© 2024 by the authors using the pen names UpperNorthLeft and Jalibar62.

Any hanky-panky, canoodling, or other naughtiness is between consenting adults 18 years of age or older.

===

PORTIA

"God damn it, Portia," Betty sighed in frustration, tossing the manuscript pages at me. "What is this shit? When are you going to write something that I can actually publish?"

"I'm trying!"

"Look - our readers will tolerate a certain level of eccentricity in the male characters. 'Aloof' is fine. 'Brooding' is good. Even 'distant and mysterious' works. But every single 'hero' and believe me, I do use the term loosely, that you've written for the past six months is a flaming asshole! Most women read a bodice-ripper to get away from assholes - not to add one more to their lives."

I burst into tears. "I'm sorry! Every time I try, it comes out the same steaming pile of crap! Ever since..."

Betty got up and came around her desk to sit beside me. Putting an arm around my shoulders, she said, "Honey, it's been six months since that bastard left. However, you've got a deadline coming up. I hate to break it to you; if you can't get your head out of your ass, you're gonna be in breach of your contract.

"I've cut you a lot of slack, but you're still spending almost all of your time holed up in your apartment, eating ice cream out of the carton, and binge-watching the Hallmark Channel. Have you ever heard of Portia control?"

I groaned. "Bite me." Betty was all about the tough love, but sometimes, I swear...

"Seriously, if you continue to lie around in the dark, packing in pints of Chunky Monkey, people are gonna start calling you Caspar the Pudgy Ghost.

"Pudgy?! I prefer callipygian," I tried not to pout.

"OK, I'm exaggerating," she sighed. "But sweetie, if you keep choking down the Cherry Garcia, your pygia is definitely going to get pudgier. It could even end up getting its own zip code."

Then she held up my latest manuscript. "And stop sending me crap like this!"

"I was trying to break new ground in a tired and hackneyed field."

She raised a well-groomed eyebrow. "With a book called Death and Despair in Denver? Where your main character declares all men dickheads and then joins a convent? My god! You have broken the one immutable law of romance writing: There Is Always a Happily Ever After. If you mess with that, your fanbase will hunt you down and throw you into a volcano!"

"I wanted to write something realistic." That sounded flimsy, even to me.

"Portia, honey, I say this with utmost respect. Fuck realism. You need to write something more like your last book, Ranch Rodeo Romance. You know, the one where the cowboy takes the city girl out in a horse-drawn carriage to the park? All of her friends and family jump out and surprise her with a flash mob dance routine, ending with the cowboy's proposal?"

I pouted. "Yes, Mom, I remember."

She picked up a glossy brochure from her desk and handed it to me. "Here. This might break you out of your funk."

I whined. "Flying Fox Dude Ranch? What the fuck, Betty? C'mon — I don't do ranches."

"Oh, yeah? Then why is Ranch Rodeo Romance still your best-selling book?"

"I write about them — I don't actually go to them."

"It's not a request. You're booked there for a week, starting this Sunday."

===

SUNDAY

===

PORTIA

I got up at an ungodly hour for my drive to Bumfuck... err, Bandera, wherever the hell that was. My GPS said it would take 3 1/2 hours from my place in Jersey Village — a soulless suburb of the urban blight otherwise known as Houston. Ugh.

It was more like 5 hours by the time I arrived. For some reason, the I-10 traffic was all snarled up around San Antonio. On a Sunday? Then I got a goddamn flat tire just outside Boerne.

I was just sitting there, crying in frustration, when someone tapped on my window. I jumped, then looked out to see a middle-aged guy in jeans and a work shirt. The jeans were held up by a belt buckle as big as a hubcap, and he was wearing a battered straw cowboy hat.

I cracked my window. "Yes?"

He regarded me, then drawled, "Havin' some trouble, little lady?"

Must... control... sarcasm...

I bit my lip, resisting the urge to beat my head on the steering wheel. I took a breath, forced my best pageant smile, and channeled my elderly Aunt Polly from Pecos.

"Why I sure am, thank you for stoppin'! I reckon I got me a flat tire! Do you think you could help little old me?" I batted my eyelashes at him. Internally, I bitch-slapped myself.

He sucked in his gut, showed me all eight of his snuff-stained teeth, and said, "It'd be my pleasure, ma'am. Pop the trunk and ah'll have you fixed up in a jiffy!"

Well, he was true to his word. Fifteen minutes later, he tapped again and said I was all set. Then he pushed his hat back, and said, "Hey, you reckon you and me..."

My first impulse was to say, "Kthxbai!" and hit the gas.

However, I couldn't bring myself to be such a bitch after his simple act of kindness. Instead, I said, "Sir, you are a kind gentleman and such a good Samaritan. But I couldn't possibly take up more of your valuable time. Besides, I promised my Aunt Petunia I'd help fix dinner at First Baptist tonight. But if you're ever down in Uvalde, please look us up."

"Might just do that." He smiled and tipped his hat. I drove away, feeling a little better about the human condition. Hmm... I might just have to write that nice man into one of my romances. However, for my readers' sakes, I would give him a few more teeth - definitely whiter ones.

The rest of my drive to Bandera was anticlimactic. I parked and checked in at the main ranch house. I didn't seem to have missed much. A few of the other guests were dressed in outfits fresh off the L.L. Frijole rack, and were practicing their moseying around a buffet table, trying to sip cabernet like a cowboy.

I surreptitiously plucked the price tag off an older gentleman's brand-new retina-roasting horror of a western shirt (hot pink with lime green embroidery) and shielded my eyes from further injury.

I managed to find the bathroom and some coffee and watched an annoyingly perky young cowgirl sauntering by in a chambray shirt, jeans, boots, and a white Stetson. She also wore a name tag that said "Howdy! I'm Jessie!" I'd never seen anyone actually saunter before. She handed out information packets to all of us and answered questions. I took one look at the schedule of activities for the week, and was appalled. This was going to be a long fucking week.

I found my room, which was decked out in the expected cowboy decor. After unpacking my bag, I lay back in bed with my iPad and checked my email. Somewhere among the spam, I fell asleep, and didn't wake up until I heard the dinner bell clanging out by the chow hall. I stretched, and got up, feeling surprisingly rested, and reckoned I could eat.

Dinner was decent - fried chicken with all the fixings - but I still didn't feel very sociable, so I retired to my room. After my nap earlier, I wasn't that sleepy, so I stayed up reading for a few hours.

===

HARRY

What we do for our friends. That's why I couldn't say no when my best friend Bill Williams invited me to his bachelor party. However, I was surprised at the location. "Bandera? Why?"

Bill said, "Duh, that's where the dude ranch is."

"Yes, and..."

"I grew up in New York, but I always loved the idea of being a cowboy. That's why I jumped at the chance to take a job here in Austin. I imagined that I'd be living out on a ranch in the sagebrush, surrounded by cactus and coyotes."

"We have cactus and coyotes here in Austin."

"Yeah, but other than that, it's like living in Baltimore or Atlanta or any other big city. And now I'm getting married next month, and I've still never had my Western adventure. That's why I want to spend a week hanging out with you and Joe, being a cowboy!"

Joe Nichols was a software engineer like me and Bill and was also Bill's best man. He also grew up in a big city back east, and was as enthusiastic as Bill about spending a week ridin' and ropin' dogies and playing golf. What the hell. I'd been to weirder bachelor parties. There was that one time in... No, it was too soon. I shuddered.

It's not that I had anything against dude ranches, but I had my fill of "ridin' and ropin'" as Bill and Joe put it, as a kid. I grew up on our family ranch out in West Texas, where I racked up more saddle time than I care to remember, rounding up sheep and goats and cattle. But I gave up all interest in ranching when I moved to Austin years ago. Now it was all in the hands of my sister and our parents. After getting a couple of degrees in computer science from UT, a local AI startup snapped me up. I now lived in the East Oak Hill neighborhood, with a sweet view looking out over Barton Creek and all of the Hill Country honeys who hiked through there. The only thing I wrangled these days was lines of Python code.

Soooo... we all drove down together to Bandera, for a week of male bonding. Yahoo.

We made it down there in about 2 hours, just in time for some chilled wine and cheese in the main ranch house. This was definitely an upscale dude ranch. A cute cowgirl named Jessie brought us information packets and flirted with us for a few minutes. Before she moved on to the next guests, Joe had signed all three of us up for a trail ride the next morning. Sigh. Okay, sure. Why not?

After dinner, Bill and Joe insisted on having a few drinks in the bar. I wasn't planning on getting drunk, but somehow one tequila shot followed another until we were all definitely feeling no pain. We had one more shot at last call, and then staggered off to our rooms. I fumbled with my room key, and then stumbled inside, shutting the door a little harder than I meant to. I took a leak, and slipped off my boots, but that was about all I could handle. I flopped onto the bed in my clothes and passed out.

===

PORTIA

I started nodding off just before midnight, so I brushed my teeth and changed into my jammies. I slipped under the covers and turned out the light. Even with the relentlessly Western decor, this was a pretty comfy room - especially the bed.

Just as I was slipping off to sleep, I heard someone coming down the boardwalk outside my room. The footsteps paused at the room next door to me. I heard the door slam, and I headed back down the slope into slumber. I was almost asleep when I heard The Noise.

What the hell is that? Where is it coming from? I sat up in bed and listened. What the absolute fuck? It was the asshole in the room next door, snoring like an asthmatic water buffalo.

I wrapped my pillows around my head. That helped some, but not enough. I got up and scoured my luggage looking for earplugs or my noise-cancelling headphones. After searching everywhere, I finally remembered — they were on my nightstand. In my condo. In fucking Houston. Crap.

The rest of the night was horrifying. My neighbor continued his Texas Chainsaw Massacre on my ears for the rest of the night. Occasionally the noise would stop for twenty or thirty seconds and I would begin to rejoice. But noooooo... it always started up again, just as loud as ever. My emotions during these moments of respite began to devolve. The first time, I thought, "Ah, he turned over on his side and is now resting comfortably." As the night drew on, any remaining bit of my milk of human kindness evaporated, and I had much darker thoughts such as, "The motherfucker died! At last!" I am clearly not a good person.

It got so bad that I even tried sleeping in my car, but it was too uncomfortable.

===

MONDAY

===

PORTIA

In the end, I didn't get any sleep at all, and went to breakfast cranky as hell, because fuck you!

I grabbed a large coffee and choked down some scrambled eggs and toast in the chow hall. To add to my misery, 'Howdy-I'm-Jessie' the fucking cowgirl dropped by my table looking for some last-minute recruits for the morning trail ride. Finally, I said I would go, just to get rid of her.

===

HARRY

I woke up the next morning and felt like hell. I had a headache and felt slightly queasy. Goddamn tequila shooters. I noticed that my throat was really sore and dry — I must have been snoring all night. Crap. I had forgotten to take my antihistamine last night before going to bed. Pollen counts had been through the roof lately and had been driving my allergies wild.

About that time some idiot started ringing the bell for breakfast. I was about to blow off eating and go back to sleep when I remembered signing up for the trail ride. I didn't feel like eating anything but thought I'd better get some coffee if I wanted to survive the ride.

