Rocket Man

Truthfully ... I'll never understand his logic. Is it really that important to spend two or three thousand dollars so a twenty-year-old car that looks brand new will go three miles an hour faster? Especially when the car will already go a hundred and seventy miles an hour?

By the same token, he blanks out and starts staring at my tits when I talk about adding chemicals to the soil to increase the amount of nitrogen for growing my plants.

I still remember when I told him that we needed to buy five hundred dollars worth of soil additives. He nodded and said, "Let's go get it."

That look turned to shock when we had to rent a truck to get the chemicals home. It took us three hours to set up the hoses to evenly distribute it. He looked puzzled about the hoses, but he figured I knew what I was doing.

Then I turned one the hoses on and poured all of the chemicals out all over the field. The look of shock on his face seemed funny to me. But he just shook his head and squeezed my hand tighter. He was excited because I was excited. I later heard him tell one of the guys who came out to visit how I bought hundreds of dollars worth of chemicals just to pour them out in the dirt.

But I got him back in late summer. Jack loves a good salad. But to him, a salad isn't a pretty plate with an interesting arrangement of fruits or vegetables. To Jack, a salad is a meal and a big one. His salads are some lettuce ... And as he puts it, "Not those frou-frou lettuces either," some celery and as many God damned tomatoes as he can squeeze into the bowl. Then there has to be meat. It's either a half a pig worth of bacon ... All the meat from a full turkey ... Or several cans of tuna. I swear his salads look like just a bowl of tomatoes and meat.

And he doesn't like any kind of dressing. He just puts salt on it. It must be the unhealthiest salad I've ever heard of. But now that I am pouring chemicals into the dirt and producing the best tomatoes he's ever eaten; he doesn't care what I do. He even helps me to turn over the ground every spring.

I've never been a violent person, but at that moment as I reached for his slim form to surprise him, I realized that I would kill anyone who tried to come between the three of us. I would go to jail for Jack, and Elizabeth needed to realize that. She'd had her chance and fucked it up. It was my turn now. There were plenty of fish in the sea so that tall, lanky blond bitch needed to get herself a fishing rod and a worm and go find a man of her own ... Or else!"

* * * * * *

Jack

I was adding a cold air kit to an absolutely beautiful 1995 Mustang GT. The car was going to be a present to Cassie, because I hated even seeing her driving that fucking Honda of hers. Every time she got stuck in that car I laughed all the way until I picked her up. I guess the problem was that Cassie is so beautiful and so special that seeing her in a car with absolutely no soul and no personality was an affront to my sensibilities.

The problem was that the engine management computer on the car, even though it looked fine, wasn't functioning correctly. It was refusing to accept the input from my tuner. I tried it again and felt tingles all over my body. I knew what that meant. Cassie was trying to sneak up on me again. I let her have her fun. I pretended that I didn't know she was there and kept singing.

Seconds later, I felt her tiny arms snake themselves around me, and then I felt her soft, not-so-tiny boobs flatten themselves against my back as she squeezed herself against me. After a few seconds of enjoying the sensation, I turned in her embrace and faced her.

We were wrapped together face to chest until I reached down to kiss those warm soft lips. Her tongue snaked out to find mine and suddenly my need to be inside of her began to overwhelm my common sense.

She pushed those incredible mounds on her chest even harder against me, wiggling her pelvis forward as she did so. The grinding movements only served to make my erection even harder. This wouldn't be the first time we'd made love in the garage...

The sound of a vehicle coming up the road stopped me in my tracks, but Cassie started taking her shirt off.

"Cassie, Honey, someone is here," I said.

"Shit!" she screamed in frustration. "We need to have a talk, Commander."

I laughed as I looked at the truck coming up the road. It was an older F-150. Obviously, some farmer wanted advice from Cassie on a problem he was having. I didn't recognize the truck, so he couldn't have been a local. Well if he was, he'd probably just bought a new well-used truck.

