Falls, a few miles south of the Canadian border. Nobody knew what they were waiting for, or what the plan was.

Thanks to the media circus there’d been no keeping the situation from Naomi, who knew that her dad was a captive and her sister had been shot before I even made it back to Bronning. Of course, anything Naomi knew, Chelsey knew, but thankfully my mother, who was still looking after Terry’s girls, had prevailed upon them not to discuss it with Dawn or Maya, who were still mercifully in the dark. Mom had also quite militantly shooed away the ladies and gentlemen of the press who came calling in hopes of interviewing the children. She’s not really a bad sort, my mom, despite her controlling tendencies.

Now Chelsey was at her grandma’s house. That frail old lady was going to have a job taking care of an injured child, but she’d insisted, and there was no real basis for anyone to object. Thankfully, Chelsey had an appointment to be divested of her arm brace in two more days. Naomi, Dawn, and Maya were home now, and in their respective beds, although I doubted very much that Naomi was sleeping well. I figured I’d check on her when I turned in, and invite her to crash with me if she was still awake.

Halee was in Minneapolis, having come through surgery well, and transferring without incident. Shannon Hudtsted at Thormleton handled patient care during the transfer, and graciously kept me informed throughout the three hour ambulance ride. The plan was for Halee to undergo a second operation the next morning, then be extubated and brought out of sedation in the afternoon. I’d already arranged care for the three younger girls, intending to be at her bedside when she woke.

My right hand rested lightly on a glass of bourbon from a bottle I’d liberated from Terry’s liquor cabinet. I was on my third LP since I’d poured it, and had yet to take a sip. Something felt wrong about drinking while I was responsible for those little girls. I’d seen Terry do it often enough, but I’m not him. He has what seems to me an extraordinary ability to enjoy a drink or two without craving more, but if I have one, I’m going to end up having another three or four at least. I don’t drink to mellow out or catch a light buzz; I drink to get drunk. I contemplated the fact, wondering why it had taken me so long to realize this about myself.

My phone chimed, and I glanced towards where it lay on the end table, right next to the untouched bourbon.

Then I blinked, and looked again. The message was from Terry.

I snatched up the phone, almost knocking over the glass of booze in the process, and opened the message with trembling hands.

It read, Is Halee still alive?

Not “how is Halee”, but “is Halee still alive”. I was stricken at the thought of what the past twelve hours must have been like for Terry, watching his beloved daughter shoved into the boo boo buggy on the ragged edge of death, then not knowing what happened next. I couldn’t even imagine his state of mind.

I got my brain in gear and typed rapidly.Yes. At Children’s. Had surgery in Johnstown, then transferred. More surgery scheduled in AM, then hopefully extubation. Prognosis positive.

Thanks, Nettie, the reply came a moment later. Thought she was a goner.

Where u at? I typed. Can’t believe they’re letting u use phone.

It was over a minute before I got a reply. An agonizingly long minute, but I needn’t have worried. It was simply Terry’s inability to abbreviate.  

They’re not. I managed to squirrel it away between the seats when they first stuffed me into the vehicle. Told them afterwards I dropped it back at the farm. Vigilance has become increasingly lax in the intervening hours, and I was able to retrieve the phone. Am now in a room by myself, so I have a few minutes to communicate.

Any way we can help? I typed.  Do u know what plans are?

Terry spent so long on the next reply that I’d almost given up waiting and was about to call Bridgett. But then it came.

They’re in a bind. They had an escape plan invlving a Canadian border official amenable to bribery, but with present media coverge, the plan’s been scrapped. They have passage off the continent arranged, I think by air, but they’re trying to decide how best to get across the boder. They have little faith in the Canadian authorities’ willingness to let them pass on the basis of my hostage status. 

But they’re feeling rushed. They’re afraid of someone or something, and I don’t think it’s the DEA. Sooner rather than later they’re going to make a move. Hopefuly Special Agent Twinkle Titties and her merry band will be able to take advantage of any errors. Kathryn seems flustered and uncertain. 

Despite the tension in my gut, I felt a grin spread across my face as I read the typos. Terry’s usually so meticulous about such things. The grin faded as I tried desperately to think like an agent; to anticipate any questions Bridgett would want answered. Who knew when Terry would be able to text again?

Are u all in the same cabin? I replied after a few moments’ thought. Also… is ur spellcheck broken, or did u fail 2nd grade?

