Mrs McKenzie's Dude Ranch

"But there's nothing there. My cat..."

"Shut up Sarah. If you ever admit to anyone that your cat may have decimated that colony you'll get forty years hard labor in the pen. You know what these Greenie people in Congress are like these days, that killing people is okay but it's just not on to kill wildlife."

"Oh god Harry. That scares the crap out of me. Do I have to shoot you to keep my secret safe?"

"It's you decision Sarah. Meanwhile let's get these little darlings home. You know we could do special ear-tags on the first day of camp to allow kids to adopt a llamas for a week for just fifty bucks a throw."

"Oooh, I really like that. You're a genius. We can also charge a fee for naming rights to a bike for the week and they can rent it out to other kids?"

"Brilliant Sarah. What have you been smoking?"

Within a couple of days it was clear the llamas had settled in perfectly and an all-black juvenile No. 438 had obviously 'adopted' Harry and she followed him along the fence line.

"I suspect there was a mix up and although they are weaned her mother is not in this herd," Sarah said, her thoughts based on instinct.

She called the seller and he checked his records and found that was so but unfortunately the mother had been sold to someone in Tennessee. The guy said she had the choice of going to Tennessee and attempting to rip a kids' new pet from them or accepting the situation.

Sarah was grumpy about that but Harry calmed her and said it was not a big problem but he understood she didn't like seeing one of the herd being a little distressed. He suggested they put all the juveniles into a pasture together, out of sight of the main herd that was split over two pastures. She agreed and twenty-four hours Cleo as Harry now called her didn't walk over to him when she looked up at him and her pals also did.

"You'll make a good father," Sarah joked.

"What stuck out here? How will I ever get to meet a loving girl?"

"Oh so you want them to be loving now, rather than just throw pussy at you as the likes of Melanie Smith."

Harry said stiffly, "Sarah if you must know I've had some young ladies as girlfriends in my time."

"Good for you. You certainly gave my Fiona a huge reaming. I've not seen her looking so jaded after she surfaced that first morning after I let you loose at her."

"It was Fiona's decision to be with me, not yours. And she's athletic and wanted it hard and so I delivered for her."

"Coffee?"

"Thanks."

"Get that sour look off your face before I return with coffee."

That made him grin and he felt a little better. He pulled out his marketing plan and tossed it on the chair where he knew Sarah would sit with her coffee.

She said, "What's this?"

""My resignation."

He was sure he heard her mutter, "You fucking tease."

Sarah and Harry worked out how they should stock and farm the property on rotational grazing, keeping the llamas ahead of the yearlings and the older cattle following them. They would no longer bring in contractors to make hay because they worked out it was too expensive taking into account the boat hire= and having to reduce the stocking rate when it was time to close pastures to prepare for hay.

Andy Sarah's livestock agent agreed and told Sarah the two periods in the year when it was cheapest to buy hay in their region: at haymaking time when ranchers were selling off their surplus and in spring when ranchers were clearing last season's hay to make way for the new season's cut.

They shipped in sixty 9-month Angus female cattle and sixty 18-month females with the plan to next year on-sell the older cattle in-calf through artificial insemination when it was time to buy in the next sixty yearlings. Andy then found enough hay for Sarah to fill both barns.

At the same time a team of Army guys arrived, complete with their own barges, to build the high barbed wire fence around the so-called unexploded ammunition dump. The army used the project as a training exercise for new recruits. The corps had an oversupply of men and Harry negotiated with the lieutenant-in-charge to be allowed to use some of the troops to replace rotting fence posts in return for Sarah supplying the camp of 40 guys with apple pies each night.

Sarah loved making dozens of apple pies during those eight days, feeling she was really wanted as a cook, but it would be several months before she could stomach making another apple pie.

The Army lieutenant was worried that no-one had seen or even heard a woodpecker but Sarah assured him that was okay, that their were shy creatures and probably had gone into voluntary hibernation.

Shortly after the troops left, leaving the area apart from the new boundary fence looking like they'd never occupied the area for eight days, Sarah came running down the track to the jetty where Harry was sitting screaming, "My daughter's home. My daughter's home from England. The little bitch didn't say when she was coming."

