Take It Easy

I-40 in northern Arizona August 12, 6:20 P.M. Stormy glanced at the fuel gauge. Low, too low. She’d planned to run on in to Flagstaff before she stopped, but that would be pushing it. Well, I’ve got a good load and I’ve been stretching the speed limit. Drinks diesel like crazy. She hit the blinker, shifted over a lane and took the off ramp. Tapping the brake, she heard the big engine whine into the down-shift. If memory served, the truck stop she wanted was on the far end of town. With a glance around for any lurking “smoky bears,” she eased the baby blue Freightliner down to the speed limit. No use getting a ticket in this podunk town. That would slow me down and cost money I can’t afford to waste. Winslow, Arizona. Not much of a place, is it? Looking ahead down the wide ribbon of the Interstate, she’d seen the wall of gray clouds almost obscuring the San Francisco Peaks. She’d lay a bet it would be raining before she hit Flagstaff. The song coming from her radio said something about loving a rainy night, but from her seat in the high cab, the notion didn’t apply to truckers. Rainy nights cost time, which she had little to spare. Her load needed a timely delivery in Las Vegas, and another waited there to be taken back east to Memphis. Maybe she could get a day or two at home then. In terms of pay, over-the-road trucking beat waitress and secretary work. It also gave her the independence she sorely needed. She was buying her own rig, and the tractor was almost half paid for now. The semi-tractor was far from new, but she trusted the man who’d refurbished it. At least the kids were in good hands with her mom, and she made enough for them all to live on, not in the highest style, but beyond adequate. Lemonade out of the lemons she’d ended up holding by the basketful. She cruised along now at about thirty miles per hour, right down the main drag. The street had once been Route 66, back before I-40 came to be. She chuckled at the quaint old tourist courts and the curio shops, mostly closed now. A slice out of a long-past time. Then she saw him. Just like the song, standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona. The man was a fine sight for all his battered black cowboy hat had seen better days, as had his faded Levis. He stood over a worn sea bag and a scuffed guitar case wearing a look that said he figured he’d be wet in the coming rain before anyone would pick him up. She wasn’t sure what made her stop. Some perverse imp or maybe simply sympathy for a fellow lost soul. Been there and done that, too many times. Oh, she’d seldom hitched rides, but she’d been down and out so often she knew the route like an old familiar highway. After she braked to a stop at the curb, she opened the passenger door. He looked up, a strong-faced man, not old, but worn with shadows of trouble painting his features. Then he saw her, recognized she was female, and grinned. “You’re ‘sposed to be driving a flatbed Ford.” “Hey, buddy, if this semi isn’t your style, I can drive right on down the road.” He shook his head. “Right now this warm cab looks better ‘n’ a Cadillac to me, ma’am. I can smell rain. It’s getting close, and I really don’t want to get my stuff wet. I won’t melt, but this old case won’t give my Gibson much protection. Where you headed?” “I plan to be in Vegas tomorrow morning to drop off a load. I’ll be pushing my hours, but…” She shrugged. “A person does what they have to do.” “Works for me,” he said. “I don’t have my CDL any more or I’d take a few hours for you. Oh, if you run out of steam and wanna risk it, I could. I know how to herd an eighteen-wheeler down the road. I can talk to ya and keep you awake at least. And Vegas is fine. I might even catch up to my old band around there.” He climbed in, slung the sea bag behind the seat and eased the guitar case down on top of it. “My name’s Tom. Right now I’m kind of between gigs, you might say. I just got back from a tour in the Middle East—Tennessee National Guard. My old truck quit on me about half way here from Albuquerque. I got a couple of rides and then ran out of luck. Until a truckin’ lady happened by, that is…I’ll take a pass on that Ford under the circumstances.” She shot him a keen look. “I bet you have a story. Seems like a good place to start your talking. By the way, don’t call me ma’am. I’m not quite a kid any more, but not that damn old. The name’s Stormy. You do music, huh? What kind?” He gave a half-shrug. “Most anything. Country, rock, trad—mostly stuff along the lines of Rascal Flats, Alabama, CCR, the Eagles. I like songs that tell a story.” She nodded. “Me, too. Ever try your hand at writing some? I dabbled in songwriting a little, but traveling like I do, never had a chance to get them out for anyone to hear, and I don’t have any friends serious into music. Would I recognize the name of your band if I heard it?” “Naw, don’t think so. We were just starting to try to move out of the rural South when