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Chapter 1
The narrow country roads were a hazard to a tired, irritated driver and Charlotte was very close to losing her temper. The journey to her long-awaited solo retreat had taken much longer than expected due to heavy traffic. The preparation for her holiday had been stressful; putting plans in place to allow her two weeks of uninterrupted time alone had taken its toll on her nerves. She was worn out, hungry and close to tears of frustration. She had to pull into yet another tiny gap to allow another driver to pass on the narrow road and she cringed as she heard the bushes scrape against her car's paintwork. She gave a squeal of exasperation as the wheels bumped on the rough terrain, jolting her already aching body.

It had seemed like an ideal choice to book into the exclusive resort of Willow Vale to spend two weeks with only herself for company, the secluded location being part of its appeal. She craved solitude away from her hectic life, to escape the constant demands of work and family. Her parents, friends and colleagues all considered her insane to have chosen to be alone, all in agreement that what she needed was a man in her life. Charlotte disagreed - in her own opinion a man was the last thing she needed. Her last relationship had ended almost two years ago, she was still suffering from the effects of the break-up and did not feel in the least inclined to repeat the experience.

Charlotte was unfulfilled, forever disappointed in any man who attempted to get close to her. She had erected barriers so high, they were unlikely to be breeched any time soon. She was tall at 5 feet 9 inches and stood taller than many of the men she met. Her glossy, dark brown hair would have fallen in soft waves about her striking facial features if she ever allowed it to hang loose, but she rarely did. Her choice of style was a severe knot, swept up high on her head and secured with hairpins, giving her a rather forbidding appearance. It was this, as well as her strong personality, that tended to scare men away. Her curves were certainly tempting, toned and well shaped legs, soft in all the right places, clear skin and good health, but all of these belied the fact that she appeared untouchable.

Most of the men she knew were at least a little afraid of her strong character; she was used to being in charge, both at work and at home. She refused to hide the air of authority she constantly carried; it got work done, got positive results. But it also left her lonely and isolated. She had a few good friends who were close enough to know the reasons for her withdrawal and they urged her to move forward, but she found she couldn't let go of the hurt Kyle had inflicted upon her.

Chapter One
Starr Winslow was dressed for the day in her usual get-up of long johns, weathered green chambray shirt, careworn blue jeans and scruffy boots. When the sun rose higher in the sky, she might need her shearling jacket and gloves. She greeted Catie, who was busy packing up and getting ready to head for the base camp, and took the cup of coffee she offered. Catie only cooked for her and Buck now. Jesse, a gnarly old curmudgeon, took over the chore of cooking for the cowboys years ago, and the ranch hands now had their meals in the bunkhouse instead of the ranch house.

This time of the morning was special to her - so peaceful and everything was right with the world. Looking up at the now fading stars, she admired the pre-dawn sky with the streaks of light and the colors. Everyday was different, the departing night clouds shrouding the sun to color the sky with shades of red, orange, purple and midnight blue before giving way to the usual azure blue sky of morning.

Halfway to the barn, she met with Buck. She never remembered a time when Buck wasn't there; he was as much part of the ranch as the landscape. He had wandered onto the spread when he was a raw kid and had been hired by her granddad, Micah Winslow, when he took over the ranch from his granddad. He remained through thick and thin, life and death. He had helped her dad Zack when his dad, Micah, passed, and was about to retire when her dad passed suddenly. Somewhere along the way, he met and married Catie. Buck and Catie lived in the small house he had built under orders from Micah when their son Justin was a babe. When Starr's mother left, Catie took over the cooking and cleaning and raised both Starr and her son, Justin, together. They were looking forward to retiring to Arizona to be near Justin and his family when that crazy-ass bull decided to break out of its enclosure and gore Starr's dad, killing him. Their plan was currently on hold because Buck couldn't leave her alone to run the ranch. Until they hired a foreman that he felt would be right for Starr and Whispering Pines Ranch, he was on board. His body might not be as spry and pliant as in years gone by but his heart carried him through. He guided Starr each day, and his knowledge was invaluable in teaching her the necessities of being a successful ranch owner.

