Under the Wild Wyoming Skies

"No... you asked me that before outside, don't you remember? You said you were between relationships now. Did you get dumped, too?"

"I wanted to make sure... A few have come and gone. And what about you?"

"Boyfriends?"

"You know what I mean."

"I haven't dated for several years."

"She must have stolen your heart."

"That she did."

"And then she broke it?"

"You have no idea..."

How could I remotely explain to her about my relationship with Alexandria? Nobody would ever know the pain that continued to burn inside me. Was it because I couldn't let the memory of her go? Silence was my only answer to Diana's question.

"I talked to principal Meyers the other day. I guess you're still in the running."

"I didn't figure there'd be much competition for a teaching job way out here."

"You'd be surprised. Teachers don't make much out here. It's steady work, though. Unlike the ranches that only pay when it's time to move cattle or harvest crops."

We moved outside and stood on the rickety porch. Most of the railing had long fallen over and left the front of the house looking like it had lost most of its front teeth.

Neither of us spoke a word for the longest time until I said, "I can't get over the stars. There are so many of them. In the city, with all the lights, you could only see the brightest ones."

"I can't even imagine living like that. Too many people, too many scars upon the land." She leaned out over what was left of that rickety wooden rail. "I suppose I'd better get home. It's a long drive back to town, especially at night." She bit her bottom lip, and looked at me with those green eyes of hers. "Especially for a girl."

This afternoon and evening had turned my mind into nothing but a pile of goo. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was making sense. Jeez was she ever an airhead. She dropped hints all afternoon long about staying the night, yet somehow I was not sure I wanted her to. What if she tried to do something? And I'm not thinking about that gun. How do you explain to a woman that no matter what she looks like or what she does, I'll be unable to satisfy her?

And why in the hell would she want to sleep with a guy she met less than five hours ago?

"We have only known each other for a half a day, yet I know it's a long way back to town."

Words didn't seem to flow like I thought they should. Was I turning down an invitation to spend the night with Diana?

"It's possible the storm may have washed out some of the road. I'd feel better if you'd stay, and go back in the morning light."

"I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

********Chapter Two*******

When it gets dark in Wyoming, it gets dark. The nearest streetlight was thirty miles away. I had enough kerosene for a few more nights, and I poured the last into the lanterns.

"I don't know which is more expensive, fuel for the lanterns or batteries for the flashlights," I said as I scratched a match head along the fireplace mantel, then lit a lantern. Its orange glow filled a tiny corner of my creaky old farmhouse. "I guess you can have the sofa and I'll take the floor."

She stood and rubbed her chin. "Nonsense, that simply won't do. Mom used to make tents out of sheets, and she and I'd camp in the kitchen. Come on, it'll be fun." She pulled the cushions off the sofa, and tossed them on the floor and arranged them in front of the fireplace. She made a trip to the bedroom and came back with two old blankets I purchased days ago. She spread one out across the cushions. "There. I think that will do." She wiggled her finger at me.

I set the lantern on the hearth of the fireplace. "My pants should be dry enough now."

"You're not going to sleep in your clothing are you?" she asked.

That fact never occurred to me. "I ah, well, huh, I guess tonight I will."

"You are a prude." Diana looked at me. "Your boxers would be fine."

The fire was about done. Only a handful of dying embers were glowing, and with each passing minute they turned darker red, then quietly faded out. Diane still had that robe on. I tugged on one of the straps that wound around her waist. "As the old saying goes, what's good for the goose and all that." I gave the strap another tug.

"Why don't you take your tee-shirt off?" she asked.

I pulled it over the top of my head and tossed it across the room. Her eyes widened in the dim yellow light of the lantern. Diana returned a curiously shy smile as she eyed me up.

"Not bad for a city boy."

"What about a cowgirl?" I asked. She didn't say a word as she spread the blanket back and crawled into our makeshift bed.

"Blow out the lantern. Please?"

"Now who is being the prude?" A puff of my breath killed the flame, and the farmhouse became as dark as the night sky. It was like driving through the Holland tunnel with no headlights.

Diana didn't seem to have any trouble getting the robe off in the near total darkness. She curled up next to me.

