Gritty Times in Wyoming Pt. 03

That evening Skye called an old university friend.

"Hi Clara, long-time no-hear."

"Likewise. You must want something."

The laughed and caught up on each other.

And then, "Is your mom still a contributing editor to the 'Intriguing Women' section for that leading newspaper in New York?"

"Yes and I'm sure she'll remain at her post until she begins losing it. Why do you have a tip for her, someone intriguing?"

"This call had placed my number on your phone. Please mention my name to her and give her my phone number, that's all you need to do for me darling."

"Okay. Some of us ex college girls meet up on every second Friday at the Albion Bar. We'd like you to join us, this Friday from 5:30?"

"Great, will be there. Bye."

* * *

Agatha Holst had gone to bed almost an hour earlier when she received a 9:45 call from her daughter.

"Hi darling, fortunately for you I'm fighting to finish this crossword puzzle otherwise I would have been asleep."

"Sorry mom but an old friend called me earlier today asking me to pass on her name and I forgot. She thought you might be interested so I didn't like to think I'd let her down."

"Yes, yes. What's her name?"

"She gave no message. Her name is Skye Brock."

"Omigod."

"What?"

"Skye has been in hiding from the media for weeks and weeks. She is making contact. This is like received contact from Outer Space."

"Mom you've been drinking. Why would you be interested in Skye?"

"Skye Brock is the creator of Carey Green. You ought to know. You and your friends sing that stupid Carey Green theme when you've had a few drinks."

"But that Skye Brock can't be the Skye Brock who did Philosophy/Asian Studies with me at Chicago University. She was rather weird, very introspective and... Omigod, exactly like Carey Green is."

"Yes dear. Her phone number please. I'll murder you if you say..."

"No she called me so it's on my phone. Here goes..."

Heather glared at Skye as her phone went when they were chatting, a little inebriated after wine at dinner and now finishing their second brandies. Ralph had gone off to read.

"Hi this is Skye."

"Oh hi Skye. It's Aggie Holst. It would appear you are ready to talk to someone?"

"Yes my editor said the media will have lost interest in me but I've not changed and feel I'm going forward."

"I'm pleased to hear that. What about a working lunch tomorrow?"

"Oooh lovely Mrs Holst."

"You just call me Aggie darling. I'll have a photographer visit us during lunch. If I can get this away next day we'll just scrape in for this Saturday if they want to use it. Oh could you bring your doll. I liked that photo of you two in the newspaper because it told me a lot about who you really are. The Wellington Room at 12:30?"

"Yes sure."

"I'll call if I can't get a table. Bye.

"Thanks Aggie. I look forward to meeting you."

Heather hiccupped and said, "Why would Aggie Holst be interested in you?"

"Because I'm an intriguing person, a reluctant celebrity."

"You don't say," Heather said, looking at her daughter thoughtfully.

Ralph brought in the newspaper and coffee on Saturday morning.

"Her story is in here, syndicated from New York. Daisy's photo is a front page pointer, just Daisy."

"How cute. Go wake her I mean Skye and bring a coffee mug for here darling. She came home swaying after spending a night out last night with her old university girlfriends."

With his wife and daughter settled, Ralph between them, he opened the newspaper after showing them the small photo of Daisy. The caption read, 'For almost sixteen years this cloth China-made doll owned by Chicago novelist Skye Brock, has featured as an Chinese anime character in a comic book produced in China and widely circulated throughout East Asia and beyond. The first story in the long-running publication was a contest-winning essay written by Skye when she was fourteen. Story p28.'

There was just the one large photo of Skye and her doll, beautifully composed. No mention was made of Daisy's unfortunate amputation. There were also small photos of the dust jacket of her two published books and the forthcoming new book was mentioned.

The feature occupied the full page and dwelt on Skye's philosophy as a writer and her background.

Interviewer: Why are your two books a raging success in East Asia, with sales approaching seven million while here in America they are currently around 152,000? Has someone got the count wrong?

Skye (laughing): No the sales I gave you are audited sales figures and so are correct. It's a matter of what appeals. Readers in North America tend to like their heroines in fiction either soppy romantics or kick-ass go-getters who get their man with, and this is only a guess, ten penetrations per novel.

Interviewer: And you don't write in that style?

