Rockhound Love

About ten minutes earlier I had looked up and watched Brett standing at the bar across the room, a drink in his hand. I was sure he hadn't seen me. At about the same time I looked at Carl's face; it was wearing a goofy smile, looking pie-eyed. It was then a guy at the next table accidentally bumped into the back of his chair that he got up and snarled. "Get the hell away from me! I don't need some drunk idiot knocking me around!"

"Who'd you call an idiot?" the man shouted, obviously as well along in his drinking as Carl was.

There was the loud sound of chairs being pushed across the wooden floor as I watched both men stand up, then Carl's buddies stood, then the guys at the other table got up. Loud shouts and a few shoves ensued. The first punch was thrown by Carl and all hell broke loose as chairs and tables were tossed aside. I quickly made for the wall and stood watching as both of the girls at our table joined the fray. It was incredible, punches being thrown, two drunken girls climbing onto the backs of guys, and the band playing as if there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.

A couple of guys came seemingly out of nowhere, throwing punches as they came towards me. I was still frozen in place not knowing what to do as I pressed myself against the wall, my heart pounding. I saw a closed fist heading towards me as a hand blocked the blow from hitting me as I ducked to the side instinctively. Then a hand grabbed my arm, a voice yelled, "Samantha, come on, time to get out of here!"

I followed along behind the man who was leading me towards the front door. The place seemed to be alive with drunken men, frightened women, and a band that simply continued to play. It was like a scene out of an old western film. As the front door closed behind me, I looked up to see Brett holding firmly onto my arm as calm as could be. Then a smile crossed his face. "Well, so much for a quiet night, I didn't expect to see you again today."

He proceeded to lead me away from the front door as a stream of people rushed out as if being chased by a charging bull. I collected myself and looked at him. "Thanks. I wasn't sure what to do. My drunk date started the fight and I just tried to stay out of the way."

Just then the first police car arrived and officers went inside. It dawned on me, Carl wasn't going to be taking me home. I was still trying to sort out my options when Carl staggered out the door heading our way. He had a bloody nose and lip and wobbled a bit. When he saw me he blabbered out he was going to take me home, his voice slurred, almost unintelligible. I looked at him knowing there was no way I was getting into his wreck of a pickup truck and have him drive me anywhere in his condition.

"Carl, I'm not going with you. I'll find another way to get home."

"I brought ya, and I'm taking ya back," staggering as he reached for my arm.

"No! I'm not going with you," as I recoiled from his hand, moving behind Brett, using him as a shield.

Carl wobbled a bit and looked at Brett, his left eye starting to swell shut. Then he looked at me again.

"Look, bitch, you don't have a say. I brought you, I take you home. Now get your ass over here!"

Two more police cars pulled up right next to us, their lights flashing, the officers getting out. Brett spoke softly to Carl while looking him square in the eye. "You know buddy, standing here arguing with her isn't a good idea. Maybe you should just get yourself out of here before the police get too good a look at your bloodied face. I'm sure they would want to talk with you."

I watched in amazement as Carl seemed to puzzle it out, then lurched a little as he replied, looking at me. "Ya ain't worth it anyway, I'm go'in, come with me or don't, I don't give a damn. Ya can go to hell for all I care."

I watched as Carl stumbled off towards his truck. I couldn't believe the cops weren't going to grab him before he drove away. He had almost made it to his car when another police car pulled up and an officer got out and stopped him—so much for that thought I mused.

"Come on, I'll take you home if you want."

"Are you sure?" I asked, then felt it was a stupid question. He had already offered, why wouldn't he be sure?

We walked towards his pickup parked across the street and down as another two police cars arrived. The place was lit up by flashing blue, red, and white lights as if it were a disco party. We got to his truck and he opened the door for me to get in, then closed it as I got settled onto the seat. Unlike Carl's cab, it was clean, not filled with trash and covered in a thick layer of dust. I watched as Brett got into the cab and closed the door, then reached for his seat belt.

"You aren't drunk are you?" I asked cautiously.

He turned to me with a smile, "Not yet, it takes a while for a Coke to hit home."