As the guy got out of his truck, he pulled on a weather-beaten straw hat to protect him from the sun. Cassie, who with her pale skin needed her hat more than he did, refused to put hers on. She was probably still pissed at the guy showing up and running our fun. I could see her mood change as the guy talked to her. They were probably talking about root structure and drainage and all of those other extremely boring things. However, as I turned to get back to my problem, a thought jammed itself in my mind. That shit kicker's face seemed a bit familiar to me. But fuck, I knew so many farmers; I couldn't keep them all straight.

I went back to working on Cassie's present. I had to get the car's power to where I wanted it before I dropped it off at the paint shop the next day. I had already told the guys there what I wanted. The car would be painted a beautiful, high-gloss, arctic white with green racing stripes. But if you looked closer, the stripes would have vines and plants superimposed on them. There would be dashes of color to make the green pop. Most of them would be flowering plants and vegetables that were Cassie's favorites. The brake calipers would be painted the same green, and the rims were anodized aluminum in the same green shade. She was going to...

* * * * * *

Cassie

I don't know how all of this started. I was still heated up from kissing Jack. In fact, he'd gotten me so heated up that I never started telling him about his skanky ex-wife trying to use a preacher to get back into his life.

When the truck pulled up, it seemed like just another farmer coming over for advice. I guess I was closer than the state agriculture office and unlike the university, I didn't charge for my advice. Even on cases when I had to drive out to a farm to see the problem. I love plants. I always have. Like Jack has never met a Mustang he didn't like, I just love growing things.

However, there was something about this farmer. I had to admit I was pleasantly surprised when he got out of his truck and shook my hand. He was clean-shaven and nice looking. He also seemed to have very good manners. He just didn't seem like a farmer.

As we got busy talking, it soon became apparent that he didn't know much about farming in general or growing things in particular. He, as it turned out was once a high-powered Washington DC lawyer. But as he put it, the stress and problems on the job took their toll on him, and he was forced to retire to the family farm. For the first few years that he was here, he had an older uncle who pretty much did everything. The first year or so, he was still so unaccustomed to farm life that he only watched.

Later on, he did things that sounded to me like the chores you'd give a young child to handle. But his uncle's sudden passing left him in charge of the farm, and he had no idea of what to do, why to do it, when to do it, or how to do it.

I started out by telling him about how we, or he, needed a two-pronged attack. The first prong was for the immediate future. He needed to contact his local agricultural office and see about getting some qualified farm workers who knew how to do whatever he wanted done. He also needed to hire an experienced farmer to be his foreman of sorts. While doing it, he needed to participate in every aspect of the work and seriously pay attention this time. There would be no uncle to save his ass any more.

For a long-term solution to his problem, he should go to his local community college and take as many classes in agriculture and farming as his spare time would allow. The winter would be an excellent time for him to really take as many classes as he could. If everything went well by next year, he might not need a foreman.

After that I just answered general questions about plants and why things had to be done a certain way. He seemed so charming and so nice that I didn't really notice it when his questions and comments became more personal.

"You really don't seem like one of these farmer's wives," he said. "You're too cultured and too ... pretty. Don't get me wrong ... There are a lot of really pretty country girls, but you just seem ... Different. Are you married?"

"Nope," I told him. "I was once, but that's over. I like my life a lot better now."

That was when I realized what it was about him that seemed so familiar. It wasn't his face that was familiar; it was his type. This guy was as slick as my ex-husband. My warning flags went off. I looked around and noticed that we had wandered further away from the garage than I liked. I also noticed that I had a lot more buttons undone on my shirt than I was comfortable with. I reached down to button my shirt and noticed then that he had been staring at my tits while I buttoned it.

"Why are you doing that?" he said. "That's the best view I've had since moving to this part of the country. A few of my friends told me about you, but they left off the part about how sexy you are. They told me you were nice looking, if you like redheads. And they told me that you really knew your shit when it comes to farming, but no one said a word about these."

As he said it, he reached for my breasts. It was as unexpected that I went into shock. As soon as his hands got near me my body reacted by doing what was natural. I didn't waste any time trying to run away from him, or fight him off. I just screamed one word at the top of my lungs.

"Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaccckkkkk!" I screamed. Maybe hanging out with all of the farm girls had affected me after all. My scream was pure as a woman in a hog calling contest and as loud as hell. It was also effective. Even before the one syllabled word had left my lips, I saw something the asshole in front of me didn't. His back was to the garage, and he didn't see Jack coming out of the garage.

