Usual Disclaimers Apply
No Beta – Flying Solo
~ JML ~ JML ~ JML ~ JML ~ JML ~
Johnny rode Barranca fast and hard down the bank into the bracing cold waters of the fast moving Río Bravo del Norte, as hails of bullets bite the dust far behind the sure, steady hooves of his faithful steed. Johnny ventured a quick peep at the Rurales who pulled their own mounts to a quick halt, shouting incoherent insults at Johnny, who smirked, once again escaping Mexico, he shouted back across the river as Barranca reared up on his hind legs, “Adios, usted hijos de hembras!”
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“Damn it Teresa, I told you and told you to knock before opening the boys’ rooms,” shouted Murdoch as he yanked her away from Johnny’s bedroom again. “But Murdoch...I was only...”, click went the key in the lock of her own bedroom door. “And stay there until you can obey me!” “Arrggghhhh” came her cry of pain as she pounded on the door.
Gasping like a woman that was being tightly laced into her corset Jelly pulled and tugged on the silver concho belt as he yanked and stretched Johnny’s leather calzonera pants with the silver studs onto his frame. He fell backwards onto his bed to force the buttons closed, as they gaped open between the button notches.
Johnny Madrid Lancer, young stud, gunslinger, the rebellious youngest son of Murdoch “Tune Caller” Lancer and mischievous little brother of Scott “Boston” Lancer began life as the beloved dark-haired, blue-eyed bundle of energy who never meet a horse, animal or lady (young or old alike) he couldn’t tame, befriend or charm. Taken by his wanderlust mother from his prominent father’s home as a mere toddler, Johnny developed his trade as a fearsome and deadly pistolero, with the heart of gold, only came back home after a near death experience in Mexico. This prodigal son had an immediate and lasting connection with his older brother and grudgingly in time with his dogmatic father.
Scott pulled his brother from the middle of the fracas that started inside the Painted Lady saloon and was now in the middle of Green River’s main street. Just before a wooden club was swung, crashing down, cracking against the hitching post instead of Johnny’s head.
Sheriff Val Crawford clutched his rumpled, beat-up hat in his hand as he walked almost out the door of the Lancer hacienda. Turning in time to see his prime suspect in the Great Cow-Tipping Caper of Green River, duck his head attempting to hide his lopsided grin that was breaking out on his face. “One more thing, Johnny, where ya say ya and your brother were last night?”
“The comparative analyses of the fired cartridge casings identify this .223 Remington rifle from the collected bullets and cartridge casings discharged at the crime scene and from the bodies discovered in the Lancer line cabin. This was accomplished through the identification of the unique characteristics that each firearm imprints on bullets and cartridge casings,” NCIS Forensic Ballistics Specialist John Madrid explained to NCIS Special Agents Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Tony DiNozzo.
“Who died?” asked Johnny as he strutted into the Great Room to find Murdoch sitting glumly behind his desk as the room grew dimmer in the fading light. Murdoch harrumphed as he held up a telegram, “Harlan’s coming for a visit, next week.”
23rd December, 1872: Today we celebrated my little brother’s birthday! The first time without a doubt that he had no smart-aleck comments as we raised glasses to toast him. He looked on with bashfulness at the attention of Maria fussing over him with his special dinner and chocolate cake. The look on his face was priceless as he opened his gifts and I turned away quickly to give him time to collect his composure as his eyes glisten with moisture. It was a good day.
“YES, I DO!” exclaimed Murdoch, his heavy boots clumped on the wooden floorboards as his long hurried stride took him to the front of the church. He swept Aggie off her feet in her long white dress and bridal train in front of the astonished Buck Addison, the minister and the entire congregation back down the aisle and out the door of the church.
Once upon a time, a coven of ugly black-hearted wicked witches three, attempted to hijack the handsome raven-haired, sapphire-eyed young boy under the orders of their malicious high priestess, Edwina. Luckily Murdoch Lancer had anticipated their evil deeds and banished the high priestess to the bell tower to reckon with her later. He next fortified himself and his young lad with six-shooters, Winchesters and silver bullets they held the wicked witches at bay, picking them off one by one, as everyone knows that silver bullets work on werewolves and witches alike.
Johnny woke from his catnap in the sun on the portico by the kitchen. He wiped the traces of sleep from his eyes as he thought about his favorite dream, the one where he was surrounded by mounds and mounds of chocolate. Taking a deep lungful of air, he grinned, “Hot dang! This fantasy dreaming finally paid off, that’s chocolate cake I smell baking. Yee Haw!”
Capricorn (Dec 22 – Jan 21) - If Today Is Your Birthday - December 23rd: New contacts in your life are intellectually stimulating. Survival instincts are strong. Your enthusiasm, vitality, and creativity are unmistakable this year. You need to feel that you can move and express yourself freely in order for you to succeed, and thinking outside of the box is natural for you. New ideas are easy to come by, and improving and refining your skills are in focus.
Johnny and Scott dirty and dog-tired from a long cattle drive returned to the ranch, wanting only the creature comforts of a hot bath, a drink or two and a home-cooked meal. Pushing open the heavy front door, they heard sounds that brought fear and trembling to their young hearts. “Johnny! Scott! You’re finally home!” came a shrill, ear-piercing yodel from Teresa as she tugged on their arms, “Come say hello to the Ladies Social Club!”
Scott and Johnny were off on their first cattle buying trip, stopping for the night, along the trail, they made camp. After awhile, Scott went in search of a convenient row of bushes while Johnny sipped his hot coffee. A loud scream made Johnny spill his coffee as he jump to his feet, pull his gun, he ran to Scott, yelling “Boston! What happened?” He found Scott prone on the ground clutching his bare rump, where blood oozed through his fingers. Pushing his hand aside, Johnny whistled at the wounds, “Greenhorn, I told ya, don't squat with yer spurs on!”
Johnny offered his shoulder for Scott to lean on as he helped him back to camp, making him lie down on his belly on his saddle blanket. He grabbed the first aid supplies from Scott’s saddlebags and pulled the cork from the bottle of whiskey, “Damn shame to do this without taking at least one pull, Boston,” he tilted the bottle back, taking a long sip he offered the bottle to Scott to ease his pain before pouring a cascade of the amber liquor directly on the gouges, drawing a sharp “hiss” from Scott’s clenched lips. Johnny hissed too as he watched the whiskey roll off Scott’s rump.
The Lancer Estancia, Morro Coyo, California, Miss Teresa O’Brien, ward of Murdoch Lancer, of a broken neck from a fall off the Lancers’ highly polished entryway handrail.
Johnny dear, whenever you appear,
I’m sincere; I would hold you near.
You’re the best, no matter the time of year,
For you I have not a tremble of fear.
But would gladly stand up and cheer,
Every time I spy your leather-clad rear!
Jelly crushed the bouquet of wildflowers he held in his hands, peering through the window to see the woman he loved in the arms of Sheriff Val Crawford. He rushed inside to toss the flowers at the taller man, then with the strength of Goliath pulled him away. “Jellifer! What’s gotten into you?” Angela questioned. “Me? Look at you!” “It must be love, ma’am,” growled Val, straighten out his shirt front. “Now listen Jelly, I caught her after the ladder pitched over, and that’s all!” That’s when Jelly noticed the overturned ladder.
Patti H. – October 6, 2009