"Right, all right. Calm down, Harry said, hugging Sarah. "This is great news."

"Oh I don't know what to do," Sarah wailed, not at all her normal self.

Harry grinned and said, "Does she want you to go to New York to fetch her?"

"No," Sarah said, pointing wild-eyed. "She's over there."

"Oh," Harry said kindly. "Don't you think you should get the keys, unlock the boat shed and then taking great care rumble down and launch and go over there, taking great care when docking, and bring your beloved over her. She's your favorite isn't she?"

"Yes, no. Oh god I always swore never to admit that."

"I didn't hear your reply Sarah. Off you go, slowly now, I don't want you falling over and skinning your knees. Oh don't bother putting on a bra or lipstick. Your daughter won't notice."

"Oh god, a bra and lipstick. And I should wear a skirt and stockings."

"Sarah has your daughter seen you in jeans before?"

"Yes of course."

"Then wear jeans. Off you go."

Thirty minutes later Sarah came down the roadway standing behind a console in a skirt and presumably stockings, what appeared to be a cocktail dress, full make-up and a sun hat. Obviously the top speed of 6 mph powered by the generator was driving her crazy.

Harry stood and saluted as she launched without moving from the console and once the three wheels had lifted she was off in a cloud of spray, full throttle taking her at 40 mph across the later. Harry hoped she'd slow down well before nudging the jetty over at the village. He was looking forward to meeting this youngest and by far the most attractive daughter, aged twenty-seven, his age.

Looking out at the return of 'Little Lady' Harry looked at the tanned face of the dark-haired woman in sunglasses with what passed for an aristocratic nose and it was love at first sight, if having a unbelievably huge desire to get into the young woman's pants could be called love. He just knew he'd love reaming her channel.

"Harry I'd like you to meet my youngest Sophia."

"Hi Sophia. Watch stepping down or if you prefer jump straight into my arms."

"No thanks," the new arrival said stiffly.

What?

Had the good old Harry Titter charm failed to fire? God the female llamas looked love-sick over him so why couldn't this bit of gorgeously constructed woman?

She began climbing backwards and wearing high-heels.

He ought to warn her.

No let the cold bitch fall and crack her head open on the hard pavement.

"Oh god. Help!" she screamed as she fell backwards.

Harry the Hero caught her and she flattened them both on to the concrete.

He was still seeing stars when she hauled him to his feet and she called to her mom to garage the boat and be careful. "Harry pulled me off the ladder and then he slipped."

The lying bitch! Harry thought of throttling her but then thought Sarah might disapprove.

Dizzily he picked up something from her bag that had burst opened and said, "What's this?"

"Give it to me asshole," she snarled as she grabbed the black lace strapless bra.

"Turn your back while I gather my underwear your pervert. Trust you to rip open this bag and not the other bag."

"Other bag?"

"Omigod I've been robbed," she said, beginning to weep.

Harry looked up at the boatshed and saw Sarah emerge with a bigger bag. "Don't worry, we can search the village looking for women wearing new sexy black and orange French g-strings and big-cup bras."

"Oh thanks. You've saved my life," Sophia spat. "If you hadn't been here I wouldn't have been parted from my bag."

Harry couldn't figure that one out. He thought perhaps living in England and writing pornographic novels had twisted her mind. Obviously she wasn't going to hug him and offer her body as a reward.

"Oh look, your mom has found your other bag."

"You asshole, putting me through all that stress. Why didn't you tell me that half an hour ago?"

"Well for one thing I wouldn't have known who you were. I've only known you for four agonizing minutes and, as well I didn't know your fucking bag was missing."

"So you have been fucking my mother?"

"What?"

"You heard."

"You are fucking insane."

"Come dear, you are over-wrought. Harry please understand when Sophia was at the airport south of London her editor called saying she wanted Sophia to rewrite the entire novel she'd just completing submitting, a request from the editorial review panel. The flight was delays for almost three hours, she then could only get on a flight as far as Nashville and continued to here on a feeder flight with three stops and then a 35-minute cab ride to the village and then I kept her waiting an hour. She's had no sleep since yesterday."

"What has she been smoking?"

"For smoking try emotional despair and complete exhaustion."

"Then this behavior is temporary and so she's not fucking insane?"