"Stop screaming," he said. "There's no need for that. Once we get started you're gonna like what we do. I can make you feel really good. Much better than any old farmer. A woman like you needs a man who can appreciate what you have to offer, and I'm ..."

"Dead," said Jack's voice over his shoulder. He turned and stared at Jack's angry face. He then noticed his problem. His truck was between us and the garage. But to get to it, he had to get past Jack, and Jack was pissed. But Jack's piss was dry. The guy between Jack and I had taken one look at Jack, and they recognized each other.

"Jack Daniels," the man yelped in utter fear. That was when the crotch of his overalls got really wet, and a trail of piss ran down the leg.

"Mother Fucker," spat Jack. And then Jack's fist flew. The movement was so unexpected that I could barely track it. It seemed to be moving in slow motion, but the fist was moving so quickly that I swear I saw the air vortices trailing in its wake. When that fist hit the face in front of it, I heard a sickening crack. I expected to see the man go flying from the force of the punch. But he didn't. He just fell straight backwards, and Jack wasn't used to hitting people. Jack is a very intelligent man. He's usually the walk away type. But, something about the man made him revert to his inner caveman.

"Mine," growled Jack loudly as his fist remained connected to the man's face. I was an astronaut too. I understand what happened. Well ... At least I understand the physics behind what happened.

Trained fighters know that the recoil movement after a punch or kick is very important. Not only does it return them to a balanced position; it prepares them for the next blow, or to block their opponent's counterattack. However, Jack wasn't a trained fighter. He put everything he had into that punch, and was seriously over balanced. His momentum caused his body to continue moving in the same direction as the punch he'd thrown. So he was literally falling forward out of control with his fist still connected to the other guy's face.

It looked as if Jack's fist had just hammered the guy into the ground. The guy was lucky that we were in my garden on soft soil. If we had been standing on the road, the back of his head hitting the concrete would have killed him. As it was Jack's punch had dislocated the guy's jaw and knocked him the fuck out.

Jack pulled out his iPhone and called the Sheriff's office. He just stood there over the unconscious man waiting to hit him again. Several people, most of them apparently in their twenties, came over still dripping wet and saw Jack glowering at the man on the ground.

Luckily for him, the Sheriff arrived before he regained consciousness. The sheriff had brought along an ambulance, and they started out by giving the guy smelling salts to rouse him.

"Okay, what the hell happened," asked Hank Haney, the Sheriff.

"Jack and I were in the garage," I began. My voice was shaking, and my delivery was so rapid fire that the Sheriff made me sit down on the hood of his car and take a deep breath to calm down.

"Uhm, that guy," I pointed at the man who was just beginning to sit up with the help of the EMTs. "He drove up in that truck over there. He came out for advice with his plants. A lot of people do."

"I know that Cassie," smiled the Sheriff.

"Okay, we were talking about plants and farming and out of the blue, he grabbed my breast. I was so afraid that I froze. I just screamed for Jack and ..."

"Wait a minute," laughed Hank. He kept on laughing. It took him a few minutes to regain his composure. He looked at me. "You're supposed to be Super woman. You've been to space. You were elected to the US Senate. Half of the women in the county think you reinvented humanity. You mean to tell me that when you get scared ... You?" He started laughing again.

"Don't you know Karate or something?" He quipped. He looked at me, and my face was as red as my hair.

"They taught me a different martial art," I quipped. "It's very effective."

"What's it called?" he asked. Even the emergency techs were listening.

"It's a very secret art that only works for a few people," I said. "Its name is CallJackfu."

"I think I've heard of that," said one of the men.

"She's funnin' you, ya moron," spat the other tech. "Get it, Call Jack fu. She calls Jack, that guy, her man."

"Oh," said the other guy. "That ain't really funny."

"So you called Jack and Jack ran over and decked the guy," asked Sheriff Hank.

I noticed that the EMTs had given the man a pad, and he was writing something down on it. They handed it to Hank.

Hank read why the man had written and turned back to him. "Is this what happened," asked Hank. The man nodded his head and wrote something else.

"You want to charge Jack with assault and battery," asked Hank. The man nodded.