"Sorry, I saw you standing with a dark-colored drink in your hand and thought it was a mixed drink of some kind or whiskey."

"Nope, I just stopped to get a quick drink and listen to the band for a few minutes before I get something to eat and head home. I didn't even see you until the fight broke out. Then I saw you standing next to the wall and those guys working their way towards you swinging wildly. I figured it was time to get you out of the way."

"Thanks. This turned out to be a really bad date," I admitted.

"That would be my guess," he laughed. "Say, it's early yet, I haven't had supper yet, would you care to join me before I take you home?"

What was I going to say? No? It was twenty-five miles home, my date was probably heading to the drunk tank for the night and I didn't want to have my father come to get me. Even I could figure this one out without a great deal of effort. "Sounds good to me."

It seemed a strange state of affairs. We had spent most of the day together in the field, parted, and now found ourselves together again—all it took was one bar fight.

There was a restaurant in the direction of home and we pulled into the parking lot and walked in ten minutes later. It was barely filled and the sign said to seat ourselves. The waitress walked up to us with two glasses of water and smiled as she handed us each a menu, "What would you like to drink?"

I could see Brett was waiting for me to order first, so I ordered a Coke, and then he ordered the same. We both looked over the menu and I realized I was hungry. When the waitress returned to take our orders I decided to order a fish basket with home fries while Brett ordered a chicken basket with coleslaw. He looked at me with a grin, "I expected you to order a hamburger."

"Yeah, I know. A cattle rancher's daughter not eating beef. Sorry, I just don't fit the stereotype and I never will. I'm grateful my parents are as forgiving of my interests as they are—though following the interests of my grandfather and father made a difference too. I just don't eat beef very often."

He laughed, "You know your hanging with a BLM man isn't exactly going to make you popular either. There are a lot of people in the ranching and mining sectors that don't like the agency."

"I'm aware of that. I've heard it all my life and know there are reasons for the way things are done to protect the resources while making them available for use, not abuse. Most everyone looks to their pocketbook first, fortunately my parents have always had a balanced view. They haven't always agreed with BLM policies, but they know they are but one user group of all who want a piece of the action."

I saw Brett was listening intently and continued.

The fact we have a large ranch with geological resources we can harvest to supplement our ranching income has made a big difference. Other ranchers have the same opportunities if they were willing to learn enough or allow others to make use of the resource and take a cut. But they aren't willing to allow others access for any reason. It's their land and no one is going to go on it as by God we're ranchers, not something else."

"Interesting perspective, I guess I haven't heard that before."

We talked for over an hour before we left and continued to talk on the drive home. He was certainly more talkative now than he had been earlier when he was with me. I wondered why. We pulled into the parking area in front of the house and walked in. My parents were surprised to see me walk in with Brett. It was my mother who asked, "Honey, what happened, where's Carl?"

"He started a fight at the Big Corral and last I saw of him he was with a police officer. I expect he's locked up right now."

"Ranch hands do like to let off a little steam," my father said to no one in particular.

Then it got quiet as they looked first at me and then at Brett. Finally, Brett broke the silence. "Well, I should get home and get some rest. I plan on a busy day tomorrow. Samantha, I was glad I was able to help. Mr. and Mrs. Adams, it was nice to meet you again."

I decided it was a good idea to walk Brett out to his truck. We stopped as he opened the driver's door. He turned to look at me with a smile, "Sorry your date went south on you. I'm sure he'll call to apologize when he sobers up. He would be an idiot not to."

"Thanks, but I think that was our last date. I don't need to be called a bitch and told to go to hell. I know I'm better than that. Thanks for getting me home. Can we go collecting again sometime soon?"

"Sure, I'd like that. I owe you a collecting trip as I remember right. Fair is fair."

I watched as he drove off towards the highway thinking I had been lucky this time as I could still be stuck in town or just getting home if my father had been called to collect me. I was impressed with the way Brett had handled the situation at the bar—I might well have been wearing at least a black eye and swollen lip if not for him. I walked back into the house and told my parents what happened, then went to bed to get a good night's sleep as I had rocks to collect the next day—alone.

