Morgan, the 28-year-old lass was named after her grandfather, stood staring down at the open suitcase. Her eyes were red and moist from crying. For the third time, she mentally went through the items she had packed. Last and most importantly were the $30 in quarters, the $10 bill in her pocket and the five condoms, with one in her back pocket.
She knew it was going to be cold hitchhiking in November. Her dungarees were lined and baggy. She wanted to hide her three best assets, her wide hips and overly ample ass. She picked up the cap off the bed and placed it snugly on the third, her shoulder length, curly and vibrant red hair. Morgan was not going looking. She just wanted to get home in Oklahoma.
Oscar, the sailor she had been living with in Norfolk, the one responsible for her sore shoulder and abdomen would not come looking for her. He was deathly afraid of her mother who had threatened to put buckshot in his ass and bury him in a field if she ever saw him again. She was tired of men, especially the ones who beat up on women.
She pulled the top down on the suitcase, snapping the closures, picked it up and walked out of the apartment. She caught a bus, which would let her off near a junction of highways and interstates headed west.
Day two found Morgan sitting under the large canopy of a gas station just off I-40. It was 3 o'clock and it would be dark by 6:30. The three rides to get her this far had cost her one hand job and a condom-protected blowjob. The third had been a nice, older, gentleman who asked nothing of her, confirming that there were still a few decent people left in the world. But, in truth she very seldom attracted good people. She now carried a cardboard sign reading, Oklahoma.
She sat on a picnic table dozing, when an older woman approached her.
"My dad and I are headed up near Little Rock." She said, snapping Morgan back to consciousness. "That will get you a little bit closer."
"Thank you! Yes. That will help a lot." She said jumping up and grabbing her case.
She followed the woman back to an obvious antique truck restored with loving care. But, the cab of the black model A-Ford, she would learn presently about both, was tight. She briefly studied the very tall old man across the truck in bib-overalls pumping gas. The woman held the door for her and she entered the truck positioning herself in the middle. The woman followed shutting the door. When the old man lumbered into the truck, Morgan felt she knew how a sardine might feel.
"I'm Carla." The woman announced. "This here is my old man..... my father....... Hank."
"Good to meet you two. I'm Morgan."
Father and daughter were not very talkative. Morgan asked about the truck, which loosened up the old man for a bit, but soon everything was quiet again. They showed no interest in her, where she was coming from or where she was headed. Morgan again dozed and fought her claustrophobic feeling.
"Sugar, we live about an hour off the interstate."
"What! Excuse me." Morgan snapped back to reality.
Carla repeated her first words and then continued, "if you prefer not to be on the road in the dark you could stay with us and Hank or I will get you back to the interstate early in the morning. After a good breakfast of course!"
"Thank you. I would like that." Morgan replied.
In the dark cab of the truck, Morgan did not see the slight smile cross Hank's face.
An hour off the highway and through many hills and dales........ mountains actually, they pulled into a driveway and in front of a seemingly run down, unpainted slat-board, smallish house.
"Let Hank take your suitcase sweetie."
Carla and Morgan walked to the house and climbed the three wooden steps, crossed the small porch to the door. Carla unlocked it and they went in leaving the door open to the cold night air. A blast a very warm air welcomed them but was overwhelmed by the cold air from outside. Hank soon arrived carrying both arms full of bags and Morgan's suitcase. He closed the door and the small space became quite warm again.
"We haven't had supper yet." Carla said, as she unloaded the groceries. "I'm sure you must be hungry."
"Yes ma'am. I am."
"Good. I'm going to run in and take a quick shower as soon as I put our leftover ham in the oven to warm."
Morgan sat alone at the small kitchen table. Hank had disappeared. Carla was showering. Not too many minutes passed before Carla returned to the kitchen wearing a heavy robe, her short salt-and-pepper colored hair damp.
"Run on in there, sugar, and take a shower." Carla said. "Hank won't be back until I call him for supper. You can't possibly have a robe in that small suitcase. I hung one on the door for you. It might be a little long."
