OVERCAST
She came to him in the darkness of the night. She was silent, never saying a word. But the deliberate movements of her soft, innocent frame let him know that she knew exactly what she was doing.
He only realized his own nakedness when he drank in hers with his eyes, her light skin so smooth, her stomach flat and tight, her breasts supple and taut. She was so much more lovely than her tiny yellow swimsuit had suggested.
He knew this was wrong. His brother lay sound asleep just across from him. But it didn't keep her from making the conscious decision to leave his brother's bed and join him in his. He reached for her, his hands gently gripping the delicate skin of her waist as he pulled her onto his lap. "Tay," she whispered. "Finally."
She wanted him.
He ran his hands up her thighs that lay parted in a straddle on either side of his hips. He tried desperately to look into her eyes, but he couldn't see her face. He could only hear her sighs as she enjoyed him.
"Bessie," he whispered. "This is wrong."
"Shh," she replied, placing her finger to his lips. "Relax."
And so he did. Zac was knocked out with a pill and there was no way he was waking up. So he sat back and he allowed her to enjoy him as he enjoyed her, watching her hips roll in his lap and her chest heave with her sighs.
And then the unexpected happened. A pair of hands--dark, caramel, female hands--slid around Bessie's chest and cupped her breasts. The shock caused him to look up at Bessie, her face still invisible as her head lay back onto the shoulder of the intruder--and Aishe's eyes bore into his with startling intensity.
He watched Aishe kiss Bessie's neck and squeeze her breasts as Bessie moaned in ecstasy, the gypsy never taking her eyes off of him. Taylor was confused--and the most turned on he had ever been in his entire life.
Bessie's head continued to rest on Aishe's shoulder, her face still invisible, her slender neck the only skin he could see above her shoulders. But he could see Aishe's piercing, dark eyes, intimidating him as her hands left Bessie's breasts, trailing down the sides of her body and stopping at her hips, gripping them firmly and forcefully grinding Bessie's hips into him.
As he found himself completely wild with pleasure, a smile crossed Aishe's face at the sound of Bessie's whimpers of surrender. "Yes," she hissed into her ear as she continued to look into Taylor's eyes. "That's the way he likes it."
Wait. How the hell did Aishe know what he liked?
Taylor's eyes shot open and his body had broken into a cold sweat. He lay there, on his back, breathing heavily, a mix of relief and adrenaline from the dream he'd just had. Blinking into the early morning darkness, he felt himself enough to be reminded that he was still clothed and all the sins he'd just committed hadn't been real.
Letting out a breath, he turned his head and looked across from him, witnessing Bessie still asleep, barely visible under the dark blue morning sky that slowly began to light the trailer's interior. His brother still lay asleep, covering her lap, both of them breathing evenly and contently. He turned his head and looked back up at the ceiling, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. God, he felt so guilty. So full of regret. He knew he couldn't control what he dreamed, but it didn't make him feel any less horrible about it.
It was when he shifted his body, when he felt the cold wetness in his pants. Snapping his eyes wide in alarm, he thrust his hand under the blanket and, subsequently, into his pants and he silently cursed at the ceiling. Had that seriously happened? Had he carried his erotic dream all the way to the end? That hadn't happened to him in many years.
Still shaken from the surprise meeting in his mind, he sat up and quickly gathered a handful of fresh clothes and tiptoed his way to the bathroom. Still cursing himself, he washed and cleaned himself up, dealt with his laundry, and then leaned against the sink, glancing up at the mirror in defeat.
Staring at himself in the mirror, his breathing finally began to even out from the shock of the dream. He felt so inappropriate to have had that dream about Bessie--especially since he didn't see her that way in real life. She was Zac's girl. Zac loved her. And she loved him. And he knew the dream had nothing to do with her on a personal level. He didn't want Bessie. But he did want what Zac had--he wanted someone who was good and loyal and who smiled at him and looked at him like he was the only man on the planet. It was bad enough that he was twenty-eight and still had yet to be married. It was time to settle down now. Time to get serious.
It was Aishe, however, that had caused him to wake up with the mess in his pants. The dream was hot before, but Aishe's hands and her eyes were what sent him over the edge.
Her eyes. He couldn't shake the visual of those dark, gypsy eyes, staring him down, right into his soul. He'd never met someone who could say so much to him without ever uttering a word. And then it dawned on him...
Aishe had never actually said a single word to him in real life.
Well, that would stop today. He'd been going through weeks of her eyes and her silence and her enchantment and it was time for him to face it all head-on, once and for all.