I cleared my throat. "Top half, too." I turned my back to her so I could feel the lingering warmth of the fire. Besides, I sure didn't figure she'd take me up on my suggestion.

"What?"

"Tee-shirt or bra? What makes the difference? This was your idea remember?" She stirred under the blanket and then I reached behind my back. "Put it in my hand."

"You don't trust me?" She wiggled under the blanket, and then found my hand and dropped her bra into it.

"Happy?"

"We're even."

Diana nudged my shoulder. "No we're not."

"Why aren't we?."

With the flat of her hand she pushed on my shoulder blade. "Boxes. In my hand. Now."

I rolled over and faced her even though I couldn't see a shittin' thing in the darkness. "You're kidding right? We've only met and you're asking me to sleep in the nude. With you? You're joking, right?" I went to roll back over toward the fireplace when she stopped me.

"You said something about the goose? Boxers, now."

"All right. All right. I'll play your game." I wiggled my boxers down my thighs and then off my feet. "Stick your hand out." She giggled when I dropped my boxers in her hand. I think she tossed them over her head.

Diana didn't jump when my fingers moved along her side. They sneaked under the waistband of her panties, and I gave it a little tug. "Panties. In my hand. Now. "Without saying a word, she drew her legs up under the blanket and removed her panties. She slipped her underwear down her legs and within a few seconds found my hand for the second time. She dropped them in my palm.

"Now we're even," she said.

Who in the world would have believed that I would be lying naked on the floor with a woman who helped me hammer a roof on this old farmhouse hours before? It was so unreal. I knew about aggressive woman, I'd dated some, and fucked a few, but something about Diana was so different from what I was used to.

My foot moved down a smooth leg. I pushed and toyed with her socks until I had them off her toes. "Now, we're even." She didn't see me grin when I rolled back on my side. Minutes later, I felt her breasts as she pressed herself close to me. Show me a man that doesn't like the feeling of a woman's bare breasts against his back, and I'll show you a guy that's queer or hates women.

How in the world was I suppose to explain that I couldn't perform that night or any other night. How did I do that? Jesus, how did I explain to her that while she was cute and young and attractive and lying naked beside me. Oh, by the way, I can't have sex with you because I can't get my dick hard.

In New York, you were never alone. The sounds of the city rocked me and eight million other people to sleep every night. Here, it was the deafening silence. There was a nest of barn owls that had the night to themselves. They'd screech and howl when a critter they didn't approve of came too close to the barn they called home. A pack of coyotes were calling, encircling their prey for the take down. Diana's fingers slowly moved along my left shoulder and arm. The night was so quiet and I was so very alone, even as Diana lay beside me.

"Remember I said later?" Diana whispered, "It's now later."

I turned toward her, and in the darkness my fingers traced the outline of her lips. "Diane, there's something I need to tell you."

*********Chapter three*********

It had been several days since our little sleep over that rainy night. I tried to explain to her that I wasn't able to make love to a woman. It was something I was working on. She took it fine. Diana didn't say too much about it in her own strange way. That night, well, that night was something. We held each other in our arms, it wasn't about sex. It felt like we both needed the comfort of another person in our life.

I hadn't been in town for a while, so the bike and I headed down the road. I was about thirty or so miles away, and it took about fortyish minutes to get from my farm to the glowing lights of Culver Wyoming.

There was a briskness in the early summer air at that time of the morning, and I tightened my collar against the wind. If this job at the school went my way, I was going to need something to get to work. The Indian, while a fine motorcycle, isn't worth a shit in the snow.

The Indian idled down, and I pulled in front of what appeared to be the only barbershop in the town. There was no question I should have a few hairs trimmed back, just in case I lucked out and got an interview. The door banged closed when I stepped in. No one in Wyoming seemed to know that someone invented door dampers a century ago.

"Be with you in a few," the guy with the scissors said as he pointed to a row of chairs. Several customers were already in the queue.

"Going to be a while?" I asked.

"Naw, getcha right in."

On the far side of the row of chairs an older looking gentleman was sitting. I couldn't see much of him as his head was buried inside a newspaper. He looked over his glasses and said, "Nice machine you have there. Doesn't look like a hog."

He went back to reading his paper.

"It's an Indian motorcycle."

"Ah huh."