"Christ Harry, back off. Just one of you throwing a wobbly is well and truly enough for me."

"Fair enough. Here's the cure."

The punch caught Sophia on the end of her jaw. She groaned and sunk, lights out. Harry caught her and Sarah screamed.

Carrying the unconscious daughter Harry said, "It was the only way Sarah. She is so worked up she wouldn't have been able to go to sleep. She'll now probably sleep twelve hours straight though, perhaps longer.

"She might have concussion."

"It was a fairly light blow Sarah with no direct impact on the brain that I know about. I just switched off part of the nervous system."

"Have you any idea of what you've done?"

Harry said no, it was only theory but Sophia's breathing was regular and her color was good.

"Let me look at her," Sarah demanded. "If she's hurt you've earned half a pound of buckshot up your ass.

Sarah looked at her daughter.

"Omigod she'd sleeping like a baby. Isn't she beautiful.""

"Yeah but only when she's sleeping with her mouth closed."

"Oh come on Harry, I've bought her home for you. You need a good woman."

"Yeah but in this case hell would have to freeze over before..."

"Just give it a chance Harry. I really do think you have behaved rather aggressively toward my beloved Sophia."

Harry said nothing. He was almost struck down by guilt.

CHAPTER 3

Harry rose at 5:00 and set off on a John Deere 4WD 2-seater SUV Gator diesel, carrying two fence posts and gear. But his first task was to move the llamas, now settled back into one herd, across to the other side of the island three quarters of a mile away.

He simply opened the gate, called and the llamas filed out and followed, stopped and not crowding him when he stopped to open a gate, listening to him whistling tunelessly through their banana-shaped ears. Harry just loved dealing with them and told them and he was damn sure they knew what he was saying.

After setting them into grazing he was working away completed some of the work the Army guys had to leave when ordered to move out. He noticed two of the males taking particular interest in something and then the entire herd gathered behind the two dominant males to look at the approaching figure.

God it was Sophia, in running gear and approaching at quite a clip.

He waved and she waved and yelled something that sounded like what a beautiful morning.

Well, well. He was back to thinking of her tits and upper thighs as being of delectable interest to him.

"Omigod," she said, looking at the gypsy-like bunch of llamas of various sizes, shapes and colors. "Oh aren't the just such darlings."

"Yeah I like them."

"Go on," she called, patting a black one that really did show her camel family heritage. "Mom told me you adore them."

"Guys don't adore anything," he said grinning.

She climbed the fence and he didn't go to her assistance, wanting to give her the independence he was sure she possessed, having been living away from home and well away from America.

He stood as she approached and he realized her intent and took a couple of places backwards.

"I'm sweaty," he explained, to no avail.

"So am I, probably more so because I've been running," she said, throwing her arms round her neck and slipping down against his body, holding out her lips.

He obliged, not being stupid and a stickler about sweat.

"I was so, so terrible to you yesterday. I could hear what I was saying and alleging but appeared powerless to prevent it."

"You were in overload."

"That what mom said."

"I believe implicitly that's what the problem was."

"Oh gorgeous man thank you, allow me to kiss your properly."

"Jesus," Harry said. "That was great."

"Just remember I have plenty more left. Take me back home because mom wants to have a welcome home breakfast for me with you there because she says you're family."

"Okay let me stretched two of these wires to prevent the llamas getting into this next pasture. Why did you crap out on this novel?"

"Perhaps I was overly ambitious."

"Perhaps? Describe their main criticism."

"That's easy. The main message was it lacks passion. Mom reckons you'll know how to motivate me."

"What with sex?"

Sophia's face burned. "Um I haven't been around men much for months and so am not sensitive to the way they talk."

"Perhaps that has something to do with what's wrong with your writing?"

"That thought had occurred to me."

Harry grunted as he pulled the loose end of the wire as tightly as he could and secured it.

"Before you write passionately you have to believe in what you are writing?"

"Elementary Dear Watson."

"Ah yes, your degree is in English Lit brackets Writing."

"Well done."

"That sounds very English."

"Because of exposure I'm now part English rose."

"That dialogue was very explicit."

"Oooh."