The next two weeks life returned to routine chores around the ranch, bookkeeping, sorting specimens for the shop, prices of minerals to check, and a few short hikes to keep me from being bored. Carl never called to apologize and I considered it was just as well; it saved me from telling him I didn't want to see him again. Another guy I had dated a few times called and I had gone out with him two times, he was nice—but that was it, he was nice. The next time he called I told him I wasn't interested. I spent my time organizing our specimens and supplies for the next show in a week—just me and some beautiful crystals, minerals, and polished rocks. Life was indeed normal and comfortable again, though a bit lonely, too bad my last few dates had been so disappointing—he had been too wimpy for my tastes.

It was our quarterly local gem and mineral show at the fairgrounds. This time I was hoping to sell a few more of the older specimens I had collected almost a year ago. I had decided to offer them at very low prices as I was tired of hauling them around. Some of the other dealers wouldn't be pleased to see me let them go for so little, but if they didn't like it they could buy them and resell them—there would be a small margin for them if they did. It didn't matter to me at that point. I was growing weary of going to the same picked over sites I had been to so many times before. I would use part of the money I made to travel a bit farther afield to find better collecting opportunities.

I had just finished a sale when I looked up and saw Brett looking at another dealer's wares a row over. I was expecting him to see me and walk straight over, he didn't. I wondered what was wrong. Did he think I wasn't worth his effort after having taken me home from the bar that night? Did he think any ranch hand or cowboy was good enough for me—you know, a real man in the minds of some? I laughed to myself—that strategy had really worked out for me over the years hadn't it? I was now pushing twenty-four and wasn't even dating anyone regularly. I looked up to see Randy Sieber walking towards me. I hadn't seen him in almost two years where I had bumped into him at the hardware store. I had heard he had gotten a divorce from his wife Claudia six months ago.

"Hi, Samantha, I knew you would be here and I thought I would stop and see how you're doing. You look as good as ever."

I smiled, I had been sweet on him years ago, but after a date, maybe two, it hadn't gone anywhere. It wasn't long after that he had met and then married Claudia, someone I had gone to high school with. They had two kids in two years, then he had left her after getting caught with another woman.

"Hello, Randy, long time no see," I replied without enthusiasm as there was absolutely no reason to encourage him in any way.

We engaged in small talk for about five minutes before he got down to doing what I suspected he wanted to do. I had tried to think of how to say no diplomatically and not hurt his feelings even though I really didn't care for him. There was a reason we hadn't continued to date and it had come back to me—his hands had wanted to roam in places I didn't want them to and he didn't want to take no for an answer and I had come close to slapping his face to get him to stop.

"Samantha, I know it's been quite a few years, but I was hoping maybe you would go out with me. Maybe a movie or out for a beer, you know just to catch up on old times."

Yep, just as I thought, "Randy, thank you for asking, but I'm really pretty busy most of the time between the ranch and the rock shop business."

"Oh come on, Samantha, one night isn't going to break you. In fact, I'm sure you haven't gotten any action in a while. I'm sure we would have a good time at my apartment for an evening."

Damn, had it come down to this? Guys thought I was so desperate that I would hop in the sack with them if I were simply asked? I felt my anger start to grow along with my disgust for men in general.

"Randy, I'm not interested, period," I replied firmly.

He leaned towards me and lowered his voice, "You know Samantha your demeanor might improve if you had a hard cock shoved into your pussy a few times."

Castration was the first thing that came into my mind—that would take care of his testosterone level and more. It was a second later I noticed Brett standing just behind him—the expression on his face indicating he had heard the remark.

What was I going to do now? Trying to be diplomatic with Randy had obviously not worked. I could play the meek woman and ask him politely to leave or be more forceful. There wasn't much of a decision to make. I looked Randy in the eye, giving him a hard stare. "Your cock and my pussy are never going to meet. It's time for you to leave."

"Now, Samantha, you might give it some..."

"The lady told you to leave," a deep voice said.

Randy turned to see Brett standing behind him, his face stern.

