Two Crazy, One Wild

by Shaye Marlow

Rory leaned forward, smiling right back. “Have you ever heard of Bronies?”

  “Eh?” Gary cocked his head.

  “Bronies. Men who like My Little Pony. Some of them even dress up as their favorite character. Men, dressed up as colorful horses.”

  “Nope. Never heard of ’em,” our sister replied without opening her eyes.

  “Well, maybe if you weren’t living under a rock,” Rory said.

  Still without looking, she splashed water into his face.

  He squeegeed his eyes. “Anyway, Bronies. Sounds very gay, yes? Well, we framed George. We downloaded every season, every episode of My Little Pony ever made onto his computer. We planted a horse costume in his closet, and little toy ponies all over the inside of that lodge—literally hundreds of these toys. He’ll be finding them for years.” Rory paused, seemingly sidetracked by his own cleverness.

  “The emails,” I prompted.

  “Right. Then, because he’s one of those ignorant savages who has their browser remembering their password—”

  “Hey,” Suzy said.

  “—we had full access to his email, and believe me when I say we took full advantage. George came out of the closet to every. Single. Contact. He confessed his love one thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine times over, and told them in detail the things he wanted them to do to him. It involved reins and a horse whip, if you’re wondering. Oh, and he sent them all dick pics, featuring his tiny tool in one hand, absolutely dwarfed by his favorite Pony in the other.”

  Everyone in the hot tub stared at him. At me. At us.

  J.D. sort of coughed, then hiccupped, then started to laugh. Gary was right there with him, while Helly snoozed on his shoulder. Thea appeared not to know what to think, Suzy’s eyes sparkled, and Ed—the one true adult among us, apparently—somehow managed to make his beard look disapproving.

  Frances spoke up. “Half of his guides quit, while one of them tried to take him up on his offer, and George nearly castrated the guy. His business has dwindled to nothing, and last I heard, he’s been telling everyone it was a virus.”

  “But the planted Ponies…” Ed said.

  “Yeah. Because of the Ponies, he pretty much knows it was me. He called me up, yelled a bit, but overall… he actually sounded sorta proud,” she said.

  We all reclined in the roiling water for a few moments, thinking about things. Not sure what they were thinking about, but maybe it was along the same lines as me. I was wondering which was more dangerous to cross: my wife, or my sister. My sister had practically majored in revenge, but my wife was sneaky in a way Helly could never hope to match.

  Frances turned her gaze to Gary and Helly. “So, when are you two getting married?”

  “Yeah, Helly,” J.D. said. “When ya gettin’ married?”

  That, finally, seemed to wake Helly up. She hemmed and hawed, and Gary grinned as he watched her do it.

  “You’ve been together a while, haven’t you?” Frances asked.

  “Three years,” Gary said.

  “So… is this not a case of shit or get off the pot?” the lovely lady under my arm asked, making Rory laugh.

  “We’re perfectly comfortable just living together,” Helly said. “We don’t need a piece of paper to make it legit.”

  Frances pointed at her hand. “Isn’t that an engagement ring?”

  Helly opened her mouth, and no sound came out.

  “What Helly’s trying to say,” Gary said, “is that we still have some issues to work out.”

  “What issues?” God, Frances was nosy. I found it endearing the way she tackled things head-on, things other people danced around and refused to mention. Most likely, she was just trying to stir the shit, but hell, I liked that about her too. Frances would keep life interesting, which I, for one, didn’t consider to be a curse.

  “He wants kids,” Helly said, her tone accusing.

  “She doesn’t,” Gary said.

  “Have you thought about getting her drunk—” Rory started.

  Frances, sandwiched between me and Rory, slapped the back of his head for me.

  “Thank you,” Helly said, but then she shook her head. “We shouldn’t have kids. Can you imagine what they’d be like? Angry little killers. Just, no.”

  “But they’d be good-looking,” Frances pointed out, making me wonder what our kids would look like. Probably dark-haired like Frances. Blue eyes… God, they’d be little hellions.

  “What about you?” Frances said, glancing over to Suzy and Ed. “When are you two having kids?” Since officially moving in (bringing the dogs, along with the other half of her clothes, and a flower-upholstered armchair) she’d been making an effort to get to know my family, and the neighbors she called ‘lowlanders’.

