The Evolution of a Character – The Birth of Charlie Parker

The Evolution of a Character

I rewarded myself the other day. When I finished Thunderbird and shipped it off to Ryan to read through – we coauthored it – it was his turn to check our consummation of ideas – oh that sounded dirty, I like it. Anyway, I rewarded my efforts by taking a small trip. I left East Texas and drove about five hours east to Waco. The mission I was on was the hunt for a motorhome. Sable Hunter needs a research vehicle and Beau Coup needs a traveling office to visit authors and conferences – deductible, you see. Anyway, I found one. I haven’t purchased it yet, I’m waiting to see how much more taxes I have to pay before I sign on the dotted line. But this is it – A Thor Challenger. Pretty spiffy – I am excited.

http://challengermotorhome.com/gallery.php

When I take trips like this, I tend to want to write them off – if I can. As I was traveling west, I passed the area where I set Breath of Heaven – the home of the King Family – El Camino Real Ranch. Actually I traveled out on the King’s Highway for part of the journey. So, my mind began to wander on how I could incorporate this trip and this area into a future book. I considered the historical western I’m putting together, but it will be set between Milam, Tx and Nacogdoches, TX – a romance about a young Texan and a Creole slave. But since this was quite a few miles west, I couldn’t see how I could effectively work it in – and then it hit me.

Justice King and Charlie Parker.

I haven’t named the book yet, but it will be the sequel to A Breath of Heaven. When I was writing that story and building the background, I wrote about Abby’s brothers – and the oldest was Justice. I liked the name. I can already see him – the tall, broad, silent type – who rarely smiles and takes life too seriously. Handsome as sin. Doesn’t expect to fall in love. And as I was writing it, I casually slipped in the name of his future love. Although at the time, I knew nothing about her – nothing. Charlie Parker. The way I did it was have one of his brothers ask Justice about her and had him overreact in a negative way – “the day I take up with Charlie Parker is the day you can have my sanity checked” or some such exclamation. His reaction was the type – “methinks thous dost protesteth too much.”

So, I didn’t know who Charlie was, but I decided she needed to have a Waco connection, so I could write off the trip – make sense?

As I drove, I got to thinking about what type of person Charlie was and who she was. And as my tires ate of the miles, she began to be born and grow and evolve – and BAM! It hit me. In Waco, one of the main tourist attractions is the TEXAS RANGER MUSEUM. And I had never been! I was fascinated by the Rangers, in fact my Ty in My Aliyah was a Ranger, but that arm of Texas law is endlessly fascinating and I wondered – I wondered – were there female rangers? I didn’t know, but I determined to make that my first stop and ascertain if I could make my heroine one of the legendary Texas Rangers.

Of course that was the first step. I had to think about what type of person she was – what she looked like, how she talked – what her background was, her personality – etc. Now, I will confess EVERY heroine I write about is me. Me. – not Sable – the real me. In order for me to immerse myself in the books, I step into them. My experiences, insecurities, hurts, dreams – hopes – humor, sex – - it’s all me, or parts of me. So, I had to dig into my past and find Charlie.

Charlie is a tomboy. Makes sense. Her mom died early in life, and her father had always wanted a boy – hence her name. And by the way – Charlie is her name, not Charlotte or Charlene – just Charlie. So, her dad raises her and she grows up on the ranch, working alongside her dad. Now, here is where I step in. My stepfather raised me. And he was like that. I never was a prissy little girl – back in Louisiana, I roamed the swamps barefoot, brandishing a peach tree switch sword as I chased alligators and let the mud squish between my toes – running rampant along the bayou and swinging from vines into the murky waters. So, when I moved to Texas – it was a scene change but not a far step to horseback and ranch life. I immersed myself with the cattle and horses. Being young, I didn’t know a lot about the facts of life. So when my stepdad would tell me to stay in the house, that he had to go ‘dig up’ a calf. I thought he was serious. Actually he was going to help a mama cow give birth, but in my small mind, I thought he was out in the pasture with a shovel hunting buried bovine treasure. And after he had proceeded to dig up that calf, he would always come get me and I would get calf sugar – my favorite part. Kissing the babies and naming them and proceeding to drive him crazy because I wouldn’t let him sell them when they were older. But what really got my stepfather’s goat was the day he caught me out in the pasture with his shovel, digging small holes all about – trying to dig up my own calf. So, I was able to relate to Charlie.

Charlie is feminine, but she hides it. No one sees her frilly bedroom or knows she wears pretty underwear. She has never been the prettiest girl. Her figure is slight and her breasts are small – but her heart is big, almost as big as her determination to be everything her stepfather wanted -  A Texas Ranger. So, she exhibits this tough exterior – s five foot six, one hundred pound ball of fire who takes no crap and always gets her man – except one. The man she loves. Justice King. You see, she’s not woman enough for Justice. He deserves a beautiful woman – and even though she loves him to distraction, anytime they’re together – and they are thrown together a lot – they fight. He is the proverbial thorn in her side, or maybe it’s the other way around.

Anytime Justice hears Charlie’s name – he bristles. Damn woman. She risks her life. She lives dangerously – when all he secretly wants to do is take care of her. But he doesn’t know how to handle Charlie. And Charlie would like nothing more than being handled by Justice  – - – and so the plot thickens. Or the plot is born or evolved. As I drove that five hours west, I began to see and hear and feel Charlie.

When I got to Waco, I went to the museum. I parked in the shade so Abby and Mojo wouldn’t get too hot and went in to see what I could do with Charlie Parker. Here is a picture of the museum and a statue out front.

When I got there, it had typical museum atmosphere. The woman at the front desk had a strange look on her face and asked me if I had heard a little child’s voice and I looked at her funny and told her there was one outside on the porch. She looked relieved and said she had been hearing ghosts all day – and then she gave me a pointed stare (obviously she didn’t know who she was talking to ) and told me the museum was haunted. Well, duh. What any self respecting museum with the belongings of long dead cowboys would not be haunted?

I proceeded to walk through – and I was fascinated. Guns, flasks, saddles – hats. Photos. You can imagine what was there. The place was set up in collections – the precious belongings of people and relatives who had loved these men down through the ages. I learned of their lives. How some of them were surveyors or bootleggers. I learned what towns they had saved – what people they had killed. How some had died in battle. Others had won medals of valor. The curator was right, the place was haunted. I could feel the spirits of the men who had conquered the west and fought for Justice and peace for Texas.

When I came to the rear, I found a wall of current photographs that depicted those who are serving in the Rangers now. And as I looked at their faces – some handsome by the way – I found what I was looking for. Three of them – just three – were woman. I stared at their faces and imagined mine there, because remember – Charlie is me. And I smiled.