===

PORTIA

I'm still not sure how Miss Perky Tits, aka Jessie the Cowgirl, had convinced me that a trail ride would be fun and a great way to start the week. I set a mental reminder to strangle her later — if I survived the ride. I rode along like the Grim Reaper on a horse surely destined for the glue factory, clutching the saddle horn as if it were Jessie's neck. Suddenly my mangy mount started hopping around like a spastic jackrabbit. Great; this was so not how I wanted to die!

===

HARRY

"What the fuck are you doing?" This shriek from the woman ahead of me suggested that my second day at the dude ranch was not going well.

I was feeling the aftereffects of every one of those shooters last night, yet I somehow found myself on horseback, moseying along on a morning trail ride. Why the hell did I let Joe and Bill talk me into this?

Even after being away from the ranch for a while, I'm still a pretty good rider. But this morning I wobbled on my horse with the effortless grace of a catatonic zombie. My horse was clearly bred for the tenderfoot crowd and had a placid, plodding gait. That is until a grasshopper suddenly jumped out of the grass ahead of us. To be fair, it was a pretty big grasshopper, and it triggered his fight-or-flight reflex, and he bolted ahead into the rear of the horse ahead. That horse whinnied, bucked slightly, crow-hopped, and spun around a few times. I eased my horse closer and spoke to the other horse in soothing tones. "Easy, girl, easy... That's it — good girl..."

The horse calmed down, but not the rider. She had managed to stay on, but was clearly furious. She began to flay the flesh from my face with her pure, profane, pejorative patter.

After establishing that I was a worthless motherfucker, a pus-filled boil on a mandrill's ass, and a pile of cold fuck on spilled baby shit, she and her horse resumed their plod up the trail.

I blinked. And to show I meant it, I blinked again. 'What the fuck was that all about?' I moseyed my horse up a little closer to hers and said, "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen."

"Fuck off and die, asshole!" she snarled, with eyes clenched shut and fingers clutching the saddle horn. I rocked back in my saddle at her unadulterated fury. Wow, that girl had some issues.

One of the wranglers ambled back toward us. Well, his horse ambled, he just sat on it. He did, however, give us the stink eye and ask if everything was all right.

The crazy woman hissed, "Oh sure, just peachy. Asshole over here," she jerked her thumb at me, "tried to kill me, I'm only half awake, and this horse stinks." Her mount turned her head to regard her and nickered a mild reproach.

The wrangler turned to look at me, and I said, "Sorry. My horse got spooked and bumped into hers. Completely my fault."

He eyed us for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Just... couldja keep the profanity down please?" And he headed back up the line.

Psycho Lady turned to glare at me, then grabbed for the saddle horn again as her horse jerked into motion to follow the one in front of her. I heard a muttered, "Fuck!"

I was beginning to get the idea that she might be upset with me. Okay, fine, I can take a hint. I let my horse drift back in line and finished the rest of the ride in silence. After we turned in our horses back at the corral, the woman tried one more time to incinerate me with her eyes, and then stomped off.

Fuck it. I didn't want to be there anyway.

===

After the lovely trail ride, I decided to pass on lunch and went back to my room to take a nap.

As I swiped my room key over the lock, the door next to mine opened, and out walked the Harpy from Hell that I had met that morning.

She was in no better mood. "Jesus wept! You tried to kill me this morning! And you're also the asshole who kept me up all night with his snoring!"

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly and looked at her. "I'm really sorry. I forgot to take my allergy meds before I went to bed."

She glared. "Yeah, right."

"Between the allergies and my deviated septum, I can't sleep worth shit if I skip my meds. But I'll be a lot quieter tonight. Again, apologies, but I really need a nap now." I went into my room and shut my door.

===

PORTIA

Hell, I was tired too. A nap sounded pretty good, so I went into my room and plopped down on my bed. I closed my eyes and let my head sink deep into the fluffy pillow. My brain began to slow down. Sleep would be so nice, so fine — if only the fucking buzzsaw didn't fire up next door...

My eyes popped open when the dinner bell rang. Wait — did I actually fall asleep? Omigosh, I felt so much better now. Maybe the drugs worked on the fucktard next door. Or, maybe the bastard died in his sleep. I could only hope.

I got up, stretched, and went into the bathroom to wash my face. Hmm... I didn't feel half-bad. The dinner bell rang again, and my stomach growled. Well, I guess I could eat.

===

HARRY

When I woke up a few hours later — Hallelujah! My headache was gone. I took a shower and then headed over to the chow hall for dinner. The cooks were grilling burgers and brats outside, and the smell made me drool. I grabbed one of each, as well as a big scoop of beans. I found onions, ketchup, and other fixings over at the condiment table.

I looked around for a free seat, and spotted Bill and Joe. I sat down and noticed that they both still looked a bit green around the gills. "Aren't you guys going to eat anything?"

Bill retched slightly. I should have been more sympathetic, but fuck that. Bring me to this damned dude ranch? Get me drunk last night and then wake me up for a trail ride? I was ready for some sweet, sweet schadenfreude. I made a point of taking a huge bite of burger and chewed it as noisily as I could. "God, this is so good!"

I slurped a spoonful of beans and saw Joe beginning to lose it. I kept on chomping and making yummy noises. They finally broke, and ran outside.

Now that I was no longer actively trying to make them hurl, I noticed that it actually was a pretty good burger. After the brat, I had a slice of apple pie and all was right with the world.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the Wicked Witch of West Texas over at another table. It looked like she was trying to avoid being drawn into a conversation with the middle-aged couple sitting across from her, who were cheerfully oblivious to her moody mien.

As dinner wound down, a few of the ranch hands pulled out instruments and started playing. Cute and perky cowgirl Jessie now wore a big white Stetson. She started pulling people onto the dance floor and teaching them a simple line dance. I don't mind dancing now and then, but I wasn't feeling very sociable at the time. I slipped out the door and headed for my room.

One of the other dining hall doors swung open in my path. I stopped abruptly — just in time to keep from running into the Harridan from Down the Hall. I said, "Looks like I managed to avoid trampling you this time. Good night, ma'am." I touched the brim of my imaginary hat and walked past her.

"Wait!" she demanded. I stopped and turned around, ready to bolt at the first sign of impending mayhem. But she surprised me.

She pursed her lips, and in a somewhat less strident tone, said, "I'm sorry I was a little grumpy this morning."

I arched one eyebrow. "If that was Little Grumpy, then I'd hate to meet Big Grumpy." I couldn't resist jerking her chain — I felt like I owed her some flak after the trail ride that morning.

She grimaced. "It's not your fault that your horse shied. I may have jumped to the wrong conclusion."

"Ya think? But not gonna lie, I was impressed by your conclusion. Something about a 'boil on a mandrill's ass'?"

You read about people blushing, but rarely see it in normal life. This was no faint color adorning her cheeks. She gave a great blush job — maybe the best I've ever had.

I beckoned for her to continue. "You were saying?"

She took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry."

I could see how hard that was for her. So I reined in my natural snarkiness and replied, "Thank you. I accept your apology. I'm Harry McMurtry." I held out my hand. She looked at it for just a second, then shook. Her grip was warm and firm.

"I'm Portia — Portia Mueller."

"Pleased to meet you, Portia. And how long were you in the Marines?"

"What!?"

"Your command of the profane this morning was quite impressive. How long were you a drill instructor?"

"I'm not! I'm a writer!"

"Oh! In that case, let me guess — IKEA manuals?"

"No, asshole! I write romance novels."

"For drill instructors?"

"Oh, for... Go fuck yourself!"

She stormed off to her room.

Shit. I rubbed my face with my hand. That was pretty dickish of me. I had wanted to tease her, but that was over the line.

===

PORTIA

Fucking jerk. Try to be nice and this is what happens? I threw myself down on my bed and tried not to cry. Then I heard a soft knock.

I strode to the floor and flung it open. "WHAT?"

It was the asshole. Err, Harry. He had his hand raised to knock again. He blinked at me, then slowly lowered it.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? After what happened this morning, I wanted to tease you a bit. I went too far."

Well, this was new — an asshole with manners. What would that make him — a sophisticated sphincter? Or, maybe this was just one more manipulative, dickhead ploy that I hadn't seen before. Anyway, who cared? I'd never see him again. Just a few more days here and I could get back to my life.

I said, "Okay, fine. Apology accepted." I shut the door in his face, but I did feel a bit better.

I went to bed early and slept soundly. If Harry snored, it didn't wake me up.

===

HARRY

Well, that was special. At least she didn't slam the door this time.

I felt better having apologized, but I wasn't sleepy. I briefly considered reading myself to sleep with a book on my iPad. Instead, I decided to do a little writing before going to bed. I write for my own amusement, and had started doing it a few years ago.

I have always been a demon reader, with a daily diet of all sorts of digital and physical media. Last year, I discovered an online erotica site, and greatly enjoyed reading one wild and wicked wonder after another. However, the quality of materials varies widely on most fan fiction sites. Some of the stories are magnificent and are worthy of any mainstream publication. Others are pretty bad, with gross grammar, puzzling points of view, constipated story arcs, and plot holes you could drive a herd of flatulent hippopotamuses through. After reading one of the latter stories one day, I said to myself, "Jesus — I could write a better story than that!"

My inner devil's advocate said, "Talk is cheap, smartass. Prove it!" It was a dick thing to say, but he wasn't wrong.

What to write? I mused for a while, and then remembered a story I'd heard from Linda, one of my company's developers. She had caught her husband 'outsourcing' his love life to another woman. The moron had accidentally outed himself in a rather embarrassing social media own-goal. Linda's discovery of his perfidy and her ensuing technological takedown were harrowing but hilarious.

I decided to fictionalize her story. I changed all the names, added some dialogue, and was smugly pleased with myself. It then sat on my computer for a month while I got distracted by other matters. Then I reread it. Wow, absence did not make the heart grow fonder. What a steaming pile of shit! This writing stuff was a lot harder than I realized.

But I persevered, and went through several rewrites before finally posting it online. My story didn't win any awards, but it did stimulate a number of interesting comments. The inevitable trolls weighed in, but most of the comments were encouraging. Several gave me some very helpful advice that I took to heart. I kept on writing stories — mostly to amuse myself, but sometimes to exorcise some of my inner demons. Tonight, I decided to indulge myself in a little of the latter — maybe a demon from this morning...

The next few hours flew by. My new story almost wrote itself, and I ended up incorporating some of my interactions with Portia into the tale.

I was happy with how it turned out, so I posted it and then went to bed.

===

TUESDAY

===

PORTIA

I saw Harry sitting alone at breakfast the next morning. I realized that I may have been a bit of a bitch, but he had volleyed that attitude right back at me, Now, since he had apologized, I resolved to try to be less bitchy. So... I took my tray and sat down across from him. I said, "Good morning."

"Morning, Portia."

I glanced at him, looking for signs of sarcasm, but there weren't any. Hmm... I continued, "Look, I'm sorry again for snapping at you yesterday. It's just... my publisher made me come on this trip, and I really don't want to be here."

