Montana Wild

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

The next evening, I was back working alongside Goldie and her daughter-in-law, Jane. It was Saturday night and the store was busy. I manned the cash register while Goldie gave her usual s*x education talk to a seventeen-year-old who'd tried to slip past the fact that Goldie knew everyone—and everyone's kids. And grandkids. The poor boy had wanted to get a video to watch with his friends. Instead, he got a lecture on safe s*x, how to please a woman and the realities of porn. Why he hadn’t gone online, I had no idea.

Jane, a few years older than I, had one dead husband, two cute boys and was engaged to a firefighter hottie. She was taller than me. She was blonder than me. Her boobs were bigger. Plus, the extremely hot fiancé. You'd think I would hate her just on principle, but it was hard when she was so dang nice. We’d rung up back-to-back video rentals and some minor toy sales when a woman, mid-thirties, plonked an industrial-sized jug of Lube-U-Up on the counter.

“Hey, Rhonda, how are you?” Jane asked, staring at the mega container in front of her. It was a size you purchased at Costco or if you worked in the porn industry.

Jane had worked for Goldie even longer than Veronica—and was her daughter-in-law—so she was runner-up only to Goldie in knowing people. And she hadn't even grown up in Bozeman.

“Hi, Jane. Saw your boys at the pool yesterday with your fiancé. I have to admit Ty's one handsome man.”

Jane smiled dreamily and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “I think so. That's a lot of lube you've got there.” Picking up the scanner, she ran it past the bar code on the side.

“Well, you know, Brad and I are trying to have kids.”

I stopped tidying up charge slips and looked at Rhonda. Petite, brunette, perky. I could tell there was a story here. A gallon of lube always came with a story, right?

Jane nodded. “Right. How's that going?”

“It's not happening as fast as I'd like. We've been trying for months without success.”

“I've heard day twelve is a good day to have s*x,” Jane replied in a sympathetic tone. “But I'm not sure why you'd need that much lube.”

I had no idea what day twelve meant, but when it was time to try to get a bun into my oven, I figured I'd find out. Or I'd get the translation from Jane.

“Did that work for you?” Rhonda asked, all eager for tips to success. “Day twelve?” She looked to me but I just shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea. I thought every day was a good day to practice.

Sure, I wanted kids. But I wanted them with a man after marriage. Call me traditional. Since I didn't have a man, the rest wasn't going to happen. Fortunately, my so-called biological clock wasn't keeping me up at night. Yet.

Jane chuckled. “Bobby was what you'd call a surprise.” She had two sons, Zach, seven and Bobby, four, with her husband—Goldie's son—who'd died a few years ago of a heart attack, or so I'd heard. I knew Jane outside of Goldilocks because I’d been Zach's first grade teacher.

It was Rhonda's turn to nod. “Well, we've been doing it day ten, day eleven, day twelve...you get the idea.” She giggled like a teenager. “Brad says that sperm can live in the intestinal tract for up to five days, but just to be sure we're doing it every day. So, I need lots of lube.”

My brain slammed on the emergency brake at Rhonda's words. Maybe I was new to the whole s*x store thing, but I thought I'd learned something different about how babies were made in health class. I turned to look at Jane. She stood there as if an alien had just landed in front of her. Her mouth was open but no words came out. Her eyebrows were practically in her hairline. She cleared her throat. “Um, what did you say?”

Rhonda giggled again, looked left and right to make sure no one was listening. “Even though sperm can live for five days—”

Jane held up her hand to stop her. “Where?”

Rhonda lifted her shoulders up so they touched her ears, then back down. “The intestinal tract. Brad says even though that's true, we still need to have s*x every day. Just to make sure.”

I couldn't tell if Rhonda was a complete i***t or her husband was a total jerk. Or both. I think Jane was debating the same thing. No wonder she needed all that lube.

With a swirl of perfume and big hair, Goldie joined us. I saw the poor kid she'd lectured dash out the door as if he was scarred for life by Goldie's 'talk.'

“Hello, Rhonda. How's your mother?”

“Hi, Miss Goldie. She's just fine. Plans on entering her Sweet Peas in the festival this year. I like your earrings,” Rhonda replied, switching topics. The Sweet Pea festival wasn't until early August, but those diehard growers who entered the annual flower contest already had seeds in the ground and sprouts climbing up chicken wire.

Goldie preened and touched her gold hoops. “What's new with you?”

“Um, Goldie.” Jane swallowed. “I think Rhonda may need your help.” She waved her finger toward Rhonda. I could see she was trying very hard not to laugh. She coughed and then cleared her throat. “Well...it seems that Rhonda's having a tough time getting pregnant.”

Goldie patted Rhonda on the arm. “Just keep trying, dear. Knowing Brad and how he fancies you, it's only a matter of time.”

Jane pinched her lips closed, tried to breathe through her nose and keep a serious expression, but a weird snort came out. Even I knew it wasn't good to laugh at the customers.

“She's having a tough time getting pregnant because—” I started, taking over the conversation. It was no use. I couldn't keep a straight face either. Trying to hold it together, I tilted my head down and rubbed my forehead as I continued. “Perhaps Rhonda, um...you can tell Goldie.”

Rhonda picked up the container of lube and hugged it close, like the baby she longed to have. “All of it?” she asked me and Jane. We nodded together like synchronized bobble dolls. Jane had her hand over her mouth. I bit the inside of my cheek.

