Sally saw what she saw. Or at least enough of what she thought she saw. A man and a woman on the fringe of darkness. Him standing with pants down. Her on her knees with outstretched hands.
Her man. Rusty Flathers. Along with what appeared to be that bimbo blonde working the front desk when she checked into the lodge. “What was her name… Ally… Karly… Ellie… What did it matter…” she gasped between sobs of tears and bubbles of snot.
“This isn’t some novel, like Fifty Shades of Fish. This is my life!” she thought while retreating to her room.
Hitching his pants up… Rusty took a step toward Ellie, and she responded equally. Briefly they embraced with the awkward, butt-extended-out, pat each other on the back, friendly greeting.
“It’s good to see you, Ellie. What’s it been… Ten years?” he asked… Even though he knew right to the pin it had been ten years – two months – fourteen days since they’d last been together. He’d done the math no less than eighty-three times since collapsing in the lobby at the ranch on his first morning of arrival.
“It’s been a long time Rusty… And I must ask… How did you find your way to the Gold Rope Ranch?” she questioned.
On the way back to the evening dinner party Rusty explained his Sally Squatsnfishes connection that brought him to Montana, and his pending opportunity with Professor Cosmoid Scale in Northwest Ontario. The two spoke with ease, as if they were back in time, walking the lake trials and simply enjoying each other’s company.
“Do you want to join us for dinner Ellie?” he asked.
“Thanks, but I need to get back to the office and finish up a few things before tomorrow,” she replied. “And Rusty… You should also know that I’m seeing someone right now.”
There was a brief pause… They once again did an uncomfortable (butt-extended-out) hug… And agreed to catch dinner tomorrow night, along with each other’s respective plus one’s.
Being completely famished… Rusty piled into the elk steaks, lobster and mashed potatoes… And all the while Sally was nowhere to be seen. He assumed she had called it an early evening, with the BIG bison hunt scheduled for morning. And he would be doing the same, soon enough.
Pre-dawn, and all was quiet (momentarily) at the Gold Rope Ranch. Rusty was in the stables with Jackie Loonsuckle, hitching up the horses and getting ready to pack out for the day. The temperature had dropped twenty degrees (Sally’s would be colder) and there was fresh hoar frost on the tree branches.
Jackie suggested the cold front would move the bison lower out of the hills and set them off in a grazing frenzy. Then he explained how he would be guiding the lead horse… Sally would be saddled behind him with bow and arrows in check… And Rusty would bring up the rear acting as an additional set of spotting eyes.
“Fine and dandy to me,” Rusty thought, while standing and hoisting a saddle bag over his ride. And then a hummingbird came from behind, whizzing past his noggin, and slamming itself into a 6 X 6 rough cut of timber that was stacked along the wall of the barn.
He had heard it before he saw it… And now, what he actually saw was an Easton XX75 Camo Hunter Arrow tipped with a Grim Reaper Pro Series 125 grain blade! For maximum effectiveness this combination of arrow and tip was stealthy, offered awesome penetration, and resulted in much bigger cuts.
The flight of the arrow had cruised past his right ear lobe at Mach 1 speed missing (and or intentionally missing) by less than two inches. Rusty was fully aware this style of arrow was Sally’s preferred notch on her big game hunts.
“What the…” he exclaimed, spinning on his heels, facing the direction in which the arrow had arrived. And then he stopped mid-sentence, frozen like a popsicle in a cooler door.
The tears on Sally Squatnfishes face had dried overnight… They had been replaced with the warpaint of a jaded lover. She had a two-finger-wide black streak, painted below her right (dominant) eye, and there was a similar blood-red-slash below her left. The balance of her camo makeup was spilled across her face leaving a ghostly impression of death at the nearest doorstep (Rusty’s doorstep).
Jackie Loonsuckle inched his way along the wall, making his way toward the opening of the barn, using his horse as a protective shield. “I think I’m going to leave you two alone,” he stammered, and then spun sideways sprinting out the door and dropping the reins of his ride.
But neither Rusty nor Sally had heard a word. They were currently occupied playing a game of “who’s going to blink first.” He had nowhere to hide… And she had another arrow notched and pointed in his direction.
“Sally… What’s going…”
“Shut it!” she screamed. “I’m the one doing the talking, Rusty. You think I wouldn’t find out about you and that whore!”
“Sally… I can…”
“I said shut it!” She commanded and discharged the trigger on the TruFire Edge 4-Finger Release, parting the hair on his head, and burying another arrow into the side of the barn.
“Ms. Squatnfishes… Please… Wait…” It was Ron Heimberg and Geoff Loonsuckle, co-owners of the Gold Rope Ranch. They stood at the entry of the barn with Ellie Waylayer by their side and begged to clarify the events of the previous evening.
“We feel there’s an honest explanation for all of this,” they choired as one.
Rusty had been innocently caught with his pants down on one previous occasion (a reassuringly unique story in itself). It involved a brown bear… A salmon feast… And a Bohemian family of eleven residing in a Czech fishing village.
In this situation… He was walking a dangerous line with Sally Squatsnfishes. YES, his pants were down. NO, he hadn’t physically (yet) acted on any immediate feelings.
Admittingly, Rusty was operating full-send within the sketchy bounds of Fifty Shades of Fish.
– To be continued –