Chapter 9

As I had anticipated, she had plugged in the oil warmer before climbing into her tub. She'd also left the bathroom door open. She raised one hand and flapped her joined fingers at me in a wave. "Five more minutes," I said and began spreading the towels on the bed. She seemed disappointed. Maybe she'd expected me to run to the tub and jump in.

I checked the temperature of the oil and noticed the hair bleach sitting once again on the night stand. I chuckled to myself, then groaned as the phone rang. Calls this late at night are never good and usually are from Ricky or the sheriff's office in his behalf, mainly because Penny refused to post bail for him.

Cheryl grumbled something as I reached for her extension handset. I didn't understand it and probably didn't want to. I looked at the caller ID on her handset. "It's your number."

This time I did understand. The neighbors across the mountains probably understood, too. I signalled her to be quiet. She understood and shut off her alert siren.

I switched on the handset and said, "It's me. What's wrong?"

It was Mandy. "That's what I was calling to ask you."

"Is this going to be another one of those calls, or do you plan on making sense sometime before sunrise?" Before Mandy could answer, I heard a choking sound from the bathroom as Cheryl tried to hold back a laugh.

"I had this feeling that something was wrong, and I thought I'd better check."

"Those seem to run in the family. Cheryl woke up with a similar feeling about a week ago."

"Why didn't she call me?"

"You weren't in the horse barn."

"What?"

"She was worried about one of the horses."

"Why would she be worried about one of the horses?"

"I guess she was worried about it because she's not used to being around anything with horse sense." That was good for another strangled laugh from the bathroom.

"What was that noise?"

"You no longer have a television in your bedroom? Did Marek forget to pay the cable bill, or did the picture tube burn out?"

"Why would you be watching television at this time of night?"

"It would give me something to do while I'm waiting for the phone to ring."

"While ... Randy! Are all homosexuals like you?"

"I doubt any of them are. Look, Mandy, everything's fine here."

"Are you sure? Maybe I'd better talk to Cheryl."

"All you ever do is talk to her. Maybe you should listen once in a while."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I'm just wasting my breath. I heard the water running in her tub a little while ago. I haven't heard it drain yet."

"Randy! Maybe she's drowned!"

"I doubt it. Her bathroom is right through the wall from my bedroom. I can hear noises coming from it." I could, too. Another strangled laugh. More of a strangled giggle, actually.

"Well, maybe I'd better ask her anyway."

"She's in the tub. You want me to take the phone in to her?"

"She's naked!"

"Yeah. Most people usually are naked when they bathe. Normal people. I don't know about you." That generated more muffled choking sounds.

"Well, you can't look at her while she's naked!"

"Then I guess I can't take the phone to her. Is that all?"

"Randy! She's your family! Don't you care about her?"

"Of course I care about her. One of us has to."

"What in blazes is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that it's almost midnight here, one in the morning there, and I'm on the phone with a hallucinating woman when I should be keeping this line open for an important call."

"What could be more important than a call from me?"

"I might need to go down to the lockup and bail out one of my ranch hands. He's overdue for another drunk and disorderly, and half the time his wife won't post bail. Of course, I might need to rush to the Appaloosa Grill and do emergency portrait photographs of the three thousand cockroaches that live in the food preparation area."

"What?"

"But most likely it would be posting bail for Ricky."

"He sounds like trouble. Has he been messing around with my daughter?"

"Of course not."

"Oh. Of course. He's one of your little gay buddies."

"What part of 'wife' did you not understand?" A smothered giggle from the bathroom indicated that Cheryl had guessed the other end of the conversation, but I didn't pause. "He'd never touch Cheryl and piss me off, Mandy. I pay him more than he'd make working any other ranch in the state. He's not going to risk that."

She grunted skeptically. "Maybe she'd better call me when she gets out of the tub."

"And wake up Marek when the phone rings? I hear a man snoring, so I guess that's Marek snoring. Unless you got yourself a backdoor..."

"Randy Long! How dare you suggest such a thing to me!"

"Then I guess she'll have to call in the morning. By the way, tomorrow's Sunday, and she sleeps late on Sundays."

"She's not there to have fun and lay about all day. This is tough love."

"We have our mouth open and our ears closed again, don't we?" I had to give serious consideration to closing the bathroom door after I said that. "I said Sunday, remember? We all take as much of a break on Sunday as we can, though even on Sunday a horse ranch has chores to perform. This is a working ranch, Mandy. Everyone works. Didn't I explain that to you when you called a week or two ago to see if I'd let her get a tattoo? Cheryl's been very busy. She's already a better ranch hand than you'd ever be. The horses love her. Even Chuckwagon settles down around her, and he's normally harder headed and worse to control than you are. And you should see how she gets along with Blaze."

"Why's she just now taking a bath? Has she been busy tonight?"

Talk about a loaded question. "Maybe she's taking a bath because she doesn't want to go to bed smelling like a horse. On a ranch, sometimes you have to work extra-hard and extra-late on Saturdays so you can sleep in on Sundays." Okay, so I forgot to mention that this wasn't one of those Saturdays. "And she's so good that another ranch has asked her to help out there."

"Oh. Well, that's good."

"Good. I'm glad you're happy. Now, can I get off the phone? Trust me, Mandy, there's nothing at all wrong with your daughter." Nothing except her Mother, that is.

"Have her call me tomorrow anyway."

"Fine. But it might be a little late. After she wakes up she'll have to check the barns and stables before breakfast."

"Okay." Mandy sounded pleased at the thought of my working Cheryl like a draft horse.

It took another three minutes to get Mandy off the phone, less time than I'd expected. I switched off the phone and turned to the bathroom. "Time's up."