When I mentioned the word "publisher", his eyes brightened, and he smiled. He had a nice smile. I mentally smacked myself though. I was not here to flirt with the first random guy who acted halfway nice. However, this was the first time I'd been around him that I didn't hate him with the white-hot heat of a thousand suns. I was surprised to realize that he was an attractive man, with sandy hair and twinkling blue eyes. He was about my age and was a few inches taller than me. My gaze lingered for a moment on his broad shoulders... I smacked myself again. Focus, Portia!

Oblivious to my internal monologue, he said, "You're a writer? Anything I might have read?"

I laughed. "Sure, if you like trashy romances. "Whirlwinds of Desire?" "Passionate Pleasures of the Pirate Prince?" "Secret Agent's Seduction?"

He started laughing, and despite myself, I chuckled too. "Hey, those books pay my rent!"

"Sorry," he said. "I shouldn't laugh. At least you're published."

"Oh? You write too?"

"Umm... yeah, just for fun. But tell me more! Do you do book tours and stuff? Is it as tedious as I've heard?"

That was a rather sudden change of subject. He seemed almost embarrassed about his writing, which was weird. Usually, amateur writers love to tell me all about their masterpieces — aka self-indulgent accounts of their literary disasters.

I rolled my eyes. "You have NO idea." I told him about a few of my book tour breakdowns, including my own personal Gig from Hell in North Dakota.

"It was snowing so hard in Fargo that even the locals stayed at home. Hell, if the event hadn't been in the hotel I was staying at, I wouldn't have shown up either. But that didn't stop Mort the Mouth-Breather, oh no!"

Harry snorted. "I think I need to hear some more about Mr. Breather."

"My agent had set up a meet-and-greet in the hotel dining room; nobody showed up except for Mort."

"Mort, as in death?"

"You could say that. And we're not talking about la petite mort here — we're talking about 'Muerto Grande El Mucho'. Mort who weighed at least 300 pounds and lives in his mother's basement. An evening with him was like the Death of All Hope for me. It was supposed to be a reading, followed by hors d'oeuvres with my local fan club. Sadly, the rest of the club were no-shows. He spent most of the evening eating all of the food, staring at my chest, and asking where I drew the inspiration for my sex scenes. Fortunately, I was able to cut the evening short with a feigned headache, before he could get around to an outright proposition."

"Ick!" Harry shuddered.

"Yeah, my boobs still have PTSD." As I said it, I realized that that was almost an invitation for Harry to ogle the girls. But he didn't — he just laughed along with me. My opinion of him went up a notch.

Plus, Harry had a great laugh. I wanted to hear more of it.

"Well, I'd love to hear more about your experiences..." His wrist buzzed, and he glanced at his Apple watch. "But... we have the Inner Tube Armada coming up; and I don't want to get on the bad side of Jessie, the perky cowgirl."

I rolled my eyes. "I can just imagine which parts of her you find perky," I smarmed.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He had the nerve to sound offended.

"Suuure. Let's gooo, we don't want to be laaate." I didn't actually sprain my eyes, but I did roll them pretty hard before I flounced off.

===

HARRY

I had very much enjoyed having breakfast with Portia. What I liked most about it was the conversation. She was a great storyteller. I liked her agile, creative mind, and wanted to chat with her for hours. Also, she had a potty mouth that could make a sailor blanch.

She had a lovely smile when she wasn't actively roasting my ass. She looked to be in her early thirties, the same as me. She had shortish dark brown hair and hazel eyes, and a fine figure, which filled out her shirt and jeans nicely. I tried not to let my gaze linger too long on her; the sad saga of Mort the Mouth-Breather was a cautionary tale that I took to heart. I certainly didn't want to get busted for staring at her bust. I'd already been on the receiving end of one of her tongue-lashings, and not in the good way.

My watch alerted me that the Inner Tube Armada would launch shortly on the Medina River. Finally — a dude ranch activity that actually appealed to me! I was also looking forward to seeing how Portia filled out her bathing suit.

===

PORTIA

A leisurely float down a shady river sounded like a lot more fun than that damned trail ride. I had really enjoyed chatting with Harry over breakfast and was looking forward to more of it.

I changed into my two-piece swimsuit after making a long-overdue landscaping run at the shrubbery on the lower deck. I put on a sun shirt with long sleeves, rubbed sunscreen everywhere I could reach, and donned a big floppy hat. I had had a come-to-Jesus moment during my last dermatology appointment. Instead of admiring my tan, my doctor just shook her head and asked me where I'd gotten all of my 'damage'. I have her to thank for my current Dracula-like approach to sun exposure.

I slipped on a pair of water sandals and walked next door to Harry's room. He answered my knock dressed in a set of baggy board shorts and a black T-shirt with the words Law and Mordor across the front.

He said, "Hi — be ready in just a second." He rubbed one last patch of sunblock into a set of nicely muscled legs, and then donned a pair of high-tech river shoes. He flipped a well-worn cowboy hat on his head to complete his ensemble. "Okay, I'm ready."

===

HARRY

We moseyed down to the riverbank together. The river wranglers gave us each our own, fairly luxe inner tube; certainly big enough for a comfortable sprawl. A wrangler hooked a floating cooler to my tube, and we filled it with a few water bottles, a flask of wine, and some munchies. Finally, he clipped a paddle to each tube with several feet of safety line.

Most of the other tubers were already a ways ahead of us, and we cast off into the Medina River in our own private flotilla of two. The gentle current was sufficient to keep us moving without having to paddle at all. It was a gorgeous day, with just a few scattered clouds to keep the sun guessing. The temperature was already in the high 80's, and the water felt great.

The banks were lined with pecan and live oak trees. As we floated along through the dappled shade, Portia told me a few more war stories about writing and the book biz. I was impressed, and maybe even a little in awe of being this close to a real, live professional writer. After hearing some of her thoughts on the craft of writing, I felt more and more like a poser. She asked me about my writing, but I deflected her questions by suddenly spotting convenient turtles or interesting trees.

I was running out of turtles and trees when I thought of a way to kill two birds with one stone. I could distract Portia from my writing, and also interweave a few innocent innuendos into our conversation as we drifted down the river.

I looked over at her and grinned charmingly.

===

PORTIA

I turned my head to see Harry smirking at me like an idiot. "What?!"

"Umm... I was just thinking. I, uhh, had a question, but I'm not exactly sure how to ask it."

"Just ask, Harry. I promise I won't bite."

"Well... I'm curious about romance writing. Are there different kinds? Like, rules and stuff? For example, what's the difference between, say, romance and erotica? I mean, I get the explicit sex part, but is there more to it than that?"

He was trying to be subtle, and for now, I let him.

"Sure," I replied. "A lot, actually." And I launched into an explanation of the various, err, variations, starting with straight-up pornography where there is basically zero character development, through erotica, erotic romance, sexy romance, and finally standard romance.

Harry was nodding along, and I felt like I was giving a Creative Writing lecture. Harry actually raised his hand, and I splashed him. "Idiot," I chided.

He gave me a bit of an eyebrow waggle and laughed. Then he said, "Can you give me a few concrete examples?"

"You just want to hear me talk about sex some more, you pervert!"

"Well, you're not wrong," and his grin was back.

"Fine," I sighed. I cleared my throat. Why was this awkward?

"Some easy examples. All right, let's see... okay. In Erotica you can say 'fuck.' In Romance, you'd generally say 'make love.' In Erotica, you can say 'cock.' In Romance, you'd say "tumescence,' or even 'turgid member,' if you're feeling especially naughty."

I couldn't believe it, talking about dicks with Harry had me blushing again. Jeez! I glanced over at him from the corner of my eye.

He was nodding again though, and just said, "Okay, I've got one! In Erotica you can say 'tits' or 'funbags'..."

I spat out the mouthful of water I'd just taken. "Funbags? What the fuck! No, you can never, ever say 'funbags' in any context. Ever again. Oh my God." I shook my head. That dipshit was just laughing.

"Okay, okay, sorry. Never again. So, 'tits.' But in Romance..." and here, he paddled closer and lowered his voice, "they're 'heaving bosoms'?"

His sexy baritone had my own bosom starting to heave a little bit, as I could feel my heart rate pick up a notch or three.

"Uhh... sh-shouldn't we c-catch up with the others?"

He looked down the river, and there was nary a tube in sight. "Shit! You're right." And we resumed our journey downstream.

===

HARRY

After we'd caught up a bit, we both fell silent, and I lay back in the tube for a bit, just chilling and enjoying the day. It was so relaxing that I almost nodded off, until I felt the current picking up a bit. I opened my eyes to see Portia going around the bend ahead of me. A second or two later, I heard her scream! I jerked upright and grabbed my paddle. As I came around the corner, I spotted Portia in an eddy near the bank. Her tube seemed to be caught in a pile of branches that had collected there. She continued to scream, but I couldn't see what all the commotion was about.

As I got closer, things suddenly snapped into focus. What I had thought was a branch was actually a large water moccasin, sitting on a log about two meters downstream from Portia. She was hanging on to a tree root for dear life, trying not to get swept onto the log.

I wasn't sure what to do, but I damned sure knew what I didn't want to do. The current was carrying me toward Portia like a giant curling stone, perfectly on track to knock her loose and propel her right into the snake.

I dug deep with my paddle — a few strong strokes were just enough to send me floating past her and onto the bank a few meters downstream from the snake. I grabbed a tree limb and held on until I could drop my legs down through the tube.

Huh! The water was only 3 feet deep, and the current wasn't all that strong at that point. I unclipped my paddle, and then lifted the tube over my head and pushed it up on the riverbank. The cooler stayed in the water but didn't seem to want to go anywhere.

Okay, now what? Portia stopped screaming when she saw me but was still pretty agitated. The snake seemed to resonate somewhat with her emotions. It wasn't acting aggressively, but it had assumed a defensive posture, with a quivering tail and gaping white mouth.

I decided that Plan A started with calming Portia down. Maybe that would calm the snake down too. Just in case, I held my paddle ready for Plan B, which was to whomp the sombitch with it if everything went to hell.

"It's okay, Portia. I'm right here. Nothing's going to happen to you. Deep breaths — nice and slow."

I kept on droning soothing sounds at Portia and the snake. Every soporific syllable I could think of. Hell, I channeled my inner fucking Bob Ross. I had no idea if it would actually work, but after a bit, Portia seemed to calm somewhat, and the snake appeared a bit less twitchy.

Keeping a close watch on that beady-eyed bastard, I whispered, "The water's not that deep here. Keep holding on to that root but see if you can stand up."

She contorted slightly and slipped her feet down inside the tube. She kept a death grip on the root and then slowly extended her legs. When her feet hit the bottom, she sighed and relaxed noticeably.

I gave her a moment, and then said, "All good?"

She nodded.

I looked at the snake. "You good too?" The snake hissed at me but closed its mouth and kept watching us intently.

I said, "Okay. Slowly walk away from the bank a step or two. When you're ready, use your legs to launch yourself out toward the middle of the river. The current will carry you down to me, and I'll catch you. Okay?"

She nodded.

"Ready?"

She nodded again.

"Okay, on the count of three..."