Straightening his fresh clothes in the mirror, he ran a comb through his hair before he placed his wool cap on his head. Stepping out the bathroom door, he peeked out the window and saw what he expected to see--Aishe, standing under the light blue, overcast morning sky, as she took laundry down from the lines that had been strung across several trees.
As he started toward the front of the trailer, he paused for a moment and looked to his right, down at Bessie and Zac. The guilt from the dream was still there, but he'd chosen to remind himself over and over that Bessie was merely in the wrong dream at the wrong time and it had absolutely nothing to do with her. He knew the guilt would wear off eventually, but not soon enough.
As he headed for the front of the trailer and turned the doorknob, he heard Bessie's soft voice whisper sleepily, "Tay?"
He turned to look at her as she took in a breath and attempted to stretch her body underneath Zac's dead weight. "Yeah?'
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," he whispered. "Everything's fine."
"Why are you awake so early? Do you need me to help with something?"
"No," he whispered again, shaking his head. "Go back to sleep."
As he left her there, he went out the door and closed it behind him gently, rounding the corner around the outside of the trailer and making his way across the camp. He could already smell the fresh campfires as they burned in the early morning hours, prepared for whatever breakfasts that the gypsies chose to put on them that day. He always loved the aromas that came with the first thing in the morning, between the fresh morning air, the fire smoke, and the array of sweets and spices. It was a comfort he knew he couldn't find anywhere else in the world.
He approached Aishe, dressed in white once again, as she reached up and plucked a blanket off the line and gently folded it and put it away in the basket that sat on the ground next to her. Walking around in front of her, he saw that he'd startled her slightly as her eyes widened upon sight of him before they went back to normal and she went back to the laundry. "Good morning, Aishe," he smiled.
She didn't reply, she only smiled at him through her long lashes and plucked more linen off the line.
Stepping closer to her, he rested his arm on a thin tree branch that hung low above him and he hung his head closer to her face. "How come you never speak to me?"
Her reply was the rapid shaking of her head as she folded another blanket.
"You never talk to me," he continued. "You...you do all this stuff for me, you darn my socks and you bring me gifts and you pick up my laundry--and, hell, half the time I don't even know you have my laundry until it's finished--and, yet, you've never said a word to me. Why?"
"I am sorry," she finally replied, her Romani accent light and seductive. "I'm afraid my English isn't very good."
"Your English sounds okay to me. I can understand you just fine. I know that can't be it. Are you--are you afraid of me or something?"
This garnered an unexpected, genuine laugh from her, and while her laugh was as lovely as the ringing of a bell, it still caught Taylor off guard. "Well--that wasn't meant to be funny..."
She calmed her laugh and she smiled and shook her head as she went about her laundry. "I am not afraid of you, Taylor."
"You know my name," he said in awe.
"Of course I know your name. I would not dare touch the, uh...underclothes of a man whose name I did not know."
Taylor blushed at this, especially knowing the state of the underclothes he had hidden in the bathroom just a short while ago at her expense. "Then, why? Why do all these nice things for me, but never speak to me? I don't understand."
Aishe shrugged as she stepped over and reached for the line again. "Maybe I like you. Maybe I like your face. Maybe I like to watch the way you walk. Maybe I want to get to know you and not...startle you."
Taylor furrowed his brow in confusion. "Startle? That's the craziest thing I've ever heard, how could you startle me?"
"As I said, I am not afraid of you. But I think, perhaps, that it is you who is afraid of me."
Taylor was rendered dumbfounded as he stared down at the small, dark-skinned woman. Could she have been right? Could he be afraid of her? It was silly. It was nonsense. What man was afraid of a woman? Unless the woman was...exotic...mysterious...captivating and fascinating...and completely out of his comfort zone.
"Here," he said gently as he lifted his arms to retrieve the next article off her line, a feat that was much easier for him than it was for her. "Let me help you with this."
Aishe smiled, her face blushing slightly, and she shook her head. "No. This is woman's work, I can finish it just fine."
"It's okay," he smiled back, unpinning the sheet and lifting it off of the line. "If it's good enough for you, it's good enough for me. I'm happy to help."
As the overcast sky continued to brighten behind the clouds that hid the sun, talk was minimal as Taylor helped Aishe finish taking down her laundry. It wasn't long before he was picking up her basket and carrying it to the covered wagon that she lived in with her grandmother and her younger brothers. Taylor was about to step right into uncharted territory and he wasn't sure he'd be able to look back.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
"That was quite a display you put on last night," Stanley Connors said to Judge Harlow as he sat in his office.