"How many times did you use that word 'Oooh' in your manuscript and was our conversation just then short and sharp like that in your written dialogue when they were getting it on?"

"Getting it on?"

"Preparing to fuck although the woman might not yet have accepted that."

"But whenever two people..."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes of course, um from the women's perspective."

Harry shook his head. "I'm not far advanced beyond an ignorant country bum. But even I know a write has to write in two or multiple perspective according to the particular passage of script."

"Omigod."

"Here we go with the second wire. Mind your tits."

"Harry really."

"If the wire breaks under strain and winds back on you it could make a mess of your face and your tits."

"Oh you went for brevity? Thanks, I stand well behind you."

Harry knew he'd never had a wire break dangerously under strain but there was a first time for most things.

He tied off the wire and they boarded the bike and were off.

"Well you are a very different woman today Sophia. I feel safe in your company."

She giggled, gripping on tight, but soon released her hold, apparently surprised that Harry drove so sedately in a vehicle capable to roaring over pastures up to 30 mph. They chatted, mostly about her and her experiences since she'd left work almost two years ago to become a fulltime writer.

"I'm not wealthy and probably never will be if I stick to writing," she said.

She nodded thoughtfully when Harry said it was probably better to be moderately well-off being happy writing rather that stuck in an office being pressured to perform and working long hours and wishing she'd not tossed in her freedom as being income dependant her writing sales.

"What sells best?" he shouted as they ground up a slippery slope.

"In fiction really hot stories about high-profile super heroes/heroines I suppose."

"What do you write about?"

"Sweet stories about fairly ordinary people coming together and feeling they have reached the pinnacle of happiness and have in a tiny way made the world a better place."

"So if you sharpened them up a bit and made them more accountable for the world in which they live and pumped up the sex a couple of notches you'd be writing a sort of cross-over novel between those two extreme?"

She considered that and said, "Yes I suppose I would."

"Well if you don't wish to step fully into the realm of wall-to-wall sex and somewhat distastefully flamboyancy, why not try a landing halfway between?"

"I'll have to think about that. When will you be moving on?"

"I'm in no hurry to move anywhere until my aunt and uncle call me home to takeover their ranch and support them in their retirement. However they might switch that plan, sell to a neighbor for big money and then take full responsibility for their own retirement. I know they have considered both options. They have promised me money if they sell...not that's a good theme for a novel isn't it?" "It is but I come across good themes every week but the truth is unless you write a breakthrough novel you share the scraps."

"Yeah, a bit like ranching when the livestock you offer at market make only average grade of worse."

"Exactly. In a way it's summed up in the English grammar training exercise: good, better, best. We grade things around our needs every day and practically every time we spend money where there are options, either real or partly real or only perceived."

"That's deep."

She laughed and said, "That's life."

Sarah looked at them closely as they entered the kitchen and smiled.

"We have fallen into easy compatibility mom."

"That's lovely," Sarah said cheerfully, daughter and farm hand looking aghast as they were served porridge.

"Mom!"

"It's just this morning darling, the traditional welcome home breakfast for the bonny lass or a warrior. We won't get blubber round your hips from eating just one half plate of porridge."

"May I leave half?"

"Yes," Sarah sighed and watched in pride at Harry sloshing into this.

"Great stuff," he enthused. "I haven't had it since I was a kid when we were snowed in."

"Well this is late spring and if you scoff too much you'll get a rash of heat spots," Sophia warned.

Sarah returned to the cooker to attend to the bacon and beans with the smile of a woman delighted to have a family round her again.

When Sarah settled to drink coffee and watched approvingly as Harry forked into another serving of bacon and beans, Sophia asked had her mother abandoned promoting the property as a dude ranch.

"No darling," Sarah said, swinging out of her chair and reaching for a folder on the sewing table under the kitchen side window.

Sophia stared at the proofs of newspaper and magazine ads soliciting bookings from families to spend five days' vacation on Mrs McKenzie's dude ranch on a 400-acre island in Kansas where the attractions included jetty fishing, canoe racing and round-island marine adventures, cattle round-ups on bicycles, hiking, family cookouts, cabin accommodation, petting llamas plus taking the option to paying for exclusive naming rights of a llamas for a week and hanging out with other families.