Cheryl rose to her feet and reached for a bath towel.

"Hey! Your mom said I'm not supposed to look at you naked."

She blinked. Twice. "Oh. Um ... Okay. No prob. I'll, like, put on my necklace."

Works for me.

"Hoo cm hru aurhwhu oo wa."

After my last mistake at agreeing with her, I learned to asked for a translation before replying.

She lifted her face from the pillows. "I said you can rub anywhere you want." She turned her head to look and made a sour face. "Even if you are still wearing those shorts."

"I'm not the one getting the massage. And I'll just rub where you need it."

Her face suddenly dropped back into the pillows. "Hohay."

No argument? My luck was improving.

I massaged the backs of her legs, rubbing where she needed rubbing instead of where I really wanted to rub. Finally I had her slowly flip over, then replaced the towels.

"You don't have to hide it," she said as I strategically arranged one towel corner.

Oh, yes, I did. It was swollen with desire and definitely juicy, as proven by all the smacking slurping, and popping as the massage pulled it open. "Maybe you don't need me to, but I do."

She moaned as I smeared the warm oil over the top of her right thigh and began kneading, then purred before saying, "Don't tell me you're afraid of seeing something you haven't seen before." She frowned at me. "Mine or someone else's."

"Cheryl..."

"Never mind." She closed her eyes and purred again. When I switched legs and readjusted the towels, she looked even more engorged than before. I tried not thinking about it, but that didn't eliminate, or even reduce, the raging erection in my shorts. Her sighs and moans of pleasure as I massaged sore spots didn't help the thoughts in my head, either.

"All done," I said as I switched off the oil warmer.

She opened her eyes slightly. "Not yet." A grin spread, one that said I was in trouble. "You missed a spot."

Maybe if I play dumb I can get away with it. "I don't think so. I was very careful to reach every spot from your hips to your ankles."

She gave me a look most people reserve for two-year-olds, mental defectives, and her mother. In a slow, languid movement her hand rose, brushed aside the obscuring corner of a towel with the flats of her fingernails, and extended a finger to point. "This spot."

I wasn't the only one with an awesome boner. The glistening pink head was exposed from its hood and just barely protruding from her lips. "That's not a sore spot," I said.

How is it that girls can attain looks that are simultaneously at peace with the world and accusatory? "You promised you wouldn't lie to me."

"Are you trying to tell me that it's sore from horseback riding?"

The sly look returned, the one that said I was already dead and just didn't know it yet. "Since you don't have one, how do you know it isn't?"

I wasn't used to having females in the family use logic to win an argument. Debbie used tears, and Mandy wore you down with her own version of reality. "Since I promised I wouldn't lie to you, I must assume you won't lie to me either. So, are you telling me it's sore from horseback riding?"

"No."

"Good." Her expression didn't change when I said that, and that was disconcerting. Nevertheless, I said, "Since it's not sore from horseback riding, I'm under no obligation to do so."

Women are born with the ability to look perfectly charming and at peace with the world while at the same time communicating the message, "I have you by the balls, and I'm going to rip them off." It's an effective survival skill that keeps men from killing them. She said nothing, but gave me that look.

I blinked. Twice. "Honey, didn't you hear what I said?"

She sighed and stretched. "Oh, yes, I heard it. When I complained about your wearing shorts, I also heard you say, 'I'm not the one getting the massage. And I'll just rub where you need it.' Those were your exact words."

Have you met my niece, Cheryl the Lawyer's Daughter? My mind raced to find a counter-argument. "Well, if you need it rubbed, why can't you rub it yourself?"

That comment was adequate for restoring the aforementioned reserved look. "Uncle Randy, who do you think has been rubbing it every night since I got here? I need a break. A change."

The strategic argument had temporarily eliminated the distortion of my shorts. Those words brought it fully back with a vengeance. She saw the movement in my shorts and shifted her gaze there. "Well, look who's back, Uncle Randy! I think he wants to come out and play. I'll make you a deal. You take off your clothes and let me play with it, and I won't hold you to your promise. Otherwise you have to rub it for me or become a liar."

I couldn't decide whether I was in the presence of the future's Chief Justice of the Supreme Court or the future's most successful ambulance chaser. I also couldn't decide which was the lesser of the two choices. I also couldn't find a loophole. Cheryl knew that and waited in silence, never losing the face of the spider who knew the fly could not escape her web. I finally decided that dropping my shorts would lead me to places I couldn't afford to travel. "With or without the massage oil?"

She slowly opened her legs wider. "I don't think you'll need it. See? I don't think it can get much slicker. Hey, Uncle Randy, you'll feel better about it in the morning."

I wasn't so sure about that. I sat on the edge of the bed. "No, don't move. I'll scoot you so that you don't tighten those leg muscles." She rolled her eyes, causing me to realize that she wouldn't have any muscles that weren't tightened before we were done. "Never mind. Just let me move you."

I scooted her a foot or so toward the middle of the bed, then thought of something. "Face up or face down?"

The wheels spun rapidly behind her eyes, but they made only a quarter-turn. "Up." The smug smile returned. "Maybe you won't remove your shorts for me, but I can remove them with my imagination while I look."

"Smart ass."

Her face turned smug, pleased, sassy, and victorious, which is one hell of a combination. "Yes. And it's a cute little ass, too, isn't it?"

When I said nothing, she reminded me that she knew I wouldn't lie to her and asked if I was trying to spare her feelings because I thought her ass was ugly.

"Cheryl, I told you before, if you have any ugly place on your body it must be on some internal organ where I can't see it."