The Two-Step Symphony

Today, however, Brick had no desire to part with this incredible woman—ever. But this was one time he had to leave.

Chris was still sleeping, so he eased noiselessly out of the berth. The movement caused the sheet to slide down below her breasts and he took a moment to look at her, not to gawk or ogle, but rather to study, as one would a beautiful work of art. Oddly enough, his attention was focused on her pretty face instead of her exposed bosom. Finally, he drew the sheet up to her neck.

A glance at his watch told Brick that it was nearly noon. That didn't really surprise him because it had been well after midnight when they finally drifted off to sleep. His Grand Junction stop was only a couple of hours away, so he decided to dress, then head for the dining car for some lunch.

Brick did not want to go through an anguishing good-bye with Chris, so he opted to merely ease out of the compartment and out of her life. Perhaps it was wrong, but in his estimation, the easiest solution.

However, all through lunch, he felt guilty about simply walking out with no good-bye. It was the kind of thing he did to his groupies, not to a lady like Chris Cannon. It was not very gentlemanly. But as bad as he felt about it, Brick still could not bring himself to return to the compartment. He'd halfway hoped she'd appear in the diner, but she did not, and he didn't know whether to be grateful or disappointed.

Finally, he got off the train at Grand Junction, Colorado. But as he stepped onto the platform, instead of walking away from the train, he mysteriously found himself heading toward the car in which Chris's compartment was located. It was to be his good-bye to her though she would never know because he didn't expect to see her. He had to stop short, nearly tripping over his cumbersome suitcase, when his eyes met hers through the window.

Chris made no attempt to mouth a question or a statement, she merely stared into his eyes, as though recalling their time together. At least that's what he was doing. Finally, as the train slowly pulled off, the corners of her mouth curled up in a brief smile which told him she'd have fond memories of the past twenty-four hours. She then tenderly placed the palm of her hand against the window. Brick responded with a slight tip of his cowboy hat as the train moved past and disappeared.

He knew that the smiling image of Chris Cannon in the train window would remain with him forever.

* * *

In the two weeks that followed, Brick Henry was a fairly miserable man to be around. His primary dissatisfaction with life during that time was that society—he'd frequently cursed the unknown who had decided that such a thing was necessary—had made it virtually impossible for he and Chris Cannon to be together.

He was not enjoying what was supposed to be a pleasurable transition to the quiet ranch life he had been so looking forward to, nor was he really sure he wanted this kind of mundane existence. To be on the road right now was appealing: the music, the parties, the traveling, the nameless women. These would make him forget the one woman whose name he'd made the mistake of learning. But on the other hand, Brick was just as content not to be on the road, because there he'd never meet another woman like Chris. She'd set a new level of expectation for him which was far above any of the groupies on the road. He wanted Chris, or at least the opportunity to try it with her.

Worst of all, Brick couldn't get the final image of her out of his mind. He frequently relived their time together in his thoughts. He wanted to forget her, yet he didn't want to.

After two weeks of this self-pity, Brick realized he had to do something to turn his life around. The outlet he chose was to attend the annual barbecue given by Tex Tyler, the biggest country music promoter and producer in Texas, at his sprawling ranch just north of Austin, Texas. Brick's invitation had been waiting for him when he returned home, but his mood had been such that he obstinately refused to go. He'd always enjoyed the all-day-all-night Tyler barbecue, and now it was the perfect road back to reality. Besides, it would be great to see Bull Conroy and the other band members, who would all certainly be there, in a non-working atmosphere. He'd see many of his other friends in country music, and maybe even make some connections to do some studio work.

Who knows, maybe he'd even go check on his parents' place as long as he was going to be in Texas and do something about it.

* * *

Because it was virtually a last-minute decision to attend the barbecue, Brick was forced to fly instead of traveling by train. Therapeutically, it was better, anyway. A long train trip would have only reminded him of what he was trying to forget.

Brick arrived at the Tyler ranch a couple of hours late; not that the barbecue started at any particular time, but he got there a few hours beyond that which he would normally have. His first stop after greeting the hosts, Tex and Bev Tyler, was naturally the bar for a cold beer.

