Chapter 6

Cheyenne went back to school and we were all settling into a comfortable routine. The evening bar crowd seemed to increase by one or two every night and Jackie was happy about that. She was even thinking about hiring another woman to come in to help out on Friday and Saturday nights, if it kept up. Francis couldn’t do it because she was a single mom and had to be at home in the evenings.

Frank and Kasuma showed up the Monday following the ambush at his house. I had a chance to talk with her about her degree in Native American History and her book about the Arapaho. Every time I talked to her, I was more impressed. She’s an incredible lady whose wisdom goes far beyond academic knowledge. She eagerly encouraged me to pursue my interest in cultural anthropology, and she promised to do whatever she could to help me along the way. In fact, she invited me to come out and look over her library, maybe even borrow some of her books.

Within a month of my arrival in the middle of nowhere, I felt like I’d found a home. I couldn’t recall ever living in a place where I felt so accepted and so comfortable. My little tryst with Jackie seemed to have become just a little fling we’d both enjoyed very much, but we didn’t feel any great compulsion to repeat it ... not that I would resist if an opportunity should arise. We did occasionally kid each other with slightly lewd references to the unfulfilled promise when we found ourselves alone together, but it was all in fun.

I took care to avoid any appearance of hitting on Cheyenne. I wanted to in the worst way, but she’d done absolutely nothing to encourage my early probes. There was an ongoing debate in my mind as to whether I should be more aggressive, but I was afraid any pushing on my part would just raise a barrier between us, and I sure as hell didn’t want that. It was better to pine for her from a distance and suffer in silence. I was, after all, damaged goods.

But then things changed. One afternoon in mid-October, I was sitting on my bed going over some guitar riffs when there was a knock at my door.

“It’s open!”

Cheyenne bounced into the room flashing a toothy smile and plopped down on the bed beside me. “Guess what I just got in my E-mail!”

I knew what she’d been waiting for, so it wasn’t hard to guess. “Something about the fossil?”

“YES!!” She could hardly contain herself. “Jerry Bachman down at UW in Laramie sent an E-mail saying he’d like to come up with a couple of his TAs and get a better look. He agrees it looks very much like a dienonychus skull, but that there’s something unusual about it.”

“Well congratulations! Looks like you’re about to get the recognition you deserve. When’s he coming?”

“They’re driving up next Friday evening and staying for the weekend. I already asked Mama to hold three rooms for them.”

“You know this room is available if you need it. Your couch is plenty comfortable for me.” There was probably some vague hope floating around in the back of my mind that I might get another shot at connecting with Jackie, a chance to fulfill my promise to her. I didn’t feel compelled to make it happen, but if the occasion should arise...

“Thanks, but we probably won’t need it. You’re really going to get a kick out of Bachman, Bobby. He’s got a reputation as an eccentric weird-o, but he really knows his stuff about the fossils found around this part of the world. I’ve got one of his books.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

I’d been doing a slow finger pick on the guitar while we talked. She stopped talking and listened for a while. “That’s pretty. What song is that?”

“Oh, it’s just something I heard Emmylou Harris do. It probably isn’t anything I’d do at the bar. I’ve never been able to figure out if the lyrics are meant for a friend or a lover. Or maybe someone who’s both.”

She looked at me with something in her expression I hadn’t seen before. Then she put her hand on my knee and asked, “Would you sing it for me?”

It’s a beautiful song with a very intimate feeling to it. I hoped she’d get the same sense I did. It needs to be sung at just above a whisper to have the right affect. You could ruin it by trying to ham it up with too much vibrato, and it was important to keep the phrasing more conversational than metered like a poem.

“Sure. It’s called ‘You’ll Never Be the Sun’.”

When I finished, I knew I’d done it right, because Cheyenne had tears in her eyes.

“Bobby, that was just beautiful! It’s like it was written just for me.”

“If it wasn’t, it was written for someone just like you. I sang it just for you.”

She smiled at that. “I didn’t think you were all that interested.”

“Are you nuts? I’ve always been that interested. I thought it was you that didn’t want to get involved with anybody because of that stuff you said about breeding stock and your classmates getting knocked up.”

She slapped me playfully on the arm and countered, “I was just saying I didn’t have any interest in becoming a housewife and living the rest of my days as a domestic slave. I want my life to have some impact on the world.”

It popped out of my mouth before I could even give it any thought. “So do I, but not as much as I want you.”

As she searched my eyes with her brow knitted, I began to fear I’d just overplayed my hand, but she totally stunned me by leaning over and putting a very soft kiss on my lips. She stood and took the guitar out of my hands and set it on its stand. Then she took my hands and pulled me up to stand in front of her and began unbuttoning my shirt.

The look on her face was anything but shy innocence when she said, “I want to make love to you with my body like you just made love to me with that song.”

We took turns removing articles of clothing from each other until we stood naked, letting our eyes explore and feast upon the objects of our desires. Aside from being a couple of inches taller, her beautiful body was a copy of her mother’s. She reached up to take my face in her hands and pull it down to meet her lips. I held her shoulders and drew her hard against my body, feeling the softness of her breasts against my belly and the pulse of my dick pressed between us.

Our first ever coupling probably didn’t last even ten minutes, but it was exquisite. I entered her slowly to allow her to adjust, but once she felt comfortable with me inside her, we pushed and squeezed and humped and kissed and rutted with the urgency that comes to those who have craved each other forever, and can’t wait even one more minute to get it on.

Later, as we lay on our sides facing each other, I asked, “How do you think your mom would feel about us making love?”

She giggled, “Jealous. She’s been hoping to try you on again ever since the night I slept over at the birthday party.”

I guess my face must have gone pink because she reached down to give my dick a gentle squeeze and said, “I told you we look out for each other. We don’t keep secrets.”

That evening, as Jackie set my dinner in front of me, she leaned down and whispered, “I don’t know what you did to my little girl, but it must’ve been somethin’ real nice. I don’t think I could get that silly grin off her face with sandpaper.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “She takes after her mother in a lot of ways.”

“So, I guess an old girl like me ain’t got a chance now.”

“You’re hardly an ‘old girl’, but it wouldn’t seem right unless we got permission from Cheyenne, would it?”

“Well, I’m sure not going to ask her! Are you?”

“Doesn’t seem like the smart thing to do.”

Bachman and company arrived that Friday afternoon driving a land yacht and pulling a utility trailer full of equipment and a motorcycle. It was a forty-foot American Coach that must have cost four hundred grand when it was new. Who knew college professors did so well.