Gilded Latten Bones

68

I did get to bed before sundown, never having taken a sip of beer. Dean had gone up right after supper. Singe didn't stay up much longer than I did. We left the house to Penny and Dollar Dan.

I fell asleep snuggling with the breather and a mound of handkerchiefs. Singe had delivered a mug of fierce medicinal tea on her way to her repose. That put me under, fast.

I wakened with the sun on the rise. And I was not alone.

Strafa was spooned up against me as though she had been there every night for years. She was leaner and warmer than what I was accustomed to.

I was startled, but only for a moment. Where else could she stay? The other beds were taken.

I moved slightly. She adjusted, too. My right hand discovered something smaller and more firm than what I anticipated. I cupped it. She pushed against my hand and made a little sound of contentment. I slipped back into Nod. She was purring.

When next I wakened I was on my back. Strafa's head was on my chest, over my heart. She was against me tightly, all the way down. Her hand was on my belly, thumb resting on my navel.

It all seemed perfectly reasonable.

My heartbeat quickened.

That wakened Strafa, slightly. Her hand drifted.

I squeaked. She purred but granted a stay after brief exploration. She wrapped that arm around me, over my right shoulder, pulled herself even closer, half on top, purred some more, and went back to sleep.

Singe awakened us. She showed no attitude. "You won't have time to eat if you don't get moving." She grabbed my used handkerchiefs. "I'll get these washed. There are fresh downstairs." Her nose twitched, no doubt telling her what she wanted to know. "The Dead Man is still asleep. General Block should be here in about an hour. His message didn't say why. Otherwise, there is no news."

Strafa untangled herself from the bedding while Singe talked, exposing my nakedness. No surprise to Singe. She knows I sleep raw. But Strafa was equally bare and not the least self-conscious.

Singe's nose twitched some more. She said nothing. Her season was no longer causing completely tormenting emotions.

She collected the breather. "I'll have Dean recharge this."

"Thanks." I did not look at her. I could not stop staring at Strafa, who was digging in a trunk that hadn't been against the west wall when I went to bed.

The door shut behind Singe. Strafa looked at me, now sitting on the edge of the bed. "You're having naughty thoughts. I can tell."

Oh, yeah.

She came to me, pushed me back, straddled me, asked, "Now? Or wait till tonight?"

I was no moral hero. I was no faithful lover. Had the name Tinnie Tate come up just then my best response would have been, "Who?" I couldn't talk. My brains were scrambled. The woman had found her way deep inside my head. She had established emotional colonies. There was no way to drive her out.

I couldn't come up with an answer. So Strafa allowed herself the luxury of deciding for me.

As far as she was concerned the issue never was if but when.