Calamity Jayne Goes to College by Kathleen Bacus Read Free Book Online

hamlet, and the cops, now-Sheriff
     Samuels among them, took me about as seriously as bridegrooms take wedding planning. Besides, this gave me a chance to drop
     by and see my sister-in-law, Kimmie, who works in the treasurer's office at the county courthouse. Kimmie is married to my
     older and only brother, Craig. They met when Craig was delivering vehicle titles to the courthouse one day. Craig is a salesman
     for a local car dealer. I'm sure you can imagine the heat I take from him for driving a car that needs to be crushed. I'm
     used to his abuse. He and his best bud from grade school, Rick Townsend--or Ranger Rick as I like to call him-- along with
     some other carefully crafted, made-for-the-occasion monikers such as Bass Buster, Carp Cop, the Poacher Patrol, Rickie Raccoon,
     and the Don Juan of the DNR to name a few--have hassled, harped on, heckled, and humiliated me (and there was that time they
     hog-tied me, but I don't like to go there) so long and so often I need a scientific calculator to keep track.
    I was what you would call "ambivalent" when it came to Ranger Rick. Dark brown hair and warm maple syrup eyes, the guy is
     tanned and fit and oh so easy on the peepers. And he knows it. He can also be a bossy arrogant know-it-all with a tendency
     to irritate to such a degree that one will be found in the pharmacy aisle with the Preparation H and Tuck's Pads seeking blessed
     cooling relief. It was Rick Townsend who saddled me with the colorful "Calamity Jayne" monitor that is harder to shuck than
     the husks of roasting corn ears when you're wearing mittens.
    Lately the good ranger had been giving me some not-so-subtle signs that he was ready to move our volatile relationship to
     a whole new level. While the idea of volatility as it pertains to passion in a relationship is, I admit, something that has
     definite appeal (as does the ranger in question--on occasion) I was somewhat concerned that the mixing of such unpredictable
     and dissimilar components could generate a combo so combustible and potentially explosive that the Haz Mat crews would have
     to be put on standby.
    And there were also other questions that probably needed answers before I considered giving my heart-- or other crucial body
     parts--to someone else for safekeeping. Like, what the heck is romantic love, anyway? I love my family and friends. And my
     critters. But what does the let-me-put-my-tongue-down-your-throat-and-see-you-naked kind of love really look like? Feel like?
     How will I know when I'm in it, and can I expect it to last forever? Can anyone expect love like that to last forever anymore? Okay. I hear you. Pull out the fiddle and rosin up the bow, 'cause that sounds
     like the words to a country-western ballad. Am I right?
    Still, on the subject of everlasting love, I really had to ask myself, was I even ready for that kind of love? I'd only just
     begun to discover a direction for my life, plotted a course, however elementary, and ever-so-slowly started to take kindergarten
     steps in that direction. Was I ready to share my life's highways and byways--not to mention detours, roadblocks, and potholes--with
     another person?
    With all the uncertainty tied to my love life, the question that plagued me the most, the one that really needed an urgent
     answer, was also the one most prone to cause compulsive nail-biting and obsessive appearance anxiety: Was I really ready to
     show my naked body--wibbly-wobbly bits and all--to someone who wasn't a medical professional and paid to look at it? That,
     my dears, was really the question. The idea of exposing my healthy, homegrown, raised-on-country-sunshine-and-toned-on-the-back-of-a-horse
     hips and thighs to a guy who makes Hugh Jackman look old, wizened, and out of shape, frankly made me more than a little phobic.
    As a result, much to my gammy's dismay (she had the hots for Townsend's granddad, Joe) I wasn't falling into the sack without
     the proper protection. Uh, I'm talking