Stanley was one of the judge's oldest and closest friends. However, he hadn't seen much of him outside the courtroom since Zac had gotten ahold of Billy. Now, after a busy morning defending seven total clients in the same case, District Attorney Connors paced the floor in front of Judge Harlow's desk.
"There was no display to be had," the judge replied calmly. "Those boys did wrong and they got caught. Simple as that."
"That gypsy got what he deserved for what he did to my boy. Those boys were sticking up for their friend, that was all. You'd have done the same at their age. It would have been simpler just to turn the other cheek and leave well enough alone."
"I'm not in the business of turning the other cheek when my family is involved."
Stanley stopped his nervous pacing in front of the judge and scoffed in disbelief. "Family? It's bad enough that the entire city of Tulsa watched that gypsy put his paws all over your daughter, but--"
The judge's fist came down hard on his desk. "Those boys put their hands on my daughter! They held her captive and she had to fight to free herself!"
Stanley's eyes widened and he cleared his throat. "Well--well, jeez, Jim, I didn't get that side of the story--"
"Because you weren't there to see it with your own eyes. But I was. And I watched the whole thing. It happened faster than I could get through the crowd. They attacked that poor man as he walked out of the restroom and they held my daughter hostage so she couldn't go for help. As for what he did to your son? Well, if that's the kind that your boy hangs around with, then it was my mistake for thinking your boy would take care of my daughter."
"That's preposterous!" Stanley exploded, his face turning a deep shade of red. "You made her go out with Billy! Billy didn't even want to go out with her! You got him hurt! And now you're taking up for the savage that did it?"
"He is no savage, he is a man, and he is not the one who drank liquor in front of my daughter and said nasty things to her!"
"Are you accusing my boy of engaging in illegal activity?"
"My Bessie is no liar."
"Really, Jim? Do you really trust a girl who runs around with gypsies? How long was it before you found out she was running around with him behind your back? Huh?"
"What goes on in my daughter's personal life is nobody's concern but hers."
"It is when her personal life is beating up on my boy."
"Tell your boy to put down the liquor and maybe he could have fought back."
Stanley shoved a hand in his pocket and he looked Judge Harlow over. He wiped his brow and he shook his head. "After all these years, Jim. All these years of friendship..."
"Oh, can it, Stanley, Zac got what was coming to him, just drop it," the judge spat.
"I can't drop the fact that you have some of Tulsa's finest football stars going back to school with criminal records!"
"What's this really about, Stan? Your boy or your autumn gambling habit? That's almost as illegal as liquor is. You know that."
"This has to do with that gypsy. Going around, doing what gypsies do best--causing trouble, doing as they please, stealing things--even innocent boys' girlfriends. And it's about you, my dearest friend, taking his side all of a sudden when, not so long ago, you were ready to be rid of him yourself!"
Judge Harlow chuckled in amusement, in spite of himself. "Stan, the man can't steal what was rightfully his in the first place."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I was wrong in setting Billy up with Bessie. That was my own personal problem and I shouldn't have used your boy as a pawn. Bessie and Zac, well--they're gonna be Bessie and Zac, no matter what I have to say about it."
Stanley narrowed his eyes and leaned on Judge Harlow's desk, lowering his head and his voice. "What's he got on you, Jim? Huh? Gotta be something big for you to have such a vested interest in this guy all of a sudden."
"I have a vested interest in my daughter's happiness, Stan. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less."
"And you expect me to believe that?"
"Of course. It's the truth. My only baby girl is leaving for school in a couple of months. I want these last couple of months to be happy for her. If it takes Zac Hanson to make her happy, then so be it. I am not going to deny her the right to be happy."
"Jim. You've known my boy for years. Since he was just a little thing. That gypsy came out of nowhere and broke two of my boy's ribs--"
"That 'gypsy' is a native of Tulsa and has been a resident his entire life, right along with his brothers. I'm tired of everyone referring to them that way. They were successful at one point, there's no reason to persecute them for something that wasn't their fault. So they got a tough break. It happens. But it doesn't make them any less of men than you and me. What'd they ever do to you? Correct your boy when he disrespected one of their girls? Wouldn't you have done the same? And Zac got his right back, so it's settled."
"They're saying he might not be able to play ball next year, Jim. If he doesn't make a name for himself, he can kiss his football career goodbye."
