"There's a table open," she smiled at him over her shoulder, "I'll go rack 'em if you want to get the beer."

He nodded agreement and pushed his way to the bar. He watched her work her way through the crowd, up the two steps to the raised pool area and put her quarters in the table. He turned his attention to his current objective -- beer.

She racked the balls and scanned the room for Smokey. He was still at the bar. She started sorting through the cue sticks, oblivious to her surroundings. The smell of stale smoke and staler sweat made her turn.

"Hey baby, how bout you and me shoot a game?"

Her eyes raked the half-tanked, slovenly cretin. "Sorry, but my partner'll be here in a minute."

A nasty smile pulled the unshaven lip. "Oh, did you send your bitch for beer?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why don't you and your girlfriend play doubles with me and my buddy?" The scabrous smile widened.

"What?"

"Stop playing stupid. All a dike cunt like you needs is a good fuck from a real man. That'll bring you around."

Her confusion vanished and her vision clarified. There was no mistaking the intents of this Neanderthal for anything other than sheer, brutal offense. She realized she was backed into the corner with the solicitous subhuman blocking her on one side, and his plug-ugly pal closing in from the other side of the table. Her fingers closed around the shortest cue as if of their own accord.

"I got a van in the parking lot. So, whaddya say? How's about you and me slipping out the back?"

The familiar calm flowed through her like an ocean breeze, her breathing slowed, her stance became relaxed and deceptively casual. She looked into the vacuous eyes and said softly, "Despite your confidence in your own self worth, the thought of having your malodorous, festering, fetid body any closer to mine than it already is, is so repugnant and loathsome that the mere idea makes me want to vomit."

"What? What the hell you talking about?"

"Too many syllables? Let me put this as monosyllabic as possible and I'll speak slowly and clearly. If you even try to touch me, I'll kill you. Then I'll puke. Now do you understand?"

The piggish eyes that so suited the porcine face glittered with anger, the chapped lips pulled back from tobacco-stained teeth in a vicious snarl. "You bitch. Who the hell do you think you are?" He was nearly screaming in her face, spittle showing white at the corners of the ugly mouth. He stabbed at her shoulder with a thick, callused index finger.

"Don't touch me again," she warned. She just wanted to get free from the corner and the two men so bent on their offensive assault.

Smokey finally flagged the bartender, ordered two pints of heffeweissen and turned his gaze just in time to see the fat, grubby drunk thump Red in the shoulder. He charged through the crowd knowing that if he could just reach her before the inevitable explosion, he could smooth things over and get her the hell out before she got hurt. "Don't let her get her hands on a stick, don't let her get her hands on a stick," he muttered, knowing her proclivity. He saw the fat drunk grab at her. She moved with remarkable speed, dodging the clumsy attack and bringing the pool cue into play. With an audible crack, the cue connected with the forehead of the aggressor. The man staggered and bellowed as the stick snapped in half. Smokey almost smiled as he saw the strapping redhead grab the fat half of the stick, all too obviously pleased with the new, more mobile and more familiar length of her weapon.

He felt like he was moving in slow motion. The crowd seemed to press in against him, angry voices protested as he bulled his way through. He couldn't get to her side fast enough to prevent the beefy fist of the drunk from landing a glancing blow to her grinning lips. But he smiled as she caught her attacker across the wrist with a vicious, bone breaking blow. He saw her shoulder drop and knew she was going for her favorite target, the vulnerable knee. Connecting with her usual speed and efficiency, he saw the fat man's leg buckle. She followed up with a resounding smack to the temple and the man dropped at her feet.

Smokey was close enough that her green eyes met his. Her color was high, her eyes glittered and her lips were pulled into a tight, humorless smile. Her grip on the cue was loose, casual. He still hadn't figured out how she could wield a stick with such devastating force and accuracy.

The scene around the three pool tables was quickly dissolving into a good old-fashioned barroom brawl. The other patrons of the bar had gathered into an ugly, cheering crowd. All seeming to take depraved, voyeuristic delight in the plight of the aggressive redhead. Smokey was disgusted.

"Look out!" she shouted the second before he was hit by a rapidly moving, heavy body. He crashed to the ground hard enough to force the wind from his lungs. Striking out blindly, his fist met flesh and bone, his assailant grunted with the pain of the furious blows. Smokey managed to roll from beneath whoever the hell it was that hit him and tried to get to his feet, years of training making his moves sheer reflex. He could see Red was lashing out with her improvised baton, trying to keep two burly rednecks from getting their paws on her. The crowd cheered them on. He'd had enough.

He reached under his jacket and freed his Colt from its restraints. He thumbed off the safety and ratcheted a round into the chamber. The sound, soft in the din, caught the attention of those nearby. Silence spread from him like a ripple in a pond. The two assholes had managed to snare Red's hands, preventing her from wielding her weapon. One man had his hand on the waistband of her jeans and a cruel smile on his lips. Smokey pressed the cold steel of the barrel against the ridge of bone behind the man's ear.

"Let her go fucker, or I'll blow your worthless brains all over your pals here."

Both men froze and slowly, carefully removed their hands. Red was breathing hard, a welted handprint beginning to show on her left cheek.

"C'mon darlin', let's hit the road." He took her by the hand, pulling her from the motionless, ashen-faced duo.

The crowd parted like Velveeta under a hot knife as he pulled her to the door, keeping his weapon out and threatening. He pushed her out into the night. "Get your bike started."

He felt her move away. He tossed his business card onto the bar, "If you decide to call the cops, give 'em my card. Tell 'em I'll be more than happy to press charges."

