Ramona and the Renegade

“I’ll pass.” She watched Joe as he opened and then closed the overhead cabinets. “Anything?”

He was about to say “No,” but the last cabinet he opened contained an old, half-empty bottle of whiskey. Judging from the dust, it had been left behind a long time ago.

Turning back to face her, he held the bottle aloft. “Does this count?”

“Rot-gut,” Mona cried, using the word that had defined crudely made alcohol a couple of centuries ago. That wouldn’t have been her first choice, but any port in a storm, she reasoned. “It’ll do in a pinch.”

“We’re going to have to drink straight out of the bottle,” he told her, crossing back to Mona and placing the bottle in the middle of the table. “Seems like the last owner didn’t believe in glasses.” His eyes briefly met hers. “I can’t find any.”

Mona scrutinized the bottle. The light from the fireplace bathed it with gentle strokes, making it gleam amber. But there was no missing the thick dust. She hesitated. “Think it’s safe to drink?” she asked him.

“Only one way to find out,” Joe answered gamely. Before Mona could say anything further, he tilted the bottle back and took a small swig. Even that little bit jolted him. It took him a couple of seconds to find his breath. “Hell of a kick,” he told her.

Suddenly, Joe grabbed his chest and began making strangling noises. His eyes rolled back in his head. Horrified, Mona was instantly on her feet. Throwing her arms around him, she struggled to lower him to the floor. She needed to get him to a flat surface before she could start CPR.

Mona did her best to fight back panic. “Joe, talk to me, what do you feel? Can you breathe? Damn it, you shouldn’t have—”

The words dried up on her tongue when she caught a glimpse of Joe’s face. He wasn’t choking, he was laughing.

Furious, she opened her arms and his upper torso dropped, hitting the floor with a thud.

“Idiot!” she bit off. “I thought you were poisoned.” She crossed her arms before her angrily. “I should have known the poison hadn’t been invented that could do away with you.”

Getting up off the floor, Joe dusted himself off. “A second ago, you were worried that I was dying. Now you’re mad that I’m not. You sure do blow hot and cold, don’t you?” he asked with a laugh.

Mona frowned as she sat down at the table again. For a moment, she said nothing, just ate the rest of her sandwich in silence.

He supposed it was a dirty trick. Sitting down opposite her, he apologized. Sort of. It would have carried more weight if he wasn’t grinning. “Sorry, I just couldn’t resist.”

She raised her eyes to his face, glaring at him. “That was a rotten trick.”

“Yes, it was,” he responded solemnly. She knew he was just humoring her.

“So? How is it?” she pressed, changing the subject. When he looked at her quizzically, she nodded at the bottle on the table. “The whiskey.”

“Pretty smooth for rot-gut,” he told her. When he saw her reaching for the bottle, he advised, “Go slow if you’re going to try it.”

He realized his mistake the moment the words were out of his mouth.

“The day I can’t hold my liquor as well as you can is the day I’ll admit myself into a nursing home and spend the rest of my days sitting in a rocking chair in a corner—rocking.”

He didn’t crack a smile. “There is middle ground, you know.”

“Not for people like you and me,” she told him just before she took a swig from the bottle, determined to match him.

Joe watched her eyes tear up as the whiskey hit bottom. He knew better than to laugh, or even point the fact out. That would only goad her on. For all her education, she really hadn’t changed that much, he mused. She still had that sharp, competitive edge that made her see everything as a personal challenge, even when it wasn’t.

She would have never made it as a Navajo, he thought. The Native American tribe was known for not competing. They saw competing against their fellow man as being impolite.

Mona had never been hampered by those kinds of feelings.

“How is it?” he asked, infusing just enough disinterest in his voice to sound believable.

“Smooth, like you said,” she managed to get out, her voice a raspy whisper. It felt as if the whiskey had instantly stripped her vocal cords, but she wasn’t about to let on. Mona deliberately took another swig.

Liquid flames poured through her body. Even so, this time it was a little less jarring than the first sip she’d taken.

He wanted to tell her not to overdo it, but he knew better. Mona was nothing if not contrary. When she set the bottle down, the look in her eyes wasn’t hard to read. She dared him to take another swig himself.

So he did.

And then it was her turn again. Joe caught himself thinking that he was grateful the pint bottle was half empty when they found it. The damage caused by the whiskey wouldn’t be too great.

Worst case, Mona would get light-headed and giddy for a bit, but since she was with him, she was safe.

Lucky for her, Joe thought rather grudgingly.

Yeah, you’re a regular Boy Scout, aren’t you?

The bottle was passed back and forth between them, traveling faster with each handoff. Before either one of them realized it, nothing was left.