"Maybe that's a good thing, Stan. You ever think of it that way? If he's not playing ball, he can focus more on his studies. He'll be a juggernaut in the courtroom, just like his old man."
Judge Harlow's attempt to butter the district attorney up had apparently paid off. Stanley's face now glowed a red made of flattery as opposed to the rage he'd displayed just moments before. "Well, I suppose you got a point there, buddy old pal."
"Of course I do," Judge Harlow smiled. "Let's just put this silliness behind us and go about our way. We have more important things to worry about than what nonsense our kids are getting into. They're grown now anyway, they can take care of themselves."
Stanley nodded and wiped his brow with his handkerchief, shoving it back in his pocket. "Yes, yes, well I suppose you make a fine point, there. Say, uh, Margaret's serving up her famous pot roast tonight, you think you and the missus might like to join us?"
Judge Harlow's smile widened. "Why that sounds just dandy, Stan. You know I can't turn down Margie's famous pot roast. I'll be sure to get Cathy on the horn so she can prepare a cobbler to bring along."
As Stanley Connors walked out of the office, Judge Harlow picked up the pen on his desk and twirled it around his fingers in thought for a moment before he put it back down. Stanley could invite him and his wife to all the pot roast dinners he wanted to--but it still wasn't going to keep him from making sure that justice was done with these football players.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Lawrence Baker stood over six feet tall, with curly blonde hair and a muscular build. Together, he and Billy Connors were two of the best football players at the University of Oklahoma. It was a great coincidence that they also happened to be old high school chums, as well. Both at twenty years old, they had been high school football stars and they were well-respected in their class. Well-respected in the sense that if you had any brains at all, you wouldn't try any funny business with them.
Lawrence stood in Billy's bedroom by his bed with his hands shoved his pockets. Billy sat up in his bed with a wrap around his ribcage, leafing through a Ballyhoo magazine, filled with cartoon jokes and nearly-nude cartoon women. It hurt to laugh at the pages, but he did the best he could.
"How did it go?" Billy asked Lawrence in reference to his morning with his attorney father.
"Got a court date next week. Your old man says I'll likely only get off with community service and a fine. No jail time."
"That sounds about right. You got a good defense behind you."
"Yeah. I do. I appreciate that."
"And I appreciate you fellas...you know, defending me and such."
"We tried, Billy. We tried to do right by you. We would've gotten more done had Bessie not stepped in."
Billy raised an unamused eyebrow as he went back to his magazine. "Those young bucks can't handle a little old girl like that, yet?"
"No, I suppose not."
"They're still wet behind the ears. When they finally get themselves a little, they'll learn how to handle a woman and not let her get away."
Lawrence chuckled at Billy's comment. "Yeah, I suppose that'll do it."
Billy's expression remained stoic, his voice flat. "How's the gypsy look?"
Lawrence smiled, amused. "Brought him to his knees. Busted up his face, got him in the gut a few good times."
"You break any bones? You know, eye for an eye?"
"We would have, had that little shrew not screamed for her damned daddy. The judge was there, he saw the whole thing."
"I'm surprised the judge showed up at all, to be honest."
"He was there, through and through. All the while Bessie and that gypsy sat up at the top of the hill and pawed all over each other and her old man didn't bat an eyelash. After all that he went through to get you together with Bessie, I find it kind of funny how he's got the gypsy's back all of a sudden."
Billy finally looked up from his magazine. "I just assumed they met each other there."
"Nope. The gypsy left with them, too."
"He's got something on the judge, then," Billy said, once again returning to the magazine. "He has to. No man in his position is going to openly allow his daughter to court trash like that. No. This ain't over yet, Larry. Not by a long shot."
"Well--well, Billy, I get that you're sore about all this, but--"
"This was supposed to be a clean, done deal. Get in and get out. Now all you guys got charges against you and records and such and--well, that ain't right. And it's that gypsy's fault once again."
"Well, actually, it's Bessie's fault. She's the one who screamed for her daddy."
"Well, then, that just makes it personal. He stole my girl, he busted my ribs, and now my chums are facing the slammer. No, we're going to get ours one way or another. That gypsy better watch his back, I'll tell ya."
"And the judge's daughter?"
"Since my old man and her old man are pals, you let me handle that part."
"Okay. So--so what, now?"
"Nothing now. Lay low for awhile, let all of this blow over. I'll be out of this bed in a few weeks and then I'll get my justice. Yours, too, and the other fellas'. You mark my words."