“All right.” Rhonda turned to Goldie. “I came in to get more lube. We ran out last night. Brad says that even though sperm can live in the intestinal tract for over five days, we should still have s*x every day to ensure we can make a baby, but it's not working.”

Goldie's mouth fell open, her head slowly shaking from left to right, her eyes falling closed for a moment. She whispered something to herself. I wasn't a lip reader, although I took a guess she said something between 'holy Mother of God' and 'holy shit.' Goldie placed her hand gently on Rhonda's shoulder. “Ladies, Rhonda and I are going to have a little talk in the back. We'll be out in a minute.”

Jane and I nodded again until the door to the storeroom closed behind them. Then we burst out laughing. So hard, in fact, that tears rolled down my face. I hadn't heard anything so funny, so absolutely ridiculous in a long time. That included Jane's story about how Bobby got his arm stuck in a patio umbrella stand. I only believed that one when I saw the photo.

It took a few minutes and we finally pulled ourselves together. In fact, I was still wiping my eyes with a tissue when Rhonda came storming out of the back room, dropped the drum-sized container of lube on the glass counter so hard the basket of free condoms jumped up in the air. She stormed out the front door with an evil gleam in her eyes.

Goldie approached the counter, leaned one arm on it and watched the door swing closed. “Think I should call the police and warn Brad? Come Tuesday, Brad will either be dead or she'll be pregnant, mark my words.”

I looked Jane in the eye and burst out laughing all over again. The phone rang and I answered it. “Goldilocks,” I said as I tried to pull myself together.

“I'm calling for Veronica,” a man replied. I didn't recognize the voice, but it was deep and appealing.

“She's not working today. May I help you?”

The man sighed. “This is her friend, Mike. I'll just try her cell phone.”

My heart went kerthunk. I knew that voice, after all. And other parts of the man as well. “Oz?” I asked. Mike Ostranski was a close friend of my sister and a one-time lover of mine. Literally, one time. As in the night of high school graduation. Back then, I'd called him Oz, but hadn't since. Not that I'd seen him all that much. Even after all that time my blood pressure skyrocketed just picturing him in my mind. It was a very good picture: six feet plus of ginger-haired male perfection.

There was a pause. “Yes.”

“It's Violet. Veronica's in Florida. I'm filling in for her now that school's out.”

Mike swore. “Sorry, Vi.” I heard him chuckle, but it was a bit strained. “I should have known it was you. You're the only one who's ever called me that. I really needed Veronica for something.”

“Is there something wrong?” Just hearing his deep, sexy voice set my heartbeat into stroke territory. We may have only crossed paths a handful of times since we'd clumsily given each other our virginity, but that didn't mean I wasn't concerned. Or didn't continue to lust after him. Okay, I was mad at him for loving and leaving like he had, but a girl could still lust.

“No one's sick or anything. I just have a problem. I need a woman.”

My mouth fell open, not sure what to say. Now, more erotic images of the guy who'd filled—and fulfilled—many of my teenage fantasies jumped into my head. Mike, needing a woman? As if. He could have any woman he wanted. “Um...”

Mike chuckled again. “I mean...shit...it’s not like it sounds.” He paused and I could just picture him running his fingers through his red hair. I remembered how thick and soft it had been beneath my fingers. “I'm in Alaska at my uncle's house and there's this crazy neighbor woman who has decided I'm her future husband. Nothing I can say or do will get her to leave me alone.”

Goldie had gone to help a customer in the bachelorette section and Jane was rearranging the condoms in the free basket, which meant she was occupying herself pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Did you try telling her you were gay?”

“Yes,” he answered. “She didn't believe me.”

“Who would?” s**t. Had I said that out loud?

Mike Ostranski was Paul Bunyan personified: tall, brawny and frequently in a flannel shirt. He had gorgeous red hair, muscles that rippled and bulged in all the right places. And another bulge that I would never forget. He oozed testosterone from his pores and women were drawn to him like bees to honey. I knew that all too well.

To top it off, he was a doctor. Smart, hot, and sexy all rolled up in one. He was easily Bozeman's most eligible bachelor. Many women I knew thought so. He was a podiatrist and dealt with people's feet all day, which didn't hold much appeal for me. On the other hand, I dealt with kids who ate paste and, on occasion, wet their pants, so it was all relative.

“A woman fawning over you? That doesn't sound like a bad thing for a guy. In fact, it sounds like every man's dream.”

“Yeah, you'd think so. But no. This is a total nightmare. She's talking marriage and arctic-reared children. I've only known her for four days. Wedding bells? More like looney bin.”

“How much longer are you up there? Can't you just hold out a little longer until you have to leave?”

“Another week. Violet, the woman was naked. In my bed.”

A slice of jealousy ripped through me, even if he'd only been mine for one night. I didn't even want to think about how many women he'd been with since. “I still don't get it.” I tucked my slippery hair behind my ear. “What man complains about a naked woman in his bed?”

I felt Jane's eyes boring into the back of my head. I couldn't blame her interest. The conversation was intriguing.

“In this case? I do. When I want a woman in my bed, I promise you, she'll know it.”

“Oh, I know it all right,” I grumbled, well aware my time with him had been short-lived, so short in fact that he'd quickly moved on. I could have said it had been a summer fling, but it hadn't even been that. We'd grown up together, been only boy and girl for a stretch, then boy and girl who were attracted to one another but were too nervous to do anything about it. One summer night when we were sixteen, we'd made a pact. A pact that said we'd sleep together on graduation night if we were still virgins.