With a sigh, Mona tilted the bottle all the way over, trying to coax another drop out, but without success.

She felt oddly relaxed and revved up at the same time, as if sliding around in a bright, shiny echo chamber.

Setting the bottle down on its side, she planted her hands on the tabletop and pushed herself up into a standing position. The chair behind her fell. There was a crash accompanied by a cracking sound as parts splintered against the floor.

Mona glanced behind her, mildly surprised. “Oops,” she murmured. “Don’t make them like they used to, do they?” Drawing herself up to her full height, she turned to her left a bit too quickly and found herself wavering unsteadily on her feet.

The sudden action had intensified her dizziness. “I think the wind is pushing the room around,” she told Joe just before she tilted too far to the right.

Jumping to his feet quickly, Joe managed to grab her before Mona could fall over. “Guess that must be it,” he agreed.

Her eyes narrowed as she forgot what had brought her to her feet to begin with.

“What are you doing over here? You were just over there.” She pointed to his chair as if it was located on the other side of town.

“Wind blew me over here, too.” He figured she’d accept that, thinking that if the wind was responsible for moving the room around, it could just as easily have moved him, too.

He should have known better.

Grabbing the front of his shirt with her hands in an effort to really steady herself—or the room—Mona stared up into his face rather intently. “Know what I think?” she asked him.

The woman was entirely too close to him, Joe thought. Her sweet breath mingled with the distinct scent of the whiskey she’d consumed, creating a very odd combination that reeled him in. He was acutely aware of every single supple inch of her. As well as his own body. Struggling, he did his best to appear indifferent.

He wasn’t, but in her present state, he hoped Mona wouldn’t notice. If she pressed up against him, all bets were off.

“What?” he finally asked her.

She was really trying to focus and not doing an overly good job of it. “I think that you’re trying to take advantage of me, Joe.”

That was when she moved in closer to him, as if that could somehow help her read him better. She pressed all her curves against the hard contours of his body and in turn threatened to create Joe’s own personal meltdown.

“Are you trying to take advantage of me?” Mona asked.

He did his best to try to make her turn toward the rear of the cabin. Hands ever so lightly on her shoulders, he maneuvered her toward it. “Right now, I think you should lie down. There’s a bed in the other room.”

“Ah-ha! I was right. I knew it,” Mona declared triumphantly, swinging around so that she could grasp hold of his shirtfront again, crumpling it beneath her fingers. “You are trying to take advantage of me. Oh, Joe—”

Every fiber of his being wanted to give in, but he continued to fight it. “No, I’m—”

The rest of his adamant protest went unspoken. He found it impossible to speak when Mona’s lips were suddenly and firmly pressed against his.

She was quick, he’d give her that.

She was also damn intoxicating, far more potent than an old, half-empty bottle of aged whiskey, Joe caught himself thinking—while he could still think.

But that ability quickly faded as the taste of Mona’s lips steadily got to him, weakening his resolve. Making him want Mona with a fierceness that jarred him.

The will to push her away, to do the right thing, was not nearly as strong as it should have been. As strong as it had been only moments ago.

His lips worked over hers, deepening the kiss.

He tasted her moan and felt the blood surge through his veins as if it had been set on fire.

Maybe it had been.

He needed to put a stop to this.

In a moment. Just one more moment.

He promised himself that he would do the right thing in a moment. Right now, just for this erotic half a heartbeat, he wanted to enjoy this completely unexpected turn of events.

Wanted to enjoy the feel of her warm body pressed so urgently against his.

Wanted to savor the taste of her mouth as it drained his soul away. With the least bit of encouragement, he would have fallen to his knees, silently begging her for more.

But that wasn’t going to happen for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which was pride.

His.

So, realizing that this was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, like Halley’s Comet, he took his time ending it.

Took full enjoyment of the moment—and her.

The very act, even as it was occurring, left him vulnerable, unmasking the secret that he had tried to keep, even from himself. That he wanted this woman with the laughing eyes and the sinful mouth. Had always wanted her and would, most likely, go to his grave wanting her.

In silence.

Because a man had his pride and any admission as to the depth and breadth of his feelings—his unrequited feelings—for Mona would expose him and leave him open to ridicule and pity, neither one of which he could endure.

With a jolt, Joe realized that he was very close to the edge of the vortex. To the point of no return. Any second now, it would suck him in, rendering him a prisoner of this feeling and leaving him incapable of cutting off this kiss.

Incapable of walking away.

He already didn’t want to. Fiercely.

If he didn’t back away in a moment, there would be no backing away. Because he was only a man, only flesh and blood, and his flesh and blood craved hers.

Now! Stop it now! Before you can’t!

Inflamed, Joe went on kissing her.

And she was kissing him back just as urgently.

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