Skye: Goodness no. Some critics have variously and accurately described my series heroine Carey Green as mentally unchallenging, sexually unchallenging, a wimp, a nothing female who just packs her bag and goes and her adventures are really a lot like readers would expect to have if they went on vacation/holiday somewhere if the could afford to leave home. Of course, that's how I intend her to be -- very ordinary. In this new novel Carey does experience her second romance. In East Asia she will be adored for the respectful way in which she greets his abominable parents and that the courtship dawdles and all the guy gets out of Carey are several carefully rationed sweet kisses. In contrast out West there will be frustrated readers critical of me for leaving out hot flushes, not revealing that Carey has cute breasts or whatever she has, for making no mention of erections including stiff nipples and for not being described plotting about how and when they will do it. So what do they do instead? Plenty I say but Carey enjoys a gentle and rewarding life and that's what she strives to have, laced with adventures that in North America would excite perhaps an elderly maiden aunt.

Interviewer: In view of those sales figures you've stated, why does your publisher bother marketing in North America?

Skye: For two reasons and both are called business considerations. Sales in South Asia come from books printed under license, so the return per book is far less for my publisher than my publishing company managing its own printing and distribution and marketing. Secondly I don't think anyone could name a second-tier down publisher who wouldn't be anything but delighted at any one of its author's two hard-cover books reaching a total of 152,000 sales."

Interviewer: Of course not. Good point. Now where have you been hiding and what will be the theme of your next novel?

Skye: I have been researching background for my next novel way out West. The theme will be the adventures including some harrowing times for Carey Green living on a ranch in Wyoming.

Interviewer: Oh very nice. But why not more glamorous Montana?

Skye: Because my childhood doll Daisy plumped for grittier Wyoming.

Interviewer: Are you saying Daisy speaks to you?

Skye: No I just use her as a sounding board to discuss my theories with myself.

Interviewer: Where is the ranch you have been staying at in Wyoming?

Skye: I don't recall mentioning staying at a ranch in Wyoming to you Aggie. I could research all the background I require on the Internet and in libraries couldn't I?

Interviewer: You went to sea with the Coastguard before writing Carey Green's adventures with the Coastguard on Lake Michigan so it follows..."

Skye: Oh Aggie, look at the time. I must rush. It has been so lovely talking to you. You are a gem to have residing and writing out of Chicago. Bye and thanks for lunch.

Heather snorted, "Nosey Aggie was really on to you. She'd blown your cover."

"Perhaps mother. Remember Wyoming is the USA's 10th largest state so there are many, many places to look to try to find me. Situations change and now it's not so important for me to hide. What I think is perhaps one or two magazine writers might come and write about what I do on the ranch. It will be marvelous promo for the book, don't you think?"

Her father said: "You are a sly little bitch Skye."

Heather spat, "Ralph, apologize for talking to your daughter like that this instant."

* * *

Skye was happy to see home, er the ranch house, mid-afternoon after a drive of 550 miles from Sioux Falls, SD.

Only Glenys was in, the men having gone with the 4X4 and biggest trailer to fetch farm supplies from Buffalo. The women was catching up over coffee and barely noticed the heavily laden SUV rumble by but a half minute later the back door burst open and Ryan angered his mom but clumping in on the polished floors to make a beeline for Skye.

"Hi I missed you so much," he cooed, quite surprising Skye and his sweet kisses were so welcomed.

"Get out, get out with those boots," his mom yelled, beating him across the back with her straw broom she used to sweep the porches.

"Cut it mom," he warned but she ignored him.'

Ryan who was not quite as tall or broad across as his mother turned on her and grabbed her and the broom and quietly carried her high by the arms across to the sofa, sat her down and told her to behave herself.

"My girl is back."

His feat of strength had surprised both women.

Skye recovered first.

"Please sit and remove your boots Ryan."

He sat and unlaced them.

"Don't you dare ever man-handle me like that again," fumed his mom.

Ryan raised an eyebrow and looked at Skye and she nodded.

"Yes mom. Fair enough."

"Thank you Ryan," Skye said. "Are there any more kisses from where those last ones came from?"

He strode across the floor in his socks and delivered and Glenys must have been wondering had more than a subtle change had just occurred in her household, Skye leaping Ryan to become number 3 in pecking order?

Next morning Skye began her 4th novel in earnest, believing the best place to write a novel was in its location so she should write her Wyoming novel right there.

