Chapter 7

The next week was relatively uneventful. Monday we painted Cheryl's room.

"It stinks," she said as she climbed in bed, her pert nose wrinkled in disgust. "Maybe I should have gotten the bright orange after all."

"That was oil based enamel, not latex. It would have smelled worse."

"Worse than this?"

"Yes. Do you want to sleep in one of the other rooms for a couple of nights?"

"No. I just want this one to smell better."

"It will in a couple of days."

"What if the stink kills me before then?"

"It's not toxic," I said as I spread the towels.

"It could drive me to suicide."

"It's not that bad."

"That's easy for you to say. You don't have to sleep in here."

"Well, the blue room down the hall..."

"No! I'm staying in my room."

"Okay. You like the smell of this massage oil, don't you? Well, sleep with your nose behind your knee."

She turned her head to look at me over her shoulder and blinked. Twice. "God, I hate you."

She said nothing more as I massaged her legs, then kissed her good night. Just before the door latch clicked I heard a faint, "It still stinks."

Complaints about the paint smell stopped after Wednesday, which is when she had her first driving lesson. There are many stereotypical stories about women drivers, but I'm sure that she'll prove them wrong. Just give her a few more years practice.

She shifted into reverse while the car was moving forward only twice. The third time she shifted into park. It wasn't entirely a bad thing, though. In fact, it was educational. For instance, I learned that a coffee travel mug is not the ultimate answer for beverages while you are a passenger. You shouldn't have any liquids in your possession while teaching girls to drive, and that includes strongly recommending a trip to the john first. When they aren't shaking the piss out of you, they're scaring it out of you. But that was actually a needless fear because she stopped with the bumper at least three millimeters away from the driver's side door of Diego's pick-up. Maybe even four. And he did jump back inside and slam it with seconds to spare. One or two at least.

Okay, at most.

But he should have taken a trip to the john before he left the feed store.

Photography lessons continued as well. By the end of the week she was aware of the major shortcomings of her camera and was able to compensate for most. Friday she had her first portrait lesson, with me serving as her model. For a beginner, she did an exceptionally good job of compensating for the weaknesses of her subject. After Saturday morning's driving lesson we rebuilt the portion of the split rail fence that jumped behind her while she was backing up, and then we had lunch, finishing just as Doc Branson arrived to check on Buena Vista and Cheryl's Blaze. I had a brilliant idea and excused myself long enough to run back to the studio while Cheryl accompanied Doc into the barn.

Fortunately I decided against pouring myself a cup of coffee to take with me, because eight to ten seconds after I arrived I had the perfect opportunity to aim, focus, and shoot. The flash startled Blaze but didn't frighten her. Buena Vista had been the subject of many photographs and took it in stride, seeming to express reassurance to her daughter in a brief, low whickering sound.

"What was that all about?" snarled the little filly's bipedal protector when the horse tossed her head and stepped back.

Fortunately, it was one of the electronic cameras, so I was able to call up the shot immediately. While I prefer rationality to religion, I was ready to invoke every deity I could remember at that moment and pray that I'd captured what I'd seen before I lifted the camera.

I had said that a good part of successful photography is luck. Well, I decided to avoid Vegas and Reno because I'd used up the remainder of my good luck ration for the rest of the year. There it was in the viewfinder: Cheryl, Blaze, and Doc in three-part harmony. Yeah, it needed a mild wash with PhotoShop to correct some exposure issues and some reflective glare in the background between Cheryl's head and Blaze's, but the composition was perfect.

"Uncle Randy! That's perfect! You're a genius!" She kissed me.

Okay, so I'd skip the lesson pointing out the deficiencies in the picture for the time being.

"The girl's right," said Doc. "But I tell you what: in exchange for my not kissing you, I'll let you give me a copy of that when you print it. I'll put it in my reception area and tell everyone who admires it that I got it from Randy Long's Family Pet Portraiture Emporium."

"You've got a deal!" I said with exaggerated relief.

"Awww! What's the matter?" she asked, still staring in wide-eyed amazement at the viewfinder. "Doc is, like, too old for you? Uncle Homo prefers younger men? Hmmm?"

Doc threw me a questioning glance and started to say something. I shook my head and silently mouthed, "Later," causing him to shrug and back off. The smirk on his face said that I'd better not wait very long before I called him and explained.

