Earlier today, at her father’s funeral, he had decided she had suffered long enough. Besides, he wanted out of this mess, and he knew just how to do it. He would tell her that Joan DeVryes, a friend of hers who had recently moved to New-Mexico, was secretly in love with Charlie, and that according to a rumour he’d heard in town, Joan had sent Charlie an anonymous letter. He’d offer to phone Charlie and explain the kafuffle. Of course, Ally would take him up on it. Charlie would make up with her and everything would return to the way it was. Unfortunately, he had made the mistake of bringing a flask of Southern Comfort to have a quick gulp of courage before lying to her. But she had drank most of it, and now there was no predicting how she would react. He should tell her his lie another day, but he could not wait anymore. He wanted his old life back.
She burped. “Sorry,” she said, then she giggled. Some of her hair was stuck to her cheek, and she made no attempt at brushing it off.
Seeing her drunk annoyed him. He took the empty bottle from her hand and tossed it in the bush.
Her giggles died down. “Why the long face?” she asked.
He reached over and gently pulled the hair off her face. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
Her mouth opened slightly, and for a moment, she looked as though she was tasting the air. She smiled. “I know what it is.”
How could she know? Impossible. She was just babbling. “No, Ally. What I—”
She put her finger on his lips. Then she leaned over and kissed him.
He pulled back. “Ally. You’re drunk.”
She kept her eyes on him as she undid the first two buttons of her blouse.
An image of the letter falling into the mail chute flashed through his mind. He swallowed. “I think I should take you home.”
She nuzzled his ear and whispered, “Shut up.” Her breath on his neck blew life into the lust he had felt for her beside Charlie’s shed. When she kissed his throat, he reached for her waist and pulled himself to her side of the stick shift. They striped whatever clothes they had to and abandoned themselves into each other. At one point, between moans, she whispered, “Charlie.” He took a quick look at her face. She was crying, but he didn’t care. Nothing could stop him now. His plan had worked. To hell with Charlie Gunter. To hell with the letter.
When they finished, he rolled back to his side. Ally sat up, laid a hand on his thigh, and leaned her head against the headrest. She closed her eyes. No woman had ever made him feel so strong, so powerful. He wanted her all to himself, forever. Oh sure, she had said “Charlie” in the middle of it, but in time, she would forget. As he let his eyes stray from the outline of her face to the gathering clouds behind the tangle of aspen branches, he vowed he would take his secret to the grave.
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