He heard her Panhead rumble to life and slipped out the door after her. His Low Rider started easily at his touch. He heard the chirp of her tire as she pulled out into the deserted street and he followed a bare second behind. Knowing she'd be getting hit with the shakes in about three minutes, he watched her carefully as she headed straight to the hotel. They pulled into the spot right in front of their door. The engines fell silent.

"I don't want to leave Bob out here overnight. Someone might mess with him."

"Sure, we'll push 'em into our room. Nobody'll notice."

He opened the door and held it for her as she maneuvered the big black and gray Duo-Glide into the small room. She returned the favor, holding the door for him.

The adrenaline was still pumping hot through his veins, demanding that he do something, fight someone or have a stiff shot of scotch. He kept seeing her in his mind, her red hair glowing like a vibrant halo, her skin pale and nearly translucent but her cheeks flaming. God she was phenomenal.

He fell back onto his bed, chuckling. "You were amazing. I think you scared the whole place shitless. I've seen you in full frontal assault three times now, and I still don't know how it is you do what you do."

He looked over at her. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, elbows on knees, her face in her trembling hands. Her auburn hair fell in thick waves, hiding her face from him. He thought he heard a sniffle.

"Hey, you did all right," he got up from his bed and kneeled in front of her. He lifted her chin so he could see her eyes. A single tear trickled down her cheek. She wiped it away.

The handprint on her cheek was fading but her lower lip was beginning to swell. "Aw baby, look at your lip."

She touched it gingerly. "It doesn't hurt. Really."

He could see the tears welling in her eyes. "Then what's wrong?"

"It…it wasn't my fault! It really wasn't. I wasn't doing anything wrong. He just…he just…" Her face crumpled. "You don't think I'm a dike too, do you?"

He struggled against his natural reaction to flee from a weeping woman, especially this one. He brushed her hair from her face. "Of course I don't. The guy was a drunken idiot. He was just pissed 'cause he knew he didn't have a chance to have a classy babe like you." He touched the swelling lip gently, "Now let me get you some ice for that."

"No it's fine, really. It barely hurts at all."

"You're so tough." Without thinking, he gently kissed the injury.

The brief contact stunned them both to immobility. He could see a near-desperate loneliness in the green depths of her eyes, and the look of desolation tore at his heart. He took her face gently in his hands and her eyes took on the panicked look of a deer in headlights. His conscience warred with his wants. She was so vulnerable, yet so vibrant. Desire won out. He kissed her long and deeply, savoring the taste of her lips, realizing he had wanted this for a long time. Breaking contact, he looked into her eyes again, seeing willingness overcome the panic.

Still on his knees before her, he slipped off his jacket, tossing it onto his bed. It was followed by the Colt and shoulder harness. He carefully helped her out of her jacket, then pulled her into his arms. Feeling the strong body beneath his hands, he had to force down the residual energy from the brawl. He knew better than to push her. He felt sure that any sudden move or loud noise and she would shy away and flee into the night like a creature of the wild. And as if taming a wild thing, he gently stroked the sleek hair, the soft cheek. Her eyes closed and he kissed away the last tear that trickled from the corner of her eye. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, inviting another kiss. He obliged, wanting to devour her in his fervent need for her.

He could feel her body begin to respond and relax. Her hands began to roam across his chest and shoulders, timidly at first, but with more purpose with each passing moment. He ran his hands under her shirt, slowly, allowing her the chance to reject him. He was emboldened when the rejection failed to come. He pulled the shirt from her, exposing milky white shoulders with a gentle spray of freckles. His lips tasted the salty sweetness of her skin as he kissed and nibbled his way to the round, firm breasts. She reached behind her back, easily unhooking the bra one handed, as women do. The breasts freed from their bondage, he took one in each hand, kissing one then the other while Red moaned softly. He pushed her back onto the bed, kissing and caressing her smooth body. Still fearful of rushing her into something she wasn't ready for, he contented himself with carefully attending to each part of the lithe body already exposed; her white neck, hot lips, soft pink nipples, silky smooth stomach, long firm arms, delectable shoulders. He continued his ministrations until she reached for the button fly of his jeans, trying to free him from the painfully tight jeans.

He smiled and returned the favor, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them off the long legs he had begun to dream about. The black silk boxers made his grin widen. He should have guessed she'd wear boxers. He ran his hands lightly over the thin material, feeling her beneath the fabric as if it weren't there. He slid one hand up the loose leg, seeking and finding the hot, wet objective. She moaned as he gently slid one finger inside, then brought the finger to his lips, relishing the delicate tang. He pulled the boxers from her round hips, exposing soft auburn curls. His heart was pounding as he fumbled to rid himself of his own jeans. He then blissfully slid between her legs and into the waiting arms of the redhead, fitting inside her like a key in a lock.

She murmured his name, softly, breathlessly as he pressed deep inside her with slow strokes. Her long legs hooked around his waist, pulling him in tighter. Her mouth found his and she kissed him with a single-mindedness that drove any shred of hesitation from his mind.

A considerable time later, as they lay entangled in the sweat-soaked sheets, she sighed heavily.

"What, disappointed?"

"Oh! No," she chuckled and ran her hand over his chest. "Not at all. But does this mean we can't still be friends? It'll be different now."

"Just better," he reassured.

A long moment later she sighed again.

"What now?"

"I was just wondering how long you're gonna keep having to haul my ass out of trouble."

"I guess as long as you keep stumbling into it. Just one thing, next time try to save a little fun for me, will ya?"