  Frances had even gone to one of Suzy’s parties, had a great time getting drunk on sangria while listening to Helly’s latest (dinosaur erotica), and had come back with some interesting new toys. I’d checked her pockets against her receipt afterward and—hallelujah—it appeared the only thing she hadn’t paid for was the next morning’s hangover.

  “Well, we were thinking about waiting a year,” Ed said. “Maybe after things settle—”

  “I’m pregnant,” Suzy blurted, drawing the attention of everyone in the tub.

  Ed froze with his mouth hanging open—a really satisfying expression to see on him, because the Guidefather typically wasn’t rattled by anything, and yes! Frances’d just gotten a picture—while Helly squealed and launched herself across to hug her best friend.

  “Omigod, I’m so excited. This is so great!” Helly said. “When are you due?”

  “I’m only a few weeks along,” Suzy said, unable to help smiling, but sending an uncertain glance in Ed’s direction. He was still in shock, poor bastard, staring at her as though his life were flashing before his eyes.

  “Wait. If you’re pregnant,” Rory said, scratching his head, “what the hell are you doing in a hot tub?”

  Ed didn’t wait for Suzy’s reply, just scooped up his little wife and carried her from the tub. They disappeared into the cabin, either to have a very serious discussion or to make use of a horizontal surface. Or maybe even a wall. I’d seen the look on his face as he whisked her away, and being as I wasn’t confused like Frances, I could tell it wasn’t disgust.

  “And what about you?” Frances asked Rory.

  “I’m not pregnant,” he said.

  “Yes, and you’re not gonna marry anytime soon, either, I know. I mean, what about that visit you promised Dotty?”

  “Uhhh, well, she didn’t really uphold her end of the deal…”

  “What are you talking about?” Frances asked. “We had a wedding—a glorified barbecue, really—and everybody came.”

  “Ed’s doing,” Rory mumbled. “Yeah, Dotty gave me a few leads, but they didn’t actually help us.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Helly asked, giving him a look.

  “You really want to cross Dotty?” I asked. “Even knowing what she’s capable of?”

  “You should go,” Frances said. “Hold up your end of the bargain. Come on, she’s not that scary.”

  “Yeah, Rory,” I said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  THE END

  Author’s Note: Enjoyed this story? Want more from me, free? Sign up for my Mailing List to get the steamy romantic comedy that started it all, Two Cabins, One Lake, as well as The Erotic Adventures of an Alien Captive, and the newsletter-exclusive Firefighters Erotica story bundle delivered straight to your inbox, delightfully free! While waiting for delivery of your books, please leave a review! Want to get in touch? Shoot me an email at shayemarlow@gmail.com to let me know what you think. Or, I’m active on Facebook Twitter & Instagram, where you can follow me for news and deals and such. Thanks for reading!

  Need more Alaskan romance, NOW? Check out the one-of-a-kind paranormal Alaskan Fire by one of my favorite authors, and fellow Alaskan, Sara King!

  Alaskan Fire Excerpt:

  Cha
pter 1: Meet Jack

  “So I guess Candy told you my brother called in a favor ‘cause he’s blowing chunks?” Blaze’s ‘replacement’ pilot was striding over to her from the brand new Mercedes he had parked with a gravel-slinging spin into the Bruce Rogers’ Flying Service driveway not a minute before.

  Blaze, who hadn’t really thought about what a Bush pilot should look like, was now finding herself very concerned. The skinny kid approaching her was dressed in ragged cut-off shorts, a skateboarding Bart Simpson T-shirt, sandals, and sunglasses. He looked for all the world like an out-of-state transfer student Blaze might have shared a class with in Business 101, not at all like the plaid-and-jeans-clad Bush pilot, Bruce Rogers, who was supposed to be flying her and the rest of her worldly possessions out to her new life in the Sleeping Lady Lodge.

  “You’re Lance?” she asked, trying not to wince as she attempted to calculate how old the kid was. He barely looked past eighteen. And, now that she got a good look, his hair was still wet from a shower.

  “Yep.” He spun the keys of his Mercedes on a finger and stuffed them into the pocket of his pants. Holding out his hand and peering up at her, he said, “You Blaze?”