Winslow Whispering Pines Ranch, located in the heart of the Big Sky Country with stunning views of Castle, Crazy and Bridger Mountains as a backdrop, was home to the Winslows for generations. Starr was the last of the line and was determined she was going to prove she deserved her birthright. Starr had worked on the ranch alongside her Dad and Buck since she could first sit a horse.

Abilene, Texas, 1883.

"I assure you, Miss Meredith, the content of your stepfather's will is quite clear and incontestable: both you and your younger brother have been bequeathed equal shares in the Red Rock ranch in Fort Griffin, which you will inherit upon reaching your respective twenty-first birthdays. But until you both come of age, a guardian has been appointed to oversee your moral and financial welfare. I thought I'd explained all this to you quite sufficiently three days ago?"

Angel Meredith tossed her riotous mane of red curls back over her shoulder and subjected her late stepfather's attorney to a narrow-eyed glare. Clearly the man thought she was simple. "Mr Croft, I know what you told me three days ago and I have since been home and searched the house for evidence that Daddy had kin in Fort Griffin. There isn't one single letter, telegram or document to support that theory. Neither Billy nor I can ever recall him mentioning family there. I think you have us mixed up with someone else."

The attorney took off his little round spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. "Miss Meredith, I am not in the habit of making such fundamental errors when dealing with my client's estate. Both you and young Billy are the beneficiaries of William Meredith's will. That is a fact, not a theory. It is also indisputable that William's cousin, Mr Jordan Nash, has been appointed your legal guardian until you reach maturity."

"I'm already mature," Angel snapped, a petulant stamp of her dainty foot belying her words. "I certainly don't need a guardian bossing me around for the next couple of years."

Mr Croft studied the pretty girl sat opposite him with disapproval. In his opinion, a firm hand was exactly what the Titian-haired little minx needed, preferably applied to her impudent bare bottom. During their brief acquaintance she had done nothing but question his professionalism and pout over the measures her stepfather had put in place regarding her future. If anyone needed a strict guardian, it was Miss Angel Meredith.

"I've been taking care of myself and Billy for a long time now - ever since Daddy got a job on the railways in fact and was gone for weeks on end." Angel stood up and tried to look as grown up as her five foot two inches would allow. "I'm not a little girl any more."

"Well that's as maybe, Angel," the attorney stated gruffly, "but I'm afraid you don't get a say in the matter. Your stepfather's cousin has already been notified of William's unfortunate demise and the stipulations in the will. Mr Nash has agreed to abide by your father's wishes, and a letter outlining his plans for your future should already be on its way. Everything is settled."

Angel fought the impulse to squeal in frustration.

Princess Sofia Molotov sighed and pouted as the wind raged, accompanied by a heavy snowfall. Winter was hard upon them and soon she would be a prisoner in the castle for the rest of the season. Already her father had forbidden her from going out, and none of the dvorniks would be available to escort her on one final adventure.

Luckily Sofia was generally considered too petite to handle the horse-sled alone. Indeed she was so petite that it was her father's proud boast to prospective suitors that her waist could be encompassed by the span of a man's hand. A ridiculous claim, she thought, because as narrow as she was it took almost two hands for such a feat. But still, this perception of her frailty only worked to her advantage as so far no one had thought to put her away her sleigh.

Donning snug fawn hunting breeches and a jerkin, she covered the ensemble with a sable coat and a huge fur hat to cover her long red braids. Then as quiet as a snowflake on water, she made her way through the kitchen entrance to the yard.

Most of the servants were still sleeping on the hard stone floors, with only ragged cast-off coats between them and the chill. Although here and there more industrious serfs were shaking themselves awake to begin the task of making breakfast. But if any saw her then it was none of their affair.