Once again, the reply seemed to take forever. Woe is me, I have misspelled. When news of my suicide reaches you, you’ll know the reason why. As for the other… the entire entourage is in Cabin 505, designed to accommodate a large number of campers. I’m alone in a single-bed room at the northwest end, with armed dickweeds occupying adjacent rooms. They have a watch schedule arranged for the night; can’t exit without tripping over dickweed on duty. Windows in this building are all secured shut. 

Kathryn has taken the room most southward. The dickweed who broke his leg has not yet received medical attention; they’re using Ibuprofen and cheap booze to keep him quiet. That’s all the info I have; please pass it along to Special Agent Lipgloss. I have notifications silenced, so don’t hesitate to text me back; just be advised that there may be gaps in my ability to respond. Also, I have no means to charge this phone, so once the battery runs out that’s the end of my ability to communicate. Fortunately it was fully charged this morning. Who’s watching my unhospitalized kids?

Me, I replied. Am leaving them with mom 2morrow so I can be there when halee wakes. If ur worried about battery, try texting like a normal person. The reply, when it came, made me smile.

U R so rite LULZ!!! 

Then a few moments later: Going to try to get some sleep now, have no idea what tomorrow will bring. Will check the phone when possible to do so; keep me apprised. Thanks for everything. Remind me to ask you sometime what lulz means.

I sent him back a thumbs-up emoji, then decided it wasn’t enough. Hang in there, my friend, I typed, then called Bridgett.

***

“Hi, I’m Doctor Fletcher, but you can call me Hannah. I’m an anesthesiology resident.”

I shook the proffered hand, captivated by depthless green eyes that bored into mine. The woman was an absolute knockout, her perfectly proportioned face framed by a shock of red hair pulled back into a sensible hospital bun. A head shorter than me, her body was tight yet curvy in all the right places, with ample breasts and a luscious ass. I longed to see that ass in something more provocative than hospital scrubs.

Her gaze traveled downward, inclining her head sufficiently to peek at my toes, then back up. It was nothing one would ordinarily take offense at, or even notice, but I’ve been in the periphery of Franklin County’s gay community long enough to read the signs. This hot little number was checking me out! I was glad to have chosen nice jeans and a sweater that hugged my figure.

I had to force myself not to stammer. “Nettie Hastings. Pleased to meet you.” Hannah fixed me with a radiant smile, then turned to the bed upon which Halee lay, wires and tubes crisscrossing her body, the ET tube I’d placed en route to the hospital still protruding from her mouth.

As she examined the readings on the infusion pumps, Hannah spoke over her shoulder. “Nettie. Is that short for something?”

“Antoinette.” Hannah bent over to inspect some tubing, and I didn’t even try not to stare. Oh my God, that ass! Suddenly she glanced back at me, immediately noticed where my gaze was fixated, and hit me again with that big, sunny smile.

“Antoinette,” she said. “That’s lovely. It’s almost a pity to abbreviate it.”

I caught myself beaming at her; I’ve always privately agreed. But it’s been ‘Nettie’ for as long as I can remember, and sometimes it’s pointless to fight the wind.

“I’d love it if you called me Antoinette,” I heard myself say. Good God, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d experienced this kind of immediate, panties-on-the-floor attraction to someone I’d just met, and I was pretty damn sure the feeling was mutual.

She straightened and faced me again, her eyes this time roaming my body a bit more overtly. Yup, it’s mutual, all right.

“When we have family or friends present for an extubation,” she said, “I like to just go over the process, so they know what to expect,” she said. “Right now Halee’s receiving an infusion of sedatives. The main one is this white stuff hanging from the pole here.”

“Propofol,” I said, “and right next to it you’re running a Ketamine drip. With timed bumps of Fentanyl for pain management.”

She looked up at me, a delighted smile cracking her face.

“I’m a paramedic,” I explained.

Suddenly her expression changed to that of a woman coming to a realization. “Antoinette Hastings. Now I know why your name sounded familiar. You actually sank this tube, didn’t you? We get all the EMS reports for patients in ICU. All right, then.”

She turned back to the pumps, pressing the stop buttons for both of the sedatives. “There we go,” she said. “She’s off the sedation. Halee’s nurse should be back soon. I’ll be back in twenty minutes to take her off the vent, assuming she’s breathing spontaneously.” Those gorgeous green eyes positively sparkled. “It was nice to meet you, Antoinette. I’ll see you soon.”

