The Anniversary Stories by Lexy Harper

Is the Tramp a Lady?
    J ohn Elliot drove the bus into
the depot with a sigh of relief.  His muscles ached from being in the driving
seat for the last eight hours with only two short breaks.  Switching the engine
off, he stood and turned to make a quick visual check of the bus.
    “Ma’am?” he said in surprise
when he noticed the lone woman seated on the left in the third row of seats. 
“This is the last stop.”
    “I’m sorry,” she apologized,
getting to her feet.  “I thought you made one more trip.”
    “Only on weeknights,” he
explained.  “On Saturdays the last bus finishes an hour early.”
    The woman picked up her small
bag which looked as though it contained all her worldly possessions.  She had
an elegance and dignity about her although it looked as though she had nowhere
to sleep for the night.  John’s heart when out to her—like it had done every
time he had seen a stray dog or cat when he was a boy.  His parents had scolded
him for bringing in the strays, but had allowed him to rescue as many as he’d
wanted.  Until he had picked up a cat with Feline Upper Respiratory Infection
which had infected all the other cats.  He learned a hard lesson and no matter
how pitiful a stray looked he had never taken another one home again.
    The woman walked to a bench
and sat on it, her bag held tightly in her lap.
    John went in to the office,
turned off the lights and closed up for the night.  Then opening the doors of
his Ford Mondeo remotely as he approached, he kept his head resolutely
forwards.
    Yet, as he started the engine,
he found himself looking through his rear-view mirror at the woman, praying that
she would be okay.
    Feeling terrible for leaving her,
prey to anyone with evil intentions, he sped away quickly.
    He turned left at the next
corner, then left at the next and then left again.  Another left and he was
back where he had started.
    Instead of driving into the depot
he parked his car outside and observed the woman.  She was still sitting on the
bench, her back straight, her head held high, proudly.
    His wife, Helen, wasn’t home;
he really shouldn’t take a woman to the house.  Ordinarily Helen wouldn’t mind,
but she would be more than a little suspicious if he brought a woman to the
house on a night she wasn’t home.  Especially a redhead.  Why couldn’t
the woman have been blonde or brunette?  If the woman had been older and looked
like a downtrodden tramp Helen might have been more understanding, but the
woman was beautiful and though he had caught her hot, musky scent as she had
passed him on her way off the bus, it was obvious that she had either found
somewhere to wash as often as she could or hadn’t been on the road for long.
    A burly man walked passed the
entrance of the depot, glanced in and continued on his way.  Fifty metres on,
he turned and retraced his steps.  John tensed as the man turned into the depot,
headed straight for the woman and sat next to her on the bench, dwarfing her as
he leaned close and engaged her in conversation.  She kept shaking her head until
suddenly he stood up and grasped her arm roughly, pulling her upright against
his larger body.
    John was out of the car and
hurrying towards them in an instant.
    “Hey!” he shouted as he
neared them.  “Leave her alone!”
    “Who’s going to make me?” 
The man looked dismissively over his shoulder at John’s slim built and kept
hold of the woman.
    “I am,” John informed him
quietly, bringing the gun in his hand into view.  It was only a toy which
belonged to his five-year-old, Tim, but the man couldn’t know that.  “If you
don’t want a bullet between your eyes, let her go now!”
    “Cool it, mate!  She’s all
yours if you want her.”  The man backed away nervously and John watched him
hurry away with contempt.  For all his massive size, the man was a wimp.
    “Are you alright?” he asked
the woman worriedly.
    “I’m fine, thank you.  He
offered to share his bed