Sofia reached the stables almost without incident, only staggering briefly as she stepped into the biting chill. She was thankful then that a hundred stoats had surrendered their winter coats for hers and pulled her cloak about her. She loved this part and grinned to display a row of perfect teeth in greeting.

As she did so a cloud of breath burst from her throat and tumbled whitish-grey towards the sky. Better still was the creak-crunch of her boots upon a hand's-depth of snow and she gleefully stamped her feet as she made her way to the stable to enjoy the softly yielded squeak of her steps as she walked.

But it did not go all her way. Without servants she had to remove her gloves to put on the horse's harness and the tangy steel burned her fingers as she worked until pins and needles assailed her and she had to allow her hands the retreat of her pockets. In the end it took three attempts to ready the sleigh, but after that it was as easy as runners upon snow. Then she simply slipped away.

Luck was with her that morning as not only did none of the guards see her, but by the time she reached the forest under the castle, the wind had dropped and the snowfall had reduced to nothing but a light flurry.

"Hey you wondrous day," she yelled to the trees in crisp aristocratic tones. "Catch me if you can."

The Houseboy
Only two months ago, Zeke Sundstraw had been thrilled to accept the part-time position of a lifetime ... at least his young lifetime. Working his way through college, Zeke needed a cheap place to live that was close to campus as well as a paying job that was flexible as far as his hours were concerned. He found the ideal situation as a live-in houseboy at the sorority house of Lambda Epsilon Gamma.

The position met all his requirements: he lived in the basement of the sorority house in his own room with his own private entrance (it would be unseemly for the sorority sisters to have a man coming and going through the front door!); room and board were free; and he earned a modest wage. His hours were his own as long as he met his responsibilities daily, and those responsibilities were pretty simple: Zeke did all the housework.

But, housework was quite a broad term. It included all the cleaning and most of the laundering. He dropped off and picked up the dry cleaning, but he did all the other laundry for a dozen Lambda sisters. It wasn't difficult just as long as Zeke stuck to a routine, making sure to put in a load of laundry in the morning before classes and again after classes. The vacuuming and dusting were time-consuming, but not taxing, and Zeke discovered that even the mundane job of cleaning the bathrooms was not unpleasant. He even learned to sort the girls' undies by sight alone.

Besides, he lived in close proximity to twelve of the sexiest women on campus and as his duties required free reign of the house, Zeke had ample opportunity to see these women in various states of undress; a wonderful, golden opportunity for which Zeke thanked his lucky stars each and every night!

A Junior in college, Zeke had tried dorm life and fraternity life, but had suffered through a number of menial and low paying jobs to stay in school. This one was really going to work out and, all in, it was the best financial deal he had ever negotiated. But, the fringe benefits of being around, and flirting with, the lovely ladies of Lamda Epsilon Gamma were the best.

Zeke had quickly learned the rhythms of the sorority house and the personal habits and schedules of its inhabitants. Through his cleaning duties, he had also discovered a number of unobtrusive locations in the house from which he could spy on the various ladies. Zeke developed a daily ritual that allowed him a pervert's platter of 'peeping tom' opportunities.

From a linen closet, Zeke could see through a crack in the door and watch Sandy shower in the morning. From that same position, Laurie could be seen bathing nightly. How odd, he had thought, that there would be two distinct preferences for the use of the same facility: different times of the day and choice of tub and shower.

Diary of an Aristobrat
"Owww!" mewed Elizabeth Winslow Jones, ruefully rubbing her aristocratic bottom as she climbed the spiral staircase of the great house. "From now on, I'd better mind my tongue when speaking with strangers!" The blond beauty made her way along the upper hallway to her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her, taking care not to slam it lest she be called back for an encore by her parents who were visiting with the new neighbours in the drawing room directly beneath her.