***

Twenty minutes later I stood anxiously at Halee’s bedside in the ICU, my nervousness balanced somewhat by clinical curiosity. I intubate a dozen or so people a year, mostly in cases of cardiac arrest, but the last time I was present for an extubation was my clinicals during medic school. It’s just not a thing we do in the field.

Hannah the Smoking Hot Anesthesiologist tapped a brow experimentally; Halee’s eyelids flickered. Hannah looked back at the ventilator, set to a mode that allowed a patient to take their own breaths. She pointed to a reading that told us Halee was now breathing spontaneously at a rate of eighteen per minute, with the machine only assisting those ventilations. She nodded at me, and I grinned back.

Turning back to Halee, Hannah disconnected the ventilator hose from the endotracheal tube, using her other hand to hit the standby button on the vent before it started throwing alarms. Halee continued to breathe, the air rushing through the open end of the tube making for a strange, hollow sound. Hannah, the middle aged, matronly RN and I watched the monitor expectantly.

“End tidal is holding, and she’s satting nicely on room air,” the nurse observed after about a minute.

“Better than I’d expect with that pulmonary trauma,” Hannah agreed. She indicated the tube, turning her eyes to me. “Let’s get rid of this thing. You put it in there; would you like to be the one to pull it?”

I crossed to the rack of gloves on the wall, selected a set of mediums, and returned to Halee’s side as I pulled them on. Hannah handed me a syringe, which I connected to the air line on the ET tube.

“This is a first for me,” I said. “I put these things in every once and again, but I’ve never pulled one before.”

“Hell of a lot easier than putting ‘em in,” Hannah observed with a chuckle.

I used the syringe to suck the air out of the cuff, then eased the tube from my lover’s throat. Halee started, squirmed a little, then settled back, breathing comfortably under her own power.

“Excellent,” Hannah exulted. I crossed to the garbage can, flinging the tube and syringe into it with satisfaction. Stripping off the gloves, I tossed them in as well.

“Sats at 97 percent, and a rate of 16,” the nurse observed in a cheerful voice. “Can’t ask for better than that.”

“She’ll probably wake up before too much longer,” Hannah said. “I don’t suppose you bring a lot of people out of sedation on the box.”

“God, no,” I said. “Mostly putting them under, or keeping them that way.”

“She’ll be groggy,” said Hannah. “Partly the lingering effects of sedation; partly the pain meds she’s still getting. She might remember everything that happened right away, it might take her a while to retrieve those memories, or she might never remember. It’s okay to ask her what she remembers, but not so good to pressure her. Let it come, or not come, in its own time.”

There was a ding from the little collar radio the RN was wearing. “Excuse me,” she said. “That’s my other patient. If I can’t come right back, I’ll send someone else so there’ll be a nurse in here when she wakes up.” She left, sliding the glass door closed behind her.

Hannah turned back to me, an entirely new expression on her face now that the nurse was gone. “Are you staying in the metro tonight, Antoinette?”

“I… I’m not sure yet,” I stammered, knowing exactly where she was going with this. “It depends on how Halee does when she wakes up. I’m kind of responsible for her sisters at the moment, too.”

“Yeah,” said Hannah, “I heard that this is the girl whose dad is a hostage up by International Falls. God, that sucks. But listen: if you stay tonight, or any other time you’re down this way and need a place to crash, I’ve got a pretty nice house over in Bloomington. It’s just me and my daughter there, plenty of room.”

With a smile that made her intentions abundantly clear, she stuck out her hand. I shook it… and let her slide the scrap of paper it contained into my palm.

“It was a pleasure to spend time with you, Antoinette,” she said. “I hope we can meet again under happier circumstances.” Tipping me a wink, she left the room.

I slipped the paper into the pocket of my jeans just as Halee’s nurse was returning to the room. She smiled at me, commencing the hourly checks ICU nurses have to perform on their equipment. She took notes on the numbers displayed on the infusion pumps, visually verifying those against the amount of liquid remaining in the bags.

I returned to Halee’s side. She was starting to stir. Then she lifted her hands, stopping suddenly as if something didn’t feel right. Her left hand crossed her body, fingers playing across the IV catheter and attached line in her right forearm. The nurse instantly dropped what she was doing and unpackaged a moist wipe.

