Monday I walked into the office thinking all was pretty darned good in my world. It was, really. The major parts of the power distribution system were 'hot', had real live electricity on them, and we had no problems. I thought I was hanging around the project, just waiting for the big generators to make electricity, basically making sure the documentation package: drawings, equipment manuals, reports, the myriad details of 'this is what we built for you', and training the owner's staff on my piece of the pie.

Trouble was, I was a person who 'knew things'. Therefore, I got dragged into discussions about fans that ran on a continuous overload and data networks that dropped packets and a whole bank of instrumentation that didn't send out good signals. Other peoples' problems, basically. But that was one of the reasons I keep getting called on these jobs: I help things along. I facilitate. I pull in resources that somebody else might've overlooked,. And I make things work. And I give credit to the whole team's effort.

So I was late getting home Monday night and Cindy was finishing a TV dinner. She giggled when I pointed out the tater tots. And then cooked me one...

"I talked to Mister Jim today," she said, "Right after school. He says we visit the University of Alabama on Thursday. Can you make that?"

"I should be able to, doll. I got one big motor to run tomorrow, and if everything looks right on my end, I think I can go with you," I said.

"I hope so. S'pose they ask me something I don't know..." She sat across the table from me as I ate.

"I don't think they'll ask you anything earthshaking, baby. I think this is just like Auburn, where they say 'let's see what this bright star looks like'. You're very much able to handle yourself in conversation every time I see you. I watch. You impress people."

"I wanna impress people like YOU do," she said. "I want people to WANT me to be there because I add something they can't get elsewhere."

"You do that for me," I said.

"Not THAT!" she smirked.

"Oh" I said, feigning anguish. "You think THAT is ALL I get from you? What about your mad kitchen skills?" I pushed my TV dinner tray, empty, toward her. "I notice the particularly artful way you peeled the film back away from the tater tots."

Red hair. Green eyes. And a tongue sticking out at me. Giggling.

"It is so good to have you, kitten, to laugh with," I said.

"Me too," she said, hugging me before she removed the empty tray. "We can just relax and be ourselves. Can't we?"

January. I'd known her since the previous August. We'd been living together since the first of November, married since the week of Thanksgiving. I'd never felt the need to be anywhere other than with her every second I could. The only time I'd heard her use cross words was the horrible 'big toe versus the dinette leg' incident. I was required to do extra cuddles that night. So, yes! We could be ourselves.

"Did Jim say anything about our weekend?" I asked.

"He said it was the best weekend he an' Mizz Ann have had in a long time. Said that he was getting used to being impressed with the way you an' I carry on in public."

"That's 'cuz he doesn't want to think about us carryin' on in private," I jibed.

"Oh, I doubt he gives it much thought. Mizz Ann had a big smile on HER face at breakfast yesterday," she tittered.

"C'mere, little angel. I feel the urge to hold you," I said, sitting back on the sofa. That got me the desired outcome, an armful of delightful, giggly redhead. She flopped on top of me, our faces inches apart. I wrapped her in my arms.

She clasped my face between her hands. "Oooo, baby's all bristly," she giggled, and then she rubbed her cheek against a day's worth of beard growth, purring.

Sometimes she was so much like a kitten.

An hour later, showered, freshened, and for me, shaved, we were sitting on the sofa sipping herb tea she'd gotten from Ann, and playing cards. I was in the midst of a retreat.

"I almost wish we didn't have the music thing this weekend, baby," she said. "I long for a big shower and lots of hot water, and me an' you walking along in a park in the dark."

"It's twenty-five degrees out there, sweetie," I said.

"An' we both get cold and rush inside and take off our clothes and dive under the covers."

"Now that's inventive," I said.

"Don't want you to be bored..." Green eyes twinkled.

"With you, cutie, I'll either be VERY interested, or DEAD!"

An almost shy smile spread across her face. "So which one are you right NOW?"

"I still have reflexes," I laughed. "Turn that light out."

With a youthful bounce she had her hands on my waist, following me to the bed at the end of the trailer. I started to crawl up from the foot of the bed, but as soon as I was on my hands and knees a little hand cupped my balls.

"I like YOU from behind, too, you know," she lilted.

I saw her nightshirt flutter onto the nightstand on her side of the bed. That told me that there was, in very close proximity, five feet three inches of eager redheaded girl. I escaped my tender captivity and stripped my own shirt off and turned to accept a collision of nubile female flesh. I fell backward with her in my arms, a mere feather of a girl who held my heart in her hands.

I pushed a hand between us and cupped her hot little pussy, then one finger slipped between wet folds. She grabbed my wrist and pushed me hard, shoving my finger inside her as her mouth met mine, our tongues twisting together.

Her own hand circled the base of my dick, fingers stroking the skin of my scrotum.

"I would REALLY like to eat you, little girl."

