Chapter Text
Captain Wilton Parmenter was born a klutz. If anyone was cursed to have two left feet and be all thumbs, it was him. Several of his family members were surprised that he survived long enough to become an adult.
At least he was a lovable klutz. Plus, he was blessed with a dumb luck that helped offset his clumsiness. That luck transformed him from a lowly aide to a war hero and commander of a fort.
Wrangler Jane walked into the stout commander's office to find him with his hand stuck in a cookie jar. She put the small package she carried on his desk. She took his arm. "Here, Wilton. Let me help you."
Parmenter shook her off. "I can do this, Jane," he said stubbornly. He bent over and tried to get the side of his foot around the top edge of the jar. He quickly lost his balance and fell on his back.
Janie knelt next to him. "Are you all right?" she asked anxiously.
He was more embarrassed than anything else. "I'm fine. I'm fine," he hastily assured her. He shook his arm in a vain attempt to get his hand loose.
She grabbed his arm in a firm grip. "Just relax your hand, Wilton."
He was about to protest but did as she suggested. His hand slipped out easily. He smiled sheepishly. "Thanks, Janie."
She grinned back and helped him up. "You're welcome. I brought that package you've bin expectin' from Dodge City."
"Great!" He tore the brown paper as if it were a present on Christmas morning. He opened the box and took out an ivory handled revolver.
"I'm sure your father will love it," Janie said brightly.
"I hope so. Father's a difficult person to shop for." Parmenter traced the engraving on the handle. "That shop in Dodge City really did an exquisite job on Father's initials."
"When's he comin' again?"
"Next Monday, on his birthday." He laughed nervously. "This is the first time he'll be inspecting my post."
She patted his back reassuringly. "You know how the troop feels about you. They'll make you proud."
He nodded. "I know they'll do their best." He stood by the window to see the fine detail better. He held it, barrel pointed up and out towards the glass.
She stood near his shoulder. "I'll make sure to cook something special for your father's birthday."
"Oh, you don't have to go to all that trouble."
She leaned close to his ear. "It'll be my pleasure," she purred in his ear.
He jumped at the hot breath on his neck. A shot rang out and glass shattered. He dropped the gun and hit the floor. He grabbed Janie and pulled her down with him. "When did the Indians get guns?"
Janie shook her head and smiled ruefully. "Wilton, that was you."
Parmenter put a hand over his beating heart and took a deep breath. He blushed. "Oh, yeah."
Agarn's shout came from outside. "Oh, no. Sarge!"