I reached out and took the hand that was toying with the IV. She started a little, then relaxed. I squeezed her hand gently. “Halee,” I said, “it’s me, Nettie.” Her mouth moved, soundlessly forming my name.

“Halee,” said the nurse, “my name is Bobbi, and I’m your nurse. You had surgery, and you’re coming out of sedation. Don’t open your eyes yet, and don’t try to talk. Okay, honey?”

Bobbi swabbed gently at Halee’s eyelids with the wipe. “There we go. Now you can open your eyes whenever you’re ready, Halee,” she said. “I’m going to sit you up, and we’ll get you some water. Your throat probably hurts a lot right now. That’s because there was a tube down it.”

Bobbi pushed a button on the side of the bed, and the head began to incline upwards. “If it hurts as we move, just hold your hand up to let us know,” she said. “You got hurt, and your tummy and chest are probably going to be sore.”

Leaving Halee in a semi-reclined position, Bobbi took a large cup of water with a straw through the top from the side of the bed. “Can you open your mouth just a bit, Halee?” Halee’s lips parted, and Bobbi slipped the straw between them. Instinctively she closed her lips around the straw.

“Try to drink a little,” Bobbi advised. Halee sucked some water up through the straw, wincing as she swallowed. But then the cold liquid’s soothing effects took hold, and she drank a little more. Suddenly her eyes flew open. Instantly she closed them again, her left hand flying up to block out the light.

“Nettie,” she croaked in a soft voice. “Are you there?”

“I’m here, Halee,” I said, squeezing her hand. “Just rest and try to drink a little more.”

Halee groped around, found the straw that Bobbi still had positioned near her lips, and stuck it into her mouth. This time she took a longer drink, and it seemed to go down easier. Then her eyes opened again, just slits this time. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. Finally the eyes were fully open, if a bit droopy, and they flicked back and forth, taking in me, the nurse, and the room she was in.

Extracting her hand from mine, she felt around on her torso with both hands, coming to rest on the large dressings that covered most of the right side. She looked back up at me, extending her trembling hand. I took it, held it firmly against my chest. Tears were burning my eyelids.

“Nettie, wh-what happened to me?”

The nurse held up a hand before I could speak. “What’s the last thing you remember, Halee?” she asked.

Halee’s eyes seemed to unfocus a little. “Mom. Chelsey had a picture of her. I went to the house…”

“It’s okay,” I assured her. “Don’t try to force it.”

Suddenly those eyes were boring holes in me. “I had a gun. That guy fell, and I picked up his gun. Then I just hurt. All through here.” The hand that wasn’t clutched in mine swept across her torso in a broad gesture. “Nettie… did I get shot?”

“Yes,” I said. Tears were on my cheeks now. “You got shot, but you’re going to be okay. You’re going to heal, Halee. Try not to worry.”

The eyes cast downwards. “I didn’t shoot anybody,” she said in a small voice, “did I?”

“No,” I assured her, “no, you didn’t. You didn’t hurt anyone, Halee.”

Her mouth tightened. “My mom’s a bitch. I hate her.”

“Don’t think about that right now.”

“Nettie…” Her head moved slowly, rising once more to meet my gaze with dawning awareness that all was not as it should be. “Why isn’t my dad here?”

***

The ICU staff kicked me out at five. CT showed some remaining abnormalities in Halee’s gut, meaning another, much less invasive surgery would have to be performed the following day, and unless I was next of kin I wouldn’t be getting anywhere near her until late afternoon at the earliest. I knew some bureaucratic machinations had already taken place to get me the access I’d been granted, and elected not to push my luck.

I’d ended up telling Halee everything that had transpired, knowing she’d learn the truth anyway the moment she saw any news on the big flatscreen mounted to the wall opposite her bed. She blamed herself for her father’s captivity, despite my best efforts to dispel that line of thinking.

Kathryn Wilder’s little party was still holed up in Cabin 505 at Smokey Bear State Park, and completely incommunicado. The authorities had attempted to open a dialog, with no response. I’d texted Terry three times throughout the course of the day, filling him in on Halee’s status, but he had yet to reply.

As I rode the elevator to the highest level of the parking ramp, I dug out the little scrap of paper Hannah had given me. It contained her name and a phone number. I punched the digits into my phone.

She picked up on the second ring. “This is Hannah.”