Approaching the dressing table, she turned her back to the huge vanity mirror and carefully eased her cream coloured jodhpurs and matching bikini knickers down over her voluptuous hips. Out popped as scarlet a pair of seat cheeks as ever you've seen! With pants around her thighs, she waddled over to the closet, rummaged around in the mess on the back shelf, and came up with a small electric fan. Setting it down on the chair before the vanity, she turned it on and stuck her glowing posterior a few inches away from the grille. "Aaaaahhhh, that's better!" she sighed, as the wind swirled over hill and dale.

Peering over her shoulder in the mirror, fascinated by the inflamed flesh, she skimmed her finger tips back and forth over the seething mounds. Mother's right hand had painted the entire surface a sunset pink, and father's strap had stained the twin summits a darker shade of crimson. "Golly! What a sight for sore eyes," she muttered. "Daddy really laid it on!" After a session with the Rear Admiral - as the tawse was called in the Winslow household - Elizabeth's bottom needed more relief than the fan could offer, so she reached for her second aid, a jar of Estée Lauder's finest moisturizing cream. The lotion was called a face cream; given the price, it was evidently meant to be used sparingly on a woman's smaller pair of cheeks. Defying convention, Elizabeth daubed great gobs of the stuff all over her big cheeks, gently rubbing it into the scalded flesh. Then she thrust them back before the fan. "Ooooohhh, what a relief!" she shivered, as goosebumps arose on the glistening flesh.

They say time is the healer of life's hurts, and that was certainly the case with Elizabeth's bottom. In half an hour, the searing sting had subsided to a faint, itchy throb. But instead of putting the ordeal out of mind, Elizabeth's impulse was to write it all down. So she slipped her diary from its hiding place beneath the mattress. The little red book with her name embossed in fancy gold script on the cover already contained two vivid accounts of spankings she had received in the past year, one from her mother and the other from the headmistress of her finishing school.

The real reason she dwelt on these expiation rituals lay well beyond the twenty-year-old's consciousness, but the way she explained it to herself appealed to a theatrical sense of her own self-importance.

The Spanking Proposal
Ms. Caroline Bryce was running late as usual. The suit she had laid out the night before ended up being tossed aside when she saw a small stain on the collar. Of all days to discover she needed to look for a new cleaner! She had a very important meeting in less then an hour and she was already behind.

Not wanting to, but finding she had no choice, Caroline put on her other business suit. It was okay but a little frillier. She wanted to make a big impression on the men she was seeing that morning. She didn't want them thinking of her as a pushover just because she was a woman. Somehow, wearing pink wasn't going to pull off quite the same effect as her black suit would have.

After making herself as presentable as possible, Caroline flew out of her apartment, nearly knocking old Mrs. Flannigan over who was picking up the newspaper outside her door.

"Oh my goodness dear." Mrs. Flannigan stood up as quickly as her small crippled body would allow her. "You're in such a hurry this morning."

"Sorry Mrs. Flannigan, I'm late for a meeting. I have twenty minutes left to get there." Caroline stopped to explain hurriedly. The last thing she wanted to do was start a conversation with the woman because once she got going, she just wouldn’t shut up!

"My arthritis is acting up this morning," Mrs. Flannigan complained as she held her hand to her back. "Be glad you're so young dear. When you get old-"

Caroline interrupted her neighbor mid-sentence as she sprinted down the hall, which was no small feat in her high heels. "I'm sorry Mrs. Flannigan, I don't mean to sound rude but I have to run. My boss will be really pissed if I'm late."

Mrs. Flannigan waved goodbye as she leaned down once more to pick up her paper. "Okay dear. Hope you have a nice little meeting."

Nice little meeting. Caroline smirked. Not likely. She and Lance had been busting their ass for the last month to get this account. Everything they had presented to Mr. Mann so far had been shot down for one reason or another. She was praying everything would go smoothly this morning. Looking at her watch for the thirtieth time in the last ten minutes, Caroline punched the elevator button and waited impatiently for the door to open.

