Page 18 of Rules

"Thank you." I contort myself to fit on the picnic table bench, my knees knocking awkwardly against the underside.

"They aren't very comfortable, are they?" She smiles sympathetically.

"No, not the easiest to get in and out of either. How have you been, Ruth?" Her name feels intimate on my tongue, though I've said it dozens of times in my head.

"Fine, thank you. And you, Sheriff Trenton?" She cocks her head slightly to the right as she waits for my answer.

"We've gone over this, Tobias, please. I'm doing well. Thank you for asking." I sound stiff, even to my own ears.

"Tobias," she repeats, as if tasting the word. The sound of my name on her lips causes the blood to start flowing to body parts I don't need it to flow to right now.

She continues, "I've always thought that was such a masculine name. What does it mean?"

"I had an Uncle Tobias who died in the war after saving a group of civilians. My mother named me after him. But I think it means 'God is good' or something like that." To my surprise, she looks genuinely interested.

"Well, it's a powerful name fitting a powerful, handsome man." A soft smile forms on her lips, "Tobias."

Fuck my dick. There's no stopping the blood flow now, thank God we're sitting down. I've never been so glad to be so uncomfortable in my life. No other woman has had this sort of effect on me since Joan died. I'm not even sure what to do with this. I mean, I've found women attractive over the years, but no woman turned me on just by saying my name. Usually, I just get morning or late night wood. But now, my dick's putting uncomfortable pressure on my jeans, so I shift my weight to my other hip. I'm thankful I went home and changed before coming to this event. My work pants, plus my utility belt and a stiffy, good grief that would be hella uncomfortable. I'm even more grateful I left my t-shirt untucked.

"Do you want a drink?" I see the cart heading toward us.

"I would. A hard cider please, any flavor." She smiles at me.

I waved and ordered our drinks, handing her bottle to her. Our fingers brush as she takes the bottle, and I swear I feel the contact all the way up my arm.

We sit and make small talk. How's her business? Have I always wanted to be a cop? Things like that. When those questions run out, we dive into deeper waters.

"I heard your wife died some time ago?" Ruth leans forward on her arms, her hands peeling the label off one of the cider bottles. She looks sideways at me, as if gauging whether the question is too personal.

"Fifteen years ago. She had cancer, it was very sudden, and she went very quickly." The words come easier than they once did, worn smooth by repetition.

"If I got cancer, that is how I would want to go." She smiles softly, not with pity but understanding.

"To be truthful, me too, although I didn't think that at the time." Ruth reaches over and pats my hand, her touch lingering a moment longer than necessary.

"No, I don't imagine you would have."

We both drink the rest of what's left in our bottles, in companionable silence.

"I like your tattoos," I said looking over at her. "Do you only have them on one leg?"

"So far. I'd like to get both legs but there are only so many kangaroos someone can put on themselves without looking weird."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. "Kangaroos?"

"Yes, I'll show you." She stood and came to my side of the table. Lifting her skirt to show me her leg caused me to have to remind myself to breathe. Ruth showed me a field scene with various kangaroos, one jumping, two looking like they're boxing, two with babies in their pouches and others grazing. "Ijust love kangaroos. That's why I named Joey, Joey. He's my little kangaroo."

"I never knew that." I looked closely at her leg not because of the ink work but because I just wanted to be close to her leg. "I see what you mean about not wanting too many kangaroos."

"Right? I found myself asking, 'how many kangaroos are too many?' Of course for me there isn't a number. But, I don't want to be known as the kangaroo lady." She looked to the sky. "Or maybe I do?"

"How about just Roo?"

Ruth's head slowly turned toward me. "Roo, what an adorable nickname. I wish I had someone to call me that."

"I can."

"You?" Her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.

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