Cowgirl Thrillers by Barbara Neville

  ***

  After a reconnoiter, Wolf returns. “Shootin’s over, I’ll make more coffee. White man always screw it up.”

  “I’ll let it slide this time cutie, but next time I will prove beyond a doubt that gay men make the best coffee.” Michael conceited? Not much.

  What an egotistical duo they make.

  “Hell boys,” I say. “We gotta beat cleats. Forget the coffee.”

  “You still need Bogey?”

  I grin and say, “Naw, I got a polite horse who won’t fall on my leg.”

  Michael and I walk out into the grassy park and whistle up our horses. While we saddle up we ponder on the events of yesterday.

  “We are headed out to move those cows that got spooked by the shooters yesterday.”

  “That fall probably saved your life, and yore leg is mostly just fine,” ventures Wolf. “That bullet whistled right over the top of you and likely hit a tree. I’da had time to have recovered the lead, melted it and recast the bullet while you were napping there.”

  “You were there?”

  “Yep, after I hit the dirt I lay still, but no one seemed to be in sight so I crawled away from the trail and circled down to where you were layin’.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “Long enough for them boys to almost get away,” says Wolf. “I got there in time to shut you up, so they didn’t hear you moving and realize they hadn’t killed you. If they do figure out you survived, they might want to finish the job.”

  “What the heck are they up to that they are feeling the need to kill off innocent cowpokes?”

  “Maybe they are not too smart, don’t realize you were minding your own business,” says Michael. “When folks are up to no good they can get mighty suspicious of everyone around.”

  “Yep, make even a’ Injin nervous about being out and about. My day will be spent backtrackin’ these rubes, see where they came from and where they were headed. Too bad someone drove a herd of cattle right down the trail and covered their tracks so good.”

  “Hey, you Injins are supposed to be top notch trackers. Not to mention that their horses are likely shod, and Bogey ain’t.”

  “So you saw their sign yesterday?”

  “Some, here and there along the way. Bein’ behind the cows myself, I only saw an occasional bit of a track, but I first spotted the traffic about two miles below where you run in and tried to scalp me.”

  “Shit, lady, if I’da been scalpin’ you’d be a slick skulled squealin’ pig today. Wolf finish any job him start.”

  “And I mightily appreciate yore not takin’ it, I’m pure damn fond of this fine scalp. It is beautiful and keeps my head parts warm to boot,” I say. My lapses into cowboy rhetoric seemed to be spawned by Wolf’s Injin brief speak. We make a complimentary pair. And, by the by, he is still hot. My girlie parts is a tinglin’.

  “Thanks for the ‘loan’ of Bogey, Wolf. And the savin’ of my neck yesterday.

  “And my ‘hardly hurt’ leg hurts like a son of a bitch, thanks for asking.”

  Wolf laughs and rides off, ponying Bogey.

  Michael and I continue on out into the draw.

  “Oh, sweetie, I have died and gone to heaven! That hottie is the man of my dreams. I will never want another,” say I.

  “I’ll bet he is sooo buff under those buckskins,” says Michael.

  “No freakin’ way, Michael. You just hold your horses buddy, that Injin isn’t gay. He is without a doubt my dream lover.”

  “He was making eyes at me all through breakfast, sweetie.”

  “He was staring at you flouncing around the fire, flaming to beat the band. And I do mean you flaming, not the fire. He likely never saw such a display, bein’ a’ uneducated backwoods savage.” Just going with the fantasy out loud there.

  Unable to resolve our dispute over the man of our mutual dreams, we hit the draw and head out to get that boogery bunch of cows that I had lost and Michael had found yesterday.

  7 Meet