---oOo---
Caroline sat in her office totally deflated. She had missed the meeting by fifteen minutes. Mr. Mann had stormed out, mumbling he had more important things to do than to wait all day on someone who obviously didn't care one way or the other about handling his account. Lance was totally infuriated with her and hadn't spoken a word to her since berating her relentlessly in his office upon her arrival.

Part 1: The Cow Shed Auction
Laura and Stephanie had been best friends since leaving college ten years ago. They were in their early thirties, married but without children. Their respective spouses, Bill and Robin were also friends, so the four of them spent quite a bit of time together.

Their marriages had not been without the normal difficulties, not helped by the recession which had forced the men out of work. The girls had part time jobs but this did little to provide the quality of life they all aspired to.

Laura and Stephanie were having coffee together, reminiscing about good times past and discussing the future. The recession had no end in sight for the motor industry where both Robin and Bill had previously worked. They really would have to re-train, but such opportunities were rare.

Stephanie casually asked Laura whether she'd heard of the 'Cow Shed'.

"What's that, some farm?"

"No, I think it's a club out in the country. I've heard it's a place that girls can make a load of money."

"It's a long way out of town - what sort of work is available?"

"Well, I've heard that they do an auction every month where the punters bid on services provided by the girls."

"Prostitution? I don't think that Bill would approve and I'm sure my Robin wouldn't!"

"Well, I'm not sure of the details - I think you can do as little or as much as you like. I don't think that you need to prostitute yourself. I've heard that the money is really great though so I just wondered if it was worth a trip out? Find out the score? Just an idea."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that! Better not mention anything to the boys though - not yet anyway."

"I've got a card - shall I give them a ring?"

With this, Stephanie picked up the 'phone, dialled and got a recorded message advising potential bidders of the date of the next auction - two weeks tomorrow - and giving another number for further enquiries. She re-dialled, and having outlined her interest was put through to a Graham Pointer, who apparently managed the place.

After exchanging basic information, Graham said, "If you're interested in putting yourselves up for auction you need to come along so that we can discuss the details. This is not something you should get into lightly."

They arranged to meet Graham after work the following afternoon. They told the guys that they were meeting up with some girlfriends from work and wouldn't be late back.

The following afternoon they drove out to the Cow Shed - the instructions were clear to follow. They arrived at 2.10 pm - a little late for the 2 pm appointment but were told that they could be seen at 2.30 pm.

They were shown into the manager's office and were introduced to Graham Pointer by his secretary who remained in the room.

The Invitation

I recall vividly the delivery of the invitation; it was printed on a fine, rose-tinted linen sheet of paper with an elegant border of delicately sketched nymphets, their hand's interlinked and held up high as they danced around the invitation's edge.

"You have been invited to be an initiate at the Sapphic Society monthly meet at the Sapphos Estate of Lady Clara Huntington. On acceptance, you will be paired with a chaperone who will prepare and accompany you to this auspicious event."

My chaperone turned out to be none other than my dearest friend, Lady Janelle. We bathed and dressed together at my townhouse in the evening, and then a carriage let us off under the portico at Sapphos Estate. Our arrival was fashionably late, and we had to wait as a line of ladies disembarked from their transportation ahead of us. Two elegant ladies-in-waiting dressed as butlers admitted us to the closed marquee which covered the lawn. It was the riding crops which they held lightly in their gloved hands, that should have tipped me off to the theme of the gathering.

The scene under the canvas top was magical. Crystal candelabras hung from beams, casting flickering lights across the scene below. I was immediately drawn to the fountain at the center. Figurines carved out of the finest marble poured water from their pitchers in seemingly never-ending supply. The water splashed and danced its way down, creating a joyous symphony of sparkling light and sounds.