Some of his friends from Bull's band were also there so he remained to talk with them. No one had done any more than just relax during the past two weeks so that subject was not enough to maintain the conversation.

When silence did finally descend upon the group, Brick noticed it was because their attention was focused on something behind him. He turned but saw only several clusters of people standing around talking.

Finally, Billy Randon, the lead guitarist, burst out laughing. "Well, Mitch Randall just struck out. That makes all ten of us."

"What's going on?" Brick asked.

"We got us a five-hundred-dollar pool. Ten of us each put up fifty to see who can make that chick over there in the red outfit."

"She must be one of them eastern bitches," Charlie Williams, the drummer, commented. "She won't talk to no one. Just hangs on to that other broad she's with."

Brick glanced in the direction Randon had pointed and nearly choked on his beer. He had to do a double take.

The guys laughed at him. "Yeah, that's what we all thought," Randon said.

"There's not a one us wouldn't like to taste a little of that eastern spice," Williams added.

Little did they know that Brick's reaction was not because the woman was attractive-looking. She was actually the last person in the world he expected to see at the barbecue. And he wondered what Chris Cannon was doing here. Not that it mattered. He was thrilled to death to see her; as though the past two weeks had not happened. But before he rushed over to greet her, he had an idea.

"Can I get in on the pool?" he asked.

"Hell, yeah," Randon answered. "But the score is ten-zip, Brick. It's a sucker bet."

"I feel lucky today." Brick counted out fifty dollars. Randon accepted it and added the bills to the wad he already had in his pocket. "Wanna just give me the money now?" Brick asked jokingly. He didn't want to sound too sure of himself and give his scam away.

"Shit!" This from Justin Cox, the bass player. "You just go on over there and get humiliated like the rest of us."

Brick walked casually and confidently over to Chris Cannon and her companion. With each step, his heartbeat quickened, and the fact that he'd been trying to forget her lost all relevance.

"Buy you a drink, ma'am?" he asked when he reached her.

"What is it with you guys—" Chris swung around sharply, but the sight of him hushed her. "Brick!"

He just soaked in being in her presence for a minute, then said, "Goddamn, it's good to see you."

She was flashing that incredible smile which could make him fight an army single-handedly. Her lips spread, and her breathing quickened. Chris started to speak, stuttered, then finally said, "Well, as you can see, I've completely lost my composure, which means that I'm just as glad to see you."

"Great! Then let's get that drink."

As they walked, Brick presumptuously placed his arm around her waist, but she made no protest. When they passed the band members, all looking miffed, he held his free hand behind his back for the money, which Randon animatedly handed him.

After ordering Chris a glass of white wine (without even asking), himself another beer and finding a secluded table under a shady tree, Brick asked, "Does your cultural arts society take donations?"

"Yes," she answered, somewhat confused. It was not what she expected them to talk about.

"Here's a five-hundred-and-fifty-dollar donation."

Chris was further amazed. "Oh, Brick, you don't have to do that. "

"Well, I wouldn't feel right keeping the money."

"Wouldn't feel right? I don't understand."

"A bunch of the guys had a little bet going. The winner was the one who could make you. I think I had a slight advantage—at least I hoped I would."

"And what would you have done if I had ignored you because I might have been angry with you for wordlessly leaving me on the train?"

Brick took it merely as a question; he read no hostility in her voice. "It wouldn't have mattered. I would have been just as happy to see you again."

"Why did you just leave without saying anything?"

Brick grimaced. It never occurred to him that he'd have to explain that. He shrugged. "I don't like good-byes; particularly if it seems they're forever."

"Is that why you have never gotten close to a woman? Because you don't like good-byes?"

"Hell, I don't know," he answered with another shrug. "Where I come from we don't psychoanalyze those things."

"Then will you do it again after this time? At some point, will I suddenly turn and find you gone?"

"No. I promise not to do it again. And I'm sorry that it bothered you so much."

She merely shrugged.

"Could it be that you really care?" Brick asked with a hope-filled expression.

"Yes, it could be. Why do you think I allowed myself to be dragged to this country and western show?"

"I don't understand."

"I was in Austin on business, and the people I was meeting with invited me here with them. They said that there would be a considerable number of country artists, so I came hoping you would be here."