She came to him in the darkness of the night. She was silent, never saying a word. But the deliberate movements of her soft, innocent frame let him know that she knew exactly what she was doing.
He only realized his own nakedness when he drank in hers with his eyes, her light skin so smooth, her stomach flat and tight, her breasts supple and taut. She was so much more lovely than her tiny yellow swimsuit had suggested.
He knew this was wrong. His brother lay sound asleep just across from him. But it didn't keep her from making the conscious decision to leave his brother's bed and join him in his. He reached for her, his hands gently gripping the delicate skin of her waist as he pulled her onto his lap. "Tay," she whispered. "Finally."
She wanted him.
He ran his hands up her thighs that lay parted in a straddle on either side of his hips. He tried desperately to look into her eyes, but he couldn't see her face. He could only hear her sighs as she enjoyed him.
"Bessie," he whispered. "This is wrong."
"Shh," she replied, placing her finger to his lips. "Relax."
And so he did. Zac was knocked out with a pill and there was no way he was waking up. So he sat back and he allowed her to enjoy him as he enjoyed her, watching her hips roll in his lap and her chest heave with her sighs.
And then the unexpected happened. A pair of hands--dark, caramel, female hands--slid around Bessie's chest and cupped her breasts. The shock caused him to look up at Bessie, her face still invisible as her head lay back onto the shoulder of the intruder--and Aishe's eyes bore into his with startling intensity.
He watched Aishe kiss Bessie's neck and squeeze her breasts as Bessie moaned in ecstasy, the gypsy never taking her eyes off of him. Taylor was confused--and the most turned on he had ever been in his entire life.
Bessie's head continued to rest on Aishe's shoulder, her face still invisible, her slender neck the only skin he could see above her shoulders. But he could see Aishe's piercing, dark eyes, intimidating him as her hands left Bessie's breasts, trailing down the sides of her body and stopping at her hips, gripping them firmly and forcefully grinding Bessie's hips into him.
As he found himself completely wild with pleasure, a smile crossed Aishe's face at the sound of Bessie's whimpers of surrender. "Yes," she hissed into her ear as she continued to look into Taylor's eyes. "That's the way he likes it."
Wait. How the hell did Aishe know what he liked?
Taylor's eyes shot open and his body had broken into a cold sweat. He lay there, on his back, breathing heavily, a mix of relief and adrenaline from the dream he'd just had. Blinking into the early morning darkness, he felt himself enough to be reminded that he was still clothed and all the sins he'd just committed hadn't been real.
Letting out a breath, he turned his head and looked across from him, witnessing Bessie still asleep, barely visible under the dark blue morning sky that slowly began to light the trailer's interior. His brother still lay asleep, covering her lap, both of them breathing evenly and contently. He turned his head and looked back up at the ceiling, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. God, he felt so guilty. So full of regret. He knew he couldn't control what he dreamed, but it didn't make him feel any less horrible about it.
It was when he shifted his body, when he felt the cold wetness in his pants. Snapping his eyes wide in alarm, he thrust his hand under the blanket and, subsequently, into his pants and he silently cursed at the ceiling. Had that seriously happened? Had he carried his erotic dream all the way to the end? That hadn't happened to him in many years.
Still shaken from the surprise meeting in his mind, he sat up and quickly gathered a handful of fresh clothes and tiptoed his way to the bathroom. Still cursing himself, he washed and cleaned himself up, dealt with his laundry, and then leaned against the sink, glancing up at the mirror in defeat.
Staring at himself in the mirror, his breathing finally began to even out from the shock of the dream. He felt so inappropriate to have had that dream about Bessie--especially since he didn't see her that way in real life. She was Zac's girl. Zac loved her. And she loved him. And he knew the dream had nothing to do with her on a personal level. He didn't want Bessie. But he did want what Zac had--he wanted someone who was good and loyal and who smiled at him and looked at him like he was the only man on the planet. It was bad enough that he was twenty-eight and still had yet to be married. It was time to settle down now. Time to get serious.
It was Aishe, however, that had caused him to wake up with the mess in his pants. The dream was hot before, but Aishe's hands and her eyes were what sent him over the edge.
Her eyes. He couldn't shake the visual of those dark, gypsy eyes, staring him down, right into his soul. He'd never met someone who could say so much to him without ever uttering a word. And then it dawned on him...
Aishe had never actually said a single word to him in real life.
Well, that would stop today. He'd been going through weeks of her eyes and her silence and her enchantment and it was time for him to face it all head-on, once and for all.