As I watched, a young, bare-footed maiden sat down on the fountain wall. With elbows raised high, she brought a flute to her ruby lips and breathed a kiss of life into the waiting instrument. Her fingers tapped at the silver keys creating a haunting melody, accompanied by the tinkling from a chain circling her slender ankles. I felt myself being carried away to a land of mists and myths.

The music was a call to action; as if from nowhere, a circle of ladies formed and began to circle the fountain. The music stopped and I watched in wonder as each participant reached forward and pinned up the gown of the lady in front. I counted twenty young women, their heads held high, and their bottoms bare. A lady-in-waiting approached the circle. She carried a bunch of beautifully prepared birch rods in her arms; the switches were supple and smooth, the handles beautifully bound with pink or blue ribbons.


Emma

The little flautist, whose name was Emma I was later to be told, looked directly at me for just a second. I could have sworn she gave me a conspiratorial wink, but in an instant that moment passed. She lifted her instrument once more and began to play. She chose a lively Gaelic jig, and as the rhythm picked up the ladies began to circle. Dancing three steps forward, those with the blue handled rods swished the lady in front.

Chapter One - Cursed
Most teenage girls, caught in the supply closet with their mouth around the wet, swollen shaft of a boy, would have reacted with shame or at least an expression of guilt. Some might have tried to bolt or pretend they were doing something else. But not Taylor Ford. She just glared up at the teacher, growled a "Do you mind?" with a sweet smile, and went back to work as though the woman wasn't there.

Mrs. Davis was so startled by this reaction she hesitantly closed the door and went on, actually unsure if she'd seen what she'd thought she'd seen. "I must have been imagining it," she told herself. "Sweet little Taylor wouldn't be doing that!"

Far from being a rare and odd event, this was typical in the life of the petite blond. She was genetically blessed with such an innocent face that scarcely anyone could believe she was guilty of anything. With her flawless pale skin and platinum gold hair - in delicate ringlets around her round head - she was angelic in appearance. Her eyes were obsidian black, creating a striking contrast, and made her seem intense and interesting. Her nose was tiny and on the flat side, but it was her mouth that was the most unusual. It was like a miniature version of Jack Nickelson's Joker's smile except it wasn't makeup or a disfigurement. It was merely the cutest smile possible: tiny with a little dip in the center of the upper lip and narrowing into up-curled slits on each side like some perfect line drawing of a grin. The plump cheeks were topped with disgustingly cute dimples and Taylor Ford's rosy face was complete.

Just looking at Taylor's face you'd be hard-pressed to guess her age - somewhere between twelve and twenty. In truth she was just turned eighteen and had the body to prove it. She was small, but those short stocky legs led up to the roundest rear end you've ever seen. She was generous in the hips and her ass was as plump as a swollen Ballpark hot dog. Such a low center of gravity was made more obvious by the narrowness of her tiny waist. Her single flaw, at least from her perspective, was that she was shallow in the chest. Her breasts were tiny like the rest of her, a fact that irritated her tremendously - but in truth this added to her elf-like appeal and made her seem more innocent and less mature. It was a key aspect of her Teflon nature.

Taylor could smile sweetly at just about anyone and get them to do whatever she wanted. Grown men saw those tiny lips and either saw their own daughters and sympathized, or they imagined how rude she'd look with that small mouth ensconced around their thick, pulsing member. Boys saw a smoking hot girl and just wanted to be near her, to see her pleased with them, and would do anything she asked.

Entrée: Coin Toss
A few years ago Laura and Edward sat at the table wondering how to respond to each other. Earlier, they had opened the letter from the bank. They were going broke: they both had good jobs, they both earned good bonuses, and they both had the habit of spending twelve hundred dollars every time they earned an extra thousand. The discussion soon turned into an argument, and when that solved nothing, they fought.