I’m going to have a good time writing about Charlie Parker. She’s going to turn Justice King’s world every which way but loose.

I left the museum and me and the dogs went to get a hotel room. We travel alone for the most part – its safer that way. Sable is a dangerous traveling companion. Sable does better alone. She’s just a trouble maker. But there was some construction going on in Waco and my hotel was brim full of hunky men. As I was checking in, I was checking quite a few out.

The next day we went to look at RV’s and I found one. When I buy it, I’ll take some photographs for you as I travel the highways and byways discovering other plots and other stories that I can weave myself into.

I live in my books.

And it’s not a bad place to be.

Thank you. If you’ll comment on your favorite vacation, I’ll give away a copy of Thunderbird when it comes out in a couple of weeks. BAM!

Love, Sable.

Sable Outside

Sleeping Under the Stars – Some Memories of My Dad

I live in the south, just about an hour north of the Gulf of Mexico. Warm weather predominates our climate. We’ve had a cold winter, but I’m anticipating spring. I love to be outside – on the beach, in the Hill country or the Piney woods of East Texas. Several times I’ve gone on the Sable version of a walkabout. I tend to get fed up with situations and just walk off – literally. I know its sorta foolish for a woman to go gallivanting on foot alone – but I’ve done it. I’ve spent days just walking, camping out under the stars, not really having a destination in mind. The only explanation I have is that I felt like I could escape my problems if I put time and distance between me and them. Why not drive? I don’t know – walking is just more therapeutic sometimes.

I have experience sleeping out under the stars. When I was young, prepubescent, my real dad would take us to the beach near Galveston Island – Crystal Beach or Gilchrist usually, and we would camp out right by the wave line. The only problem was, we didn’t have a tent. He thought sleeping on the ground in backpacks or in the truck seat or the back of the truck was sufficient. I guess you could say he was a minimalist. Back then, I just thought it was great fun. It’s odd how you’ll accept things like that as a child. And boy did we have some adventures.

There’s really nothing like sleeping right on the beach. The ebb and flow of the tide can still lull me to sleep like nothing else can. The only problem I can remember is my mattress. I didn’t have one. Dad always put me in the back of the truck with my thin Hello Kitty sleeping bag. He thought nothing of it – but the bed of his truck was ridged. It was like sleeping on a rock hard ruffles potato chip. I’d wake up with red stripes on my body from the pressure points. Many nights I would gravitate to the hood of the truck and just drape myself over it like a cat on a rock.

But one of the most memorable camping trips was the night I heard the scream. Yea, it still sends chills down my back. We had come north from New Orleans and was staying near my mom’s family in East Texas. We still have a lake house and a deer camp there, and truthfully, I spend a lot of time in the piney woods. It’s a spot that appeals to me because I’m near the border with Louisiana and can venture between my two favorite states easily. North of the deer camp is a wilderness area that is rich in history. The King’s Highway, the El Camno Real, runs through it. And if you could see the footprints of the ages there would be conquistadors, pioneers, friars and soldiers – all marching into this territory that witnessed so much in our country’s past. There is one small waterway that meanders through the land called Paulo Gaucho Creek. Obviously, this is a Spanish word, but my Dad and so many other country people of the area roughed the pronunciation down to something like “Polly Gotch”. I was grown before I realized how badly we were misspeaking the words. I’d never really seen them written.

Anyway, we camped out at Polly Gotch. Not much fancier equipment, I think this time I actually lay on the ground. Nothing really bothers me but snakes, I have little fear of wild animals. During my youth, I had a pet wolf, a coyote, a wild boar, multiple deer, a possum and an armadillo. Ellie Mae Clampett had nothing on me. But that night, I learned to experience a bit of fear. The allure of Polly Gotch was the crystal clear water, the moss covered banks, the dense canopy of trees and the plentiful perch and catfish that populated its waters. We fished and waded and cooked over a campfire. All of this was prior to Jess’s birth and my Dad’s early demise – good times. I was the only child, the center of attention and I ran wild like Huck Finn. But when night fell…things started happening.

I can still remember it like it was yesterday. One minute we were sitting around the fire, laughing and talking and the next – the most horrendous, blood-curdling scream you could ever image rent the air. I must have jumped four feet straight up. I grabbed my heart, looked at my dad – who was rather wild-eyed himself. He was a New Orleans native, not reared in the woods like my Mom. So, we both turned to her. Was this a banshee? A Jurassic creature of unknown species? An escaped mental patient? It had sounded like a woman. A woman in deep distress carrying razor sharp knives. She looked at us calmly and said one word – “panther”.

Now, the authorities will tell you that there is no such thing as a black panther in North America. They say East Texas has samller bobcats, maybe a jacarundi or two – but my family and many others steadfastly insist that we have bigger cats and some of them are as black as coal. We saw one cross the highway once near San Augustine, TX and my mom’s folks have had more than one sighting. But this wasn’t a sighting, this was a CLOSE ENCOUNTER. We sat there frozen for a few seconds and the dang thing screamed again and I couldn’t be still. I jumped up and headed for the car and my dad started gathering up pots and pans and sleeping bags – and my mother – the nut, she went to the cooler and took out a slab of uncooked steak about the size of a big man’s hand and slung it out toward the darkness.

“What the hell did you do that for?” My dad asked.

“Giving him something to chew on besides us.” She shrugged.

“You just sent him an engraved invitation to dinner.” My dad had a cautious streak that my mother did not have. Needless to say, we piled into the car and waited for dawn to break, sleeping sporadically. I rolled my window down a bit – and listened. That big cat came closer to camp. He stayed in the shadows, but we could clearly hear it breathing. I wasn’t really afraid, I was fascinated. What I wouldn’t have given for a pair of night-vision goggles to really see what was so close – and so scary.

Right now, we’re redoing I’ll See You In My Dreams  for the sweeter version – and I thought of this scene. It’s from the erotic version and has a little sex and a little bit of the story above – which actually inspired me to write this. I wanted to share it

Here’s the link. Comment and I’ll pick two for this book – or your choice if you’ve read it.

http://www.amazon.com/Ill-See-Dreams-Hell-Yeah-ebook/dp/B00AFB685K/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1392477329&sr=8-1&keywords=i%27ll+see+you+in+my+dreams+sable+hunter

Kneeling down he unfastened Rex’s halter. “Let’s go to the kitchen and I’ll get you a snack. This has been a rough day.” Carefully, he felt on the coffee table for the tray. He liked to leave the house fairly straight for Rachel. Picking it up, he moved through his familiar home with slow, even steps. He could hear Rex’s toenails clicking on the tile floor behind him.

