Season TWO – Episode 16 – “RUSTY NAILS IT”

Rusty hid in the corner of the Angler’s Lounge and the ice-cold mug of beer felt good in his hand. The same hand that had recently been arrowed. Forty-eight hours, twelve minutes, seventeen seconds to be exact, but other than himself no one seemed to be giving a hoot.

“You can wish to be doted upon by glamourous women, and people in hell would like ice water,” he told himself. It was time to take heed from the wisdom bestowed upon him by the likes of Jon Heimburg and Geoff Loonsuckle.

“Son… Just take our advice… And the headlines will soon read: “Rusty Nails It” in big bold print. Either way you’re bound to come out a winner,” they both encouragingly agreed. “It’s time for you to get out of this lodge room and get yourself back into the game!”

Sinking further into the back corner booth, the crowd from outside began to make their way into the tavern as dusk arrived at the Gold Rope Ranch, and Rusty sat unnoticed. With frothy beers being passed about, the two bells of the ball entered (Sally and Ellie) arm in arm and made their way centerstage to the prominent row of beer handles on display.

“Barkeep… Draw one of each for my newest best friend!” Sally hollered for all to hear. “And rope up a round for the house, so the lot of us can get our boots shined!

“CHEERS!” erupted Ellie… Her voice carried back to Rusty who remained undetected, out of sight, and clearly out of mind.

“Who are these two?!” he thought to himself. “One second, they’re at each other’s throats and now they’re the best gal pals who’ve ever roamed the range. I don’t get it! I don’t get women!”

But he didn’t have to… The commotion lasted for the better part of an hour and then he threw the playbook from Heimburg and Loonsuckle on the table and marched toward the bar.

Sidestepping Sally and Ellie, only close enough to tip his ballcap, “Ladies” he greeted and quickly passed. No hesitation. No formidable acknowledgement. No time to waste.

With courage, Rusty saddled up to the only open stool near the front entrance of the bar. There was confidence in his step and strength in his voice… Without hesitation he planted himself down next to a spicey young cowgirl. Based on previous investigations, she carried a local name of Loonsuckle, the first name Cinnamon.

She was and is Jackie’s stepsister from Geoff’s third wife. A tall… Slender… Ginger… True to life Montana cowgirl.

He had been informed earlier by some of the ranch staff that she was built for speed and could spit tobacco over a barbed wire fence at seventeen paces. More relevant to Rusty’s game plan, was that she was also the kind of gal you did NOT take home to mother, but the kind you WOULD get roped up with for an evening!

“Hi Cinnamon, I don’t believe we have formally met, but I am Rusty Flathers,” was his intro.

He reached out a paw and she quickly snatched it from mid-air, grasping firmly with a shake and then placing his hand on her knee.

     “Yes, my stepfather told me you’re here with this Sally-what’s-her-name, doing some photo shoots. But he didn’t tell me you were this handsome!”

The lump in Rusty’s throat was the size of a grapefruit as he responded, “You know… You’re quite amazing yourself!”

He sat facing Cinnamon, and directly in his view were both Sally and Ellie, sitting midrange down the bar. First it was his hand to her knee. Then her opposite arm touched his shoulder. And before he could shake a stick, she was nestled up to an intimate distance of AWKWARD.

Obviously, this woman didn’t waste any time getting acquainted. Very much the touchy-feely sort, she was extremely well spoken and hotter than a pistol at a Montana shooting contest.

“My god am I invisible!” Rusty declared to himself. He was just short of making out at the end of the bar with this bombshell ginger and SALLY and ELLIE continued to be oblivious to his show.

From behind there was a tap on his shoulder. He ignored the prodding finger and watched as the girls simultaneously got up from their places at the bar and walked in his general direction. They traveled in unison like a couple of elementary girls on a playground. Their hands were clasped together… Their arms were swinging back and forth… And short of skipping they looked like they were merrily on their way back to the classroom. Or potentially someone’s room in this instance.

“What the flying-hell” Rusty thought, as they passed his GPS location and didn’t so much as give him a glance. “They literally do not know that I exist!”

But the prodding finger did. And it continued to prod as Rusty’s face turned a dark shade of red (temperature rising). Then, spinning on his stool he blurted out before looking “HEY, STOP TAPPING MY SHOULDER!”

Ooooops. It was Jackie Loonsuckle. The same dude who put an arrow through his hand 48 hours prior, was now creating distance between Rusty and Cinnamon.

     “Hey guys, mind if I squeeze in here,” Jackie said with indifference.

     “Actually Jackie… I do mind.” Countered Rusty. “Your sister and I are having a nice conversation here.”

     “Oh, is that what you call it… Maybe you ought to back away from her, and step over here with me bud.”

     “Jackie back off” Cinnamon jumped in.

     “You know what,” Rusty added, “maybe you should go pound……” And before he could finish, a right hook came from Jackie’s holster and planted itself just above the cheekbone on his left eye.

The following were fading thoughts as his knees buckled and he dropped like a gunny sack full of dead carp to the floor of the Anglers Lounge:

X) If there were an award for the number of gameplans gone haywire… Rusty nails it.

X) Thanks, no thanks, for your generous advice Ron Heimburg and Geoff Loonsuckle.

X) When I get punched in the face why do I see a weird wolverine wearing four-buckle overshoes.

–            To Be Continued –