I got called over to the sandbox. Figured Vegas as a good gig to get our stuff to the ears of somebody with some connections, first step up the ladder. The guys would’ve needed a lead singer, though. Hope they didn’t find anybody too good. That’d put me out of a job.” Stormy pulled into the truck stop, fueled the rig, and they headed out west into the darkening night. A few raindrops splattered on the windshield. In the light of the dash, she could see Tom playing air guitar along with the radio. It was providing a stream of older country tunes interspersed with Navajo language commercials and an occasional Native American piece. She wasn’t positive, but the way his hands moved, it looked like he knew what he was doing. As his fingers went dancing across the invisible strings, she could almost imagine the sound. For an instant she had a vision of those nimble fingers on her skin, making music of another kind. A shiver of anticipation whispered over her body, tightening her n*****s and sending a tingle to her p***y. Whoa, gal, are you that hard up, fantasizing about a hitchhiker? Time to chill a little. By the time they roared through Flagstaff and headed into the long downgrade toward the distant Colorado River, they were singing duets along with the offerings of another station playing mostly soft rock oldies. Tom had a fair whiskey tenor, rough-edged yet sure, always right on key and sliding around the melody in some inventive harmonies. Stormy found it easy to slip her alto into the mix. “You’re wasting a good sound there, Stormy, herding trucks down the road. If you ever get tired of it and want to try a new gig, look me up. We could make some good music together.” There was nothing suggestive about his words, not really. She told herself it was just business, but still, night music and tangled sheets played across her mind, erotic visions to strum her nerves to a keen shiver. “I…I’ll think about it,” she managed. “Right now I got two kids and my mom depending on my earnings. I can’t walk off from my responsibilities.” “No, reckon not. Well, maybe something’ll come along.” She changed the station again and listened to the monotonous swish-whack of the wipers pushing heavier rain off the glass. They talked in fits and starts as the night ran on and the black wet ribbon of I-10 slipped by under the wheels. They were nearing Kingman now and moving into a turbulent Arizona monsoon storm. Lightning flashed all around, blinding brilliance like strobe lights. Stormy blinked as a flare right in front of them briefly blinded her. As they rounded a curve, an eruption of lights spread ahead of them. Stormy downshifted fast, feathering the brake to slow without skidding. Red and blue glares from a covey of emergency vehicles ricocheted off the wet pavement. Headlights at a dozen wrong angles stabbed into the black rain. A tangle of vehicles road-blocked both lanes. She eased onto the shoulder and parked. “Damn, looks like a bad one. We may not get to Vegas by sunrise after all.” Tom had been dozing until she started to slow. He seemed to be fully awake now. “Oh, s**t, looks like a real mess.” “I’m gonna get down and go talk to that cop, maybe find what happened and how long we’re going to be sitting here.” The rain had tapered off to a drizzle. Stormy climbed down and made her way across the wet pavement to the nearest Arizona Highway Patrol officer, a long drink of water in the typical khaki tan uniform. “Looks like a bad one,” she said. “What happened?” He turned to her, revealing a distressed face in the flaring lights. “Cross wind hit a semi, started the rig fishtailing. From then on, it just got worse. Two trucks and about ten POVs, you know, privately owned vehicles, in the mess. Damn fools won’t slow down, even in the middle of a hurricane-strength storm. This is what happens. At least eight fatalities and a couple more may not make it to the hospital.” “Gawd, that’s really bad. Any idea when the highway will be open again?” “Not soon,” he said. “Unless you have a big tow truck and a helicopter or two in that rig you’re driving, it’ll prob’ly be daybreak. They’re stopping people at Kingman now, where they might get a room, or at least can find some food or coffee instead of just sitting here. If I was you, I’d bed down in my sleeper. If things clear earlier than I figure, I’ll come by and bang on the door so you can get going.” Stormy nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Wish I did have something to help, but I’m just hauling Tennessee whiskey to Vegas.” She went back to the truck, climbed in and told Tom the news. He shook his head. “Bad scene. Sure glad I’m not a cop. I found out in Iraq I’m not real good with blood and guts.” “I guess I could try and turn around and go back to Kingman, but I don’t see much use in it. Not much we can do but wait.” He flashed a grin at her. “Yeah, no forty-acre field here, is there?” She socked him on the shoulder. “Go on with you. I don’t