"You sure ain't from around here 'cause of the way you talk. Passing through?" the guy with the scissors asked.

"Was passing through, but decided to stay a while. I bought the Bookmen farm." You could have heard a pig fart from two pastures away.

"The Bookmen farm, you say?" the guy to the right of me said. "Name's Homer."

"Call me Jack."

A man next to Homer lifted his head. I thought he was asleep. "You must be the guy that Miss Compton stayed with the night of the big rain. I'm Walter."

I leaned out and over and said, "How in the world would you have known that?"

"Sam Bolen runs the lumber mill and hardware store. According to Sam, Miss Compton purchased roofing material. Now she doesn't live in a house that needs roofin' repair, and everyone in town knew that some out of state fool purchased the Bookmen farm. That place certainly needs repair. So, it seems perfectly logical to assume that the Compton woman purchased the material to fix your roof. Then, according to the landlady she rents from, Miss Compton never came home until late Sunday afternoon. No one saw her Saturday night in town, so therefore she had to stay the night with you."

"I'm impressed, Mister Spock."

"Who's Mister Spock?" Homer asked.

The guy with the paper shook his head and went back to reading.

Whomever the barber had been working on didn't say a word. The barber shook the apron and the guy stood up and slipped some money into the barber's hand. He left in silence.

"You're next," he said to me as he brushed off the chair.

I took the chair, he wrapped the apron my neck and proceeded to comb through my hair.

"Nice head of hair you got there, Jack. Say, why in the world did you buy the Bookmen farm? I'm Pete, the barber."

"That's the same thing Diana Compton asked. What's the deal with that old farm?"

"For one thing, about every other year, it goes up for sale. No one been able to keep it going for more than a year or so," Homer began, "Two years ago a young couple bought it thinking to make it a homestead, you know, live off the land, sell goat cheese to tourists, that kind of thing."

The guy with the newspaper didn't look up this time, but said, "Trouble with that was we don't have many tourists here. The young couple quickly became disillusioned with farm life and hightailed it back to the West coast and their BMWs and lattes. It's not at all like Mother Earth News touts it to be."

He lowered the paper from his face. He had a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that came down almost to the end of his hawkish nose. He sported a brush hog hair cut; bald down the middle, with a row of snow-white hair on either side. "Did the bank give you any details about the old place? By the way, they call me Floyd."

"Only thing they said was it's been on the market for a while."

He folded the paper neatly on his lap. I didn't know if he was reading it or not, as I never noticed if he flipped the pages. "What's so ominous about that farm?"

"There were three brothers. A pair of twins and one older brother. The twins, Jake and Joe, and John, were deaf."

"From the inbreeding..." Homer injected.

"How in the Lord's name did you come up with that?" Floyd asked.

I laughed.

"Anyway, they lived a simple life, mostly subsistence farming," Floyd continued, "They'd sell some eggs now and then and hay. Mostly hay. They didn't have a tractor but used horses. All the labor was done by hand. It was as if time itself stopped on that land, forever locked in 1882.

"Everyone knew about them, yet even the local folks were sacred to go out there. Christ, it's on the very end of a long and desolate road. They'd grunt and make weird noises and shit like that. Scared most people out of their wits."

It was Homer's turn. "The older brother, John, went first. Some say the twins murdered him to prevent John from getting his third of the farm. But it wasn't too much later that the twins died. Hell, according to the stories I've heard, the twins died within hours of each other, most likely because of the inbreeding. And besides, the place is haunted."

"Oh, for the love of Pete! Where'd you get that from?" Floyd asked.

"You've heard those stories. You know about the times people had stayed out there on a dare and heard the old man calling his sons' names."

Floyd turned toward Homer. "Now listen, you old goat, why in the world would the ghost of their father be a callin' their names from the afterworld?"

"Old goat my ass! Why, they're his kids! Why wouldn't he call their names? Old goat my ass."

There was no way I could stay out of this mess, so I jumped right in. "If he was their father, wouldn't he know they were all deaf? And if so, why would he call their names if the three of them couldn't hear?"

Floyd pointed a finger at me. "There you go. There. You. Go. See, Homer, even the stranger knows it's bullshit."

He shook his paper and buried his head behind it.