With practiced moves, he counted the steps into his kitchen. Funny – he couldn’t be sure of what it really looked like. He had it redecorated along with everything else when Margaret had walked out of his life. Oh, he knew there was Mexican tile on the floor and the cabinets were made of oak – but the vision of the room he had in his mind might not be close to the reality. What difference did it make?

Lowering the tray to the counter, he felt around and cleared an area for it, scooting over what felt like a loaf of bread and a roll of paper towels. Next, he opened a drawer and located the can opener and moved over to the pantry and found what he hoped was a can of dog food. As long as Rachel put the items in their designated places, he was okay. “I hope this is your food and not a can of baked beans,” he teased the hungry animal. Finding Rex’s bowl with his foot, he picked it up and dumped the contents of the can in it. “Stinks about right.” Setting it down, he patted the big Lab. “You eat; I’m going to take a shower. You can join me in the bedroom when you’re through.”

Living in a world of perpetual night, he constantly relied on his other senses to make up the difference. Right now, he could feel the downward draft of the air-conditioner; he could smell fresh grapefruit on the counter. Their odor vied with the aroma of Rex’s pungent meal. Standing still, he listened for sounds beyond the kitchen. A faint low of a cow and a bark of a coyote was all he could discern. Zane knew he was fortunate in many things, but sometimes he was so lonely, it was almost unbearable. What he wouldn’t give for someone to just be with him – to share, to back him up. Fuck! He needed someone to hold tight.

With sure movements, he left the kitchen and let his hand slide down the hall wall. How much different it would be if a woman waited for him in his bed. He could imagine her lying there, anxious. “I’m coming, honey. Warm up my side of the bed and I’ll warm you up as soon as I get there,” he spoke to no one. What he wanted and what he felt he should have were two different things. The truth was he was hesitant to ask a woman to share his life. But the image of Miss Presley was haunting his thoughts. Chuckling, he remembered she has said her hair was the color of dirt. Now what other woman would give an answer like that? She was sweet and unassuming and he bet she was as pretty as a picture.

Long silky hair, green eyes – his mind couldn’t help but strive for an image to go with that husky little voice with the tiny hint of a lisp. Most seeing people didn’t realize that blind people who had their sight at one time can still see – in a way. They hear a sound first, like the rush of the water as he turned on the shower faucet. The haunting vision will come from the side and then quickly rush into the mind’s eye. Scientific studies have suggested that the brain rewires itself to create visions from sound rather than sight. So, he couldn’t help but begin imagining how Presley Love looked. As he featured a curvy body, long legs, a face looking up at him with lust glazed eyes, Zane got hard.

Stripping off his clothes, he ran a hand down his abdomen and over his cock to cup his balls. “Miss Presley, I bet you’re fine.” Just the thought of tangling his hand in those long strands of hair, wrapping it around his fist and anchoring her still for a kiss had his flaccid cock stiffening with lust. How long had it been? Too long.

With practiced strokes he massaged his cock, using a little soap as a lubricant, he worked it till it was hard and throbbing. “God, I’m so fuckin’ hard,” he moaned as he rubbed the tender skin up and over the head of his prick in a smooth circular motion. His cock knew what was coming – it was heat, erotic expectation at its best. Zane enjoyed his body, and he had no qualms about giving himself pleasure.

Wrapping his hand around his cock, he slowly jerked it – long smooth strokes, sometimes over the head and sometimes stopping at the base. What would Presley’s breasts look like? He had no way of knowing, unless he asked. She could be flat-chested for all he knew – but probably not. With a sexy name like Presley coupled with a bedroom voice like she had, Zane suspected she had a rack to match. As he conjured up images of round, firm, soft tits he felt the pleasure begin rising from the base of his dick. God, how he’d like to suck on her tits, there was nothing like taking a woman’s nipple in his mouth and nursing. As he fantasized, he could feel his shaft thicken and the head swell. Damn, it felt good. He could have cum right then – but he wanted the feeling to last – so he backed off, tracing the veins and wondering what color Presley’s nipples were. How would they be shaped?

Women’s breasts fascinated him. Now that he couldn’t see – touch would be paramount. What he would like to do was pull the woman back against him and run his hands up from her waist to cup her tits. He would weigh them in his palms – run his hands over and around them – lifting them, cupping them, learning their shape. Just the thought of fondling Presley’s tits, taking her nipples in his fingers and pulling them, tweaking them – milking them – “GOD!” had him back to full strokes. With his other hand he rubbed on his balls, letting his hips pump, feeling his ass tighten. Lord, he needed a woman. He loved to sink his cock into warm, wet pussy – feeling her tight little sheathe stretch to accommodate him.

Zane needed that sensation – that gliding of his glans into a hot, grasping haven. Making a small ring with his thumb and forefinger, he pushed it over the head of his cock, massaging the tip end. “Hmmmm,” he gasped, that felt good. He wondered if she liked sex, some women didn’t. But when a man found a woman that loved to be loved – God, he had found a treasure.

Presley would lay down for him – offer herself – open her legs and let him see the place that would take him to paradise. His daydream made him smile – yeah, he still thought of himself as ‘seeing’. He’d rub the head of his cock up and down her slit, make her moan and beg to be taken. Using both hands, he doubled his pleasure, let the water sluice over his back and shoulders. Still, he toyed with the head, giving himself the illusion of fucking in and out of a snug little pussy and upped the ante by pumping himself, furiously, letting his hips roll with the rhythm. His climax hit him hard – the pleasure and the cum jetting out in long, creamy sprays. Zane groaned, still fisting his cock as it pumped endlessly.

“Presley,” he whispered.

Nights spent in total blackness were endless. Even though he kept his curtains open, he never saw a shaft of light. If he slept in, he would feel the change in the temperature as the sun rose, but most of the time he had to rely on an alarm clock. This morning, however, he just couldn’t stay in the bed. He had a clock that announced the time at the touch of a button – “five-twelve a.m.” Ignoring his morning wood, he promised his Johnson a repeat of last night’s performance later, jerked on a pair of jeans and a shirt and went out to greet the day.

Rex didn’t need any encouragement, he loved these pre-dawn jaunts. Cheyenne knew what was up too, as Zane entered the barn, he was met with several greetings, but his appaloosa had a distinctive, rumbly neigh. It was a welcoming sound. “You ready to go?” With practiced moves, he put on a saddle and bridle, grabbed his whip and led the animal out into the misty morning.