Morgan welcomed the opportunity to take a shower and hurried to do so. Going through the obvious bedroom, she noted a dilapidated full sized bed against one wall. She wondered what was behind the other two doors off the kitchen. After her shower, she thought about putting on panties and bra, but knowing she had only two clean pair she declined, figuring that the robe on the door was heavy enough and it had a belt. It was certainly warm enough, even if she wanted to go to bed naked.
She found three glasses of iced tea, plus plates etc. on the table when she returned to the kitchen.
"We should I sit Carla?"
"Right where you are will be fine." Carla replied.
Morgan reached for her tea and downed the entire class. Seeing the tea container on the counter she took the liberty to refill it. She sat down.
A few minutes longer, then, Carla pushed a button on a small white box sitting on the counter.
"Hank, supper is ready." She barked into the box.
Hank came through one of the doors a few minutes later, his arms loaded with firewood. He carried the small logs like they were nothing to him. After carefully sitting the wood in a corner near the stove, he moved, lumbered really, to a chair at the table and sat down.
"You girls cleaned up I see." He said in a deep baritone voice. "You're a pretty girl Morgan."
"My dad as an eye for the ladies." Carla said. "He is nearing 70 and can still carry 100 pound sack of potatoes like it's feathers.
"10 years ago I could carry two." He added with no tone of bragging.
Morgan pondered what "having an eye for the ladies" and carrying a "100 pound sack of potatoes" had in common.
Supper was soon finished. Morgan had deemed it delicious and helped Carla clean up. Hank had disappeared again, to shower Morgan figured as she heard the water running in the bathroom. The two women sat drinking coffee and talking, with Morgan doing most of the talking about her childhood in Oklahoma, her traveling around the country doing odd jobs, and her recent problems. Carla, not having a lot of people to talk to, was appreciative and listened attentively, asking questions and nodding her head when appropriate.
Hank soon reappeared wearing shorts and a white undershirt. Morgan could not help but notice his strong muscular shoulders and legs. After drinking water at the sink, he stopped by the table.
"You coming to bed Carla?" He queried.
"Not right now dad." She said with annoyance. "Morgan and I are talking. I'll be in soon."
Carla had her head lowered, her eyes lifting to look at Morgan, her mouth pulled tight.
"The incestuous bastard." Morgan thought, and it must've showed, to Carla, in her face as the old man walked into the known bedroom.
"Don't judge us too hard." Carla began, being her time to talk, "I married one of the hired hands back in the time. I've been on this farm all my life. Dan, my husband, passed away about sixteen years ago. Mom was able to keep dad out of my bedroom until she passed away 14 years ago next week. You would think the old codger wouldn't be able to get it up, but he gets it up just fine. Good genes I suppose. He came to my bedroom two months after mom passed. I tried to fight him off the first time. He was determined and I finally just let him take me. Dad was always envious of Dan's and my sex life. I guess I have dad's genes, cause after a bit, I did not mind dad coming to my bedroom, heaven forgive me, I still enjoy a good stiff one every now and then. After a bit, it just seemed natural. I share his bed most nights.
Morgan sat dumbfounded and speechless. She understood the principle "you do what you have to, to survive".
"He is almost 70. How old are you?" Was all Morgan could think to ask, hiding her amazement at the confession!
"I'm just 52. I haven't aged well, I suppose." Carla replied, self-consciously rubbing the back of her hair, as if straightening it.
"Your a lovely woman." Morgan lied, reaching to place her hand on Carla's leg in an effort to comfort her.
They talked another hour.
"We usually retire early around here." Carla finally said. "Come on and I'll show you to your bed." It was 9 o'clock.
Carla led the way and opened the door to the other bedroom. She cut on a small lamp on a dressing table. Morgan immediately saw that the other full-sized bed was just as dilapidated, but it was warm and dry so it did not matter. Morgan was fully expecting Carla to say good night, but instead she moved to stand in front of her and reached to brush her red curls by her right ear.
"You're a real cutie." Carla said, smiling at Morgan. "I bet under this robe I would find red hair between your legs. You don't shave it do you?" She asked with concern in her tone.