Portia gave me a panicked... well, still panicked... look. "Wait! Do you mean on three? Or one - two - three - go?"

I stared at her, nonplussed. The snake looked back and forth between us.

Giving myself a mental shake, I said, "Uhh... the second one. Ready?"

She gulped and nodded.

"Okay. One. Two. Three — push off!"

She surged out away from the snake and came floating right into my arms. She wrapped her arms tightly around my neck and began sobbing her heart out.

I held her, gently stroking her back. I murmured words of comfort in her ear and kissed her on the temple. I also kept my eye on the snake. It watched us for a moment, then gaped its mouth again and gave me one final hiss, before slithering up onto the bank and off into the brush.

Portia stopped crying but continued her tight hold around my neck. Now that the snake was gone, I began to pay attention to other things, such as the warm, wet, and very female body pressed up against me. I did not sprout an immediate boner but realized that I was rapidly becoming boner-adjacent.

I said, "Portia? What say we get out of this damned river?"

"Oh, hell yes."

She pulled my head down and kissed my cheek, and then released me from her grasp. Was it my imagination, or did she seem somewhat reluctant to let me go?

I retrieved my tube, and we began our walk/float downstream. After a few hundred feet, we headed for a low spot on the left bank and staggered out of the water. I dragged our tubes and our cooler up on the bank — the opposite side from that damned water moccasin. Before sitting down, we did a careful scan all around the ground, because fuck snakes. Then we collapsed side by side on the ground and didn't move for several minutes.

===

PORTIA

I looked around. "Where the hell are we?"

"Beats me. Any minute now I'm going to get up and look around."

It turned out to be about 20 minutes later before either of us moved. It's amazing how exhausted you can get from passively floating in an inner tube — plus a few moments of extreme terror. Betty was right — I needed to get more exercise.

Harry leaned toward me. "Hungry?"

I blinked. "Hmm?"

"We still have some snacks in our cooler."

"Huh. You're right. Yeah, sounds good."

A bag of pretzels had never tasted that good before. I washed down my last bite with a swig of wine and let out a mighty burp.

Harry gave me side-eye. "Your eloquence astonishes me."

"Can't help it — I'm a professional writer."

We both snickered at that.

My snicker morphed into a whimper, and then I was crying again. Harry leaned over and put his arms around me. He didn't say a word — just held me.

After a minute, I stopped crying. I took a deep breath and let it out. "God, Harry. I thought I was going to die!" I sniffled. "You were amazing. You talked me off the ledge back there. Jesus — you even calmed that snake down!"

"It was just responding to you. Once you calmed down, it relaxed too."

"If you say so. Thank you."

"You're very welcome. I'm just glad I could help."

"Well, a lot of guys wouldn't. Every guy I've ever been involved with before would've just kept on paddling and left me to die."

Harry asked gently, "Do you want to talk about it?" I glanced at him, and his eyes were full of sympathy.

I looked down. "No, not really. But... I'll tell you anyway." I grimaced. "My ex. Turns out he was an asshole. And not the lovable kind." I gave him a pointed glance, pausing to collect my thoughts.

"It took me way too long to figure it out, and it took me even longer to finally kick his ass out. That's when it started getting scary. He began stalking me, showing up at my events, and just... standing there. Leaving notes on my car or on my front door. Calling me. I finally had to get a restraining order and change my number. Thank God, so far that seems to have solved the problem — I haven't heard from him since.

"But... not knowing where or when he might just appear? I became a bit of a recluse, and it has really affected my writing."

Harry said, "Wow, that really sucks. I'm sorry you had to go through that." But then he smirked a little, and said, "Maybe you just need to start dating outside of your usual demographic."

I glared. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Seems to me that you have a 'type': Asshole-Americans."

"Would that include you?" I smirked at him.

"Well, partly. But I consider myself more of a situational asshole," he said with feigned haughtiness.

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"I jerk people's chains, but I don't fuck them over."

"So, hanging out with you would involve a certain amount of chain-jerking?"

"Count on it. Probably every day. You hang your pigtails down over my desk and they're going in the inkwell."

"But I could also count on you to save me from the occasional velociraptor?"

"Yep. If one chases you, I'll rope it, skin it, and make it into a pair of boots for you, darlin'."

"Raptor-hide boots? That would be pretty cool." And the best part? I believed that he actually would.

===

HARRY

Now that I had fed her pretzels and plied her with wine, it was time to make my big move. I leaned over, moved my face a few inches from Portia's, and said, "You know what I would really like right now?"

She looked deeply into my eyes and moved close enough for me to feel her breath on my face. "What's that?"

I moistened my lips and moved yet closer. "More than anything, I want..."

She licked her lips and breathed, "Yes?"

I pulled my face back, and said, "I want some dry clothes! How about you?"

She sputtered, and said, "You sonovabitch!" This was followed by melodious laughter, and then, "Well played, Casanova! You have an unconventional way of getting a girl all wet and excited, and then doing your damndest to talk her out of her panties. Odd, but effective."

I raised the last of my wine and toasted, "To wet panties coming off!"

She laughed and lifted her cup, "To dry panties coming on."

I grinned. "And maybe some quality time in between."

She blushed.

I downed my wine and stood up. "I'm going to go see a man about a horse, then figure out where the heck we are."

I really did need to pee after all that wine. Eyes still alert for sneaky serpents; I trod warily over to the bushes and did my business. I explored a bit more and found that we were on the edge of a grassy playfield.

I ambled back to Portia and said, "Looks like we landed right next to a city park. Why don't we carry our stuff over there and I'll call for a ride on my Apple watch."

I helped Portia up, and we slogged through the brush to the park. We dropped our gear, and I rang up the ranch. They had been expecting us about a half-mile further downriver but were happy to swing by and pick us up.

Ten minutes later, we were wrapped in towels in the back of a pickup, heading back to the dude ranch. They dropped us off in front of our rooms. As they drove away, Portia gave me a damp hug, and whispered in my ear, "At this point in the story, it's time for the grateful heroine to rip her clothes off..."

She gave me a quick kiss on the lips and added, "...in her room, alone!"

I snickered. "You jerk a pretty good chain yourself, lady. See you in a half-hour for lunch?"

"It's a date!"

===

PORTIA

Getting those wet clothes off and standing under a hot shower were the most sensual things I'd done in six months. Visions of Harry doing the same thing next door added a little extra frisson to my ablutions. If I had had a detachable showerhead and a bit more time, I would have used it to give a little extra attention to a few specific body parts.

I dressed and then went next door to Harry's room. Just as I raised my hand to knock, he opened the door and smiled. "Now that I finally got you to drop your panties, I suppose I should buy you lunch."

You had to admire his confidence. But I rolled my eyes. "Alone in my own room hardly counts, Harry. But yeah, you should. However, it'll have to be some other time — this dude ranch is all-inclusive, cheapskate."

He regarded me for a moment and exaggerated stroking a nonexistent beard. "I'm really looking forward to that 'all' part that you say is included."

I shook my head. "Asshole."

"Hey, it's situational."

I pulled him out the door. "C'mon. Let's go to lunch."

===

HARRY

She pulled me in close as we walked over to the chow hall — close enough to catch the clean scent of her. For the remainder of our walk, I was distracted by thoughts of Portia taking a shower.

We had lunch with Bill and Joe, who gave us a play-by-play of their round of golf. Mercifully, we were joined a few minutes later by Barney and Doris Fleegleman, a fifty-ish couple from Rock Island, IL. They were both short, stout, and pale. They were going to be sitting ducks for the Texas sun.

They wore matching shirts and floppy white sun hats. It didn't take long to see how completely devoted they were to one another. Doris was tutting and fussing over his sunscreen, and he bore it with silent fortitude.

Barney asked Bill, Joe, and me what we did for a living. I said, "Software. How about you?"

With a gleam in his eye, Barney said, "Hardware."

Bill asked, "Do you work with servers?"

Barney looked confused. "Uh... no, the ocean is about a thousand miles away from us."

Doris tittered. "No, silly! Not surfers — servers, like the ones who serve our customers?"

Barney looked relieved. "Oh... you mean like Marge and Ethel up at the front counter. Sure, I work with them, but I'm usually back in the tool department."

Now Bill looked confused. "No, I meant like racks of servers."

Barney turned bright pink at this and looked to Doris for help. She said, "Barney's too bashful to say so, but Marge is pretty well-endowed up top. Ethel? Not so much."

It was all Portia and I could do to keep from cracking up. She got the conversation back on the rails by turning to Doris and asking, "What did y'all do this morning while we were inner tubing?"

"We spent the morning in the blacksmith's shop watching him make stuff. At one point, he took requests on what to make next. I asked him to make a flower. It only took him about 10 minutes, but he made me a pretty nice single-stemmed rose, complete with thorns!"

Portia turned to Barney. "What did you ask him to make?"

Barney beamed. "I asked him to make me a wrench. Darned if he didn't! I told him he could have a job in our hardware store anytime he wanted."

It was pretty clear that if we encouraged Barney at all, he would have talked about hardware all day long. Doris came to the rescue by asking Portia, "How did your morning go on the river?"

Portia looked at me, but I gestured for her to go for it. My version of the story would have been short and boring. "We floated, we saw a snake, we came back. The end."

Her version was much more colorful. It started off like Deliverance, minus the dueling banjos. By the time she got to the snake, we were well into the gruesome river crossing scene from Lonesome Dove. I didn't recognize myself. The guy in her story was a cross between John Wayne and Captain America.

Her audience was on the edge of their seats. She ended the story with, "And then we got back to the ranch — and slipped off our wet clothes... But that's another story."

Wow, what a cliffhanger! Doris gave me a knowing smile. Barney's eyes were bulging. Bill's and Joe's tongues were hanging out. Heck, even I wanted to know what happened next.

I realized that everyone's eyes were now on me, and I had no idea what to say. "Umm... that's... uhh... quite a story. Err... I should point out that there are no actual, reliable reports of water moccasin swarms. That was all Hollywood and not actual herpetology..."

I was hooted down, and Joe threw a roll at me. Clearly, no one believed a word I said.

Doris turned to Portia. "That's an amazing story! I got chills when you told about the attack of all the snakes."

Portia said, "Thanks. But I may have embellished a few details here and there. There was actually just one snake, and he was probably as scared as I was..."

Doris said, "Oh no, dear! The way you told it was a much better story. Listening to you was like watching a novel! What kind of work do you do, anyway?"

Portia said, "You're very sweet. As it turns out, I'm a writer. Mostly romance novels."

"Anything I might have read?"

"My last two books were Torrid Tango in Tempe and Ranch Rodeo Romance."

Doris gasped, one hand going to her ample chest. "You wrote Torrid Tango in Tempe? Oh my! That really got my juices flowing. I barely let Barney out of bed all weekend after reading that."

Barney now resembled a roseate root vegetable, somewhere between a beet and a radish. Bill and Joe were looking at him with expressions of deep respect.

Doris said, "I can hardly wait for your next book, dear. Are you working on anything new?"

Portia nodded. "I took a break after my last book. But I do have an idea for a new one." She leaned in with a conspiratorial look. "The working title is... The Snake Whisperer."

I shuddered.