Not many blind men rode horses by themselves, but not many blind men had a horse like Cheyenne. Cheyenne was a seeing-eye horse. Oh, Zane had bought him and rode him before the accident. And he had given a lot of things up, but not his horse. Kane had found a place in South Carolina that trained horses for the blind. True enough, they usually worked with miniature horses or Shetlands, but Kane and Zane had met with them and shown them how special Cheyenne was and just like they had anticipated, the appaloosa had taken to the life-style like a duck to water.

Horses can see phenomenally well in almost total darkness and Cheyenne’s memory was incredible. He already loved Zane and being trained to be on the look-out for danger and avoid obstacles was not a giant leap. At the ranch, Zane had no qualms about taking off with Cheyenne and Rex – he knew he was safe in their hands. Four eyes out of six weren’t bad odds.  “Let’s head down toward the creek,” Zane led Cheyenne past the gates, shut them behind him and climbed on. With a gentle pull to the reins they were off. He tipped his hat back, and took a deep breath, enjoying being in the saddle again.

“Woof!” Rex raced ahead, knowing that he was free to be adventurous while the service horse was on the job. A cool north breeze hit Zane in the face and he could smell wood smoke from a nearby chimney. His body moved naturally with the horse, the dip and sways as much a part of him as the rhythm of lovemaking. From the left he could hear the lowing and shuffling of the royalty that awaited the registered auction that would commence at the end of the week. “Narrow miss,” he grinned, relieved that none of his animals were infectious with the dreaded disease.

Leaving the pavilion area, he could tell the ground dipped down. He was headed downhill through a thick growth of white clover. The smell was sweet, but the memory it invoked was bitter. The last time he had made love to Margaret was in this field of clover. A choking sensation of wasted dreams clogged his throat. Five years had passed, five years – by this time he had planned on having children. A harsh laugh erupted from his throat and the horse raised his head as if asking for directions. “Easy, boy, everything’s okay.” Everything was okay. He had a good life. It wasn’t a perfect life, but it was all he had.

The lapping and trickling of water told him they were nearing Piney Creek. Cheyenne’s hooves clopped over the small rocks that littered the ground on the bank incline. He was just about to get down and stretch his legs and let the horse drink when he heard Rex growl. It wasn’t a playful growl. Cheyenne stopped dead still. Even when Zane nudged his knee to move him forward, the Appaloosa stalled. And then he knew why – an eerie, unearthly scream shattered the night. Every hair on Zane’s neck stood up. For a split second, he thought he had run into a banshee – but then he heard the snarling, guttural growl of a large pissed-off feline.

Cougar.

Hell! He heard Rex lunge. He heard a splash. The horse reared, but he managed to hang on. “Rex! Rex!” Cheyenne backed up. The big horse was shivering, frantically trying to do what he was trained to do when every reflex he had was telling him to flee. “Rex!” Without hesitation he unwound the whip from where it was attached to the saddle. “Heel, Rex! Come!”

Zane pulled back on the reins, but Cheyenne was adamant. He didn’t turn. The service animal could see what the man could not. With powerful moves of his hind legs, the animal lunged backwards. “Rex!” Zane could hear the bodies of the canine colliding with the cougar.

Sounds bombarded his mind – the hard panting of the horse, the frenzied barking and growling of his dog and the hissing, spitting angry snarls of the cougar. “Rex – here!” Cheyenne whirled and almost unseated Zane. Zane pulled him back. “Rex!” A wounded yelp from the dog made cold chills run up and down his spine. Damn! He had done this. He had put them all in danger. How utterly stupid – what was he doing? Two animals who would die for him were the only thing between him and a killer cat. And one of his animals might die. “Rex!” he cried one more time. And then he heard him – an answering bark.

“Heel!” He demanded. Finally, he heard the breathing of the dog near the dancing hooves of the horse. Focusing with everything in him, he listened for any evidence of where the big predator was crouching. It seemed as if an eternity past – and then a sound – a snarl. He drew back his arm, flashed the whip in the air and let it go. “Raarrrr!” The sharp, slash of the leather had connected with cat hide. Immediately he repeated his motion, moving the black snake a few feet to the right and he heard the same zing and the same snarl, and then – silence.

Climbing down from off the horse, he searched for his dog. After a few seconds, Zane found Rex laying a few feet away. “Oh God boy, are you hurt?” Feeling over the lab’s body, he felt the slick wetness of blood. There were deep scratches and several bite marks. “Damn” Picking the heavy dog up, he managed to get him across the saddle and climb up with him. “Let’s go, Cheyenne.”

Cheyenne set off at a lope and Zane prayed that Rex would be all right. Every step of the way, he half expected shredding claws and piercing teeth to tear into his flesh. But it didn’t. In a few minutes, he was back at the gate. Cheyenne slowed to a walk and Zane reined him in. “Frank! Frank! Anybody! My dog is hurt!” Rex was more than his eyes, Rex was his friend.

“Boss!” Running footsteps announced that several of his employees had heard him. “What happened?”

“Cougar. Call the vet.”

Zane sighed. He’d be going to the office without his companion today. He’d be lost.

Thanks for reading.

Sable on Vacation

Posted on December 16, 2013 by sablehunter on Wild and Wicked Cowboys

Sable on Vacation

If something can be effed up, I’m the one for the job. I planned to go on vacation in the mountains. My idea was to find solitude, take in some scenery and eat at some really nice restaurants. So here I go with my two dogs, some comfortable clothes and my Lexus. I had checked the forecast, it would be cold, but not freezing. There was some high quality shopping within an hour’s driving distance and several five star restaurants where I could indulge my foodie urges. Now, the plan was to get some writing done, shop in Eureka Springs for a few Christmas gifts, a piece of art and eat at a restaurant I could review for the magazine.

Now, I considered things – I really did. I thought about taking a four wheel drive, but I didn’t know if I could master the difference in the shifting. I also considered taking food with me, since the cabin I rented had a full equipped kitchen. But nah – - I thought I knew what I was doing. So I took off, driving from East Texas to northern Arkansas, almost on the Missouri line. I left at seven-thirty in the morning and arrived at my destination around seven-thirty in the evening – a much longer drive than I anticipated, because the closer I came to Ponca, Arkansas, the worse the driving conditions became.