"Oh, and who might you be? Her lord and protector?" Randy replied in a mocking voice as he looked Brett up and down, sizing him up. Randy was about two inches taller, but slim of build, not firm muscle like Brett. I noticed a slight change in Randy's expression, his eyes growing just a bit larger showing some white.

"I'm not her lord and protector, I just don't like having to stand next to an asshole. Now leave."

I watched as Randy slowly backed away a few steps, then turned and walked away. I let my breath out slowly, not realizing I had been holding it. Brett looked at me with a firm expression.

"You okay?"

"Yes, I could have handled it by myself."

"I'm sure you could have."

I realized then perhaps I should have played the damsel in distress card, but it was too late now. I had emasculated Brett in a way. He had protected me and I had told him I didn't need him to do it. Damn it! For a woman who thought he was attractive I wasn't sending any positive signs I felt that way. Now, I wasn't sure what he would do. Maybe he would just walk away thinking I was just an ungrateful, sorry woman in need of being laid by someone—just as Randy had suggested.

There was an awkward silence between us until he looked me in the eye, not a hint showing as to how he felt. "Samantha, I was going to see if you were interested in joining me on a collecting trip tomorrow, but if you're as busy as you said it wouldn't be possible anyway. Perhaps another time," as he turned and walked away.

Shit! My comment didn't work on the one I had wanted it to and had worked on the one it didn't pertain to. How do I get myself into these situations? I cursed silently to myself, damn it to hell! "Brett, wait!"

I watched as he kept walking away, then stopped, and slowly turned towards me. I put on an apologetic face hoping he would realize I was sorry for being such a dumb ass—which I would never admit to, but knew I was. He walked back to stand in front of me at the table as I absently fingered a polished stone from out of the twenty-five cents apiece box. Now was my chance to show I was interested in him—now was not the time to screw up.

I swallowed, my mouth dry, and smiled. "Brett, I would love to go with you tomorrow. I'll just rearrange my schedule. Tell me what time you want to pick up me, or I can meet you somewhere if that would work better."

He looked down at the polished stone I was rolling between my fingers, then reached for it, I let him take it out of my hand, his fingers barely touching my palm. His touch sent a rush of pleasure shooting through me, my heart rate soared as I watched his eyes come to mine. He smiled, "It's hard to say no to a beautiful girl holding a pretty polished stone. I'll pick you up at seven at your house, it's on the way to the collecting site I want to go to."

I watched as he rolled the polished stone in the palm of his hand a few times, then returned it to mine, placing it into the palm of my hand, then he took his hands and closed my hand around the stone, holding it closed gently for a few seconds. Then he smiled and walked towards the exit and left. I stood dumbfounded, my heart racing, my face felt warm, my palms sweating, a warm tingle had traveled down, deep down and seated itself, giving a murmur of need. Damn! I knew I was in trouble, real trouble.

That night as I crawled into bed I felt anxious. The events of the day unfolding and playing in my mind yet again. His touch and how it had made me feel—as if I were floating on air, my heart aflutter with excitement.

I was up early the next morning, packing a snack and a lunch, and rechecking my gear to make sure I wasn't leaving anything behind. It was ten to seven when I saw the dust cloud on the ranch road. I turned to my mother with a smile, "Brett's here."

I walked out as Brett stepped out of his truck with a map and piece of paper in his hand, a smile on his face.

"Good morning, Samantha. I want to leave this information with your folks showing where we're going to collect. Just in case something happens."

We walked back in and sat down with my parents at the kitchen table where Brett explained where we were going and what time he expected we would be back. He also had his cell phone number written down and that of the local sheriff's office. I could tell my father and mother were impressed with his organization and planning skills—I was too.

We walked out and placed my gear into the bed of the pickup, placing my jacket, water containers, and cooler with my lunch behind the seat. I was a bundle of nervous energy as we made our way to the highway and proceeded north towards Phoenix. It had been quite a while since I had felt this good about spending the day with someone.

"Samantha, you don't mind collecting half time for yourself on this trip, do you? I do have a place where we can collect without prohibition for commercial harvest. I just want you to have a choice about the priority so we can adjust our time accordingly.