Straightening his fresh clothes in the mirror, he ran a comb through his hair before he placed his wool cap on his head. Stepping out the bathroom door, he peeked out the window and saw what he expected to see--Aishe, standing under the light blue, overcast morning sky, as she took laundry down from the lines that had been strung across several trees.
As he started toward the front of the trailer, he paused for a moment and looked to his right, down at Bessie and Zac. The guilt from the dream was still there, but he'd chosen to remind himself over and over that Bessie was merely in the wrong dream at the wrong time and it had absolutely nothing to do with her. He knew the guilt would wear off eventually, but not soon enough.
As he headed for the front of the trailer and turned the doorknob, he heard Bessie's soft voice whisper sleepily, "Tay?"
He turned to look at her as she took in a breath and attempted to stretch her body underneath Zac's dead weight. "Yeah?'
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," he whispered. "Everything's fine."
"Why are you awake so early? Do you need me to help with something?"
"No," he whispered again, shaking his head. "Go back to sleep."
As he left her there, he went out the door and closed it behind him gently, rounding the corner around the outside of the trailer and making his way across the camp. He could already smell the fresh campfires as they burned in the early morning hours, prepared for whatever breakfasts that the gypsies chose to put on them that day. He always loved the aromas that came with the first thing in the morning, between the fresh morning air, the fire smoke, and the array of sweets and spices. It was a comfort he knew he couldn't find anywhere else in the world.
He approached Aishe, dressed in white once again, as she reached up and plucked a blanket off the line and gently folded it and put it away in the basket that sat on the ground next to her. Walking around in front of her, he saw that he'd startled her slightly as her eyes widened upon sight of him before they went back to normal and she went back to the laundry. "Good morning, Aishe," he smiled.
She didn't reply, she only smiled at him through her long lashes and plucked more linen off the line.
Stepping closer to her, he rested his arm on a thin tree branch that hung low above him and he hung his head closer to her face. "How come you never speak to me?"
Her reply was the rapid shaking of her head as she folded another blanket.
"You never talk to me," he continued. "You...you do all this stuff for me, you darn my socks and you bring me gifts and you pick up my laundry--and, hell, half the time I don't even know you have my laundry until it's finished--and, yet, you've never said a word to me. Why?"
"I am sorry," she finally replied, her Romani accent light and seductive. "I'm afraid my English isn't very good."
"Your English sounds okay to me. I can understand you just fine. I know that can't be it. Are you--are you afraid of me or something?"
This garnered an unexpected, genuine laugh from her, and while her laugh was as lovely as the ringing of a bell, it still caught Taylor off guard. "Well--that wasn't meant to be funny..."
She calmed her laugh and she smiled and shook her head as she went about her laundry. "I am not afraid of you, Taylor."
"You know my name," he said in awe.
"Of course I know your name. I would not dare touch the, uh...underclothes of a man whose name I did not know."
Taylor blushed at this, especially knowing the state of the underclothes he had hidden in the bathroom just a short while ago at her expense. "Then, why? Why do all these nice things for me, but never speak to me? I don't understand."
Aishe shrugged as she stepped over and reached for the line again. "Maybe I like you. Maybe I like your face. Maybe I like to watch the way you walk. Maybe I want to get to know you and not...startle you."
Taylor furrowed his brow in confusion. "Startle? That's the craziest thing I've ever heard, how could you startle me?"
"As I said, I am not afraid of you. But I think, perhaps, that it is you who is afraid of me."
Taylor was rendered dumbfounded as he stared down at the small, dark-skinned woman. Could she have been right? Could he be afraid of her? It was silly. It was nonsense. What man was afraid of a woman? Unless the woman was...exotic...mysterious...captivating and fascinating...and completely out of his comfort zone.
"Here," he said gently as he lifted his arms to retrieve the next article off her line, a feat that was much easier for him than it was for her. "Let me help you with this."
Aishe smiled, her face blushing slightly, and she shook her head. "No. This is woman's work, I can finish it just fine."
"It's okay," he smiled back, unpinning the sheet and lifting it off of the line. "If it's good enough for you, it's good enough for me. I'm happy to help."
As the overcast sky continued to brighten behind the clouds that hid the sun, talk was minimal as Taylor helped Aishe finish taking down her laundry. It wasn't long before he was picking up her basket and carrying it to the covered wagon that she lived in with her grandmother and her younger brothers. Taylor was about to step right into uncharted territory and he wasn't sure he'd be able to look back.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
"That was quite a display you put on last night," Stanley Connors said to Judge Harlow as he sat in his office.