There was ice and snow – where there wasn’t supposed to be ice and snow! Now, when I got close, I realized something else, there were no stores, no restaurants – nothing. Only trees, sharp curves, high mountains and rushing streams. By the time I arrived, the weather was too bad to turn around and hunt provisions. I was stuck in my glorious cabin with two dogs and dog food. Thank God, I brought my Keurig coffee pot. Now, the cabin is nice. It’s in a group of cabins and one of them is called the First cabin because several presidents have stayed there – Bill Clinton, for one. The one I’m in wasn’t that nice, but there is a hot tub, a loft, a huge fireplace, a magnificent view, big beds, big shower – - lots more room than I need – but I like to look at it all.

Now, I was determined to make the best of it. I communicated with my assistant and explained the situation and told her if I never came back – if I expired on the mountain, would she please see that the terms of my will were carried out. But, I’m too young to die. I called down to the number I used to rent the cabin, and found there was a guy there who had a buddy, who had a truck and they took mercy on me and brought me frozen lasagna, roast beef, artisan bread and breakfast sandwiches. Good lord! A Culinary Nightmare!

But beggars can’t be choosers, so I made them both some hot chocolate I found in the cabinet and lusted after them for a few minutes. I think if either of them would have been alone, I might have been propositioned and to tell you the truth, ménage visions were going through my head – - but it was too dang cold to get naked.

Oh, well. I’m still here. I still have no food to speak of. And I’m still iced in. But this morning, I was brave. Let me tell you what I did… There are some pictures below to show you where I am. I’ve been sitting on the porch, rocking in the rocking chair, keeping the fire going – nice calm stuff. But as I was looking out the window, I saw a hammock! I’ve always wanted to try out a hammock. It was strung between two trees up on the side of the mountain next to the cabin. An attractive nuisance. I put on my layers of clothing, such as they are and trudged off. Now, when I got to it – - I tested it. I pushed on it, swung it back and forth and deemed it safe. So, I crawled up in it and laid down. I looked up at the sky and marveled at my beautiful world. The sun coming up over the mountains looked like a shot out of the movies. It was wild! I stretched and wiggled and giggled. And then BAM! Something happened. The world as I knew it ended! The ground came up and knocked the mess out of me and then I rolled – over and over – downhill, through the snow! My breath was gone, my head hurt. One of the strings that held up my damn hammock had broken and I had careened down the hill like one of those cartoon talking animals, yelling and fussing and giggling all the way down. The only thing that didn’t happen was me gathering up snow as I went and becoming a giant snowball. When I reached the bottom, I was powdered up and frosted, but basically unhurt. My two dogs stood watching me, worrying for their own survival because the human who was supposed to care for them had so little common sense.

Well, I’m sitting back in the cabin now, hoping the ground will warm up enough for me to make my slippery way down the mountain and find some decent food, some decent shopping and some toilet paper. The life of a writer is not always glamorous.

Sable

**Any contests mentioned in this article are done on Wild and Wicked Cowboy's Post.

SUPERSTITIOUS SABLE

Posted on August 27, 2013 by sablehunter on Wild and Wicked Cowboy's

Superstitious Sable

This is one topic I could talk about all night. My family has always been superstitious. We believe in everything! My grandfather carried a little dried potato in his pocket for luck. My grandmother carried a dried buckeye. I wear a pink quartz. Some people have a lucky dime or a four leaf clover or a rabbit’s foot, which was lucky for everyone but the rabbit. But many of our beliefs and superstitions arose from the fact that we were a mix of Cajun and Creole. Both cultures have some deep-seated beliefs and I, as an amalgam, got it all.
Nana wouldn’t ever let me sleep in the moonlight. She said I would go as nutty as a fruitcake. So, if we slept outside, it was either in a tent or under a cloudy sky. And I’ve seen her come in my bedroom and just fume and fuss pulling the curtains. Of course, when I grew up and she didn’t agree with one of my decisions, she’d say, “I told you to stay outta that moonlight.” Of course, she might be right. I didn’t do much sleeping in the moonlight, but I did a lot of courtin and neckin under the stars.
Never eat both ends of a loaf of bread before you eat the middle or you’ll have trouble ‘making ends meet’. On New Year’s Day make sure you eat plenty of cabbage and black eyed peas for luck. AND this seems obvious, but if an alligator crawls under your house, this is a sign of impending death. Ha! Yea, if you stumble around outside at night, he’s gonna eat you! Of course, I have been known just to whack them on the nose hard with a stick and they back off, but I wouldn’t recommend that.
I had a Cajun boyfriend who rode the rodeo. He had some definite superstitions. He never, ever put his cowboy hat on the bed, nor would he be caught dead in a yellow shirt at the arena. If he had change in his pockets during a ride, he didn’t believe he would win. Whatever he had in his pockets was all he would take home.
While we’re at it, let me give you a little love spell – just for fun. Now this is the way we do it. Soak some rose petals in water for a couple of days and then mix in honey. You’ll want to make about a quart, cause you’re serious about this, so use a couple of handfuls of rose petals, a quart of water and a half cup of honey. Take 9 sugar cubes and scratch your initials on one side and his on the other and add these to the water mixture. Go to the home of your ‘victim’ HA! And pour the water all around his house. While you’re sneaking around, repeat things like Sable Loves Stephen, Sable Loves Stephen or Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Waters. You also must believe in what you’re saying. And when you get home, burn a pink candle with both of your names scratched in the sides. Cook a cake, too. Cause he’s coming to dinner, soon.
Cajun and Creole superstitions are just as strong today as they were hundreds of years ago. When we’re small, we’re taught about the lou-lou, the boogerman and the loup-garou, the werewolf. We’re taught these bad things will get us if we don’t behave. And if we live to grow up – we have to worry whether we’re gonna get married or not. Nana used to tell me if I ever raised my feet for her to sweep under, I’d never get married. Lord, she was right!
But our strangest superstition is the traiteur. A traiteur is a Cajun healer who heals with prayer and herbs. I have known traiteurs. They can remove warts or stop colic in a baby or take away the pain of a burn. If a woman wants to know what sex her baby is, she can go to a traiteur. A string with a jewel, like a pendant or a pendulum, is dangled above the woman’s stomach. If the charm swings back and forth, the baby is a boy. If the charm swings in a circle, it’s a girl. I have seen this work.
A traiteur can also ease the pain of a baby teething. Women take their little ones to a traiteur for a special necklace made with string. The necklace has knots tied in it which the traiteur has prayed over. You have to take the baby, let the traiteur tie the string around the baby’s neck and then leave without saying a single word. If a sound is made by the mother or the traiteur, the gris-gris will not work.
We even have superstitions about cucumbers. When you cut one, you must cut the stem end first, and then rub it against the spot it was just cut from. This is said to take the bitterness or the fever from a cucumber. I never had cucumber fever, maybe that’s why. Ha!
If your palm itches, you’re coming into money. If the right palm itches, you’re about to be reunited with an old friend. If your nose itches, some boy wants to kiss you. And if you have a ringing in your ears, somebody is talking about you.
Our men hunt a lot and hunters also have superstitions they need to know. One of the most important ones is to know about the fifolet. This is also known as swamp gas. If a hunter is out all alone and thinks they feel something following them, and they look around and find something glowing behind them. RUN!! Ha, this is the sign of an evil spirit. There’s a famous light south of me that I have seen, it’s called the Saratoga light and I’m going soon and try to film it for our Halloween event.
But right now, I’d like to introduce you to a traiteur – Cady Renaud in HER MAGIC TOUCH is a healer. She heals Joseph McCoy and becomes his guardian angel, the love of his life. This is from my new sweeter version:

Here’s the link:

Her Magic Touch – Sweeter Version (Hell Yeah! Sweeter Version Book 3)

Let’s see.
Joseph, apparently, wasn’t in a giving up mood. As Cady gathered her oils and herbs and more towels, he resumed his campaign. “Okay, so we won’t involve Libby and Jessie for now. Will you just do something for me, just to see how it works out?”
What was he up to now? And why did he seem to care so much? Was this some kind of a game he was playing? Perhaps he thought if he worried about her problems enough, he wouldn’t be spending so much time worrying about his own. So be it. He could do what he wanted, but that didn’t mean she had to play along. So, she ignored him for the moment. Cady warmed the oil in her hands. “I’m going to give all of your muscles a work out. Your back muscles, arm muscles…everything has been under a strain trying to deal with the extra burden they’ve been called upon to bear. I will warn you that it is normal for you to begin to experience pain. And don’t be dismayed, that’s a really good sign. It means your nerve endings are beginning to awaken. There are things we can do for the pain when it begins, so let’s hope it does.” Steeling herself against the pleasure, she began to massage his back and shoulders. ‘Oh, God,’ she groaned inwardly as she let herself enjoy his body beneath her fingertips. Touching him was a heady delight, indeed. Fighting the urge to add her lips to the mix, she decided talking about her own problems was far less dangerous. “What would you have me do? To help my appearance, I mean…” she stuttered at the prospect.
“Just a minute,” Joseph moaned. “This feels so goddamn good! You are incredible, Baby.” The endearment he had used so often just slipped out. Hell, he didn’t care. She had magic hands. He had no idea his muscles were so tight and sore. Damn! If he could get an erection, he wouldn’t last five minutes without climaxing from just a simple caress from this extraordinary woman. “God Almighty!” He just lay there and reveled in her touch. After a few moments, he was able to talk—barely. “There are several things we could do. But, let’s start with something simple. Would you let your hair down for me? Would you let me see it unbound?”
His request surprised her. “You’ll only be disappointed. My hair is long and healthy, but totally ordinary.”
Working just below his waist, very near the injury, she began to focus on a healing touch. It pleased Cady when her touch brought groans of delight to his lips.
“Yeah, that’s it. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this.”
She worked her way back up his back.
“So, will you do it?”
She was so absorbed in her pleasurable task that his question took her by surprise. Shoot. Why not? “Sure, if that’s what you want. When we get through and I get the oil off my hands, I’ll take it down for you. I don’t know why you’d want to see me like that. It’s not going to help my looks.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” God, he felt good. For the first time since the accident, he was truly relaxed. He felt her move lower on his back. She finally reached a point where he could not feel as much, then nothing. This deadness drove an arrow into his soul.
Cady knew when the change came in his mood. She could feel it. He could no longer feel her hands and it bothered him. Trying to alleviate some of his anxiety, she explained. “It is just as important for me to work these muscles—more important even. I think you’ll find that you begin to have a minute amount of sensation after a few sessions. And if you do, we’ll know there’s hope. Okay?” He nodded and allowed her to work on his body. When she asked for him to roll over, she moved the lift closer and aided him in the task.
‘Great,’ she thought. Now, he would be able to see her drooling over him. Cady began at his neck and tried not to look at his face. Moving on to his deltoids, she tried to view him as an anatomical doll, not a flesh and blood man she would love to eat with a spoon. Rubbing his chest was an unrivaled erotic treat and when his nipples hardened beneath her fingertips, she gasped with awe. Never had the giving of a massage affected her like this. God, the authorities ought to strip her of her license. Her breasts began to swell, nipples hardening with excitement. She could almost cry from the need to be touched. Cady could feel her womanhood throb and a trickle of moisture run down her thigh. Could he smell it? God, she hoped not. She’d just as soon not expire from humiliation today.
But, he knew. He was too experienced of a man not to recognize when a woman was sexually stimulated. “I’m not the only one turned on, I see.” Embarrassed, she followed his gaze and saw that her nipples were so big they showed clearly through the rough material of her jumper. Obviously, she was totally aroused. Humiliated, she jerked away from him, needing to put distance between them, for her sake. This had never happened to her, before. But, she had never had the privilege of touching Joseph McCoy before, either. “I can’t help it.” She didn’t even bother denying it. “I’ll get used to touching you,” she assured him. “It’s a simple involuntary response.” She would have covered her breasts with her hands, but they were covered with oil, so she just stood there in front of him, head hung and nipples poking out like she was standing in freezing water. “Let’s try to finish, shall we?” She bit the inside of her cheek hard, then she bit her tongue and soon there were tears of frustration and pain sliding down her cheeks.
“Hey, hey, what are you crying for?” Joseph was totally amazed and dismayed. Had he made her cry? Ashamed, he realized that all he had done since she arrived was give her a hard time and heap humiliation upon her head. Of course, he had made her cry. She should turn her back on him and walk out. No one deserved to be treated the way he had treated her.
“I bit my tongue,” she whispered.
