Thursday, June 22, 2006

Daddy's girl always

"Let's get on to the range, Bubba," her father charmed with his immortal sobriquet.

Rising from her chair, she dusted off the sweaty languor of the Houston humidity. Two shoes to put on, and away they went.

Daddy had the top down in one of his two convertibles. On a sunny day like this, she knew her father couldn't resist mixing the open air with gunpowder.

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