Doris tittered, "Oooohhh... That makes me shiver just thinking about it." She visibly shivered as she said this. "Any idea when it will be out?"

"Well, it depends on my publisher, but it could be out early next year."

Doris turned a sultry gaze on Barney, whose complexion had just barely dialed back to pasty. "Hear that, honey? When that one comes out, brace yourself for a bumpy ride in the bedroom."

Barney did not faint, but he did wobble a bit.

===

PORTIA

After lunch, I said to Harry, "The other day, you said you'd rope a velociraptor for me. Did you mean it?"

"Sure did."

"Um, you have a lot of experience roping things?"

"Yep. Did a lot of roping on the ranch, when I was growing up."

"Any dinosaurs?"

He chuckled. "Not that I recollect, but lots of sheep, goats, cattle, and the odd little sister."

"You mean you occasionally roped your little sister?"

"Well, yes and no. I occasionally roped her, but she's also odd."

"Odder than you? Please, tell me more."

"Odd as in she's freakishly good with animals. I swear, sometimes it's like she's Dr. Doolittle! She's also super smart and got better grades than me in college. Now, she's a large animal veterinarian, and helps Mom and Dad run the family ranch."

"I'd love to meet her."

He looked pleased, and said, "I think you two would get along well." Then, with a wicked grin, he added, "And some of her patients are snakes."

I shuddered, and said "Can we not talk about snakes? Please? I want to know about roping! I'd like to see some of your skills with a lasso."

"Happy to show you — but better yet, the ranch has a roping workshop this afternoon. Want to go?"

"Me? Learn to rope?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Okaaay. But purely for research purposes, of course." I mused for a moment. "I suppose that it could be handy for writing a bondage scene in one of my books."

I think I caught him by surprise with that one, but he recovered quickly. "That's the spirit. More grist for your mill."

We ambled over to the corral and waited for the rope-o-rama to begin.

===

A cute young wrangler named Doug was our roping instructor. He passed out lariats to all of us and then demonstrated how to toss a loop over a set of cow horns attached to a hay bale. He let us practice for a while and wandered around giving advice. He offered to show Harry how to hold a lariat, but Harry just grunted, "I'm good."

Doug came over and decided that I needed some special attention. His idea of a hands-on workshop was a bit too literal for my taste. It involved him standing behind me, putting his hands over mine, and showing me how to toss the rope. His pedagogical technique seemed to center on making sure his groin didn't get too far from my butt. Harry didn't seem to appreciate Doug's proximity to the student body and was twisting the rope in his hands as if it were Doug's neck. Harry was jealous! I smiled to myself, thanked Doug for his help, and he moved on to 'help' some other woman.

While I practiced roping the faux steer, Harry's hands fiddled with his lariat. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him twirling a ring of rope in the air and doing other tricks. Damn. The rope in my hands was just a limp loop of linguini. In his... it was alive.

Then came our graduation exercise — getting to lasso a live target. Wrangler Doug let a small herd of nanny goats and their kids into our corral. I tossed my loop at one of the kids several times but missed. On my final toss, I got the loop over one of the kids but wrapped it around its legs in an awkward way. It stumbled and bleated. I walked over and stooped to untangle it. As I worked, I said, "Easy, baby. Easy. I'll get you free."

The baby goat continued to emit piteous bleats, which made me feel like a complete asshole. As I was bent over, I heard Harry shout, "Portia, look out!"

I looked up to see the kid's mom heading toward me at flank speed, blood in its eye, and its horns aimed at my rear. Before I or Wrangler Doug could react, a loop dropped around its head, and it jerked suddenly to a halt. At the other end of the rope was Harry, who had made a great toss from twenty feet away.

I finished freeing the kid and then stepped widely around its still-angry mother. Harry handed his rope full of goat over to Wrangler Doug and quietly said to him, "You're welcome." He did not actually add 'mother fucker', but it was clearly implied. He then walked back to me and suggested that we had had enough roping for one day. I agreed.

As we walked back to our rooms, I said, "Thanks, Harry. You literally saved my butt."

"Just part of the service, ma'am. Besides, it was definitely worth saving." He touched the brim of his imaginary hat and grinned.

"Looks like you'd have no trouble roping that velociraptor for me."

"Nope, but hog-tying it afterward might be a challenge."

"Looked like there were a few times there where you wanted to feed Wrangler Doug to a velociraptor."

He frowned. "I'd like him a lot better if he'd keep his hands off the guests and his eyes on his animals."

"Feeling a little jealousy there?"

He smiled. "No doubt about it."

"You've got nothing to worry about, cowboy." I pulled him over to me and kissed his cheek.

===

HARRY

I was starting to really like Portia. As I said before, she had a quick wit, and was sometimes irreverent; but I think that just made her even more attractive.

But she seemed genuinely interested in my writing, and I was running out of ways to dodge her questions without actually upsetting her. I got it; it was her profession, so naturally, she'd be curious. I was just embarrassed to admit that I wrote dirty stories! It's easy to post while hiding behind a pseudonym. Not so much without the smokescreen.

I mean, it wasn't straight-up smut — I did try to include at least the semblance of a plot. However, I was still 'honing my craft' (damn, that sounds pretentious) and had lots and lots to learn.

Portia said, "Look, I really am interested, and I promise that I won't judge..."

I said, "I'm just kinda embarrassed for anyone to see what I've written — especially when there's sex involved."

She thought for a minute, then grabbed her computer and started tapping at the keyboard.

She turned her laptop to face me. "Harry, start reading," and she pointed at a spot on the screen.

I complied, and as my eyes traversed the words, they began to widen. After a few minutes, I looked up at her.

"God damn, Portia, that's freakin' hawt!"

She smirked. "Harry, remember our talk back on the river? I think I know now why you were asking me about the fine line between romance and erotica. And I meant what I said: just a few minor changes and your stories would appeal to a much larger audience. But my main point is, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Honest."

I let out a breath. "Thanks. That... was actually really helpful."

"I'm glad." Then she looked down, suddenly shy. "So, do you think... Maybe I could read some of your stuff now?"

I know I was turning red, but I stammered, "Uhh, sure, if you really want to?"

She nodded. "I really do."

I blew out a long breath. "I've been publishing it on an online fiction site called SexesNexus."

"Small world — I've got an account there too!"

Now that she'd told me, I did notice on the screen that she had a SexesNexus account open in a separate window.

"'PorscheWriter'? Nice username! And the 911 Turbo with the inkwell and goose quill? Very cool avatar."

"Thanks," she said.

"But... you're a pro! Why would you hang out on a free fiction site?"

"I go there when I'm in between writing my own books. To clear my mind, I veg out and binge on my favorite authors. Sometimes I even get an idea that I can use for my next book."

I tried to keep my face very neutral. "So, you take ideas from this website and then publish them in your books?"

"Oh, no, no, no!" She shook her head vehemently. "That would be plagiarism! I do something completely different. I mindlessly browse through the latest stories until I hit some tired, old trope that I've heard a million times but that now intrigues me for some reason. I let it percolate in my brain for a while, and then I try to think of a way to turn that trope on its head and take the story off in a completely different direction."

"Uhh... can you give me an example?"

"Okay, here's one I saw just the other night. Have you read the story about a guy who comes home from work early, and finds a strange car in his driveway?"

"Oh, sure — only about a thousand times."

"Well, what if instead of a car, it was a spaceship?"

"Umm..."

"Exactly! Sounds stupid, doesn't it? And that leads to all sorts of questions, like, 'Why is it at my house?' or 'Why isn't my house a pile of radioactive slag?' or 'Why isn't the US Army surrounding my house, with a bazooka aimed at my front door?' or most importantly, 'Is my wife in there fucking a little green man?'"

"Umm... Good questions."

"I know, right? And they lead to even better questions. And sometimes those lead to a pretty good story that's worth expanding into a book."

I thought for a moment, and then asked, "Do you ever find any ideas that are so good, that you want to use them as is?"

"Yeah, once in a great while. When that happens, I contact the author, and try to license his or her idea for my book."

"Hmm... Interesting."

She logged into the site and clicked on her dashboard. "Ooh, look at this! One of my favorite authors just published a new story. I like the title: Bumping Boots at the Dude Ranch."

Oh shit! My blood ran cold. That was the story I posted last night!

Portia seemed unaware of my state of shock and blithely clicked on the link. "Let's see... the plot summary is 'The Taming of the Shrew, set at a dude ranch.' Sort of like us, huh?"

My mouth was dry. "Yeah, that's quite the coincidence..."

"Here's one of the things I love about this site. You run into people like this guy. He's got a lot to learn about writing, but he has a great ear for dialogue! Let me scan through this story and see if I can find you some examples."

"Umm... that's okay. Say, aren't we going to be late for Cowboy Karaoke Night?"

"No, that's tomorrow night. Now sit down. I want to read you some of this guy's material. Ah, here we go."

Fuck me! I knew exactly where this was going.

"Oh, this is great. The two main characters have a meet-cute on a trail ride."

"Meet-cute?"

"Yeah, it's a ROM-COM term for when the two main characters meet for the first time," she said, continuing to read. "Anyway, his horse bumps into hers and she calls him..."

Then her jaw dropped and she said, "NO WAY! No! Fucking! Way!"

Oh, shit! Here it comes! I began to cower inside.

She continued to read, "...a pus-filled boil on a mandrill's ass?!"

Her head snapped around and her eyes drilled into mine. "YOU!"

I quivered.

Her eyes grew wide, and I prepared to meet my doom. "YOU..."

I cringed and waited for the blow to fall.

"You... are 'Python_Wrangler_96'?"

In a tiny voice, I said, "Yes...?"

Her whole facial expression transformed. "Oh my God! This is great! I've been wanting to contact you for months about a collaboration. I can't believe that he's you! You're him! I love your wacky plot ideas!"

I was stunned, and couldn't say a word.

Then her eyes narrowed. "Okay, I've got to ask. Why do you call yourself... 'Python_Wrangler_96'? Please tell me you're not referring to..." and she glanced down at my lap and back up.

"Huh? OH! Oh shit, no. I, uhh, I do a lot of programming, mostly in Python. It's a computer language."

She was visibly relieved. "Good. Whew! I'm really glad it's that and not some sophomoric single entendre about your dick."

"Nope, I would never stoop to mere single-entendre. If I'm gonna make a dick joke, it'll be at least a double."

"Can't wait," she said drily, giving me one of her patented eye rolls.

===

WEDNESDAY

===

PORTIA

It chapped my ass to admit it, but Betty was right. Coming to this dude ranch was exactly what I needed. Consider me successfully jolted out of the rut I've been in for the last six months.

Once we stopped verbally harpooning each other every time we met, Harry and I have gotten along really well. As promised, he yanks my chain several times a day. But it's never in a mean way — it's always playful and eventually hilarious. He is also an equal opportunity chain yanker. I found myself joining in with the verbal catch-and-release ploys he sprang on his friends Bill and Joe. They were good-natured about it, but wasted no time heading for the golf course the first thing every morning to rope a birdie or brand an eagle. Possibly they just wanted to get away from me and Harry.