“Hi,” I said. “This is Antoinette Hastings, we met this morning in ICU.” I took a certain delight in letting my unabbreviated name roll off my tongue.

Her voice went from neutral to sensuous in an instant. “Oh, hi, Antoinette!”

“I just got kicked out of ICU for the night,” I said as I exited the elevator and tried to orient myself, “and I’ve decided to make a run for home.  But I wanted to thank you for the offer. I might take you up on it another time.”

“I understand,” said Hannah. “But I’m wondering: were you planning on getting something to eat on the way out?”

***

I ended up meeting Hannah and her daughter Bethany at a little Italian restaurant in Roseville, conveniently situated on my way out of the metro.

“It’s a three hour drive for you,” Hannah had insisted on the phone, “and I know what an emotional roller coaster you must be on. Let’s get some decent food in you before you head out. My treat.” It simply sounded too good to say no.

Bethany, aged thirteen, was a younger carbon copy of her mother. Red hair, green eyes, and a delightful developing figure. I caught myself staring, and when I looked away, I could see that Hannah had caught me in the act. But she didn’t appear to be upset. In fact, she sported a knowing little grin.

“You don’t look old enough to have a thirteen-year-old,” I told Hannah as we examined our menus.

“Oh, I’m not,” she said with a wry smile. “I had Bethany when I was fifteen.”

“Ah,” I said. “I’m impressed.”

Hannah’s brows disappeared into her hairline. “That’s not a response you get very often when you tell someone you were a teen mom.”

“Well,” I said, “usually the tale of a fifteen-year-old mother is pretty tragic. There are several women with stories like that in my hometown’s trailer park. They’re underemployed, on drugs, and their kids are on track to end up the same way.”

I leaned forward, arms on the table, and lightly placed my fingertips on the back of her hand. “But look at you. You became an anesthesiologist while taking care of a little girl, and now you have a successful career, a beautiful daughter, and a house in Bloomington. I’m impressed.”

Hannah captured the hand that was touching hers and squeezed. “Thank you,” she said.

The sexual tension between Hannah and I was palpable, and it suddenly occurred to me to wonder if it might be making Bethany uncomfortable. A glance to my right dispelled that concern. The girl was staring at me with the corners of her mouth turned up, something akin to hunger in her eyes. I was instantly aroused, yet caught off balance at the same time. What exactly was happening here?

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Mom,” she said, her voice low and husky. “She’s really cool, and smoking hot.” The girl placed a single finger on my shoulder, then slowly drew it around the outside of my shoulder blade and down my side. I shivered deliciously. The fingertip reached my waist and trailed away, the hand smoothly returning to the table and lifting a water glass to those thin, delicate lips.

Heart pounding, I looked back at Hannah, who was just sitting there placidly, still holding my hand, wearing a sly smile.

“Was I wrong?” she asked.

I was casting about for the best way, some way to answer when the waitress arrived. As we placed our orders, I realized how isolated we were – a back-corner table in this dimly-lit establishment, no other diners nearby. I wondered if Hannah, who seemed friendly with the staff, had arranged it that way on purpose.

“I knew right away you liked women,” Hannah said as soon as the waitress disappeared. “You were looking at me the same way I was looking at you. But I also thought I saw something in the way you were looking at the girl we extubated. Like she’s more to you than just your friend’s daughter. Was I wrong?”

Discomfiture warred with arousal, mixed with a certain sense of relief. Bridgett Ramscone had told me that it would be easy to find kindred spirits in the metro. It appeared I’d already found one when I wasn’t even looking. Nevertheless, I was uncertain how much I ought to reveal.

Perhaps sensing my nervousness, Hannah came to the rescue. “I’m sure I wasn’t wrong,” she said, “but I guess I’ll break the ice. I already knew I was gay by the time I got pregnant with Bethany, but I was still trying to run from it, which included sleeping with half a dozen guys in my high school and not being careful. That’s how I got knocked up.”

She took a sip of iced tea. “Anyway, while I was pregnant my eleven-year-old cousin had a lot of questions about pregnancy, and how you got that way, and all the anatomical stuff that goes along with it. I ended up showing her my lady place, and what all the parts were. It got me so excited that I came.”

Oh, the images that were churning through my head. It was an effort to regulate my breathing.