"Uncle Randy, I have just the frame for this. I want to put it on my dresser." Her eyes were still locked on the screen. I can't blame her. I think it's one of the best pictures I'd ever taken. But then, I might be a little biased. I had photographed my two most beautiful models. And Doc, but I could always crop him out.

I had no idea what after-dinner movie we'd just watched. Some romantic comedy, I think. I truly had no idea, because I couldn't keep my attention off the brunette beauty snuggled up against my side on the couch. To call her negligee "translucent" is to make it sound more opaque than it was. There were a couple of times I expected to find myself saying, "It's the pheromones again," but she was too absorbed in the movie to notice.

"That was sweet," she said. She turned those beautiful liquid brown eyes to me. They were a little more liquid than normal, enough so that they had overflowed at the corners. "What part did you like best, Uncle Randy?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "I saw so many different things to like."

"Yeah," she said, laying her head on my shoulder and sighing wistfully. "There were."

She wasn't aware that we weren't discussing the same topic. She might have realized that with one more question, but instead she glanced at the clock. "Time to check the horses."

Hell of a time for her to turn responsible. "Okay. I'll wait for you to change."

"The guys have gone home, haven't they? I'll just wear this. I'm sure Buena Vista and Blaze won't be embarrassed to see my boobs. They're girls."

I exercised a bit of wise caution and said nothing about what else they could see.

My self-control must be improving. I made it through the leg massage with no pheromonic bodily modifications. I made up for that after I fell asleep by having two wet dreams, both involving the object of my dreams sleeping under blankets and a light coat of oil in the next room. After the second I decided it was too late to go back to sleep, so I arose, cleaned up, and quietly made my way downstairs for coffee.

As I reached the bottom of the staircase, the front door burst open. Cheryl exploded into the house and slammed the door behind her, leaning back against it and gasping like she'd set a new time record in the marathon. I don't know if her feet were blushing because she was wearing slippers, but every square inch of the rest of her was.

"Well," I said, crossing my arms and forgetting about the coffee, "this has all the earmarks of an interesting tale."

"I had a dream," she gasped. "A nightmare, actually. It woke me up. I dreamed Blaze was hurt and needed me. It was terrible, Uncle Randy! It seemed so real! I had to go check on her. To make sure she was okay. In case it wasn't a dream, because it seemed so real! It's Sunday. It's supposed to be just us here, so I didn't waste time getting dressed. I had to go see about Blaze!"

"I see. So, you're saying Ricky and Penny had another fight."

The red intensified another shade or two. I wondered what kind of picture of her I'd get using infrared film in a totally dark room. Probably an overexposed one. "When I heard the door open, I thought you'd followed me, so I thought I'd surprise you. So, I hid behind the grain barrel..."

She left it hanging, but it was obvious what had happened next.

"So, did Ricky faint or just die of a heart attack? I didn't hear any screams of terror."

"He was ... He was drinking his coffee when I jumped out. Most of it went down his shirt and pants and he dropped his mug. I think I heard it break after I ran past him."

"Yeah? Damn. It was probably his lucky mug, too. Got tossed while riding a bull at a rodeo a few years ago and it trampled him. He got away with a two-inch scrape on a rib. Through some chain of events that makes sense only to Ricky, he gives the credit to that mug and has called it his lucky mug ever since."

"Really? Oh, GOD! Now I can't leave the house for the rest of the summer!"

"I'll go talk to him. Everything will be okay."

She looked at me with big, pleading eyes. "Uncle Randy, are you sure?"

I gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me. I said I wouldn't lie to you."

"Okay." She sounded skeptical, but she gave me an embarrassed kiss and dashed up the stairs. I waited to enjoy the show first.

I found Ricky leaving the bunkhouse. He held up his hands as a feeble barrier between us. "Boss, I swear I didn't touch her!"

"Relax. I know what happened. Was that your lucky mug?"

"Yeah. It broke into three pieces. You know what that means."

"Yeah, I do." Actually, I had no clue. Most rodeo performers have superstitions that have nothing in common with any other performer's. However, admitting that I didn't know would have guaranteed a fifteen minute lecture on the significance of the number three. I had been the audience for that lecture last year and now knew less than I did before Ricky had started. "I'm sorry you lost your lucky mug. If there's any way I can make up for it..."

Ricky waved away the suggestion. "No, no. If you don't mind my saying so, Boss, I used up all of its good luck at one shot when she jumped out in front of me, waving her arms. I'd break two more lucky mugs to see that again."