This one was the fight of the century; later on, they joked that they should have sold tickets. They spared no feelings as they tongue-lashed each other - his height, her weight, every one of the in-laws, family members and their perceived faults, ancient history, ancient wounds, spending habits. Nothing was sacred, and nothing was left out. Never in their lives had they ever experienced the viciousness that unrestrained argument can bring - perhaps they had enjoyed sheltered childhoods - nothing in their two years of marriage or the two decades of life prior to that happy event had prepared them for the sort of wounding, cutting words they were throwing at each other.

Neither one had raised a hand. There was no need: the sheer viciousness of her verbal attacks made him physically ill, while his left her bereft and forlorn, crying pitiful, anguished tears. Their physical agonies finally brought them a blessed respite from argument. It is impossible to hurl insults when unable to draw breath.

They were as punch-drunk fighters in the prize-ring, seeking the safety of a neutral corner. She tottered into the powder room, wanting to dry her eyes and repair her makeup; he staggered to the closet, found a suitcase, and started packing some clothes.

Laura snarled at him. "Don't you dare walk out of here, mister. We're married, remember? For better, or for worse. This was one of the worst. Now it's time we make it better."

Edward glared back at her. "Right, so what do you do now? Wave a wand? Will that make it better?"

Her eyes flashed with sudden fury. "Wave a wand? Wave a wand?! What I ought to wave is my hand, right across your face!"

He interrupted her. "No one's slapping any faces, Laura; what ought to be slapped is your bottom." She gasped in horror, remembering her parents' discipline. "You know you deserve it."

"You deserve it just as much as I do!" she shrieked. "How dare you say those horrible things! How dare you call me all those awful names! You're the one who needs a spanking, Edward, and I'm just the one to give it to you."

He folded his arms. "You're screaming again, Laura. I thought you wanted to make it better?" He started to walk out of the room, but she stood in his way. "I'm not going to fight any more," he told her. "Not today. I can't stand this.

A Strapping in Place of Seduction
It was shift change at the mini market where I worked the graveyard shift, a mind-numbing 11PM to 7AM slog, six nights a week. The pay was terrible and the job was worse, largely dealing with drunks, druggies and the other coterie of lost souls who frequented such establishments in the wee hours, but it had the one distinct advantage of many hours of solitude; perfect study time for a college freshman working his way through school. A couple of hours nap before classes in the morning, a longer one in the afternoon and I was relatively good to go. It didn't allow for much of a social life, but truth be told I'd never had much of one in high school and didn't anticipate much more success in college.

The woman on the swing shift, a thirty-something named Lucy, usually stuck around for a half hour or so after the changeover. She was funny and friendly, if a bit too reminiscent of my mother's bridge group for me to feel as warmly towards her as she seemed towards me, often touching my arm or patting my shoulder as she talked. She was always dressed in jeans or slacks and a buttoned long sleeve shirt. I once asked her why the similar ensemble every day and she told me that she'd been on a ranch most of her life, until her divorce had driven her and her daughter to the city, and that was the daily uniform. She'd just never gotten out of the habit. It wasn't a bad look, but with her close cropped brown hair, wide hips and shoulders, it didn't show her off to her best advantage. Besides, who was I to talk? I was eighteen and virtually my entire wardrobe consisted of Levi's, tee-shirts and tennis shoes.

Tonight she was ranting on about her seventeen-year-old daughter. Seems the young lady was spending too much time with her phone and not enough time getting her household chores done and Lucy was pretty tired of coming home to dirty dishes, a house in a shambles, and her daughter stretched out on the couch with a phone firmly attached to her ear. They'd had a few talks, with each one seemingly escalating in tone and volume.

"She'll be in more trouble than she can handle if I find her on her damn phone or watching TV with the house still a mess," she said darkly.

"What'll you do, ground her?" I asked.

Lucy shook her head in exasperation. "What earthly good would that do? Just give her more time to lie about and do nothing."

I scanned the empty parking lot and started counting out the register as quickly as I could. It seldom failed that some pain in the ass customer would come racing in right after I started the changeover and then bitch and moan that they had to wait three minutes to get their cheap beer or wine while I balanced out.