“It ended with me helping my cousin have her first orgasm,” said Hannah. “We became lovers after that, and I haven’t had sex with a man since. It was the start of me accepting myself for who I am. I’m a lesbian who loves both girls and women. Bethany found out when she caught me with her fourteen-year-old babysitter about four years back. Then two years ago, she told me she’d been trying to have an orgasm, but hadn’t managed it on her own. That was the big turning point in our relationship.”

I was staring at her, mouth agape. I looked from Hannah to Bethany and back again. “So, you two…”

“Uh-huh,” said Bethany, grinning.

I sat back in my chair, chewing the inside of my cheek as I assimilated all of this. I met Hannah’s eyes. “So what exactly did you have in mind when you invited me to your house?”

“Well,” she replied, “I didn’t have any solid expectations. I mean, it was pretty obvious you were devastated over Halee getting shot, plus that whole situation with her dad being a hostage. But at the same time we were obviously attracted to each other, and I thought at the very least I could save you a hotel bill and we could get to know each other a little.”

She smiled a wicked smile. “Or, if you were into it, maybe we could have a little fun to take your mind off things. And if I’d read the situation right with you and Halee, then maybe you’d be interested in getting to know Bethany, too.”

She took another sip of her tea. “I wasn’t wrong, was I?”

I was feeling relaxed now. Actually, a little elated. “No,” I said, “you weren’t wrong. Halee and I are lovers. But we’re not exclusive, and if I didn’t feel like I have to get back to Terry’s other kids, a little fun to take my mind off of things would have been perfect.”

Bethany lightly touched my shoulder. “Would you maybe want to have some fun with me, too?”

I looked at her with a smile. “Definitely. But I have to ask: do you two do this a lot? I mean, Hannah brings someone home, and you both…”

“We do it very seldom,” Hannah broke in. “for obvious reasons. I don’t even hint at it unless I’m pretty sure I’m with someone who’ll be okay with it. Too much risk.”

I realized that Bethany’s fingertips had moved from my shoulder to the back of my neck, and were lightly massaging. I caught her eye, and she smiled at me.

Hannah chuckled. “You’re in trouble, if we ever get you to our house,” she warned me in teasing tones. “Bethany goes nuts for tall women with dark hair.”

Bethany pulled her hand away as the waitress arrived with our food, and talk turned to other things as we enjoyed our wonderful meal. They told me about Bethany’s father, who sounded like the absolute model of the non-custodial parent.

“I was sleeping around so much that we had to do a paternity test to be sure who the dad was,” Hannah admitted. “Ralph took the responsibility seriously from day one, never missed a child support payment even when he was in college and hard-up for cash, and he absolutely dotes on Bethany. He works in another state, but he keeps an apartment up here just for his visitation weekends.”

In my turn, I told them about Terry and his girls, and my strange sort of semi-domestic situation there. My tales of small-town living fascinated and horrified them by turns.

“You seriously can’t buy a cup of coffee before eight AM?!” Hannah sounded flabbergasted.

“Yup,” I replied. “That’s when the cafe and the grocery store open. Our only convenience store closed down last year.”

“So… you don’t even have a gas station?” Bethany sounded confused.

“Oh, we do,” I said. “But it’s really old-fashioned. They do full service, which means an attendant comes out and pumps your gas for you. It’s the only one I know of that’s left. And they’re also a really good auto repair shop; I get all of my work done there. But it’s not a convenience store. They sell candy bars at the counter and have a cooler full of off-brand pop, but that’s it. No groceries, no medicine, no coffee.”

Finally we were standing in the parking lot next to my car. “I like you a lot,” said Hannah. “I know we live a few hours apart, but I’d love to see you again.”

“That goes for me, too,” said Bethany.

“I think you can count on it,” I said with a grin. Hannah approached me boldly, body flowing against mine like a cat. Then our arms were around each other, and then we were kissing. Hannah, as it turns out, is a phenomenal kisser. We were both a bit breathless as we pulled apart.

“God, I wish I could get in on that action.” Bethany sounded more than a little disappointed.

“Not in a public parking lot,” said Hannah with a smile.

“Will you take a hug?” I said, holding my arms wide. The girl settled in, body melding itself against mine in a way that was almost as sexy as her mom’s kiss. It was with great reluctance that I let her go.

“Thanks so much for dinner, and for the company,” I said, taking Hannah’s hand briefly in mine. Then I popped the car door, folded my six-foot frame behind the wheel, and keyed the ignition.

On to Chapter Nineteen!