need no forty acres to turn my rig around. Twenty will do just fine.” At the instant her fist impacted his solid bicep, his hand closed around her wrist. All at once the cab filled with a humming tension. Energy arced between them, eyes to eyes and skin to skin where his callused fingers shaped a bracelet around her arm. She relaxed her hand and spread it across the heat of his taut muscle absorbing the masculine power he radiated. After a moment, he tugged, shifting her balance until she fell toward him. He released her wrist, but only long enough to close his arms around her. She settled against the comfortable breadth of his chest, a slow sigh leaking out of her lungs. I’ll move, pull away in just a minute, but this feels so damn good…Before she completed the thought, his mouth found hers, and coherency flew right out of her mind. He tasted of coffee and mint gum, and he kissed like a master at the craft. She didn’t even think before she opened to the teasing probe of his tongue. He edged a hand up between their bodies and palmed her breast. Her whole body shivered at the touch as her n****e pebbled inside her bra, straining at the silky lace fabric. It felt like heaven, but was still not enough. Nowhere near enough. “Can’t get a room, but the sleeper behind us has a real nice mattress.” She cringed at the inane remark, but it was said and it made the point. “Lead on, sugar. I’m right behind you.” Stormy felt exposed when she climbed down from the cab and opened the sleeper door, Tom right behind her. I might as well be standing naked in front of the No-tell Motel. Oh, hell, for all anybody knows, we’re married. It’s nobody’s business anyway. It’s been too long since I got laid and I need this. The sleeper had no wasted space. It held a double bed, which took about all the room there was. She crawled onto the mattress and toward the back corner, leaving room for Tom to get up beside her. He shut the door behind them and stretched out. She flipped on one small light, the one she sometimes read by, and turned to face him. He toed off his boots and laid them down in the six-inch strip of floor that edged the bed. “Don’t want to get mud on your pretty quilt,” he explained. “It looks like the kind my grandma use to make. She lived up in the hills outside of Nashville and pretty much clung to the old ways.” “My gran made this one,” Stormy confessed. “She’s been gone quite a while, but she left a bunch of pretty handwork behind. I use this to keep her memory alive and a little bit of her here with me.” “You can’t beat a good ole southern hill lady unless it’s a good young one.” She caught his insouciant grin out of the corner of her eye. Oh, man, he’s got a line and charm as thick as peanut butter. Stormy kicked off her athletic shoes and dropped them beside his boots. Before she was done, he laid her back with two sure hands and rolled up to prop on his elbow looking down at her. “Is that your real name, Stormy? How’d a pretty lady get stuck with such a moniker?” “Yeah, ‘bout as real as it gets. My birth certificate reads Stormy Jane Alcott. I took back my own name after my louse of an ex took off. Wasn’t about to call myself Stoker any longer. If I could, I’d change my kids’ names, too. As to how or why, Mama used to tell me it was a real dark and stormy night when I made my appearance and she just thought it fit. Always did have a bit of a temper…” Tom laughed, a deep, honest laugh that seemed to come from the depths if his soul. “Well, I was named after my daddy, Thomas Carrick Holden, Junior. Of course, they call me Junior or sometimes just June. Except for maybe Bubba, it don’t get much worse or deeper south than that. “ He reached with one hand, sliding it under the hem of her shirt where it had pulled out from being tucked into her jeans. His hand felt hot and a little rough on her skin. Sinfully good, too. She shivered at the ticklish caress. “Soft,” he murmured. “I knew it would be. You might act like a tough lady, but your skin says that’s a lie.” One by one, working with only one hand, he undid the buttons, starting at the bottom and moving up. The cloth fell away to her sides, letting the slight breeze from the AC whisper down on her bare skin. Finally the last button opened revealing her delicate lilac lace bra. She always wore nice underwear. She might have on faded jeans and an old denim ranch shirt, but underneath she was all girl. When she finally got tired of his s**t and stood up for herself, Mitch Stoker had all but accused her of being a ball-busting dyke. That had hurt. She knew she was a tomboy, a woman who preferred the company and pursuits of men to most of the more girly things, but she still nourished a hidden core of femininity deep inside. All at once she wanted to feel like a woman again, a complete, sexy and desirable woman. Tom’s intense gaze was beginning to stir those feelings. He pushed the striped denim of her shirt back baring her shoulders as well as