The Best Laid Plans: Season 2

The Best Laid Plans: Season 2
By Maz McCoy

Maz sat back in her armchair, a cup of tea in her hands, a chocolate biscuit within easy reach and sighed. The first season was over and she had managed to prevent any of those western women getting their hands on Kid Curry. It had been difficult at times but she had persevered and prevailed. She smiled.
Hang on a minute. Her brow furrowed.
Wasn’t there a Season two?
Maz put down her cup, picked up her biscuit and took a bite. The chocolate melted on her tongue, purely medicinal of course.
Maz pondered. Season two. That meant more pesky females trying to get their hands on HER ex-outlaw. Dang.
Maz headed to her computer. Something would have to be done about this.

The day they HANGED Kid Curry?
Maz picked up her pen as she flicked through the pages of the script. “Nope,” she muttered as she crossed out a scene. “Not gonna happen.” A line went through another unacceptable part of the story. The pen rested on her lip as she pondered. Ah ha! A man who looked like Kid. Now that could work. Brilliant idea. She read on. A saloon gal? Not for her ex-outlaw! An elderly woman? Surely they were not going to have a mixed-age love affair? Kid Curry and…Oh, no. It’s his grandma. That was acceptable. When she finished Maz placed the script next to the photocopier, ready for the office junior, a bespectacled youth named Dustin, to copy and distribute the next day.
That, dealt with the season’s opener.


“I suppose you wonder what we’re doin’?” Kid asked innocently, as he lay on top of Lorraine. The brown-haired goddess who smiled was…Wait a minute that couldn’t be right.
“CUT!” The director yelled and the actors froze. “Excuse me, ma’am but just who the heck are you?”
Lorraine looked up from where she lay, pinned beneath the warm, manly body of a blond ex-outlaw. “I’m Lorraine,” she informed him.
“Well, you’re not the Lorraine we started with,” the director stated.
“I know,” the new Lorraine replied. “She’s gone to ground. No one’s seen her since you broke for lunch. So I stepped in.” The new Lorraine smiled. “Shall we get on with the scene?” She wriggled beneath the outlaw.
The blond ex-outlaw looked to the director for…direction.
“Action!” the man yelled.
“Oh yeah!” whispered, Lorraine.

Outside the small dwelling was the grave, pointed out to Kid Curry when he first arrived at the cabin. Next to it a freshly dug plot had appeared. Lorraine really had gone to ground after all. Muhaha.


The next two episodes passed by uneventfully.
Maz watched with pride as Deputy Kid Curry broke out of jail and then shot the despicable Danny Bilson for leaving the boys and Seth to die.

Well-satisfied with her time as Lorraine, Maz was enjoying this season. And then….
The sound of shooting woke the boys. They sprang from their bunks, still clad in long johns and Henley’s, grabbed their guns and crept cautiously towards the window.
Outside the Jordan girls were target-shooting at tin cans and bottles set up on the corral fence.
“What are you doing?” Heyes asked as Kid shrugged into his red shirt.
“Well, I can’t let a lady shoot alone,” he replied.
“I can,” Heyes informed him as he brushed his hair back from his forehead.
Kid pulled on his gloves as he strutted his way out of the bunkhouse and across the yard. “Mornin’ ma’am,” he drawled, seductively, to Belle Jordan as he passed.
Heyes tugged on his boots and followed his friend but paused by the door so he could watch the spectacle. As he suspected the girls saw Kid as an easy mark and planned to swindle him out of…Oh sheesh, that was unexpected. A freak rifle accident. Who knew a weapon could explode like that and take out two ‘little gurls’ at the same time?
Kid turned to his partner and Heyes shrugged, they do say never play with guns. And what sort of parent was Beth Jordan anyway to leave two minors unsupervised around such weapons?
Behind the director the newly appointed weapons-expert smiled. Mission accomplished. That’ll teach them to plan teenage-girl-jealousy-inducing-apple-pie-sharing-horse-riding picnics with HER ex-outlaw.

“I really like you, Jim,” Kid informed the blond man. In the shadows, behind the hard-working blacksmith, two suspicious eyes followed the action. Kid really-liked him did he? She was a progressive author but this might be a step too far. After all it was the 1970s and closets were for clothes not for coming out of. She waited. Her hand gripped the blacksmith’s hammer (no that is not a euphemism! Stick with the story will ya!) Kid grabbed Jim’s shirt front. Stokely was doomed. He was a gonner! But wait, what’s this? A fight? Oh, he meant he liked him in a manly-friends way. Jim was safe. The hammer went down.


Six strangers found themselves at Apache Station. Gold fever was in the air and Caroline had surely been drinking since well before sun-up. Either that or she really was a weirdly-eccentric lady.
Having refreshed themselves with a beer, the boys separated and Kid found himself outside when the stagecoach was in town. A small, meek young woman stood in the street as her bags were thrown roughly from the coach. Kid Curry watched and, taking pity on her, stepped to her aid. He picked up her bags and carried them inside. He removed his hat, like the gentleman he is, and she offered him some money for his help. The floozy!
Kid refused to take the coins. It was clear this woman had already wormed her way into the blond man’s affections.
Later that evening, as Grace lifted her suitcase from the top of the wardrobe it sprung open and she was unexpectedly crushed when a heavy pile of bibles tumbled free. It was a swift but frivolous death. She was killed by an avalanche of Biblical proportions.

