Clare's Secret

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Calling It Quits

Her tight royal blue tee-shirt exhibits a low square neckline leaving very little to the imagination for anyone lucky enough to be in the vicinity. The voluminous cleavage strains against the thin cotton fabric leaving the hard n*****s being covered, but very much pronounced. Looking upwards from that alluring sight, Clare’s eyes focus on short-cropped blond hair, which flatters the other woman’s handsome features with an impish look. Her expressive deep blue eyes appear like clear, deep ocean pools while her full sensuous mouth painted in the same blue, form the words Clare’s subconscious is aching to hear.

“You are mine now Sweetie. A woman as beautiful and voluptuous as you is wasted on the male species….”

Clare shudders as this English woman’s long, deep blue painted nails at the tips of her fine manicured hands reach out to cup and fondle Clare’s heavy breasts. Even though she has a silk shirt covering her, the tingles running through the soft flesh is electrifying.

What’s happening, I’m not a lesbian?

“What do you want of me?”

The blond haired woman takes a small step closer. Her expensive perfume fills the immediate area; their faces are inches apart. The other woman’s clipped accent is as provocative as her sexuality.

“Don’t you know? Can’t you feel it? That need you’ve always had will now be gratified - by me.”

Clare knows that men never fulfill her that aching desire, like an itch that can never be scratched.

Perhaps another woman can understand?

Before she realizes, her lips are being covered, the softness and warmth of the blue painted mouth is extraordinary.

My god this is beautiful! Chuck lips were always hard. Come to think of it, all men’s lips seem to be hard. But this…?

Of course she wants more. As if on cue both their mouths open as one. Sweet, moist tasting tongues search and mingle. Clare’s insides now ache for something she has never had, but knows by instinctive it is here waiting to probe, penetrate, and explore….

She awakens with palpitations. A bright light overhead is forcing her to squint. Blurred shapeless faces lean over. A familiar voice penetrates.

“Hi, Clare! How’d you feel?”

With the dream taking time to dissipate, Clare allows a little more to focus on the nearest face,

“Okay, I guess. Where am I?”

Sheriff Michael MacKay dressed in his usual expensive light gray suit, which is designed to camouflage his out of shape, five foot six inch tall body, takes a step forward. His balding shiny head anchors a pair of heavy lensed glasses balancing on a thick stubby nose.

“Regional Hospital! Are you fit enough to talk about what happened?”

The nearby uninformed nurse frowns with concern at Clare massaging her aching temples with her left hand to untangle the pleasant dream from the recent horrific nightmare. As Clare’s mind somewhat clears, the scene of Chuck being dead with half his head blown off, floods her mind with sadness and anger.

“What do you want to know Boss?”

She attempts to sit up, but the searing pain from her right shoulder puts a stop to any movement. To assist the young nurse sidles in front of Michael.

“I think its best if you stay on your back for a while Officer Mortimer. I’ll alter the bed so you can be more on an incline.”

The presence of her pretty face and sincere voice calms Clare. As the bed is adjusted, Clare heart misses a beat at the smell of the young woman’s pleasant natural scent.

“That’s fine nurse. Thanks.”

The nurse’s liquid brown eyes respond with a warm smile showing perfect teeth. Her delicate hand reaches out to grip Clare’s left wrist sending electricity through Clare’s insides. Not wanting it to end, the warmth is withdrawn.

“Just press the buzzer if you need me.”

With the dream still hung over and the female warmth of this young nurse fusing into a new awareness, Clair is finding this new insight intriguing, and yet a little disturbing at the same time.

“Thanks nurse, I will.”

Aware of the young woman now sitting in a plastic chair by the wall, Clare focuses on Michael pulling a similar chair closer to the bed.

“Where do you want me to start boss?”

Michael’s pale blue watery eyes concentrate on Clare’s fine chiseled features, and sad hazel eyes. He has always liked Clare. More than liked. If he had been twenty years younger, he would have tried harder to woo her. As he isn’t that young anymore, he yearns from a distance.

“Start from wherever you want.”

Not wanting to go into the fine details about her s****l frustrations with Chuck, she simplifies.

“As our shift had just finished, we started to discuss any social eventuality for the coming evening, when he noticed some movement from the building we were staking out. Then a deep crack of a rifle, the windshield blown through, and me getting hit in the shoulder, Chuck….”

She gasps for breath while not being able to hold back the tears. Michael gambles on gripping her forearm.

“Calm down my girl. The bullet forensics dug out from the headrest was a nine millimeter high velocity from a military automatic not available in civilian gun stores. An average hunting rifle bullet would have stayed lodged in your shoulder.”

Gathering her momentum, she wipes her eyes with a tissue from a nearby box on her bedside cabinet.

“Why Chuck?”

Embarrassed by these circumstances, Sheriff Michael looks down at his hand. Gambling a little more by massaging her forearm, he answers.

“I think it was meant more for you, than Chuck.”

Clare is overcome by the distinct urge to vomit.

“What are you talking about? I haven’t any enemies - as far as I know.”

Gazing into her sad eyes, he persists.

“No love triangles? Or a disgruntled ex-lover wanting payback?”

“Payback for what? Chuck and I were getting married next month.”

He is reluctant to let go of her arm.

“Did you know Chuck and one of the female staff at the Desert Palms Hotel were seeing a lot of each other?”

Her nausea is increasing.

The bastard! So that’s why he was so cool lately?

“So, the bullet was really meant for me. If I was hit further down, Chuck would still be alive and I would be lying in a casket. Why the need for a military rifle?”

Michael shrugs and shakes his head.

“The assassin assumed you would be wearing a vest.”

Becoming comfortable in her presence, he struggles to stand up from the plastic chair.

“We’ll find out. Anyway, take a couple of weeks medical leave. We should know something more define by the time your fit enough for work….”

Unable to come to terms with this bombshell, Clare interrupts.

“I’m not coming back - I quit!”

He raises an eyebrow in puzzlement and irritation.

“Quit? What for? You’re one of my best deputies. Don’t act too hasty. You rest and think it all over. I’ll keep in touch.”

With tears still burning her eyes, she presses the buzzer for the nurse. After about a minute, a dark skinned male nurse enters her room.

“You okay, Miss Clare?”

Disappointed the pretty young female nurse did not answer her distress call; she lays back and stares up at the ceiling with a mournful expression.

“Sorry nurse, it was an accident.”

“No worries. Just press again when needing someone.”

After watching his lean six-foot frame leave, she returns to staring up at the bland white ceiling.