Stanley was one of the judge's oldest and closest friends. However, he hadn't seen much of him outside the courtroom since Zac had gotten ahold of Billy. Now, after a busy morning defending seven total clients in the same case, District Attorney Connors paced the floor in front of Judge Harlow's desk.
"There was no display to be had," the judge replied calmly. "Those boys did wrong and they got caught. Simple as that."
"That gypsy got what he deserved for what he did to my boy. Those boys were sticking up for their friend, that was all. You'd have done the same at their age. It would have been simpler just to turn the other cheek and leave well enough alone."
"I'm not in the business of turning the other cheek when my family is involved."
Stanley stopped his nervous pacing in front of the judge and scoffed in disbelief. "Family? It's bad enough that the entire city of Tulsa watched that gypsy put his paws all over your daughter, but--"
The judge's fist came down hard on his desk. "Those boys put their hands on my daughter! They held her captive and she had to fight to free herself!"
Stanley's eyes widened and he cleared his throat. "Well--well, jeez, Jim, I didn't get that side of the story--"
"Because you weren't there to see it with your own eyes. But I was. And I watched the whole thing. It happened faster than I could get through the crowd. They attacked that poor man as he walked out of the restroom and they held my daughter hostage so she couldn't go for help. As for what he did to your son? Well, if that's the kind that your boy hangs around with, then it was my mistake for thinking your boy would take care of my daughter."
"That's preposterous!" Stanley exploded, his face turning a deep shade of red. "You made her go out with Billy! Billy didn't even want to go out with her! You got him hurt! And now you're taking up for the savage that did it?"
"He is no savage, he is a man, and he is not the one who drank liquor in front of my daughter and said nasty things to her!"
"Are you accusing my boy of engaging in illegal activity?"
"My Bessie is no liar."
"Really, Jim? Do you really trust a girl who runs around with gypsies? How long was it before you found out she was running around with him behind your back? Huh?"
"What goes on in my daughter's personal life is nobody's concern but hers."
"It is when her personal life is beating up on my boy."
"Tell your boy to put down the liquor and maybe he could have fought back."
Stanley shoved a hand in his pocket and he looked Judge Harlow over. He wiped his brow and he shook his head. "After all these years, Jim. All these years of friendship..."
"Oh, can it, Stanley, Zac got what was coming to him, just drop it," the judge spat.
"I can't drop the fact that you have some of Tulsa's finest football stars going back to school with criminal records!"
"What's this really about, Stan? Your boy or your autumn gambling habit? That's almost as illegal as liquor is. You know that."
"This has to do with that gypsy. Going around, doing what gypsies do best--causing trouble, doing as they please, stealing things--even innocent boys' girlfriends. And it's about you, my dearest friend, taking his side all of a sudden when, not so long ago, you were ready to be rid of him yourself!"
Judge Harlow chuckled in amusement, in spite of himself. "Stan, the man can't steal what was rightfully his in the first place."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I was wrong in setting Billy up with Bessie. That was my own personal problem and I shouldn't have used your boy as a pawn. Bessie and Zac, well--they're gonna be Bessie and Zac, no matter what I have to say about it."
Stanley narrowed his eyes and leaned on Judge Harlow's desk, lowering his head and his voice. "What's he got on you, Jim? Huh? Gotta be something big for you to have such a vested interest in this guy all of a sudden."
"I have a vested interest in my daughter's happiness, Stan. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less."
"And you expect me to believe that?"
"Of course. It's the truth. My only baby girl is leaving for school in a couple of months. I want these last couple of months to be happy for her. If it takes Zac Hanson to make her happy, then so be it. I am not going to deny her the right to be happy."
"Jim. You've known my boy for years. Since he was just a little thing. That gypsy came out of nowhere and broke two of my boy's ribs--"
"That 'gypsy' is a native of Tulsa and has been a resident his entire life, right along with his brothers. I'm tired of everyone referring to them that way. They were successful at one point, there's no reason to persecute them for something that wasn't their fault. So they got a tough break. It happens. But it doesn't make them any less of men than you and me. What'd they ever do to you? Correct your boy when he disrespected one of their girls? Wouldn't you have done the same? And Zac got his right back, so it's settled."
"They're saying he might not be able to play ball next year, Jim. If he doesn't make a name for himself, he can kiss his football career goodbye."
