Chapter 1: The Rendezvous

He settled with his toe on the edge. At six foot two inches, the twenty-seven-year-old was the tallest contestant in the group. Hand poised at his hip, expectantly waiting for the buzzer, he was in a void. Everything eased into the background. The random timer activated. He moved. The smell of the powder, the cool touch of the metal, and the squeak of the leather brought a oneness to him. He looked at the machine in disbelief. He stood proud as Champion of the Kansas State Fair Cowboy Fast Draw Competition.

A little thin for his height, Momma maintained her baby boy should be five foot, ten inches. He’d been trying to gain weight for years, but he burned whatever he ate. Although he hovered right at one eighty, his lanky frame might stand to be two hundred pounds. Fine-tuned as almost all muscle, he carried himself well. As an ex-collegiate runner, Clint leg-pressed damn near five hundred pounds, but don’t ask about his bench pressing. He developed his obvious well-muscled upper body strength for speed with the six-gun.

Clint presented himself as a good-looking guy with chestnut hair and piercing, dark chocolate eyes. His stare drilled through a person and he used it to excel in selling the product. Even the most reticent client bowed to his will despite the slight stutter. Still, his marketing genius went unrecognized by his bosses and the lack of appreciation weighed heavy on his self-image.

Clint felt stifled at his dead-end job in the real world. At a salary of forty-seven thousand a year, he didn’t have much property, as expenses continued to be way too high. His only vice turned out to be the quick draw challenge. He’d load up his ‘67 Chevy Impala with his gear every weekend, and head out of the city. There often were competitions within one hundred miles of home, and using the fifty something year old clunker equated to you pouring gas into the drain. The compulsion became a driving force, keeping him from going insane.

He hoped he could see Jane ‘Janie’ Gibson, one of the female contestants known for being fast at the draw, not to mention easy on the eyes. Clint often was flustered and tongue-tied around good-looking women, but not with Janie. She lit a fire in him; most often when she drew her Taylor reproduction 32-20 Colt and blasted the balloon faster than any at the match.

A typical strawberry-blonde, people considered Janie tall at a couple inches less than 6 foot. Her long silky hair cascaded across her back reaching to her buttocks, and Clint loved how it glistened in the sunlight. Her eyes shown in an unusual stunning blue which called attention to her face. They could capture a man’s soul. Clint did not realize Janie held her heart for him. She made a routine of calling event organizers to see if he pre-registered for their competition so she that could be there. He was unaware that she was chasing him; he believed that he didn’t have a chance with her.

Someone could make a mistake in calling her figure hourglass. Her body is built to accommodate a gun rig. The belt ran smooth around her hips, gently grazing the top of her firm buttocks as it encircled her body. Leather ties at the bottom of the holster lovingly caressed her thigh. People noticed the slight gap between her exquisite legs as Janie stood in her usual stance at the firing line. Her waist dipped inward above the crest of her pelvis, but not too much, just enough to give the viewer the impression that she had a waist.

Janie’s shoulders were strong, and she held herself proud and erect as she walked. They needed the strength for they were the mainstay of her skill. She trained her muscles for the quick draw ... if only her breasts stayed out of the way. By necessity, two high-tension sport bras kept them under control. Her lacy, under wire reinforced bra stressed the cleavage beneath it when she dressed up to dance. A connoisseur of the female form once said that she measured either a large C or a D, but she refused to confirm his opinion. They appeared perfect on her tall, broad frame, and did not look the slightest bit out of place.

While these attributes stirred Clint’s attention, her smile got to him the most. Her sparkling white teeth, thanks to years of pain with braces and the thousands of dollars of cost to her parents, intrigued him. Clint longed to run his hot tongue over her pearlescent teeth as he kissed her. He hoped to fulfill his fantasy sometime soon.

Clint’s smooth-shaven face appeared striking in its own way. No scars marred his look, and his nose never broken in the fights with his brother. He was much more handsome than the cowboys pictured in old daguerreotype photos of the period. Little children didn’t run crying for their mothers when they saw him. Other men took him seriously when he spoke. It was the piercing, deep-set eyes. They burned clear through to Janie’s heart.

Janie thought that they were dreamy, and she spent much of her time daydreaming of Clint. It caused her to wonder how to win her man’s heart, mind, and body. She dreamed of him taking her up in those strong arms. The vibrant female fantasized that she pressed herself against him while being swept off her feet. That humdrum life as executive assistant to Mark Caldwell, CPA, left her unfulfilled. He paid well, and didn’t make too many passes at her, especially when his wife turned up at the office or when she stood up and towered over him. Think Danny DeVito. She had a good ten inches on him!

This weekend’s match was being held along with the town’s sesquicentennial celebration. They had everything: re-enactments of famous battles, a campsite, and an Indian village with dancers and more. It appeared to be a Renaissance Faire for the Old West. Clint always dressed the part, looking similar to James Arness who played the part of Matt Dillon on the TV series ‘Gunsmoke’. Clint had watched most of the shows on ‘Nick at Night’ and listened to every one of the radio shows with William Conrad playing the part of Matt, too. He looked the part with his low riding fast draw rig. He wore his weapon in the traditional style, not as most of the other contestants did with the holster high on their hip.

Janie wore an outfit which looked authentic to most contestants. The dress gave the people a peek into the way the real Jane appeared in the Wild West Shows produced by Buffalo Bill Cody.

She could shoot better than the real Calamity Jane, and Janie was a hell of a lot easier on the eyes. Janie’s tailor-made outfit looked like the ones Doris Day wore in the movie.

The celebration was in full swing when Clint arrived in the encampment. The campground was mostly filled several days ago, and places to pitch a camp were getting scarce. He stood at the registration table, inking in the paperwork for the shootout events, when he heard the dulcet tones of a voice he recognized that had imprinted on his brain the first day he’d met her.

“Hello, Stranger, can I buy you a drink?” The crystal clear soprano startled him.

Clint trembled a moment, his hand shook while proceeding to write without glancing up at her.

He adopted the Rhett Butler voicing from ‘Gone With the Wind’ much like the way the other participants did. Clint responded with a slow Southern drawl. “I believe the question is a little forward for a lady. I’m assuming that you are very much a lady even if you be the infamous Calamity Jane.”

He concluded his writing and standing tall, turned towards the sound of the voice. His heart skipped a beat as he looked into her face. Her smile shone. There she stood, six-gun on her exquisite, well-formed hip, and a rifle held like a baby in her arms. His pants grew somewhat tighter as he responded to her closeness.

“I have a counteroffer,” he suggested, “How’s about I buy you a refreshment? A real drink ... iff’n it won’t offend y’all’s sensibilities, that is?”

He had already stepped into his weekend persona as a western warrior. He wore it well, and it allowed him to interact with those of the opposite sex without the usual stutter.

‘Oh, God, he so handsome. I wish, I wish that he would take me seriously!’ Her mind screamed as she stood there with a beaming smile. She blushed when she inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne and noticed how he looked at her like he could hear her thoughts, and the thought just turned her burner up another notch.

She turned her most fetching smile on, her hair over one shoulder as she noticed that he favored, and she’d even put on the perfume that she thought he appreciated. She overheard him remark on it, once: Charles Revson’s Ciara, his favorite fragrance. He presented his arm. She accepted it, just as a lady of the West did, with her heart throbbing. They approached the refreshment trailers.

Clint took the lead. Oblivious to the surroundings, he let Janie direct them. He was entranced by her beauty. She veered to the other side of the midway as they made their way through the crowd. Janie spied the bar tent and her eyes glazed over as she digressed into a past that she’d never wanted to go to again.