* * *

Skye was busy at the keyboard one morning. The guys would be away until after dark, working way out back on new fencing and Glenys had gone into Buffalo to shop when she heard an explosion over at the Williams' about a quarter-mile down their access road and across the highway.

Sensing something was wrong, she ran outside and saw a plume of smoke rising above the barn at the end where two grain silos stood. She raced inside for her car keys and sped off down the dirt road, almost flooring the accelerator and being too busy to keep the nose of her car straight to be frightened. Skye could see the Williams' gate was open and horn blaring she raced across the sealed highway, that fortunately was traffic-free in that locality right then. She wrenched the wheel right to allow the rear wheels to slew left and when she straightened was pointing up the Williams' driveway that was offset from the driveway she'd come down.

Skye roared past the house and on to the barn where smoke was pouring from the ripped open iron roof of the workshop.

She rushed in, hearing Myra, who was in her early forties, screaming and crying. Her husband Len Williams lay on the ground beside an open maintenance door to one of the silos. Stacked sacks beside him were ablaze and a heavy portable blower had toppled, pinning his arm. Len appeared unconscious.

Myra, disheveled, eyes glazed held an axe and she glanced at the advancing Skye.

"The fire's advancing. I've got to get him away... chop off his arm."

Skye grabbed Myra's arm with the axe. "Stop let's assess the situation."

But she was brushed aside.

"No time," Myra screamed, raising the axe.

Skye had no time to think. She leaped forward and chopped at Myra's throat.

Myra fell and the axe dropped, narrowly missing Len's head.

Panicking, not sure what to do, Skye grabbed the rubber mat alongside the workbench and threw that over Len, protecting him from the heat of the blaze that didn't appear to be advancing particularly fast. She assumed a build-up of methane gas escaped when the inspection door had been opened had ignited and the explosion had set off the fire now burning the stack of sacks (used to bag surplus grain to sell to farmers on small areas of land).

Myra was choking, climbing to her feet. Skye hid the axe and found a heavy crowbar.

She grabbed Myra by the shoulder, saw the burn on her forehead and where her hair had obviously caught fire but said nothing about that. "Myra have you calmed down?"

She nodded.

"Help me get that heavy anvil over here and we'll lever Len free. The anvil is probably too heavy for us but we are desperate. We'll move it."

Eyes glazed, Myra said, "Yes let's do it."

Skye grabbed a gallon can of oil from the shelf and liberally made a 6-yard long track with it between the anvil and Len who was now groaning.

"Push, push," called Skye the slave driver, who was pulling. "Come on, push harder, Get your ass into it."

She goaded until she saw the strain on Myra's face and then softened her cries. The pain in her back and shoulders was killing her and suddenly the felt the anvil move.

Skye who had her legs spread to avoid skidding on the oil called, "It's moving. Good girl. Keep your legs wide out of the oil. Imagine you're having sex."

Myra looked up in utter disbelief and then caught the wink. She managed a faint smile.

Then they felt momentum build and the heavy anvil was sliding across the floorboards.

"That's enough. Check on Len."

Myra raced around to her husband while Skye checked for a solid part in the lower side of the blower assembly inserted the crowbar and laying it over the anvil lent over with all her weight and the blower lifted a bit.

"Pull him clear."

"I can't, he's trapped."

Smoke was billowing around Len and Myra so obviously Myra couldn't see much.

"I've lifted the blower. Pull him free damn you."

"Omigod he's free," Myra cried and sounded hysterical again.

Skye saw Myra advancing, dragging Len and she lowered the blower and then grabbed at the back of Len's belt, pulled out his phone and made an emergency call for an air ambulance. She left Myra holding the phone to fill in details once the chopper was requested and Skye dashed off and returned with a large extinguisher and attacked the fire.

Half an hour later as Len was loaded into the chopper and Myra prepared to board, she turned and hugged and kissed Skye.

"I'll never forget what you've done for us today Skye, never."

"Go on you silly goat. You would have done all you could for me in similar circumstances?"

"But as successfully? I don't think so. You remained ice-calm."

"Well thanks for your appreciation. Off you go, at least you won't require a wig."

"Why would I require a wig?" Myra asked curiously.

"Come on Mrs Williams," said the young nurse, shouting about the noise of the helicopter. "I'll dress that head wound on the way in. You did get a bit of a fry-up didn't you?"