This ranch was extremely accommodating to the needs of its guests. Although they gave us many opportunities to immerse ourselves in cowboy culture, no one minded if we went off and did our own thing. After breakfast, Harry and I walked along the shady paths that meandered through the live oak trees, chatting about life, love, and literature. It was the most fun I'd had in the last year. We generated so many plot ideas on that stroll that we wound up cutting it short and headed back to our rooms to write them down.

I was prepared to do my usual thing; hole up and write until I cratered from sheer hunger. Harry had other plans. "So, were you serious about collaborating with me on a story?"

"Oh, yes! I'd love to."

"Okay, then. How do you usually go about it when you collaborate with someone?"

"Well..." I wracked my brain for a moment. "I guess I've never actually collaborated with another author. Even when I license someone's idea, I still write the story myself. I guess the only 'collaboration' I have done is between me and my editor. I send her a few chapters, and then she sends them back all marked up."

He smiled. "Want to try something a bit different?"

"Uh, sure. Like what?"

"I'll be right back." He was back in a few minutes with his laptop bag over his shoulder, dragging the desk chair from his room.

He set up his laptop, typed for a minute, and then said. "Okay, look at your email. I've just shared a Google Docs file with you. Open it, and we'll get started."

"What am I looking at here?"

"It's the text for my online story, Bumping Boots. You said you liked the premise, but that it had some plot holes and a few other issues. How about we take my story and fix it and expand it, just as an exercise in collaboration?

"Uh... sure. Where should I start?"

"Anywhere you like. I'll be doing the same thing."

Okay, where to begin? I decided that the title needed a bit of work, so I changed it to Bumping Boots at the Circle Seven — much more specific than the more generic "Dude Ranch", and also with a savory soupçon of added alliteration. Almost immediately a cheery little comment box popped up next to the title that said, "Awesome! I like it!"

Then I spotted a minor plot hole in the introductory chapters — two holes, actually. I quickly typed a short text reminder for each idea and then started tackling hole number 1. As I finished filling it, I noticed that hole number 2 was already being filled in real-time by Harry's unseen hand. "Wow, that is so weird." Then I spotted a missing Oxford comma in the sentence he was typing, so I immediately added one.

Harry looked up and stuck out his tongue at me. I remained serenely smug and turned back to my keyboard.

And so it went. I would work on my own little part of the story, and then move on to something else. When I returned to my previous place, I would find that Harry had advanced the plot off in some new and crazy direction — sometimes painting the main characters into a literary corner. That inspired me to write them out of that corner and send them off toward a new dilemma. Then I would polish the rough edges of his nuttier plot points. That in turn would stimulate me to add some of my own madness. I was surprised at how well we worked together; each of us balancing out the wild excesses of the other.

Some time had passed when a loud growl interrupted my writing. My stomach was feeling neglected and let me know about it.

Harry grinned and said, "Greetings, from the interior."

I looked at my watch. "Holy shit, it's 2:30 — we worked right through lunch!"

"We sure did." He drawled, "Wanna go rustle up some grub over at the chuck wagon?"

"Ohh, baby! You really get me going when you talk all cowboy to me."

He laughed and said, "Mission accomplished, little lady. Now, let's mosey over to the chuck wagon and see if those city-slickers have left us any of that cabrito."

Off we moseyed.

===

HARRY

I owed Bill and Joe an apology. Coming here for the bachelor party was a great idea. I still found the ranch theme a bit contrived, but the country here was lovely, and the company was great.

I had just spent the most amazing morning with Portia. I certainly admired her fine, female form, and had enjoyed having it plastered up against me during the denouement of our day on the river yesterday. However, today was even better. The intellectual intimacy of several hours spent weaving words with a fellow author was a new and profound experience for me.

I'm no monk and have had some wonderful times in the sack with some of the bonny belles of Barton Creek. However, such physical intimacy is like a slab of apple pie — a great treat, but it leaves you wanting something a little more sustaining. I felt extremely well-nourished in that regard today. It was hard for me to believe that we had only known each other for a few days.

I continued to be in awe of Portia's writing skills. She would take a paragraph that I was particularly proud of, and start polishing it. When she was done, the text would shine like one of those woodworking projects when you put on that first coat of poly. She also had a gift for explaining why she made each refinement. I was eager to get back to writing, and to deploy some of the new tips and techniques she had shown me.

After we were done enjoying our tacos, I asked her, "So, where do you see this collaboration going?"

She smiled and said, "At the rate we were writing this morning, we could have the first draft of the book done in another month. Then, after a few revisions, it should be ready to send to my publisher."

I was a little shocked. "Publisher? As in, they would publish a book for us?"

"Not only that, sweetie. They would distribute it, advertise it, and send us on book tours."

Us? Tours? Sweetie? "Uh... you said 'sweetie'?"

"It just slipped out." Were her cheeks a little pink?

"No, no! I like it. Gosh, this is moving along pretty fast, huh?"

"Yeah, I hated the thought of coming to Bandera at first. Now I'm hating the thought of leaving. I never expected to fall in 'like' with someone so quickly."

I laughed. "Well put. I'm also dreading the end of the week. I'm going to miss having your lovely brain around all the time."

Her smile bloomed. "Writing on Google Docs was really fun today. But being able to reach over and do this is even better." And she reached over and took my hand.

We went back to her room and wrote for a few more hours. One of my favorite parts was when one of us would happen upon the other's fresh text and burst out laughing. That so totally broke our concentration but was so totally worth it.

Eventually, my fingers grew tired of typing and my eyes weary of squinting at a screen. I rubbed my face and stretched out my shoulders. "That was awesome, but my brain is full now."

"Mine too." She threw her shoulders back and stretched, which had the pleasant side effect of emphasizing her breasts. I tried not to ogle, but the slight widening of my eyes gave me away.

She laughed, and said, "Shoulders back, show off the rack."

My eyes got a bit wider. "I beg your pardon?"

"Just a little pageant SOP." She made another small motion that subtly emphasized her breasts. "Show off the girls, and the boys will pay attention."

"I... had no idea you were a pageant girl," I stammered. "Not that you aren't pretty enough."

She stuck her tongue out at me. "I wasn't. It's just one of the many things that little girls hear from their moms when they're growing up. Never know when something like that will come in handy. Besides, it's great research for my stories."

"Consider it handy." I waggled my eyebrows. "Consider me attentive."

She gave me side-eye. "I gathered that. Now, what do you want to do this evening?"

"I'm going to take a shower. Then I'd like to take you out for an evening of Cowboy Karaoke. Sweetie."

Her eyes crinkled. "Okay. But... I'm not going to get up and sing."

"Of course not!" I lied.

===

PORTIA

What a great day — hours of hanging out with Harry and fashioning phrases together. I'm not too wild about karaoke, but I had so much fun today that I'd be willing to go to an evening of possum sacking with him.

Harry showed up at my door in de rigueur western attire and a gray Stetson. But his looked a lot different than the faux frontier outfits the other guests were wearing. Harry's gear was clean but looked well-worn and comfortable. I stared at his shiny belt buckle, which showed a horseman roping a calf. "What's that?"

"Oh, something I won back in the day."

"Rodeo?"

"Mm hmm." Then he distracted me by revealing another, smaller Stetson that he had been hiding behind his back. "If I may, mademoiselle, a chapeau to complete your ensemble."

I snorted, but put the hat on, and we walked over to the bar.

It was actually a lot of fun — at least until the MC announced the next karaoke couple, and said, "And on deck, Harry and Portia!"

I gave Harry a look of utter betrayal, and said, "You... you... rat bastard! I'll get you for this."

Harry just smiled, and said, "You certainly will, sweetie. You certainly will."

As the act before us wrapped up their song, I downed the rest of my second margarita. Mmm, these were good. They weren't skimping on the tequila.

I'm not a big fan of country music, but I was familiar with the Garth Brooks hit, "Low Places." Fortunately, everyone else in the bar knew it too, and sang right along with us.

I'm not a bad singer, but I don't enjoy singing in public. However, with the help of alcohol and Harry's arm around my waist, I felt bold enough to give it a try. He pulled me in close and we shared the mike, belting out the lyrics together. He had a lovely baritone voice, and we actually sounded pretty darned good together. Every time he hit the low note in the chorus, I felt a tingle down in my own low places.

We got a big round of applause, and the Fleeglemans stood up and hooted and whistled. I enjoyed it so much that I let Harry sign me up for another song later in the evening. This time I got to pick the song, and I invited Barney and Doris up with us to sing Weird Al Yankovic's classic Hardware Store. It's a pretty fast song, so I asked Barney if we needed to slow down the music. He said, "Nah, I got this."

We managed to more or less keep up with him until we got to the bridge. Then we all dropped out and let him take it as a solo. Barney absolutely nailed it (so to speak), and the rest of us joined back in for the final chorus. When we finished, the crowd went wild — especially when Barney leaned Doris down into a deep dip and kissed her up on stage.

===

Harry and I walked back to our rooms arm in arm. At the door, he doffed his hat, and I doffed mine right back. Then he pulled me in for a kiss. It was a great kiss, and we shared a few more.

I said, "You are a strange and lovely man, Harry McMurtry. This has been the best day I've had in years."

"Same here. Between the writing and the singing, it's been a wonderful day with you."

"Good night, cowboy."

"Good night, cowgirl."

One last, scorching kiss, and I went into my room. Alone. I went to sleep smiling and woke up the same way.

===

THURSDAY

===

PORTIA

After breakfast, we went back to my room and worked on our collaborative story until after lunch. We missed what was undoubtedly a captivating horseshoeing workshop, but writing with Harry was way more fun. Plus, I thought Betty might finally get off my ass! I had an idea of how to do just that.

The story was coming along nicely. Harry's original seven thousand words had grown to over twenty thousand. With the newly expanded story arc we had in mind, it might take another sixty thousand words to stick the ending properly.

It was coming along so well that I asked Harry if he would mind if I showed it to my publisher. He was surprised, but had no objections, so I emailed the draft we had so far.

A few hours later, we took a break. Harry headed over to the bar to grab a few soft drinks. While he was out, I was surprised to get a call from Betty.

"Hello?"

"Damn, girl! Looks like you got your mojo back!"

"You read that already?"

"It's what I do, sweets. I'll cut to the chase. I want it. Standard contract and advance okay with you?"

"Uhh... Well, no. I'm writing this with a new collaborator I met here at the ranch. His name is Harry."

"Co-laborator?" Betty said. "Is that the word you kids use today when you mean co-habitator?"

"Betty! No! No, no, no! We're not cohabitating — we're just co-writing."

"Can't fool me, honey. Your creative juices are flowing, and I'll bet other juices are as well.

I was getting a bit perturbed. "We've only known each other for a few days..."

"Get up off your fainting couch, Scarlett. That draft tells me that you two have quite a connection. A lot more than you ever had with... what was Fuckface's name, anyway?"

"Thadford."

"Thadford? Jeezus! A name that pretentious is one of Nature's warning signals. You should have run away from that asshole as soon as you heard his name. Thadford is the first name equivalent of a baboon's butt cheeks! But I digress."

"You sure did."

"So, how do you want to split the money for this book?"

