Unbeknownst to him, I took the day off. While he went to work, I went to a salon I found advertising in a local GLBT paper, and had them wax me. Legs, chest, arms, underarms, and the dreaded Brazilian. And yes, it hurt.Then, while one of the stylists shaped the blonde wig I'd purchased, another worked on my face. He did some tweezing of my eyebrows, before covering my face in foundation, and painting my eyes up real purdy. Next was eyeliner, and false eyelashes. Some careful shading, and suddenly I had dramatic cheekbones. He outlined my lips to make them bigger, and gave me a tube of lipstick as a parting gift, telling me to finish them at home. Then, I got my toenails painted, and false fingernails glued to my real ones. (I was warned about accidentally poking myself in the eye.)This was costing a small fortune, mind you, but it was kind of fun, and if it led to more fun that evening, even better.The drive home was interesting. Other drivers really don't look at you behind. Part of his brain cursed the animals for not having given them any warning about strangers being about.Buford brought his pistol up and pulled the trigger. The pistol wasn’t cocked and he swore as his thumb scrabbled at it. The muzzle flash as he fired lit up the Indian that was guarding the horses, and he saw the man jerk and fall backward. The horses bolted, one to each side, but Buford had expected that, and he veered left. He didn’t know which horse he was going for, but he didn’t care. Grabbing the reins, he pulled the horse, running until he was away from where he had shot. The horses had been on the high side of the little meadow they’d stopped in, and he ran upward. He’d left the horses saddled on purpose, something that wasn’t good for them, but he was nervous about pursuit, even though he didn’t admit it to Chaps. Now he was glad he hadn’t pulled the saddles off of them. When he thought it was safe, he vaulted up onto the horse. He could tell by the saddle that it was.
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