  “Yeah, Blaze,” she said, taking it.

  “You’re tall, Blaze,” he said, still peering up at her. “You got a little Viking in your family, then?” As if she hadn’t heard that a million times already in her life.

  “Six-four,” she agreed, forcing a smile. “You know how to fly one of these things?” She gestured at the floatplane that was secured to the dock beside her.

  “Oh sure,” Lance Rogers said, peeling off his sunglasses and glancing at the Cessna 206, which was approximately the size of a sardine can. “Been in those things since I was a kid. Did my first solo at twelve, much to the consternation of my dad.” He grinned at her, showing a perfect white smile, even further removing him from the ‘Experienced Bush Pilot’ column in Blaze’s head. “Didn’t fly again until I was sixteen, after that. Dad started locking the keys in his safe.” Rubbing the little blue airplane beside him like an old friend, Lance said with a note of wistful regret, “Never did figure out how to hotwire ‘em.”

  “Uhhh,” Blaze said, glancing quickly back at the weather-worn wooden sign of Bruce Rogers’ Flying Service, and the little hut beside the aircraft hangar where Candy, Bruce’s wife, was working on paperwork. “I don’t know, I can probably wait for Bruce to get better…”

  “Bah!” Lance said. “I fly STOL Cubs and shit for air shows and do a little crop-dusting when I’m bored, which is basically whenever I’m not behind the wheel of a 747.” He shrugged at her widening eyes. “Copilot. Haven’t given me my own bird, yet. The chicken-shits won’t come out and say it, but I’m not bald enough.” At Blaze’s flinch, Lance grinned at her. “It’s okay. I get it a lot. Probably like you and being tall.” He looked up at her expectantly.

  “I do get it a lot,” Blaze admitted.

  “I’m sure.” What he left unsaid—but what dangled uncomfortably in the air between them—was, When you look like you just crawled out of a spaceship from Planet Orangutan. After an awkward moment, Lance cleared his throat and patted the little blue airplane again. “But yeah. Don’t worry, I won’t crash us. Brucey would kill me if I dinged up his baby. Besides, I hear you just bought a nice place out on the Yentna. Candy said ya had to wait through Breakup to get out there. Bet you’re dyin’ ta see what ya got, right?”

  “Yeah,” Blaze said, breaking into a nervous smile. “Fishing lodge. The Sleeping Lady.”

  Lance made a sound of appreciation as he started unwrapping the two ropes holding the Cessna’s float to the dock cleats. “Nice place. Landed on the lake for coffee a couple times.” He gestured at his brother’s airplane. “Candy got ya all loaded up?”

  “Yeah,” Blaze said, still a little stunned by the fact she was standing beside a commercial airlines pilot. “You fly 747s? Really?” He just didn’t look…stuffy enough.

  Lance shrugged. “I fly anything with wings.” He yanked open the door of the Cessna for her and motioned at the blue leather seat beside that of the pilot. “Climb on in. Try not to bump your head. Gonna be a tight fit for you, but nothing I can really do about that. Just be glad it’s not a Super Cub. Man, you’d have trouble getting inside.”

  Oh, thanks, Blaze thought, once more reminded of just how far from the Law of Averages that Mother Nature had decided to throw her. She stepped on the convenient little foot-rest, grabbed the inside of the door, and tried not to wince at how much her body made the little plane sink on its floats as she heaved herself into the cockpit.

  “How much you weigh, Blaze?” Lance asked almost thoughtfully. Then, when Blaze cast an irritated look back at him, his eyes widened and he held up both hands and quickly said, “Just tryin’ ta judge how close we are to payload.” He gestured at the back of the plane, which was completely packed full of groceries, luggage, and furniture, so much that it was completely blocking out the back windows. “Candy packed you in there pretty good. Everything but the kitchen sink, huh?”

  And this was only the first load. Blaze had many more scheduled, to bring in groceries, lumber, and other supplies.

  “I’m one-eighty,” Blaze muttered, estimating about twenty pounds low, just because the only people who needed to know that information were her and God. She delicately climbed past the pilot’s console, careful not to touch any of the controls, and sat down in the tiny passenger seat allotted to her.

