Hi! So, I write the same way I read -- more than one tale at a time. Have no fear, I am not done with "Bliss", but this one was just clamoring to get out, too. As well as a couple others.
Credit for the story title and teasers go to X -- it is their song "The Hungry Wolf" which lends itself to the tale
Thank you --
W
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"Dammit!" Charlie said as her car slowly came to a shuddering stop on the shoulder. "Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" she yelled, pounding the steering wheel, trying to spend some of the adrenaline surging through her. She took deep breaths, letting them out slowly. She watched her hands as they slowly stopped shaking. She hit her hazards, unbuckled and got out of her little car, moving to the front passenger side and squatting to look at her now shredded tire.
"Dammit," she sighed, reaching out and slapping at a flap of rubber. She stood up again, wiping her hands on her cut-offs and walking to the back of her hatchback. She sighed again as she eyed the pile of her belongings in the back of her car. She would have to unload everything to get to the spare tire and jack. She looked around, hoping against hope that she would see a big orange '76' globe or giant yellow shell, but no such luck.
"Of course," she muttered to herself, opening the hatchback. "I'll take the scenic byways on my way to Oregon. And while I'm at it, I'll let my cell phone run out of minutes somewhere between Asscrack, Arizona and BFE, Washington. Brilliant fucking idea, Charlie," she grumbled as she started to unload the boxes and Rubbermaid containers, stacking them neatly on the side of the road.
She finally got the back cleared and pulled out the jack. She moved back to the blown tire, stopping to take off her sweatshirt and toss it on the passenger seat, leaving her in a black a-shirt and her shorts. The chill from that morning had left, and the day was already moving towards hot. She cut a curvy picture, full hips and breasts, proportioned waist, not fat but not skinny, giving the impression of softness. The kind of woman men looked at and wondered how it would feel to possess those curves, to fall into her softness one time.
She paused to put her long brown hair into a loose bun and then lay on the ground to seat the jack properly before lifting her car enough to change the tire. She straightened up, dusted herself off and walked back to get the tire iron. She saw a glint in the distance and shielded her eyes, but couldn't tell if it was a car on the road or just some odd heat-mirage.
She went back to the tire and seated the iron on the first lug nut. It came off without too much effort, and she was beginning to think this wouldn't be too bad. The second lug came off even easier, and Charlie believed her day was beginning to change for the better. The third lug decided that there was just no way Charlie was going to have things that easy. Oh no, it wanted Charlie to work for it. She tried using her legs, pushing down with her foot, but the lug wouldn't budge. She laid on the iron, trying to use her whole 160 pounds to loosen the lug nut, grunting so loudly with effort she didn't register the noise of the truck pulling up behind her, but the iron gave before the lug did, and she found herself on all fours in the gravel, with skinned knees and palms.
"Fucking fuckity fuck fucker!" she yelled, jumping up and shaking her stinging hands. She started pacing in front of her car, limping a little, looking at her hands.
"Need some help?" came an impossibly deep voice.
Charlie stopped and turned towards the speaker, her mouth and eyes wide O's of surprise at the sight of a big guy -- a really big guy -- leaning against a really big truck. "Where did you come from?" she asked.
"My home," he said simply. He still leaned on the truck and Charlie took her time looking him over, her face wary. He was tall -- almost a full foot taller than her than her five and half feet -- and broad in his shoulders and hips. He was big, too. Not fat at all, but not overly muscled -- the word that tantalized Charlie's mind was
meaty
-- with the look of overall fitness that came with regular physical labor. He was in jeans, a crisp looking button down white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, cowboy boots and what looked a lot to Charlie like a straw cowboy hat. "Did you need some help?"
"I can't get the third lug off," she said, indicating the stubborn nut.
"Blow out?"
"Yeah."
"Get the spare and I'll take care of the rest," he said, walking towards her.
"Um, really, cowboy, it's OK," she said, taking a step back. She was a city girl with that deep ingrained fear of strangers that seems to be second nature to all urban people. The fear radiated off her like radio waves.
"Cowboy?" he said, stopping and looking at her. He could smell her fear clearly, it hit him with its full acrid nastiness.
"Well, yeah," she moved her hands in an up and down motion at him, clearly gesturing to his boots and hat.
"I am
not
a cowboy," he said, sounding offended.
"No?"
"No."
"So you're...what...part of the Village People?"
"I'm a rancher." Charlie looked at him, liking that he didn't get pissy at her teasing.
"And that's different?" she asked, a small smile playing at her lips, making her look shy and sultry at the same time.
"Yes."
"So you don't ride horses and herd cattle?"
"I do. Of course I do."
"So...that's different from a cowboy because..." she teased, hands on her hips and smile widening on her face.
"It just is," he said. He couldn't keep from smiling back at her, and mirrored her stance, doing some friendly teasing himself.
"Alright, alright. I give." She held up her hands in supplication. She took a step back towards him. She didn't get a crazy vibe from him and his voice was oddly alluring to her. "I didn't get your name so I just kinda chose a nickname that seemed suitable."
"And 'cowboy' was the best you could do?"
"Well, yeah, on short knowledge, yeah," Charlie said a little defensively. "I mean, you are in boots and a big hat. If you'd walked up with a chess set I'd have called you chessboy or something."
He was still and quiet for a moment. "It's Damien," he said at last.
"Damien? Like the kid from the Omen?"
"I guess."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Charlotte -- but please call me Charlie," she said, taking another step towards him and holding out her hand.
He seemed to get startled by her offer and stiffened, his nostrils flaring, trying to scent her fear again and surprised to find it gone. He smiled -- white teeth showing through the shadow thrown by his hat -- his nostrils flaring again as he got his first tease of her true scent. Lavender and chamomile washed over him, and he could feel his wolf pushing to the front of his consciousness in glee, wanting to grab her and claim her instantly. He took her hand briefly before throwing it back at her, shocked at his wolf's reaction. Charlie looked at him, her head cocked a bit, a small smile playing on her lips.
"What?" Damien asked.
"You're an odd one, aren't you."
"No more than you."
Charlie seemed to think on that for a moment and gave a slight nod. "I'll get the spare." She moved past him to the back of her car. "Careful with that lug -- it's a bugger," she called to him, loosening the bolts that held the small tire down. She got it out and hefted it over to him, surprised to see the bad tire off the wheel and leaning against the fender.
"How did you get that done so quickly?" she huffed.