her chest. “Damn, lady, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Just as pretty and perfect as you can be. I want to kiss you all over, starting right here.” His head swooped down and his lips closed around one n****e, straining against the fabric of her bra. She sucked in a sharp breath as the sensation radiated through her body, setting her skin a-tingle and sparking a brushfire of heat in her p***y. “It’s been a while,” she said, her voice emerging in a strangled croak. “I’m not sure if I remember what to do.” “Just whatever comes naturally and feels good, sugar. I trust your instincts here. Woman with a body like yours has to have an instinct for love. It’ll come back to you. Just relax and enjoy right now.” If she was any more relaxed, she’d melt right through the mattress. But at the same time, arousal sang along her nerves like the hum of high tension wires. His hands felt just as good as she’d visualized they would, maybe even better. He smoothed one palm up her side and then back down, a long, slow stroke that lit sparklers of sensation to dance like fireflies along her body. She let a sigh leak out, almost a moan of pure pleasure. Meanwhile, his lips continued to tease and tug at her breasts, shifting back and forth between them. Next he moved to her middle, releasing her belt buckle and then the snap at the waist of her jeans. After that came the zipper, inched down with exquisite slowness, tooth by tooth, until he touched the narrow elastic band of her bikini thong panties, lilac to match her bra. He hesitated just long enough. She had time to say “no” or “stop” or “not so fast,” but those were the last words in her mind. With his forefinger, he eased under the elastic and feathered a touch across her mound, brushing the narrow strip of curling dark red hair that retreated down between her thighs. There were times she liked to slip on a thong bikini and give some of the male truckers a hard-on in a motel swimming pool. She didn’t wax completely, but left a little pubic brush, which she kept trimmed short. As Tom’s questing finger delved farther, she realized it was about time to trim again, but that thought was gone in an instant as he slipped between her labia into the warm wetness betraying just how eager she was. He brushed by her c**t, just the slightest touch, but enough to make her buck her hips and beg silently for more. All at once she tired of being only the receiver. She reached out and gave the placket of his shirt a sharp tug. The snaps popped free with explosive little snicks, revealing a muscled chest lightly furred with coppery hair that matched his shaggy head, clearly growing out from a military buzz cut. She wove her fingers through the springy pelt, grazed his flat tan n*****s with her nails and was rewarded with the sharp hiss as he sucked in a breath. “Oh, yeah, lady. You can quit that any time after about an hour.” But Stormy had other things in mind. She dropped her hands quickly to flip free his belt buckle, unsnap his jeans and drag the zipper down to release his eager straining c**k. She wasn’t surprised to find he went commando, no shorts under his worn and faded jeans. His c**k leaped out into her hand, hot and dark with engorging blood she could feel throbbing through its length. He was big, not scarily huge, but more than enough to give her what she needed. As she stroked the heated, pulsing shaft, she marveled at the vivid, vital feel of him in her hand. p*****s came in all sizes and shapes, but there was something magical about most of them, an identity almost separate from that of the men who bore them. No wonder most guys had a pet name for their pride and joy. Sometimes it seemed silly, but deep down, she understood. “Easy there, baby. We can play later, but right now I think what we both want is some serious f*****g. Right?” Stormy nodded. “Damn straight, music man. Play me. I’m ready to rock and roll.” He dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a foil square. Biting a corner, he tore it open and pulled out the condom. She wanted to put it on him, but her hands were shaking too much. With an economical deftness, he rolled the rubber up his c**k. She wriggled out of her jeans, dragging her panties off with them while he shed his own denim. A moment later he knelt naked between her knees, pushing them wider as he gazed down at her p***y, spread open to his avid stare. “Nope,” he said. “All women are not sisters when they’re upside down. At least they ain’t identical twins. Some of them have a lot more to offer than others. What I’m seeing here is just as pretty as the rest of you—wet and hot and ready for me.” The head of his c**k nudged slowly into her channel, stretching and opening her, sliding ever so easily through the slick opening and probing deeper with a long, smooth thrust. She shut her eyes, unable to concentrate on more than the most immediate sensation as he filled her all the way. As much as she wanted to