  “Call it two hundred, then,” Lance said, in consideration. “Hmm. I think we can do this thing.”

  Blaze hesitated in buckling herself in. “Wait…you think?”

  But Lance was already lunging into the pilot’s seat and pulling the door shut behind him. “Headset’s right there,” he said, gesturing to the dash as he buckled himself in and tugged his own headset on. “You ever been in a small plane before, Blaze?”

  Blaze, who was still staring at the exit, considering whether it was worth trying to crawl over a commercial airlines pilot to get out of the little sardine Can ‘O Death before it exploded into a ball of fire on the far end of the lake, didn’t really hear him. Anyone who had lived in Alaska for any amount of time heard of the dozens of planes that went down every year. Most because they were overloaded, or because the pilots got cocky.

  “Jesus, you’re sheet-ass white,” Lance laughed. “Come on, I already told ya I been in these things since I was a toddler. Okay, look. See this little case behind my seat? That’s the emergency survival kit. We go down, there’s flares, fire-making gear, some rations, all that good stuff in there.”

  The casual way he said ‘go down’ made Blaze’s stomach clench.

  “But if we do go down,” Lance said, “you’ll survive it a hell of a lot better than me. I mean, hell, look at me. Brucey didn’t give me much warning. I’m wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Didn’t even get a chance to dose myself with DEET. Mosquitoes will eat my ass alive.” He flashed her a big white smile. “That should make you feel better, right?”

  It didn’t. But then Lance was firing up the engine, and the entire Cessna shook as the prop rumbled to life.

  “Headset!” Lance shouted to her over the roar of the prop.

  Oh my God, Blaze thought, reluctantly grabbing the headset and tugging it over her head, I am so totally going to die.

  “So I got to talking with Brucey on the way here,” Lance said conversationally as he increased the throttle and the little plane lurched forward, out towards the open water. “In between shitting himself and puking all over the phone, he was kind beatin’ around the bush about tryin’ to con me into talking some sense into you.”

  “Come to think of it,” Blaze said, already feeling ill as the overloaded plane started idling towards the middle of the lake, “I could probably stand another day or two in town.”

  “But,” Lance said, as if he hadn’t heard her, “I think it’s awesome you bought the place. You just have to watch out for crazies, and make sure
you have a baseball bat behind every door.”

  “Baseball bat?” Blaze asked, swallowing hard. Very tentatively, because she couldn’t think of why she would possibly need a baseball bat in the woods, she ventured, “Bears?”

  “Nah,” Lance said, “To beat all the lonely guys off of you, when they come knocking. There’s a lot of single guys out there. Now shut up for a second. Gotta make a call to the tower.” Then Blaze listened to him babble off a ritual-sounding string of words to ‘Willow traffic’ about ‘north-northwest departure’ and ‘no traffic in sight’ and waited until Lance had tucked the radio away again before she asked, “Bruce wanted you to warn me about lonely guys?”

  Lance laughed, “And other things. Mostly the crazies. Now hold on, ‘cause here we go.”

  And then the little plane’s engine roared and Blaze was clinging to her seat in a panic as it started rumbling across the lake like a locomotive.

  “Huh,” Lance said, as the spruce on the end of the lake loomed near, “looks like we’re a bit overloaded.” And kept them barreling towards the line of trees. Then, just as Blaze was about to scream “For God’s sake, shut it down!” and wrench the controls from him, the plane came out of the water and they were soaring.

  “So,” Lance said, once their floats cleared the tree line and they were gaining altitude over the highway and aiming out towards the mostly-uninhabited Lake Ebony on the Yentna River, “you planning on running the Sleeping Lady as a fishing lodge? Got a guiding license?”

  But Blaze was stunned at how wonderful it felt to fly. She had squished her face to the window and was peering outward at the stands of birch and cottonwood below. “Oh wow,” she said, watching the plane’s shadow slide across the ground below them. “This is so cool!”

  “Bah!” Lance snorted. “This ain’t nothin. Should come check out the air show this summer. That’s cool. Oh, and you’re smearing up Brucey’s glass. He hates that.”

  “Sorry,” Blaze said, quickly tearing herself away.