Calamity Jayne Heads West by Kathleen Bacus Read Free Book Online Page A

Rarely, if ever, afflicted by motion sick-ness, I felt my stomach rebel at the ghastly images in my head of row after row of writhing, squirming snakes hanging in the faces of air passengers and slith-ering up the center aisle.
    “How about it?” Nick asked, holding out the DVD player.
    “ ’scuse me,” I said, bringing a hand to my mouth. “I need out.”
    The four-foot fiend sat and looked at me.
    “Now!” I ordered.
    He simply smiled.
    “I’m warning you—,” I managed, just before the runt’s facial expression informed me he’d received the message to move or suffer the consequences.
    Unfortunately, time had run out. Before I could yell “barf bag,” the little troll next to me was treated to an interactive, 3-D view of Taco Time’s South of the Bor-der fare. Rerun variety. How do you say, “Play it again, Sam” in Spanish?
    We landed at Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix ninety minutes later, a decidedly unpopular delegation from the nation’s heartland, and hurried out of the gate and into the terminal. The sight and smell of hurl in a cabin that recycled and recirculated air had had epi-demic implications. By the time we landed, thirteen passengers had performed the ol’ heave-ho, and I was pretty sure the airline crew had taken down our names for future reference.
    A glass-half-full kind of gal, I searched for the one pos-itive to come out of any given unpleasant experience.
    “Uh, sorry about that, bud,” I said to Townsend’s nephew as we waited for my aunt and uncle to arrive.
    The smelly squirt gave me the bird and walked away without a word.
    See? What did I tell you, folks? A silver lining.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Aunt Kay and Uncle Ben arrived a few minutes later, squabbling between themselves about who had caused them to be late. It was Aunt Kay, according to Uncle Ben, because it took her too long to slap on war paint. (Uncle Ben had obviously lived out west too long, pardner.) It was Uncle Ben, claimed Aunt Kay, because he’d driven like a “half-blind, senile old woman” all the way from the hotel to the airport—and she’d been forced to follow at a snail’s pace, so she should know.
    Ah, love, southwestern-style.
    I hadn’t seen Aunt Kay and Uncle Ben since their last visit to Iowa three years earlier. Neither had changed very much. Aunt Kay still looked like my dad in drag. Naturally, I suppose, given they’re twins. And Uncle Ben, with his salt and pepper hair and ruddy complexion, resembled Grissom from that CSI show, complete with cute little paunch.
    I hugged them both, feeling that awkward hesita-tion and momentary discomfort reserved for those oc-casions when families reunite after a long separation. Or when you have to use a public restroom and just know you’re gonna make a heckuva lot of noise in the process. I just hate that, don’t you?
    “Welcome to the Grand Canyon State,” Uncle Ben said, including the entire entourage in his statement. “Glad to see everyone made it here ship-shape.” He must’ve sucked in a deep enough breath to get a whiff of little Nick’s shirt, because his smile faltered. He put a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Ah, poor lad. Airsick, were we?”
    The lad in question gave me the evil eye.
    “Not ‘we.’ Her!” The stinky squealer pointed in my direction. “She threw up all over me!”
    I folded my arms and tapped my foot.
    “Really, Nick. It isn’t nice to fib,” I said. “There’s no shame in an inability to control your bodily func-tions,” I told him. “And I know my sister, Taylor, here agrees. Right, Taylor?” I bent to give the kid’s cheek a tweak. “Silly boy,” I said, with a Grinch-like smile. “And you thought the two of you had nothing in common. Imagine that.”
    The Townsend tot seared me with the intensity of his gaze. And not in the typically Townsend you’re one hot tamale way.
    Face it, kid, I thought. Time to take your plastic shield and fake lightsaber and go spar with someone your own size. Like