watch his face and see the passion and need in his expression, she couldn’t at the moment. It just felt too good. They began to move then, slowly at first, in and out, rocking, twisting just a little as he delved into her depths and touched sensitive spots she’d almost forgotten were there. He caught her legs and put one up over each of his shoulders, rearing back until his head brushed the cab roof. He was taller than she’d realized, although he appeared compact at a quick look. Then with his hands grasping her hips on each side, he lifted her into accelerating thrusts. She felt the delicate shudders start deep inside and ripple their way down to the outermost ring of muscle that clenched and released on his prick, in perfect rhythm with his rocking jabs that grew steadily quicker, harder and more urgent. Her climax exploded through her like Fourth of July fireworks, sparkles and sizzles and dazzling, dancing bursts of heat. She gave a whimper of ecstasy as her body convulsed in the throes of passion. A moment later she felt the subtle spasm as he came. “If you could write that into a song, it’d be an instant and forever hit,” she whispered against his damp shoulder as he rolled free and settled beside her, drawing her into the circle of his arms. Again he laughed, the same deep, honest and unrestrained laugh. The motion rocked her body against his so the springy bright hair on his chest tickled her still-sensitized breasts. “You say the damnedest things, Stormy Jane, but I like it. Think I like you, too.” They must have slept for a while then because the next thing Stormy knew, someone was banging on the sleeper door. Then she heard a muffled voice. “Hey, lady, highway’s open if you want to get moving.” Then she remembered the cop. She grinned to herself. Well, I’m okay on my hours for a bit now. She found her watch on the narrow ledge at the head of the bed and squinted at the face. Three-thirty in the morning. They’d been stopped for about four hours. She could fudge her log just enough to make it look okay now. And funny thing, she really did feel rested. Tom came awake at the noise also. “Can’t make Vegas by sunrise, can we? But we can be there pretty early if we get going.” He leaned off the bed to start collecting their clothes. Stormy thought it might be awkward, dressing after hot s*x with a stranger, but it wasn’t. It almost felt like they’d done this a dozen times before. When they were both dressed except for shoes, he turned and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Thanks, gal. For picking me up and for the most fantastic night I’ve had in longer than I like to confess. I could sure get used to your kind of lovin’.” He kissed her then, not fast but not too slowly either, just a gentle press of lips to lips, somehow tender and yet exciting. He pulled back then, a crooked grin crossing his face. “No more of that, not if we’re goin’ to get on down the road. I wish we didn’t need to, though.” “Me, too,” Stormy admitted. * * * * They pulled in to Las Vegas about seven-thirty. Stormy bypassed the strip, heading for the big warehouse where she had to deliver her load. She glanced across at Tom. He’d been quiet, lost in thought or maybe even asleep. There didn’t seem to be much left to say anyway. “Where would you like me to drop you off? I try to stay off the strip, but I can go along the edge of downtown if it’d be better for you.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t make a lot of difference. I’ll dig out my phone and try some numbers once I get out. But before I do that, how about you give me yours and get mine? If you get out this way again, give me a call. I’d love to buy you a drink and a nice dinner—about the least I could do.” She rattled off the familiar ten digits and watched as he punched them into his phone. Easing to the curb for a moment, she entered his number in her phone. He nodded, looking up to meet her gaze. “Thanks, Stormy, for everything. You’re a hell of a woman. Don’t sell yourself short. You could put on something sparkly, get up in front of a crowd and sing like you did with me last night. I guarantee they’d eat it up. Maybe truckin’ is what you want to do with your life, but if you change your mind…” For a moment she actually thought about it, but it was too big a change. She’d always been kind of shy for all the temper and stubborn will matching her name. “No, I’d be too nervous. I’d forget all the words and make an ass of myself.” “Damn fine ass,” he said, winking. Feeling the blush heat her face, she slowed and pulled to the curb in front of a diner on the truck route. “Is this okay?” “It is.” He opened the door, grabbed his gear and swung down. He didn’t offer a goodbye kiss, and she didn’t ask for one. It was a one-night stand, a good one, but that’s all. No use trying to find something that isn’t there. “Take it easy,” he said, before he shut the door. “You, too. Good luck.” She pulled away, careful not to look back.