"Then I'll need you to write your name on this, so I can remember whose version it was," said Hank. The man wrote his name on the paper. Hank looked at it and shook his head.

"I'm only a dumb old country Sheriff," said Hank. I laughed because I knew that Hank had gone to college with a degree in criminal justice with his military benefits, after leaving the Marines. "But I need you to write it in cursive. I don't know why. But it's one a them there rules or such." Hank was really doing his best to sound like an idiot. However, the man wrote his name again in cursive.

"That's much better," said Hank, suddenly sounding a lot more intelligent. "With your signature, I can accept this document as your signed statement. So if the facts turn out that you're not telling the truth ... You can be charged with false accusation, giving a false testimony to an officer of the law and a lot of other shit." He turned back to me.

"Cassie he claims that the two of you were talking, and you let him feel your breasts, but when Jack came running up you realized that he'd be pissed so you made up the story of him grabbing you," said Hank.

"That's a crock of ..." I began.

"Bullshit," said one of the young people behind me.

"Sheriff, we were swimming in the pond back there ... Uhm Mr. Daniels always lets us swim in his pond on really hot days like today. Anyway, we heard this blood-curdling scream out of nowhere. It was her, and she screamed one word."

"What was the word," asked Hank.

"Jack," said the boy. The girl beside him nodded.

"Why didn't you run up to see what was going on," asked the Sheriff.

"We did," said the girl, looking at her feet.

"The pond is closer to here than the house and the garage are," said Hank. "How the hell did Jack get here before you did?" The kids just looked at their feet.

"Why are your clothes dry, but you two are dripping wet? Where are your swim suits," asked Hank? Both kids turned red and the others with them all looked away from Hank as well.

"So you kids were in the pond skinny dipping and heard her scream, huh," said Hank. "That's why it took ya so God Damned long ta get here."

"Ain't nothing wrong with it Sheriff," said the boy. "We're all adults. We work hard in school and on the farm when we're home from college. Some times during the summer, you just need to take a break and blow off some steam, ya know?"

"What I know is that I ought to charge all of you with indecent exposure and ..." began Hank.

"Sheriff, that won't work, we were on private property with the permission of the owner," said one boy.

"Pre law huh," asked Hank. The boy nodded.

"Then I'll just have to make due by telling your parents," quipped Hank. All of the kids looked evilly at the boy who had spoken.

"But in this case, I'll let it slide, for you kids coming forward like good citizens," said Hank. "I might still need you guys to testify in court, though, Okay?" The kids nodded, and the man whom Jack had hit tried to snatch the paper he had signed out of Hank's hands.

"And from now on, unless you wait until after dark ta do your swimming, keep your God damned clothes on," said Hank. "Now Git!" The kids turned and ran for their cars.

Hank turned towards the man. "I guess you want to change your story, huh?" he asked. "Too late buddy." As I watched the man began to hold his jaw as if the pain was suddenly too much for him to bear.

"Take him to the hospital," said Hank. "They'll pop his jaw back into place and give him some pain killers. Make sure you keep him handcuffed to the bed. We don't want him running out before he gets his day in court." He turned back to Jack and me.

"You two don't leave town," he said. "Just because I believe you, doesn't mean there won't be any more questions. You have a house and your entire lives here so you're not a flight risk. Jack you haven't said a word. Do you have anything to add?"

Jack looked at Hank. "Hank, I lost my temper," he said. "I didn't mean to hit him that hard. I just snapped."

"Jack, don't worry about it," said Hank. "You saw a guy you'd never seen before man handling your woman. You did what any guy would have done."

"Oh it's worse than that," said Jack. "I've seen him before."

"What," said Hank?

"Not in person though," said Jack. "If I had he'd already be hurt too badly to come here."

"Huh," said Hank. "What do you mean?"

"The only time I ever saw that bastard was on video," said Jack. "He disappeared ... He left DC before I could ever track him down. The bastard's name is Brett. He's the one who caused my divorce. He worked in the law firm with my first wife. He's the one she was fucking behind my back. He cost me my marriage and ruined my life. He took Elizabeth from me. He wasn't going to do it again ... I ..."