"I'll have to talk it over with Harry first. But I want him to get at least fifty percent."

"Honey, you know that's not how it works. New writers -"

I cut her off. "Deal or no deal, Betty. I mean it."

"Ugh. Okay, I'll see what I can do. Harry's his name? Hah! Looking forward to meeting the man that got you to crawl back out of your pity cave."

"Gosh, Betty — look at the time. I gotta go to lunch."

"Lunch? It's 4 pm!"

"Fine, dinner then! Gotta go!" I hung up before she could launch another sally.

===

HARRY

When I got back from the bar, Portia was vibrating visibly.

I handed her an ice-cold soda and said, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong! In fact, it's great news! Betty wants to buy our book!"

"Who's Betty?"

"My publisher, doofus! She loved the draft I sent her and she wants to buy it!"

I sat down and stared at her. "Uhh... how much did she offer?"

Portia rattled off a figure that floored me. I said, "That much, for a few days' work?"

"Well, we have to finish the book. We're about twenty percent done with the first draft. We'll also have to do a few revisions before we send it to the editor, and then there will be more rewrites. We'll earn that money, trust me."

I was speechless. Portia leaned in, her eyes searching mine, and said, "Are you okay? Talk to me, sweetie!"

I rubbed my face. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just amazed that anyone would pay money for my scribblings. But most of it should go to you."

She shook her head. "No way! We used your story idea, and most of the best dialogue was yours. I won't take a penny more than half."

"Wow. I would have done it just for the pleasure of working with you. But paid — wow! Hey, we need to celebrate tonight!"

"What did you have in mind?"

"I'm taking you dancing tonight!"

===

After dinner, we walked over to the dance floor.

Portia said, "I really don't know much about dancing."

I said, "No sweat. There's an old African proverb: 'If you can walk, you can dance; if you can talk, you can sing.' It's absolutely true. I'll be happy to give you a few tips, if you don't mind."

"Wow, a cowboy philosopher," she grinned at me, and I grinned right back.

===

PORTIA

Once again, I let Harry talk me into something that was way outside my comfort zone. How can one guy be so good at so many things? I should hate him for that, but he was just so damn cute!

First, we got into ballroom dance position. Harry told me to push back toward both of his hands to create the 'frame'. Seemed counterintuitive, but I felt the result right away. As soon as I did that, we somehow changed from being two random people who were coincidentally standing next to each other and transformed into a single dance unit. It's hard for me to describe, but that's what I felt.

By now there were about thirty people on the dance floor. Howdy-I'm-Jessie had us line up, and she taught us a simple line dance. Then we danced that pattern to live music. Huh. That wasn't so bad. Then we did a different line dance. So far so good...

Then Jessie taught us how to waltz. She had seen how well Harry moved on the dance floor and chose him as her dance demonstration partner. Earlier, I had thought it was amusing to watch Harry get jealous of me and Wrangler Doug. It seems that karmic payback is no fun at all. I didn't like it when she put her hands on Harry and let them linger... waaaay too long. She's fucking flirting with him!

Harry, however, seemed oblivious to Jessie's ploys and smiled through the whole demonstration. Then she taught us the cowboy two-step — again, with Harry as her partner. She was oblivious to the laser blasts from my eyes. Find someone else to dance with, you hussy!

What really pissed me off was when Jessie asked Harry to demonstrate some swing steps. She not only had her hands all over Harry, but rubbed her perky little tits on him whenever possible. Shit, if she got any perkier, she was gonna put someone's eye out. What she was doing wasn't quite Dirty Dancing, but it really chapped my ass.

I was still fuming internally when she ended the demo and Harry walked back over to me.

However, Harry jollied me out of my funk in no time. He showed me the fundamental secret of swing dancing. You do the same simple, six-count set of steps over and over, ad infinitum: 'side step, side step, back step'. That's it! The person dancing the lead role leads the couple through all sorts of cool moves. However, your feet just kept on doing the same old SS SS BS. Crazy.

As the music started, Harry kept it simple for me until I got a feel for the moves. Then he ramped it up a bit and started adding variation after variation. Made me look pretty darned good, even though I was just doing SS SS BS.

When that tune ended, Harry showed me a few more snazzy moves, including several different dips. The music fired up again, and we did the new moves up to speed. Occasionally he would lower me into a dip and then pull me back up into a twirl. I felt like Ginger Fucking Rogers!

I happened to glance over at Jessie, and darned if she didn't look a tiny bit jealous of us. At the next break in the music, she came slithering over and in a sweet voice, said, "You two certainly move well together. Can I borrow Harry for the next dance?"

Matching sweet for sweet, I gave her my best fake as all fuck smile, and said, "No thank you, please — I think I'll keep him," and clutched Harry a little tighter. When the music started up again, I pulled him onto the floor and stayed with him for the rest of that evening. I liked having his arms around me and I especially liked dancing cheek to cheek. This dance thing was starting to grow on me. Consider my comfort zone expanded!

The music ended way too soon for me. I wouldn't have minded dancing with Harry for a few more hours.

As we left the floor after the last waltz, I realized that I wouldn't mind spending the rest of the evening in Harry's arms. Damn, I had it bad. Betty was right. Again. Bitch...

===

PORTIA

Harry and I walked back to our rooms afterward, holding hands. We didn't talk much - both of us were visibly nervous about what was on both of our minds. The sexual tension was palpable. I unlocked my room, and when he leaned over to kiss me goodnight, I grabbed him by his bolo tie and pulled him into my room.

I said, "Okay, cowboy. Cards on the table. I like you. I like you a lot." I kissed him. "Your turn."

He kissed me back. "I'm way past 'like', Porsh. I'm besotted with you."

"Ooh... great word. Can I change my pick to 'besotted'?".

His smile made my knees weak. "Of course. I also find you bedazzling and bewitching." We kissed again. Wow.

When we came up for air, I said, "So, what do we do now?"

Harry said, "As you said, cards on the table. Meeting you... falling in 'like'..." he grinned, "I'm depressed at having to leave you tomorrow. To answer your question properly, I need to get to know you better."

"How do you propose we do that? We're about to head back to towns that are hours apart."

"Well..." and he looked down, actually uncertain for maybe the first time since I'd met him. "What if... what if we lived closer? Like, a LOT closer? In the same town? We could take things slow and spend as much time as we needed."

I nodded. "Sure, I suppose we could research the problem for a while and pick out the right town."

He gave a small smile, and said, "However, the thought of waiting that long and being apart from you drives me crazy. I like you so much right now that I'm ready to jump off a cliff with you and see if we like each other on the way down."

I raised my eyebrows. "Wow — I know what you mean. But what if we really mess it up?"

He blew out a breath. "That could happen. But at the moment, I dread that a lot less than I dread the thought of not being around you."

Wow. I thought I was the writer. Harry had just said everything that I was thinking but didn't quite know how to express.

We looked into each other's eyes. Time to fling caution into the wind. Let yourself fly, Portia!

Taking a deep breath, I asked, "Ready to jump?"

His smile spread across his face. "Oh, hell yes!"

I began to unbutton my blouse.

===

HARRY

I think I stopped breathing when she reached for that top button. I watched, mesmerized, as the parting material revealed first the soft skin of her chest, then her stomach. I'd seen more of her in her bikini, but watching her undress now was possibly the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.

She slipped off the blouse, rolling her shoulders back, and the movement pushed her breasts forward. They were covered by a lacy peach-colored bra, and my eyes were glued to them. I heard her chuckle, and I glanced up. She just smirked, and I grinned ruefully, but moved toward her, my arms going around her and slowly I stroked up and down her back.

Her breasts were pressed against my chest, and suddenly, I couldn't get my shirt off fast enough. I had to feel her skin against mine! I took a step back, and in a single motion, ripped it off. Thank God for snaps, or there would have been buttons flying everywhere.

Locking her eyes with mine, she reached behind herself and gave a deft twist. She slowly let the bra slide off her breasts, catching for just an instant on a set of erect nipples.

"Perfect...." I breathed. "Absolutely perfect."

She flushed, her eyes hooded, and I stepped toward her again.

We dropped our jeans at the same time, and I sucked in my breath when her matching panties came into view. She giggled softly, and her eyes went to the tent in my boxers. At my unspoken question, she nodded, and we slowly lowered those last articles of clothing.

We stood there regarding one another in a moment of silent appreciation. We gravitated together and embraced, and her soft silken skin slid against mine. Her nipples were like diamonds against my chest, and my erection pressed against her stomach. I groaned at the contact, and I heard her hum her appreciation. Whatever body parts we had that could stand at attention were now on high alert, and ground against the opposing body parts in a most pleasant way. Oh my GOD!

We didn't want to turn each other loose. We somehow inched our way over to her bed and collapsed into it. We made out a while longer, and things ramped up from there. Neither one of us were virgins, and we both had certain ideas of what we wanted to do next.

My eyes widened as she slowly slipped down my body, pausing to kiss and caress as she went. Reaching her target, she slowly stroked me as she murmured, "Let's get this first one out of the way, shall we?"

I nodded, but replied, "Only if I can return the favor!"

"I'm okay with that," she replied, with that new, sexy smile that I was learning to love.

We had a great time both giving and receiving, then took a brief respite, cuddled in each other's arms.

But being with such a sensuous and exciting woman, it wasn't long before Harry Jr. was raring to go again, and we moved on to the main course. I'm a big fan of adventurous positions, but really wanted our first time to be face-to-face. Apparently, Portia felt the same, and it was as amazing as I could have imagined. Even more so. After a very satisfying mutual conclusion, we took another break for fluid replacement and a quick cleanup, then we crawled under the sheets and snuggled some more. As we chatted about this and that, and idly caressed one another, it didn't take long before my tired cowpoke was rejuvenated and ready to hop back in the saddle.

Her eyes widened. "Again?"

"What can I say?" I shrugged. "He knows what he likes!"

Portia gave me a gleeful smirk and jumped out of bed, clearly looking for something. I thoroughly enjoyed watching her naked rummaging, until I heard a satisfied "Found it!"

Turning, she donned her Stetson on her way back to bed. She bent down, kissed me soundly, and with a satisfied sigh, mounted me cowgirl style, hissing in pleasure as she sank down onto me.

Her lovely body and smiling face took my breath away, and I lay there, watching her move, etching every detail into my memory. She frowned and said, "What's wrong, sweetie?"

I reached up and softly ran my hands down the sides of her chest to her hips. "Not a thing, dear heart. It's just that you are so magnificent — I had to stop and admire you."

She sniffled, and said, "That is so sweet." She bent down and kissed me soundly. "It's also such a waste of a good line."

"What?"

"Here we are, completely hooked up. Dude, you already sealed the deal."

I just gaped at her.

She said, "You want to save a line like that for some time when you're not already preaching to the saved. Why, if you used that line on me in Safeway, and gave me that look..." She let out a long, passionate sigh, "... I would drop my panties on the spot, bend over in the produce section, and let you rail me among the rutabagas."

That broke me up. In seconds we were both shaking with laughter. This shaking induced some delicious and unexpected friction between our conjoined genitals. A belly laugh while balling turned out to be whole new territory for us. In short order, the shaking evolved into other motions, culminating in urgent thrusting — leading to shared detonations.