Joseph had an overwhelming urge to kiss her tears away. In fact, it was all he could do to keep from taking his arms and drawing her down and cuddling her close. “I’m sorry, Cady.” How many times had he apologized already? Her hands were never still. They soothed his abdomen, then skipped his man-parts and traveled down to the sensationless area of his thighs and legs.
“Don’t be,” she spoke softly. “Let’s make a deal.” If she didn’t feel this overwhelming responsibility for him, she might try to preserve her sanity and back out of the job before she lost her heart and soul. But the wheels of destiny had begun their long, slow grind, and she knew she had to either roll with them or get thrown under the cart and crushed. She did feel responsible for Joseph. Never before had she doubted her aunt and grandmother’s predictions, but this time they totally misread the future. The strange dreams were just that, dreams. Her dream, not his.
“What kind of deal?” He looked at her curiously.
“Let’s try to be friends. I’ll do my very best to help you, and in exchange, you can make suggestions and see if you can change me from an ugly duckling into a swan. I don’t think you’ll be successful, but I’m willing to give it a try.” Why was she doing this to herself? It would only end in heartache, but for some unexplainable reason, she was compelled to see it through.
“Sounds good to me.” He looked entirely too self-satisfied for Cady’s peace of mind. “I can always use a friend. And as far as your make-over, this is going to be fun, I promise.”
Cady wished she felt as confident. After the massage, she lit a couple of candles and helped him turn over once more. “I’m about to lay hands on you now, and apply some healing herbs. This is part of my traiture training. You should feel heat coming from my hands. And if we’re successful, in a few days there should be pain.” Arranging him, Cady let her mind slip into a place where she could access the healing powers of the universe. Adding pressure to her touch, she envisioned a warm blue light enveloped them both. She prayed for sensation to flow back into his body, for his nerves to heal and knit, for his spinal cord to begin to do what it should, and for God to give this man back the future he deserved. She concentrated. She envisioned. She worked with absolute faith and focused intent. Cady demanded results and would not accept anything less. That’s how the universe works. We can make and shape our reality, if we have faith enough to create it.
As she worked on Joseph, it hit her. A great revelation. That was what was missing from her life. She had never approached her own shortcomings with any degree of faith that she could change them. Stunned, Cady realized she had never used her own magick on herself. Huh!?! It was time for a change. Excited, she couldn’t wait to get time to herself to think this thing through. But, Joseph came first—always. “Okay, I’ll let you rest now. How do you feel?”
Joseph seemed to be almost asleep. He opened his eyes and narrowed them as if analyzing his body’s sensations. “I feel really good, like a big pile of goo.”
“Great! How about below the waist?” She held her breath, hoping he would have a glimmer of feeling. She had poured her heart and soul into the treatment.
Joseph pushed up on his arms, the muscles of his back rippling in the process. Cady had to refrain from licking her lips. God, this ordeal was going to kill her. “That’s strange,” Joseph began with a disbelieving tone in his voice. “I feel heat. I don’t think it’s my imagination. I haven’t felt anything there in so long; it’s hard to be sure.”
Cady was relieved. “Good. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to feel. I’d say our first foray into bringing back the super stud of Texas is right on track.” Her voice was happy and she couldn’t hide it. “Don’t you want to get up now? Lying on that table isn’t good for you.” He let her help him. “You’re really getting the hang of the Hoyer lift. Soon, you’ll be pouncing out off this thing.”
“God, I hope so. You make it sound plausible. I have to admit you’ve got my hopes up.” Once he was in the chair, he turned and looked at Cady intently. “You’re flushed from the exertion and your eyes are shining bright. Go take your hair down for me, Cady.”
Joseph’s words curled around Cady’s heart like a wisp of smoke on a cool autumn evening, welcome and mysterious. “All right. You’ll be disappointed, though.” She shook her head. That was not the attitude she should have. She needed to learn how to be positive. After all, disbelief was always a killer of dreams. Okay, let’s see what she could do. Going to the bathroom, she took off her glasses and reached in the back for her braid. Slowly, she freed her hair from its binding, letting the long thick curls bounce free and untethered. She had a lot of hair. Too much hair. It hung in abundant, lush waves to the top of her butt. Before going to face the music, Cady tried a little of her own medicine. She placed a hand on each of her cheeks and lifted her plea to the universe. “Make me beautiful, just for a few minutes, in his sight, make me beautiful.” Opening her own eyes, she gazed in the mirror. Well, at least she wouldn’t make small children go running to their mothers screaming, but she was nothing to write home about. Oh, well. Some spells took more time than others.
“Cady…” he called. “I’m getting grey out here.”
Giggling, she came out of the bathroom. Joseph could be likeable when he wanted to be. He was much closer than she anticipated and she almost fell in his lap. Her hair swung over her shoulder and she laughed at her clumsiness. “See, I told you.”
Joseph held his breath. Wow. Was this for real? Had he ever really looked at her before? “Cady, Baby, aren’t you sweet.” And she was. She had absolutely beautiful hair and without her glasses, her face could never be called plain. “Come here.” He held out his hand to her, and she walked to him slowly, placing her hand in his. Joseph was stunned by the electric attraction he felt for her. God, if only he was still a man, he would give her an experience she would never forget. Tugging on her arm, he began to pull her closer. He had an overwhelming urge to kiss her. Absolutely overwhelming