"What I got was my husband saved with his arm left intact, Myra said, and pointing at Skye said, "Skye is an absolute hero."

Later Skye helped the Glenys unload the groceries and other supplies.

Glenys said, "Have you been smoking?"

"No of course not."

"You must have had a long uninterrupted session writing. Sorry I'm late back for lunch but I got talking to some of the girls."

"No it's fine. I'll get your chicken salad. You look tired."

"Well it can be tiring shopping and talking too much," Glenys laughed. "God look at these two vans coming up our driveway and four cars. Omigod one looks like the Sheriff's black and gold car."

"Um I'm off for a ride out to see how the boys are getting on."

"No you don't; something's up. What have you been doing while I've been away?"

Skye squeaked, "Nothing really."

After the sheriff and deputy had finished getting Skye's statement, everyone including Glenys moved down to the Williams' barn.

With the TV cameras set up and rolling, the sheriff was guilty of hamming it up a bit.

He looked at the oil trail leading to where the anvil was by the blower and tilting back his Stetson and scratching his forehead said to Skye, "For the life of me I can't see how two puny females could work out how to get that anvil over there under the stress of attempting to beat a fire and then have the strength to actually move the anvil there."

"Watch your mouth sheriff. Girls can do anything."

The media loved it. Although it had occurred spontaneous Sheriff Cody and Skye were persuaded to go through that same conversation for another shoot with the cameras in better position. In fact they cooperated for two more 'shoots'.

The sheriff then said, "Right that's it guys, no further horsing around. This is an official injury accident investigation."

He then got Skye to take it from the beginning and explain how she came to be there, what she saw and what she did. When that was a wrap Glenys said, "Omigod."

An alert camera operator brought her into frame. "So nothing really happened today."

A TV reporter thrust a mike at Glenys and said, "Who are you ma'am?"

"Glenys Hobbs. Skye lives with my family. She's the novelist Skye Broke, creator of the infamous Carey Green. I left her home alone writing; the men were out back fencing. When I came home with supplies I asked here what had happened while she was gone and she almost yawned and said nothing really, and that's all I knew about this until you lot came up to our farmhouse to interview Skye the heroine."

The reporter swung around to Skye.

"Are you a heroine Skye?"

"Nah. I was just being neighborly. Wrap this us right now guys and come up for coffee and cookies. Glenys is a marvelous cook."

The family was having pre-dinner drinks when they could see a vehicle coming up the driveway, lights flashing and horn blowing.

Ryan said, "It will be one of the neighbors who has heard about the drama coming to watch it on TV with us."

The backdoor flew open and in rushed Myra, head bandaged, and tailed by her two daughters, Coral who was married to a nearby rancher and Ada a senior at high school.

Skye vaulted over the back of the sofa but there was no escape... Myra came around the back after her and slammed into Skye yelling, "My hero, my hero. He's going to be all right. Len only has concussion and a fractured shoulder."

"That lovely Myra," Glenys said. "Now come and sit by me and watch TV. It's news time."

"I'll sit by Skye if you don't mind," Myra said, watching her daughters kissing Skye.

Everyone watched intently as the drama was unfolded on-screen and yelled when the voice-over described the heroine as famous author Skye Brock, who's book sales were nearing ten million copies.

"Jesus," Fergie said gruffly. "Even I would have said there was no way two women could shift that old blacksmith's anvil."

The females looked proudly at Skye and Myra and clapped when Skye made her 'girl's can do anything' retort that over coming hours would be shown on TV around the world. * * *

Skye now left her phone switched on and Julie from Reflection Publications was able to call and request her to call Mrs Beecham who wished to talk to her.

"Invite her to call me. Unlike executives in office towers I'm busy."

"Skye!"

"I mean it Julie."

"Please wait and I'll see if she can take your call."

"You have thirty seconds."

"Skye you are making me panic. Oh your fan club is approaching a million members, mostly foreigners. That TV presenter in Hong Kong told her viewers she'd become a member of your fan club and gave the address on TV."

"And my dog doesn't have fleas."

"What?"

"Fifteen seconds."

"Oh Jesus Skye," Julie wailed.

"Mrs Beecham speaking. Why don't you call me Amelia Skye?"

"Yes why not? You sound frightfully chummy today Amelia. I think that's how the English phrase it."