Some time later, my brain rebooted. Portia and I lay gasping in a sweaty and intertwined tangle of body parts. After a moment, her eyes focused, and she whispered, "Wow..."

All I could emit was a feeble, "Yahoo..."

After another minute, I said, "Portia?"

"Yes?"

"As amazing as that just was..."

She frowned and raised one eyebrow. "Careful how you finish that sentence, bub..."

"As amazing as that was — it was just the exclamation point on a whole week of wonderful. The rafting, the dancing, and the singing were great, but the hours we spent plotting and writing together were one of the most profound and enjoyable things I've ever done with another person." I paused. "There, how was that finish?"

Her eyes were now wide and shining. She touched my face with her hand. "Oh, you sweet, sweet man. There you go using another great panty-parting line with a naked girl already in your arms! We've gotta work on your timing."

"I'm pretty slow. I might have to practice a lot."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Speaking of holding..." I pulled her closer into my arms. "We have to check out tomorrow, and I don't want to let you go."

She nodded, and said, "Barricading ourselves in this room is probably a non-starter."

"Yeah. I suppose so. Umm... when do you have to get back to Houston?"

"No special time. No pets to feed, no plants to water. With my laptop and enough clean underwear, I'm pretty flexible."

"In that case, how do you feel about a detour through Austin?"

"You intrigued me. Tell me more."

"Joe and Bill could drive back together in Bill's car. We could drive up to my place in your car."

"And then...?"

"It could be a long detour. Maybe long enough to finish that book together."

===

FRIDAY

===

PORTIA

We had breakfast the next morning with Bill, Joe, and the Fleeglemans. Somehow, none of them were at all surprised that Harry and I were driving back to Austin together. Even 'Howdy-I'm-Jessie' gave me a knowing wink as we checked out. And maybe a regretful sigh toward Harry.

===

We took the backroads on the drive up to Austin. I loved driving through the rolling Hill Country around Fredericksburg. Harry had me stop for gas at the Dixie Quick Stop in Johnson City, which has a little Mexican bakery tucked away inside the old Valero station. That's where Harry introduced me to the delights of pan dulce. My God! How have I lived in Texas this long without ever having this? It was all delicious, but my absolute favorite was the little gingerbread pigs they sold there.

===

If I weren't already falling for Harry, his house would have sealed the deal. I've dated a few bachelors over the years and had never been very impressed with their pads. Harry's house was on a quiet street in the East Oak Hills neighborhood of Austin. His backyard backed up onto a greenbelt along the cliffs overlooking Barton Creek. When he pointed out the shady writing nook facing out over the creek, I wanted to spend the rest of the day there.

Harry offered me my own room, but I would have none of that. I talked him into a foot of space in his closet and my own drawer in his dresser. That was enough to start.

===

THE NEXT WEEK

===

PORTIA

Bill got married to Marjorie a week later. Joe was the best man and Harry was a groomsman. I went as Harry's plus one. It was a lovely ceremony, followed by great food and dancing to a local live band. I danced some with Bill and Joe, but mostly with Harry.

I only spoke with Marjorie for a few moments, mostly congratulations, but we did share a laugh over Bill's golf obsession. She made me promise not to tell, but said that Bill was really happy that Harry was able to share his bachelor week. She turned out to be very nice. I really didn't have a lot of girlfriends, but I thought maybe she and I could be friends. It was a pleasant surprise.

Harry came over about then, kissed Marjorie on the cheek, and held out his hand to me.

"Dance with the one that brung you?"

I smiled and took his hand.

He and I were pleasantly sweaty when we got back home, and jumped into the shower together, which led to some sexy shenanigans. Afterward, we resumed our dancing — in the sheets.

===

THE NEXT FEW MONTHS

===

PORTIA

It only took a few weeks before 'home' to me meant Harry's house, and never my apartment back in Houston. After I'd been there a month, we had The Talk about living together. Then we rented a van, drove it over to Houston, and came back with all of my gear. I've never looked back.

Harry noticed how much I loved his outdoor writing nook. He did a little work and expanded it to accommodate two. He also added a few tweaks that made it comfy for about 9 months out of the year. Austin has a mild winter and a lazy overhead fan sufficed to keep us comfortable there during the summer.

Our writing collaboration continued to be the core of our relationship. Even when he was off at work, I would occasionally notice a few paragraphs popping up in our shared documents. We spent a lot of our time at home together writing.

The sex continued to be great. And sometimes, it was transcendent. Harry was a generous and caring lover. We had fun working our way through the Kama Sutra, but our favorite positions continued to be the ones where we could gaze into each other's eyes.

Making love with him was sublime and splendiferous (hey, it's a word), but we found ways to keep things playful too. Like, every once in a while, in the middle of collaborating, I'd see a really steamy paragraph start to appear on my screen, and there was nothing for it but to drag him into the bedroom for some hot monkey sex.

Harry and I continued to jerk each other's chains, and occasionally pissed each other off, but it was never anything serious. Once, I was showing him a scene that he'd written, and pointed out that it was never followed up on. I explained the narrative principle of 'Chekhov's Gun' in which the famous playwright states that if the writer introduces a gun into the story, then the gun must be used at some later point.

He thought about that, then he got a toothy grin on his face. "So, like back when you asked me if "Python_Wrangler_96" was a dick joke, and I said I could do better than that... but I haven't yet, would that be like... Chekhov's Dick Joke?"

My dumb ass was just taking a sip of wine when he laid that one on me, and I wound up shooting a rather nice Cab Franc out of my nose. Asshole.

I made sure that he took his antihistamines faithfully, and our time in bed together was only rarely interrupted by The Sawmill from Hell. A thorough pummeling with my pillow, followed by threats of sticking his nasal spray up his ass usually fixed the problem.

It took about two more months to finish the first draft of our book. We then took a week off and drove down to Corpus Christi and Padre Island for a much-needed break. Some of Padre is pretty built up, but if you're willing to keep driving, you can eventually find your own private patch of beach. We filled our days with swimming and beachcombing. We filled our tummies with fresh Gulf Coast seafood. We filled our nights making love — sometimes in our hotel, and other times outside on a blanket on the beach, under the stars.

When we got back to Austin refreshed and recharged, we printed out our manuscript and taped the pages up over every surface of the house. We spent a day or two strolling around the house, wandering from scene to scene, and giving ourselves the gift of red ink. Sometimes we'd just mark it up and then let the other come across the changes, but mostly one of us would call the other over and discuss it first.

One time, when I had groused at him over having to fix multiple grammatical errors and then rolled my eyes over a pretty glaring plot hole, he started chasing me around with his red pen, threatening to give me a thorough edit. Giggling, I led him on a merry chase that ended, predictably, in the bedroom. It was the most enjoyable editing session I could remember!

When we were finally happy with our story, we folded all the changes into a final version and emailed it to Betty. A few days later, I got a terse text from her that merely said, "That dog will hunt."

To celebrate, Harry wanted to take me out to a special dinner. It took him a few weeks to arrange the reservations, and he was very secretive about where we were going — he just told me to wear something 'dressy'. He wore a brown jacket, boots, and his dress Stetson. He drove us to a lot over on Riverside where he parked. He then escorted me to a waiting horse and carriage.

The carriage made its way west along Riverside, eventually crossing Barton Creek into Zilker Park. We rolled along to a part of the park I hadn't seen before, and pulled up in front of a grove of live oak trees. I said, "What are we doing here?"

He wouldn't say, just gave me a Cheshire Cat grin.

We walked through the trees and found a table for two awaiting us under a large pecan tree. Paper lanterns hung from the lower branches and illuminated the area around us. As we sat down, a waiter appeared with a champagne bucket and two glass flutes.

"Oh my God, Harry! This is amazing!" I actually felt myself tearing up a little. "This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me!"

"You're worth it, sugar."

We sat there for a while, sipping champagne, and I thought my life couldn't get any better.

Then Harry snapped his fingers, and music began to pour from unseen speakers. I looked at him, and asked, "Harry? What have you done?"

Sure enough, out of the trees came Betty, followed by Bill and his new bride Marjorie. Right after them came Joe, my parents, Harry's sister Pam, his parents and... the Fleeglemans! At a signal from Betty, they all began doing a flash dance. They meant well, but it looked like the worst Bollywood dance routine I had ever seen!

Harry stood and pulled me to my feet. "Shall we?" He led me into the melée and we danced our asses off for about five minutes. It was wild. It was chaotic. It was ecstatic. And who knew my mom could move like that? My dad was totally digging it. The Fleeglemans were also pretty cute. Barney had a set of robotic moves that suited him, while Doris orbited around him, exuding her unique brand of Central Illinois sultry.

The music came to a climax, and we all finished the dance cheering, with our arms up in the air. As we stood there catching our breath, Marjorie and Pam came over, strewing rose petals about us. Harry knelt down and pulled a small box out of his pocket. Inside was a gorgeous diamond ring — a ring that looked vaguely familiar.

"Portia, I never imagined finding someone as smart, as funny, and as beautiful as you. I fell in love with you the first time we wrote together. That first meeting of our minds absolutely swept me away. Every page that we've written together since then has just made me love you more."

Still holding the ring, he said, "This was your great-grandmother Mathilde Mueller's ring. Your mom told me the story of how it has been handed down, all the way from Bavaria to you. She wanted you to have it."

Oh my God! The tears were forming faster than I could blink them away.

"Portia, dear heart, my collaborator in life. Will you marry me?"

Geez — you'd think that an experienced romance writer like me would be pretty well-inoculated against maudlin manifestations of emotion after pouring them out onto the page for years. But noooo... I wept. I cried. I blubbered. I finally managed to choke out, "Of course I will!"

He slipped the ring on my finger, and I teared up all over again. I pulled him to his feet and smothered him with kisses. He dried my tears and our families gathered around us for hugs and congratulations.

I was still a little wobbly, but I put my mouth close to his ear. I bit his earlobe, and whispered, "And you, you bastard! Ambushing me like that with my own goddamn story."

"Ow!" He rubbed his ear, then kissed me. "No regrets about that. I loved Ranch Rodeo Romance and thought that you deserved a storybook proposal just like that. Betty thought it was an awesome idea, and took over all the planning for tonight, including getting all these folks here. Heck, the Allies could have used her back in '44 to help plan D-Day.

"I'm still gonna get her back," I groused. But I wasn't mad, how could I be? It was a beautiful proposal.

"Uh... I'd worry more about Doris Fleegleman, if I were you."

"Huh? How so?"

"She and Betty and your mom were talking about a bridal shower. I think I overheard her saying something about a marital hardware theme...?"

Oh, shit!

"BETTYYYYYY!!!"

===

Thanks for reading this, the beginning of the Adventures of Harry and Portia. Please remember that this is a collaboration, and we do have our own solo projects to work on, but hopefully, we can find time to return to this universe soon.

Trust that we do have lots of ideas! Have we seen the last of Mort? Will Jessie the Cowgirl find true love? Will Lassie ever get Timmy out of the well? Stay tuned.