The wind blew hard, the snow fell and the men were trapped for months in a small cabin with nothing but a red Dog called Montana. Maz decided Kid was well away from women, although she made a quick search on Amazon for nurse’s outfits when she saw him pass out from man-flu.
Dang, she’d forgotten about his concerned and ever helpful dark-haired friend.


What is it with nuns? First there was Sister Grace and now the pair of rugged chaps-clad ex-outlaws found themselves riding to the aid of nuns in distress. Surely these ladies of the cloth would be safe travelling companions and no threat to the affections of Kid Curry?
“I’m oirish,” said the red-haired ‘nun’ as she claimed to be in partnership with Harry Briscoe. She was a feisty one that’s for sure but having seen the error of her ways, was now under the wing of Sister Julia.
“Better that than six feet under,” muttered an extra in a habit as she tended the nunnery garden.


Clementine Hale read the telegram and frowned. She had been offered a position of governess to two adorable young children. The positon paid well and she would be required to travel with the family all over the world. She would start immediately. This was an opportunity not to be missed. But wait…first she needed help to get her father released from prison.
It was at that fortuitous moment that she was contacted by her long lost…so long-lost in fact that Clementine didn’t even know she existed…English cousin.
The story continues….

“You’re who?” asked the assistant director of the young woman standing before him. (Hey, it’s my story, I can be any age I want)
“Mandarin,” the woman replied.
The assistant director consulted his notes. “I don’t have a Mandarin listed, only a Clementine.”
“That’s me!” the woman exclaimed “Clementine has been appointed governess to two adorable young children and has left on a long journey into deepest, darkest Africa. She may be gone for years and years and while she is away, I will be playing her cousin, Mandarin.” She pointed to the script clasped in the assistant-director’s hand. “Just cross out Clementine and write Mandarin instead. I’ll play all her parts.”
A puzzled expression crossed the man’s face but he did as instructed. He flipped over a page. “In that case you’re just in time for the next scene. You’re in the bedroom with Kid Curry, looking out the window. It’s just the two of you and…”
“I’ll take it from here,” Mandarin assured him and headed to the set.


Trussed up like turkeys at Thanksgiving, Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes sat, with the other passengers from the stage, at Diablo Station.
When it appeared the women’s reputations were in peril Kid Curry stepped forward. Well, he actually leaned forward, on account of his feet were tied and he was sitting down, but you get the idea.
“That lady there is my wife,” he informed Chuck.
Chuck looked at Anne Archer…I mean Ellen Lewis. Chuck did not look convinced. He was even less convinced when the man he knew as Joshua Smith leaned forward to claim the brazen Mary as his wife. The waiting continued and, as darkness fell, Chuck’s nefarious plan came to light.
Kid and Heyes exchanged a look. Something had to be done to stop Lom Trevors being killed by the outlaws holding them hostage. A plan was hatched in mime.
Hayfoot whispered something to Ellen. Ellen leaned on Kid’s shoulder and whispered to him. When the outlaws dozed one of the party slipped away from the chairs and hid in a recess next to the fireplace. Unfortunately, Ellen’s hearing had never been very good and she didn’t not realise that Kid was supposed to hide. The story continued, the flag was flown and Lom was saved.
Many years later when they were demolishing the nineteenth century cabin, a gruesome discovery was made.

Let us pause for a moment to remember Joe Simms, bounty hunter, professional, in the land of the free and home of the brave.

Two tired, dust-covered ex-outlaws rode into town and settled themselves on a bench. The blond man stretched out his legs, tilted his hat over his eyes and relaxed. Beside him his partner picked up a newspaper and browsed through the headlines. Suddenly he sat up straight, pushed his hat back with disbelief and held out the paper to his friend. They were going to have to get back on their horses and ride to Touchstone, New Mexico.
Kid Curry sat in a tree watching Louise’s house. She claimed to have known Kid Curry. Her days were numbered until it became obvious that she had not known the real Kid Curry. Little did she know that had she known the man she claimed to know she would soon know about it, but as she didn’t know him she never knew.


It was fiesta time in Santa Marta, Mexico and Margaret Carruthers, who was really Elizabeth the outlaw, was looking forward to beating the life out of the donkey shaped piñata she had recently purchased from a small man with bad teeth and a penchant for chewing tobacco.
When the day of the fiesta arrived Elizabeth picked up a stick and, brandishing it, hit the piñata. Nothing happened. Frustrated she struck it again and again.
The explosion was heard all across Santa Marta.
As he rode away the piñata seller was heard to mutter, “Siempre llevo dinamita.”


“My compliments to you,” the boss’s wife cooed. “You’re the first man to hold your own against Jake.” She looked at Heyes. “I hope he’s not badly injured. He really is quite handsome.”
Heyes chuckled. “The bosses’ wife has her big brown eyes on ya. Only twenty more days to go.”
Kid frowned and he wasn’t the only one.
The next day a member of the catering staff waved a cloth, in what she later stated was an attempt to dry it. The waving fabric frightened the cattle and in the stampede that followed the boss’s wife was trampled to her doom.

Maz sat back in her chair. The females had been dealt with. She would have liked to have dealt with Joe Briggs for making Kid do that awful jig but her favourite outlaw seemed to manage fine on his own. The walk into Red Gap left Kid with sore feet but she’d never been a foot person so he was on his own with those two. Finally there was Hadleyburg and apart from a spell in jail there was nothing to prevent Maz from claiming Kid as her own. I mean it wasn’t as if there was a third season, was there?

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