"Maybe that's a good thing, Stan. You ever think of it that way? If he's not playing ball, he can focus more on his studies. He'll be a juggernaut in the courtroom, just like his old man."
Judge Harlow's attempt to butter the district attorney up had apparently paid off. Stanley's face now glowed a red made of flattery as opposed to the rage he'd displayed just moments before. "Well, I suppose you got a point there, buddy old pal."
"Of course I do," Judge Harlow smiled. "Let's just put this silliness behind us and go about our way. We have more important things to worry about than what nonsense our kids are getting into. They're grown now anyway, they can take care of themselves."
Stanley nodded and wiped his brow with his handkerchief, shoving it back in his pocket. "Yes, yes, well I suppose you make a fine point, there. Say, uh, Margaret's serving up her famous pot roast tonight, you think you and the missus might like to join us?"
Judge Harlow's smile widened. "Why that sounds just dandy, Stan. You know I can't turn down Margie's famous pot roast. I'll be sure to get Cathy on the horn so she can prepare a cobbler to bring along."
As Stanley Connors walked out of the office, Judge Harlow picked up the pen on his desk and twirled it around his fingers in thought for a moment before he put it back down. Stanley could invite him and his wife to all the pot roast dinners he wanted to--but it still wasn't going to keep him from making sure that justice was done with these football players.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Lawrence Baker stood over six feet tall, with curly blonde hair and a muscular build. Together, he and Billy Connors were two of the best football players at the University of Oklahoma. It was a great coincidence that they also happened to be old high school chums, as well. Both at twenty years old, they had been high school football stars and they were well-respected in their class. Well-respected in the sense that if you had any brains at all, you wouldn't try any funny business with them.
Lawrence stood in Billy's bedroom by his bed with his hands shoved his pockets. Billy sat up in his bed with a wrap around his ribcage, leafing through a Ballyhoo magazine, filled with cartoon jokes and nearly-nude cartoon women. It hurt to laugh at the pages, but he did the best he could.
"How did it go?" Billy asked Lawrence in reference to his morning with his attorney father.
"Got a court date next week. Your old man says I'll likely only get off with community service and a fine. No jail time."
"That sounds about right. You got a good defense behind you."
"Yeah. I do. I appreciate that."
"And I appreciate you fellas...you know, defending me and such."
"We tried, Billy. We tried to do right by you. We would've gotten more done had Bessie not stepped in."
Billy raised an unamused eyebrow as he went back to his magazine. "Those young bucks can't handle a little old girl like that, yet?"
"No, I suppose not."
"They're still wet behind the ears. When they finally get themselves a little, they'll learn how to handle a woman and not let her get away."
Lawrence chuckled at Billy's comment. "Yeah, I suppose that'll do it."
Billy's expression remained stoic, his voice flat. "How's the gypsy look?"
Lawrence smiled, amused. "Brought him to his knees. Busted up his face, got him in the gut a few good times."
"You break any bones? You know, eye for an eye?"
"We would have, had that little shrew not screamed for her damned daddy. The judge was there, he saw the whole thing."
"I'm surprised the judge showed up at all, to be honest."
"He was there, through and through. All the while Bessie and that gypsy sat up at the top of the hill and pawed all over each other and her old man didn't bat an eyelash. After all that he went through to get you together with Bessie, I find it kind of funny how he's got the gypsy's back all of a sudden."
Billy finally looked up from his magazine. "I just assumed they met each other there."
"Nope. The gypsy left with them, too."
"He's got something on the judge, then," Billy said, once again returning to the magazine. "He has to. No man in his position is going to openly allow his daughter to court trash like that. No. This ain't over yet, Larry. Not by a long shot."
"Well--well, Billy, I get that you're sore about all this, but--"
"This was supposed to be a clean, done deal. Get in and get out. Now all you guys got charges against you and records and such and--well, that ain't right. And it's that gypsy's fault once again."
"Well, actually, it's Bessie's fault. She's the one who screamed for her daddy."
"Well, then, that just makes it personal. He stole my girl, he busted my ribs, and now my chums are facing the slammer. No, we're going to get ours one way or another. That gypsy better watch his back, I'll tell ya."
"And the judge's daughter?"
"Since my old man and her old man are pals, you let me handle that part."
"Okay. So--so what, now?"
"Nothing now. Lay low for awhile, let all of this blow over. I'll be out of this bed in a few weeks and then I'll get my justice. Yours, too, and the other fellas'. You mark my words."