Outlaw Love: 2

 “Ginny Sue Maupin, if you’re planning on going out with that Reeder boy again, you can just move out! He ain’t nuthin’ but a troublemaker!”
Mom was yelling at me from the back porch as I took the stairs two at a time to my room.  She must’ve heard about the pool room ruckus last night. Yeah, Joe whipped the daylights out of Steve Wisdom, who didn’t show much wisdom when he swung that cue stick at Joe’s head. Wasn’t Joe’s fault that Steve couldn’t shoot a decent game of pool yet was stupid enough to bet with the sharks.
Why I hadn’t moved out already, I don’t know. Hell, I’m twenty-five, have a good job and could afford rent on a small place. And the past six months Joe has been after me to move in with him, and has even skirted around the topic of marriage a time or two.
I probably should marry Joe. I love him, and though he has never said he loves me, his actions show he does. Gentleness, protectiveness, putting up with my sometimes erratic ways. Always ready to spend time with me. And the sex, mmm, mmm, mmm, fantastic!

I looked around my room. Basically, I had nothing but my clothes and sentimental items that held sweet memories. Packing wouldn’t take long. But did I want to do it at this moment? No. I’d irritate Mom another few weeks. Which didn’t take much besides my breathing. I’m sure the Fates are laughing at us. 
I changed from the despised work-day clothes I had to wear as a bank teller  into my natural clothing – jeans, T-shirt and boots. Comfort, durability and ready-for-anything attire. I brushed my hair and pinned it back up. Joe liked it down but in Kentucky summers, keeping cool was my overriding concern.

Back down the stairs and searching the refrigerator for the potato salad I knew Mom had fixed for lunch, to go with the glass of lemonade I had just poured, I was treated to one of her rants against Joe.
“That boy is nothing but trouble,” she started. “I hear he drinks and smokes, and rides that motorcycle of his way faster than God intended for man to travel. And I’ve even heard he packs a gun! Who does that in this day and time?” 
I tuned it out as best I could. “And he chases women. Do you want a man who runs after every skirt he sees? Ginny Sue, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Mom. I’m listening.” Paying attention was a whole other story.
“And no one ever sees him in anything but tight jeans and T-shirts, hanging out at the pool room, drinking beer with whatever scum hangs out in such places. For the life of me, I don’t know what you see in him!”
I knew what I saw in Joe, and what few others saw. His innate goodness, his honesty, his dependability and willingness to do hard work to acquire what he wanted out of life instead of bumming off other people – like several of Mom’s friends did . . . although Mom wouldn’t admit they were bums – they were ‘down on their luck.’ Yeah, crying to everyone around about how hard they had it so people would repair things and do yard and farm work for free or at a lower than usual price, when I knew for a fact they had money sitting in the bank that they were terrified someone would learn they had. Amazing how many bank transactions can be conducted in muted whispers across the counter.
“Mom, Joe’s good to me. That’s all that I care about.” I had the potato salad on the table and was dipping some onto a plate. My glass of lemonade was sweating onto the tablecloth.
“Hmph. ‘Good to you.’ What has he done for you? I don’t see any ring. You’ve never said anything about him getting you gifts. And as far as I know he’s never taken you to a fancy restaurant.” 
Mom was overlooking the fact that there wasn’t a fancy restaurant within a hundred miles, and I had no idea what she knew about a fancy restaurant in the first place. 
I sat down and took a bite of potato salad. Delicious as usual and that explained a lot about why I was still living at home.
“Mom, I don’t expect him to do those things and he knows it.” 
“Then what do you expect out of an outlaw? He’s nothing but trouble. Mark  my words, you’ll regret associating with him.”
I finished the potato salad and the lemonade, put the plate and glass into the sink, turned to Mom and asked, “Who do you think I should associate with?” I already knew the answer to that question, but asked anyway.
“Why that young Larkins boy. He’s always nicely dressed and polite to everyone.”
Randy Larkins was gay and everyone in the county knew it but women Mom’s age who never saw past three-piece suits and short hair. He was nice and polite, and held a respectable job as an insurance agent, but I was definitely not on his list of possible romantic partners.
“Oh, Mom. He’s not my type.” 
“Your type. Evidently ‘your type’ is outlaw. Ginny Sue, I do not understand you at all. You were raised better.”
“Mom, I’ve gotta go. I’ll be back around midnight.” I definitely did not want to hear the ‘raised better’ tirade.

