Page 5 of A Little Love

“Looking back, it’s hard to blame her.”

“Giving up the relationship wasn’t an easy decision for us, either. But it was the right one. It was more my thing than his anyway.” They were both quiet, staring at one another and thinking of lost loves, then Tricia perked again. “Does this mean we’ve finally gotten past the whole: Do you have a wife/husband, girlfriend/boyfriend, significant other part of the ‘I think I could really like you if I only knew your relationship status’ thing?”

He started to laugh again.

She grinned, needing no other answer. “Okay then. Well, I know you have a ton of work waiting for you, but I’m pretty useless without a faucet, so… how about this? I’ll show youwhere the hardware store with the best prices is if you will help me get my bathroom working again. After that, I am hugely willing to come over to your house and be your slave labor for the rest of the day. How’s that sound?” She raised her voice, hurrying to talk over all the non-existent objections he wasn’t inclined to offer. “I can sweep, wash out cabinets, scrub walls and windows, and help you get that big ol’ house ready to move your furniture into. Possibly even before nightfall. When does the U-Haul have to go back?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

Now it was her turn for an all-encompassing shrug. “Easy peasy. We got this. And when we’re done, I’ll take you out to Kay’s for pizza!”

“Coffee, deli and pizza,” Nolan mused.

“It’s an awesome gas station.” She hopped off the side of the sink and ducked past him, racing for the kitchen. “Just let me get my purse.”

He had so much work to do and yet, ten minutes later, there he was, unhitching his truck from the U-Haul trailer and holding the door for Tricia. It was one of the best and yet the most surreal moment since his discharge from the military—sitting next to Tricia in her bunny and duckling gardening coveralls, bouncing along together down twenty-three miles of narrow country road toward the first town big enough for a Home Depot. He didn’t do a lot of talking. Mostly because Tricia had that covered. Hands on bare knees, back straight, she kept up a lively chatter on anything and everything that caught her eye as they drove along—Big Red, the town rooster, waiting patiently in front of the auto mechanic’s shop for someone to open the door; the antique-y appeal of all the old-time covered bridges (Scio had the distinction of being the covered-bridge capital of the world, did he know?); how too bad it was that his house hadn’t closed in time for him to be here during the local Lamb and Woolfestival with its adjacent Sheepdog Trials, not to mention the annual crowning of the new Miss Sheep.

It bespoke something awful of his natural proclivities that the picture that sprang instantly to mind was that of Tricia on her hands and knees, her cute little nose blackened and her face artfully painted in old-fashioned, big-eyed, Betty Page ‘I’m so naughty’ makeup. It quickened his heart to imagine her scantily dressed in a fluffy white, sheep’s-wool bikini with hoof-mittens on her hands, and bright pink bows tied around the floppy-ears of her sheep’s headband. His heart skipped a beat entirely over the mouth-watering mental debate: Would she be cuter with or without a little sheep’s tail butt plug seated deep and thick in the little brown moue of her back passage? With, he thought, because God help him, the idea of holding onto the fluffy base while he sank his cock into her was almost more than he could endure without a groan of his own. He wanted to see her back arch. He wanted to bring her right to the verge of gasping, squealing and moaning as he continued to hold it and thrust, filling and fucking her the way Daddy’s Littles should be fucked. Head down, ass up.

“Earth to Sergeant Anderson,” Tricia sang, catching his attention.

“Sorry?” He dropped a hand from the steering wheel to his thigh, hoping the thrust of his truly uncomfortable erection wasn’t as noticeable to her as it was to him. All he could feel was the scouring coarseness of his underwear in the confines of his denim jeans and the heady throb of his cock, growing progressively more distracting the longer he thought about whether or not she might be stealing peeks at his lap.

“You missed the turn.”

Aw, hell. Nolan snapped back to himself long enough to realize where he was. Albany wasn’t as huge as, say, San Francisco or New York City, but it was fairly sizeable for Oregon, with theHome Depot kept separate from town by the twin north and southbound running lanes of I-5. Sure enough, he’d driven right through the stop light and past the entrance to the store. He had to turn around on the other side of the overpass and go back.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Tricia teased, with a sparkle in her eye that suggested she might already know.

Nolan had a hard time not smiling back. “Miss Sheep,” he said, but did not elaborate.

Parking the truck, they went in through the lumber side. He helped her pick out a faucet and, since he was here, loaded up on plain white paint, spackle, sheetrock and hopefully enough roofing shingles and tar to do the job, but which probably wouldn’t be once he climbed up high enough to see for himself how extensively he’d need to replace the existing roof. Then, because he was thinking about it, he also bought a ladder. On the way home, they ran up I-5, taking the backway into town because that, as she told him, would take them right by Kay’s.

Although a gas station now, once upon a time Kay’s had been a bar, and the inside décor was strongly reminiscent of its colorful past. So was the gruff old woman behind the register; Kay herself, she greeted Tricia like a long-lost daughter.

“That time of year again, is it?” she called, taking in Tricia’s coveralls. “You going to bring me your excess blackberries like you did last summer?”

“Only if I get a bottle of jam out of it,” Tricia answered, heading straight for the coffee.

“Done deal.” The woman eyed Nolan, her gaze sharpening as she looked him over. “Who’s this, then?”

“My new neighbor. Miss Kay, this is Sergeant Nolan Anderson. Fresh out of the military, he just bought the old Smith residence.”

“Military, eh? What branch?”

“Army,” Nolan answered, coming to the counter to shake the work-rough hand she offered. For an elderly woman, she had a strong grip.

“My grandson’s army. On his second tour right now, though he’s due home any day, we hope.”

“Hooah,” he said, out of respect.

“Damn straight,” the woman agreed with a nod. “Grab you a coffee, son. It’s on me.”

Pleasantly surprised, Nolan followed Tricia to the coffee station. It was an old machine, not ancient but the only flavors it offered were regular and decaffeinated. A bucket off to one side presented an assortment of creamers.

“If you like one cream in your coffee, you’d best add five,” Tricia whispered out of a corner of her mouth. “I’m telling you, this stuff is strong enough to slap you stupid.”

“I heard that!” Kay snapped out, good-naturedly gruff from the register.

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