Cowgirl Thrillers

by Barbara Neville

We are sound asleep, me nicely warmed by Michael’s body heat. We had been cuddling like lovers, ha-ha, well at least best friends, all night. Actually, I ain’t had nothing twixt my thighs but my fingers, hell, nigh on a year. But Michael and I have once again proven that the only sure backwoods cure for hypothermia is warm naked cuddlers sharing a sleeping bag. I am warm as toast at last. I drift back off to sleep.

  “White Eyes, wake it up!”

  Michael and I spring up, weapons drawn from under our saddles. We use ‘em fer pillows. Saddles with guns underneath, comfy.

  “Holy shit, Lone Wolf, you ever heard of ‘halloing’ the camp? We coulda shot you,” I say.

  “Yeah, if you had heard me comin’. Red man very stealthy.”

  “It’s too early, couldn’t you wait ‘til sunup?”

  “Look, lady, who is this dude, your husband?”

  “I’d rather be your husband, handsome,” says Michael.

  “Why he in same blankets as you if not husband? Him shape changer?”

  “No, him more like sex changer or some such. If you stand too close his flipping wrist will break your nose.” I really think I am funny.

  And to Michael I say, “Geez, Michael, I know you aren’t one to hide in the closet, but did you ever think maybe you’ll declare your undying love for this blood thirsty redskin and he’ll turn out to be a gay basher and knife you?”

  “And you think saying this in front of long, tall and handsome here is politic?” says Michael.

  “He maybe knifed three guys yesterday, saving my bacon. Maybe he also don’t like gays.”

  “In fact, Annie, Native American people are known for their tolerance of gays,” declares Michael.

  “Only in Little Big Man, Michael. This is real life, not Hollywood history.”

  “Hey kids, red man standing right here. And saving your bacon was a coincidence, they maybe needed killing. But then maybe they actually left the country before I got around to killing them. If I had killed them, it wouldn’t have been for you. My buddy Bogey was in danger.”

  “Gotta love a man who puts his horse first.” I smile and bat my eyes. “Lone Wolf, meet Michael, my partner.”

  “How, white man.”

  “Pleasure, handsome.”

  “You come over to get your nag, Wolf?” I ask.

  “I come to make you my woman, if Mr. Michael here will allow it.”

  “Oh shit, Wolf, it isn’t a case of letting. Annie runs her own life.” Michael always defends me, like I need it. “She’d knock me flat if I tried to tell her anything. You don’t know Annie if you think she would be anyone’s woman.”

  “Mr. Michael?” I say. “You make him sound like some high falutin’ big city hair salon artiste.”

  Wolf looks at me. “White woman, I need a woman to catch a rat. I need one who is mean as a snake and not too smart. You seem to fit that description.”

  “She’ll do it,” says Michael.

  “Michael, you just said you would never tell me what to do.”

  “I ain’t tellin’, I’m volunteerin’ you. This nice lookin’ feller needs a woman. Mean, not smart. It’s you to a tee. Plus, you’re the only woman here.”

  “Men!”

  So, unbeknownst to us, thus began one of the great collaborations of our time.