Thank you for reading
Sable

Wild and Wicked - Rewriting History

Rewriting History

Posted on July 27, 2013 by sablehunter

WHAT IS TRUE?
I have been researching for a historical novel set in East Texas back in the 1920’s. A branch of our family lived here at that time, and I had heard the story of how a great-great -great uncle was shot by an outlaw after he beat the man in a poker game. My folks have always loved to gamble and I had regretted his young death, but enjoyed the tale about what he had in his hand and how they had been drunk and the duel they had fought. I can still remember my Nana showing me the tree where they had engaged in the heated battle. But after I read some diaries and old letters which I found in a shoe box tied with a brown ribbon – I discovered that none of it was true. Great Uncle Jim had been killed by a shirt-tail deputy. (It is important to note here that the words shirt-tail were always used by the old-timers in my area to indicate someone who claimed a status but had very little right to it). Apparently this deputy was a sometimes helper of the local sheriff who was a bit too enamored of the status he had been given and thought the gun in his hand and the badge on his chest gave him indisputable power.
I was surprised to find out that he had been killed, not over a poker game, but over a woman. My great uncle was a looker. Pictures of him make me think of Jess. He had dark hair, blue eyes and a face very much like a young Elvis Presley. The more I found out about him, the sadder the tale became. He was a ladies man, undoubtedly, but he did not carry a gun. Uncle Jim met and started courting a young woman named Lucinda who had charmed many local boys with her long blonde hair and winsome smile. Apparently, she also played one guy against another – to my Uncle’s misfortune.
He had been to see Lucinda and had presented her with a big bouquet of black-eyed Susans. They had enjoyed lemonade and cookies while sitting and rocking on the front porch of her family’s home. Nothing risqué had taken place, but they were being watched. When Uncle Jim had finished his courting, he set out to ride the few miles back to his family home – but he never made it. That tree that Nana had pointed out to me was the site of his death, but not by a duel. He had been killed in cold blood by a jealous man. Uncle Jim had been unarmed.
I was stunned. Why the lie? I searched and searched trying to determine what the reason for the cover-up was. I was seventy-five years removed from the event. What could be the possible purpose of perpetuating a falsehood like that for so many years?
And then I found out.
Family feuds are long drawn out affairs in my part of the world. The Hatfields and McCoys have nothing on us. If we get cross-ways at someone, we can stay angry at them for generations. Everybody associated with you will take up the banner and perpetuate the conflict. And in the same manner, you are also distrustful of anyone they are related to or friends with. It was like a girlfriend of mine once said – “tell me who you’re mad at so I can be mad at them, too.”
But sometimes there are reasons to change history. Money. Love. Pride. Whatever. But our family story was changed because my grandfather decided to go in business with a man, decided to merge their families in marriage and present a united front in order to make a fortune in East Texas resources. The man was the nephew of the killer who murdered my great uncle. And my grandfather didn’t think they could convince people of their integrity if they knew this taint existed between the families.
I was disturbed. How can you rewrite history? But apparently it’s been done over and over. I had a very wise friend who told me that history is written by the victor with whatever spin he thinks will benefit him most.
Let me give you some other examples of things you might think are true – but aren’t.
Columbus didn’t discover America, Leif Ericson – among others – beat him here.
The Thanksgiving at Plymouth Colony was not the first celebration of thanksgiving in the New World. There was one in Saint Augustine Florida in 1565 and in Jamestown Virginia in 1607.
George Washington did not have wooden teeth. Rather they were made with gold, hippopotamus ivory and lead.
Napoleon was not as short as we thought. He was 5 foot 2 French feet which is our 5 foot 7 – eh – still sorta short.
The Great Chicago Fire was not caused by Mrs. O’Leary’s cow kicking over a lantern. A newspaper man made it up to make his story more interesting.
Albert Einstein did not fail mathematics. In fact, he said he mastered calculus by age 15.
But most disturbing of all to this Texan was the possibility that Davy Crocket did not die at the Alamo at all but was captured and taken prisoner by Santa Ana and later executed.
What the heck?
It’s intriguing to find out that just because something is told and retold doesn’t mean its true. And just because you learn something at your mama’s knee – she might be mistaken. My family history certainly has proved that point.
So – I learned their technique but rebelled at their methods. I write stories, too. But I don’t claim they are fact.

The Hole in My Leg

by Sable Hunter

I have a hole in my leg, a small round depression about the size of the head of a thumbtack. It’s not real deep and it sort of reminds me of a small pox vaccination spot, like I used to see on people. The infamous hole is located on my right shin about midway between my knee and my foot. There is no pain – now. When Jess was small, he would irritate me by putting his finger in the hole and pressing. It didn’t really hurt, but I always expected it to hurt. So when I would fuss, he would just do it more and more – it became a game with him.
When he got old enough, he asked Big Sister – “how did you get that hole in your leg?” And I made the mistake of telling him the truth and now, every time I recount some tale of oddity, he’ll laugh at me and say – “Likely story. Sounds like the time you got the hole in your leg.”
But the story was true. Just because he doesn’t believe me, doesn’t mean the story wasn’t the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
So, let me tell you the tale of how I got the hole in my leg.
At the time of the ‘incident’, he and my mother and I were staying at the lake house in East Texas. The property has about twenty acres and he and I and the other cousins, were privileged to keep horses there for our riding enjoyment. And we did. We rode up and down every dirt road and out in the pastures and down by the lake. It was an idyllic time. Most of the time I rode bareback, the saddle was always just a little too heavy for me to hoist up on Comanche’s back. He was tall, but I was lithe and could bounce up there with no problem – then.
We loved to ride around town, down to the little store for soft drinks, around by the post office to get the mail, over the rail-road track and down the church-row, as I called it. Most of the streets in town were dirt roads and there were more hound dogs than traffic. A lot of times, I rode alone. Comanche was used to traffic. Eighteen wheelers and log trucks didn’t faze him. He was a good horse, but one day something did startle him. And me.
Comanche and I spent our days together. At the time of this story, Jess was probably two and I was eleven or he was one and I was ten, I can’t remember. This particular day, Comanche and I had gone on a jaunt and we were on our way home. Right in front of the lake house was a steep gravel road and we were heading down it at a trot. When out of nowhere there came this horrible, grinding, rushing, screaming noise! I thought the sky was falling. The only thing I have ever heard since that even rivals the noise I experienced that day was when the shuttle fell over our house in 2003, which was the largest rescue effort – bigger than 9/11 because it covered a huge amount of square miles. When the shuttle fell, it scattered debris over our lakehouse land and the deer camp. Remains of the astronauts and much wreckage were found scattered on our property. But the moment I heard that shuttle tearing through the sky, I thought the world was ending.
Looking back, this was the sort of noise I heard. Now, you can imagine what Comanche did. Even before I realized what had really happened, he went crazy. He reared up, he bucked, he kicked, he screamed and he ran. I was in shock, trying to control the horse and trying to tell where whatever was attacking us was coming from. And what it was – was a plane – a jet – a fighter jet. Barksdale Airforce base was only about an hour and a half away by car – probably only a few minutes by fighter jet and I know – I know – he was higher than I imagine. But as far as Comanche and I were concerned, it seemed like he skimmed the top of our heads. We were buzzed by a damn big plane.
And that’s not all – as the plane was screaming away and Comanche was panicking, he veered off the path and must have stomped a swarm of bees because in the midst of all of this chaos – bees started stinging us. One stung me in the leg and damn! It hurt. By this time, I was sobbing. I was scared. My horse – at that very moment – pitched me high in the air and I landed on that gravel and didn’t have the good sense to turn loose of the reins and I got dragged down the hill on the gravel. Obviously, I also did not have brains enough to wear jeans, I had the habit of riding in a little skimpy sundress – the same type garments I wear now, so my legs were unprotected and they got scraped and tore up – and stung.
I will tell you that I thought I was dead. I screamed and balled and sobbed and hollered. The whole county knew I was in dire straits. And my leg hurt! When my mother came out to see what all of the hell was about, and I tried to tell her – she laughed. She, like Jess, to this day does not believe that Comanche and I were attacked by a fighter jet while minding our own business. And to cap it off, when she looked at my leg, the bee’s stinger was still lodged there. And after she got it out and doctored me, a hole formed in my leg where the stinger had been.
And that is how I got the hole in my leg.
Now, I can tell a story. I love to tell stories. My books are a huge part of my life. Tales of the McCoys and the Cajuns and the Hill Country Good o’le boys are my imagination – mostly – ha! But the tale of the Hole in My Leg is the gospel truth.
Swear.