"I don't know anymore than what I've been told." Homer looked at me. "When you and the Compton woman spent the night together, did you hear anything?"

"There was nothing to be heard, except for the night."

Homer winked at me. "Heard she likes to do it in the dark."

"It was dark all right. Storm took out the power."

"Homer, I've wondered about you for years. I couldn't decide if you were an idiot or a buffoon, and right now, I've made a decision. You're both! You don't ask a stranger if the lady he's with likes doing it at all, regardless if it's in the dark," Floyd said.

"Sometimes, Homer, I think you've spent too much time out in the sun," Pete said.

"You don't need to gang up on me, it was a legitimate question. After all, I'm curious."

"About what?" I asked.

"If she is a natural redhead."

Floyd dropped his paper to his lap. "You certainly are a piece of work, isn't he, Pete?"

"I didn't mean no disrespect, Jack," Homer began, "I was simply curious since you said she liked it in the dark."

"I didn't say she liked it in the dark, I said it was dark. So, I couldn't tell," I said.

"Why not?" Homer asked.

"Because it was dark."

Everyone had a good chuckle over that except for Homer.

"Great save," Pete said as he snipped a few more hairs. "You do know about Diana Compton don't you?"

"I think she's a bit... different."

"We don't want to start rumors—"

"Of course not. I can't see how it would be possible with this group," I said.

Floyd folded his paper and placed it on his lap once more. "To keep the facts correct, I'll begin. About two years ago last summer, Diana Compton was seen with Boyd Nelson leaving a local eatery—"

"It was Russ's place," Homer said.

"It makes no difference now where Boyd had his last meal. Anyway, that was Friday evening. Three days go by, and a farmer finds Diana Compton staggering down the middle of a county road wearing a dress with one of the heels of her shoe broken off. He didn't know who she was at the time, because she couldn't remember who she was."

"You're talking about the red-haired schoolteacher right? The Diana Compton schoolteacher?"

"It's the only red-haired schoolteacher we have. Yes, that Diana Compton," Homer said.

"Oh, there lots more. You see that Monday, the day after the farmer found Diana on the road, the mailman discovered Boyd, deader than a can of stale gasoline."

Floyd picked up on the story. "The county prosecutor is a young shit, and he thought his way to the capital was to find the guilty party, and hang them from a tree as quickly as possible. You know, make a name for himself, so he zeroed in on Diana Compton. After all, she was the last person seen with the now dead Boyd Nelson.

"Of course it was huge news around here. The most exciting thing around here was who took first place at the county fair. Other than a few bar fights, there's not much going on. But throw in a murder and, well, you got front-page news. Every night there was something about it on the news."

"Was he shot?" I asked.

"Nope. Strangled to death. Allegedly she took one of her stockings off and wrapped it around poor 'ol Boyd's neck. She didn't let go until he breathed his last. Why did you ask if he was shot?"

"It's the Wild West."

"We don't go around shooting people. You've watched too many westerns on TV. Speaking of TV, everyone was glued to their sets and the paper. There wasn't a day that went by that the prosecutor didn't have something to say—"

"Remember the time he stood in front of the cameras and shook that stocking? He told the press that when he found the other one, he'd find the killer. He swore that he'd get Boyd the justice he deserved," Walter added.

"And if he happened to move on to Cheyenne as the state prosecutor in the process, that would be just fine, too," Pete said.

"She was found innocent during the trial?"

"Naw, weren't no trial," Floyd began, "never got that far. He tried twice to get a grand jury to indict her. Guess there wasn't enough evidence. So Boyd's murder is growing colder with each passing year."

"And if it weren't for old lady Meyers, Diana Compton would be working in another state."

I don't know who said that as I had my head down while Pete clipped away.

Homer took it this round and said, "Old iron sides. She was principal when I went to school there. She sure won't take any shit from the school board, let alone from some wannabe prosecutor. The kids sure seem to like the Compton woman, and most parents came to her defense."

"Most?"

"My boy, no matter how thin you make a pancake, it still has two sides," Walter said.

Walter sat there chewing on his thoughts. I could see something was on his mind and he wanted to speak. "Go on, Walter, what is on your mind?"

"I don't want you thinking bad of me."

"Go on," I said.