I had my keys, money and driver’s license in my jeans pockets so I was ready to go. Something else that upset my mother – I seldom ever carried a pocketbook and apparently that was something that nice girls were supposed to do. Heck, I had a truck with a console area that held whatever I might need, like Kleenex, lip balm, hand lotion, you know, odd essentials, so why did I need a pocketbook to have to keep track of? 
I walked out the front door into the sweltering heat, and thanked all the saints in heaven for air conditioning. My Ford pickup’s AC worked just fine and I was soon tooling toward town and Joe. 

Joe had stopped by the bank just before closing time and we had made our evening plans then. We were going to a restaurant – not a fancy one – for supper. One my mother would never have condescended to set foot in, but they served delicious grilled shoulder and ribs, their french fries were always cooked to perfection, and no one put on airs. Joe and I dined where the food was good; we didn’t care about the ambiance. 
We met at the municipal parking lot where Joe was waiting for me, surprisingly, in his 1994 Ford pickup. I got out of my pickup, locked it, and got into Joe’s truck. “Where’s the Harley?”
“Thought you might like a bench seat for the night,” Joe replied, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
“Okay . . .” I answered. There was no telling what he had in mind. The AC in his classic worked so I was content with the temperature and was along for the ride.

Joe headed east on the parkway and I relaxed into the comfort of back support and the stereo playing Travis Tritt. Joe sang along, occasionally reaching over to pat my leg in time to the music. He turned off at our regular exit but went left instead of right. Apparently his plans had changed since we talked. 
“Where are you headed? I asked.
“You’ll see,” he replied, grinning at me.
A few miles later, Joe took another left turn onto a dirt road. Now what? 
A few minutes later, I saw what. A large pond was ahead, and on the bank was a pavilion large enough to seat at least fifty people. A grill was set up nearby, and it was tended by the cook from our favorite barbecue restaurant. 
“Joe, what is this place? And why is Sammy here?”
Joe grinned at me. “You’ll see.”
He parked the truck near the pavilion and then I noticed there was only one table set up for dining. We got out and Sammy greeted Joe with, “Everything is just about ready.”

Joe thanked Sammy, then took my hand and walked toward the pond. It was cooler at the water’s edge, and a group of ducks were paddling along near the bank, looking for their supper. We walked down a path that was probably created by deer and found a loop that took us back to the pavilion.
Sammy was gone and there were two covered plates sitting on the table. Joe tugged me toward the table and held my hand as I sat at the picnic table. He handed me a napkin, removed the covers from the plated food, and sat down beside me. I knew the food would be scrumptious, since Sammy had done the cooking, but I wasn’t expecting the silver-wrapped package sitting in a crystal dish in the center of my plate.
“Joe, what is this?”
“Open it and find out.”
I wasn’t sure about this. Joe wasn’t one to make romantic gestures and this was definitely over the top for him. I carefully picked up the package and untied the ribbon. I paused and looked at Joe. He was solemnly watching me, his chin resting on his hands. 
“Joe . . . “
“Go on, open it.”
I laid the ribbon to the side, eased the tape loose on the silver wrapping, and unfolded the paper to find a plain brown-lidded box. I glanced up at Joe again. He hadn’t changed position.
I opened the box and saw a simple and elegant emerald and diamond ring, the band rose gold. I was stunned. I sat there, uncertain what to do. I glanced over at Joe another time; this time he was looking worried.
“Joe, it’s beautiful. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” he replied. “Say yes and join your life with mine.”
“Are you asking me to marry you?” Talk about surprises out of the blue.
“Ginny, I’ve wanted you to be my wife since the day we met. Will you give me that honor?”
“Oh, Joe. Yes. A zillion yeses.” I scooted closer and leaned into Joe’s welcoming embrace. “Yes, forever and a day.”