Brick had never felt his heart leap before, but it must be that sensation he was currently experiencing. "How long are you going to stay?"

"I don't know. How long are you going to stay?"

"I usually stay until the end—but I don't have to."

"When does it end?"

"When everybody wakes up tomorrow morning," Brick answered with chuckle. To her questioning expression, he explained, "People start passing out around midnight from drinking and partying all day and night. Then when they wake up in the morning with massive hangovers, they leave."

"Oh, my!" Chris gasped. "I don't think I could drink enough to pass out. I'd get sick first!"

"Well, I'll be happy to take you back to your hotel whenever you're ready."

"Aren't you afraid you'll miss something?" she queried.

"I'd rather spend the time with you," Brick answered with some shyness. Before she could comment, he quickly changed the subject. "Have you eaten yet?"

It was nearly two p.m. and Chris was indeed starving, so they had lunch. The barbecue was excellent in Brick's estimation; a bit too spicy for Chris' taste, but she ate it nonetheless. For conversation, they updated one another on their activities during the past two weeks: Brick was truthful in admitting to taking it easy, but tactful in not admitting why; Chris had been enjoyably busy with social functions, and this was her only other trip since the one on the train. Neither could find any appeal in the other's activities.

When Brick learned that Chris had never been on a real western ranch before, he insisted on taking her on a tour. The mansion, she found, was not unlike her family's in Scarsdale, but the grounds were much more spread out, which didn't particularly suit her. The barn, stables and corral were not much to her liking either, primarily because of the stench and dust. Brick, however, thought it was great.

"Of course, the real beauty of this ranch is out there," said Brick in conclusion of the tour, pointing westward beyond the corrals.

With a frown of incomprehension, Chris asked, "What's out there?"

"The land!" Brick responded with enthusiasm. It always excited him. "Streams and creeks, hills, fields of wild flowers, majestic trees."

"You really love it, don't you?" she noted. "I don't recall hearing you get that excited about anything—even women."

"I've yet to find a woman who appreciates it as much as I do." Brick had a thought, and he studied Chris for a minute before mentioning it. "Would you like to see it?" he asked eagerly.

"I guess, but how?"

"Well, we'd have to go on horseback—"

"I don't know how to ride," Chris interrupted.

He grabbed her hand and led her toward the stable. "There's nothing to it. Are you game?"

"It's getting cloudy; we might get rained on."

Brick quickly glanced skyward. "Nah, it'll blow over."

"Well, okay, I'll try," she offered hesitantly. "But if you ever come to New York, you have to visit an art museum with me."

"Deal."

At the stable, Brick asked one of the hands to select a good horse for him and the gentlest one available for Chris. Brick saddled his own, to her probing eyes, while the hand saddled hers. Minutes later, after the briefest instruction, they rode off, Chris hanging in there, even if a bit unsteady.

Brick kept the pace to a walk until Chris became a little more comfortable in the saddle, then he increased their movement to a trot. His horse, being a bit spirited, managed to work up a few lengths lead. When he turned around to check on her, the sight of her grasping the reins and saddle horn in both hands, holding on for dear life as she bounced along, made him laugh, but he didn't let her see. Instead, he slowed to a walk once again.

"Please don't go any faster than this," she pleaded.

An hour elapsed before they reached the first stop on Brick's nature trip. Chris registered no complaints, but the sour look on her face spoke volumes of her discomfort. Her expression brightened only when her two feet were solidly planted on the ground. Perhaps it would be wise if only a couple more stops were made, Brick thought.

The setting was indeed pastoral—and to Brick's way of thinking, romantic. It was a secluded clearing in a heavily wooded area beside which a rippling stream flowed. A tiny lagoon-like pool connected to the stream complimented the shady spot, and the only touch lacking was sunlight glistening on the water.

Brick allowed the horses to drink while he sat on the ground against a tree and motioned for Chris to join him. Stepping over, she surveyed likely places to sit and settled for Brick's lap, but more to avoid the dirty, dusty ground than to fulfill any romantic notion.

Yet, romantically was the way Brick accepted the move, and he pulled her to him, so she rested against his chest. When she did not resist, he asked, "Did you really mean it when you said you came to the party hoping to see me?"

"Yes. Didn't you believe me?"

"I wanted to. But on the train, we did agree we had nothing in common."

"That didn't mean I wouldn't enjoy being with you from time to time. As miserable as this horseback ride was, I'm still glad to be here with you. I'd rather be here with you than back at the party with the people who brought me."

When she said this, she tilted her head up to his, and her statement was the catalyst to drive their lips together. It was only the beginning of the rain that brought the kiss to an end, but only after the drops began to fall heavily.

While Chris scrambled to cover herself (with nothing available), Brick merely angled his neck and tilted his face to catch the rain. "Isn't this great!"

"I'm getting drenched!" she screamed.

"Aw, you won't melt," he told her. "Didn't you ever play in the rain when you were a kid?"

"Certainly not!" she frowned.

"Then here's your chance to recover your lost childhood."

"Is there any place we can go for shelter?"

As much as he was enjoying getting wet, so did Chris despise it, so Brick helped her on her horse. "Follow me." He figured she wouldn't mind the discomfort of a trot if it would get her out of the rain quicker. Five minutes later, they arrived at a small cabin not too far from the stream, but farther away from the ranch house.

After seeing Chris safely inside, Brick stepped out to unsaddle the horses and tie them out of the rain as much as possible.

Upon his return, Brick found Chris standing just inside the door, exactly where he had left her, shivering uncontrollably, and he knew he had to remedy that immediately. He built a small fire in the fireplace; the wood was dry, so it caught quickly. Next, he found a couple of blankets, but before wrapping her in one, he reached up to unbutton her blouse.

Chris looked up sharply with a frown.

"They'll dry faster on the hearth," he explained, removing his wet boots and socks.

She maintained her frown, but said nothing, so Brick proceeded.

There was something mildly erotic about this scene as he slowly, and with slightly trembling hands, unbuttoned each button on her blouse, and then carefully removed it. Underneath, she wore a camisole. It was slightly damp, as were her panties, but not so much that they needed to be removed.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you," she asked with no malice.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, "I—"

"It's okay, I'm enjoying it also." Her tone suggested that she was a bit surprised at herself. "But your clothes are wet also." Chris reached up and hurriedly unsnapped his western shirt, then removed it, purposely dragging her hands along his chest and arms as she pushed it off.

Brick was quick to take the cue. He undid her pants, then ever so gently, forced his hands inside and stretched them across her hips and buttocks, pushing the clothing down over her panties and feeling every inch of her leg down to her ankles. As a touch of frivolity while stooping, he kissed her navel, causing her to bend slightly at the waist and giggle. He then removed her pants and shoes. Chris' panties had been spared wetness from the rain, so he left them alone.

She couldn't get to his pants before he turned her around and wrapped his arms around her to warm her up. After a shiver, she twisted her head, reached around and cupped the back of his head, pulling it to hers so their lips could meet. They kissed with two weeks of pent up passion. So intense was it they fell onto the bed with him on top of her. Again, they kissed with a rage.

Rolling Brick onto her back, Chris confessed, "The truth is, I really only wanted to see you again to use your body for this." She was breathing heavy, but she managed a playful grin.

"Is that so?"

Chris nodded as she kissed her way down his chest until she reached the waistband of his jeans.

"Well, knock yourself out, darling."

She ripped apart the snap, dragged down his zipper, and yanked both his pants and underwear down in one motion. When his raging cock sprang free, she grabbed it and pumped it with her fist. One of the groupies would have swallowed it by now, but he didn't expect that from her, so he wasn't disappointed when she crawled up and rubbed her panty-covered pussy on his rod as she pressed her lips to his again.

Brick was both surprised and pleased by her aggressiveness and vigor. When she paused for a breath, he lifted her camisole up and over her head, kissed each breast and gave a suck to each nipple.

But Chris wanted to kiss again, and Brick was only too happy to oblige. He didn't get to kiss much. The groupies he bedded just wanted to fuck. But he was enjoying kissing, or was it that he was just enjoying kissing Chris? But with the constant rubbing of her pussy on his cock, he could feel the wetness in her crotch—and it wasn't from the rain. So, he sat up and flipped her over onto her back.