Squeal! "I was hoping you'd say that!" and her athletic young form twirled, presenting me with a view of pink wetness, plump with excitement, begging to be tasted, licked, suckled, savored. I enjoyed my happy task, receiving in return some wonderful attention to my dick by precious hands and mouth, until her hip movements took on an insistent rhythm as she neared orgasm.

She came, breathless, speaking words without language, then turned back, kissed me, my face moist with her own juices.

"D'ya mind if I do THIS one for both of us now?" She slid her legs sideways and sat up, straddling me. A little hip bounce and she was impaled on my hardness. She was already biting her bottom lip, the corners of her mouth curled up in a smile as my hands explored her hips, her waist, her chest. That close to her previous orgasm, the next one wasn't far behind, and my first one was waiting at the gates, primed by her beauty and her previous eager attentions.

She was mewing as she came, spurred on by the throbbing of my own orgasm as she held me deep inside her. She collapsed into my arms, semi-conscious.

"Towel," she said. "I don't wanna move."

Beside the bed was a fleecy hand towel for just this occasion. Nobody needed to sleep in the wet spot.

She cuddled into my side and said, "Lights. Music. I love you. Kiss me." I kissed her and slid into another night of being thankful that THIS was happening to ME.

Tuesday was a little better. By mid-morning we had all the players around for the last big motor. I stood by in my substation with a radio, waiting. When the time came, somebody out there initiated a count-down and at the sound of 'zero' I heard an authoritative THUMP, as expected. On my laptop's display I watched the huge amount of electricity rush into the motor as it spun up, knowing full well that too much for too long, and my stuff would shut things down. We got past that, ran long enough for the mechanical people to get vibration signatures, and then I heard what I called the 'unthump', signaling a normal stop.

I leaned back in my folding chair, looking across the table at one of my technicians. "Another day in paradise," I said. "Good work!"

"We do it right, Dan," he smiled. "Most of the time, anyway." Yeah. Sometimes things slip through. Not often. That's why we test and retest.

I walked out and took my golfcart back to the office. Catching my mechanical buddy, I asked, "so when are we doing the four hour run?"

"We're planning on starting at eight in the morning," he answered.

"Great!" I said, seeing the idea of working late disappearing over the horizon. At four I was out of the plant and on the way to the trailer. I found Cindy in there, tapping away at her laptop keyboard.

"Whatcha doin', cutie?" I asked.

"Something for social studies."

"You're doing an assignment?"

"Yep!" she said. 'Cuz I want to."

"Can I interrupt you to ask about dinner?"

"Pizza," she said.

"You don't wanna go out?"

"Nope. I got thoughts I need to put down." She smiled over her shoulder.

Okay! I'd seen Cindy get this way while she was writing before. And yes, she wrote. It's pretty good stuff, really, not only from my somewhat biased perspective, but also from her English teacher's view. And also a couple of university English department people. She was funny in a cute way. She got into a 'zone' until she reached some internal setpoint and then she was right back out of it.

Accordingly, I backed off, ordered the pizza and then sat back on the sofa and picked up a book. I heard the pizza guy show up and met him at the door with money in hand. I guess that was Cindy's stopping point. She closed her laptop and got a couple of paper plates and we dove into pizza.

"What's the assignment?" I asked.

"Well," she said, "the teacher was discussing how societies change and she said something about the 'nuclear family' and I said something about 'does that mean daddy works on a reactor' and she and about three kids laughed.

Okay, I snorted cola in my nose...

"But then she talked about what she REALLY means and assigned us a two-page essay on what WE thought caused changes in the nuclear family." She bit a chunk off a triangular slice and chewed. After a sip of her drink, she continued, "So I have ALL these ideas. You know I read some of this stuff. Like that time I told you about how people used to get married before there were judges and licenses and records an' stuff. But you know I read stuff."

"Yes, you do read stuff, baby," I said. She did. One can't fly around the countryside or make love ALL the time. We did try, though. But back to reading. Library? The local one was, well, 'small' is a rather generous term. But this is the age of the internet, and I showed her free books and she was voracious.

She read a lot, too...

Oh, okay ... Cindy loved learning. "So you're distilling that knowledge into two typed, eleven-point, double-spaced pages?"

"I am proposing a few causative factors," she said. "And THAT is what my paper says."

"Now you have my curiosity piqued." I talked with this person every day and I was often amazed at the turns a conversation might take.

"D'ya think we're normal?" she asked.

"Oh, come on! You're fourteen, I'm forty-one..."

"But let's look at some other things. You're male, I'm female..."

"No doubt about that," I laughed. "I've checked!"

"Neither of us was divorced. I wasn't pregnant."

"When you put it like that," I said, "it sounds good. But when somebody sees us for the first time, what'd'ya think they see? Dad and daughter. Uncle and niece. Teacher and student. They have to have a reason to get past that when they find out we're married. Like Mona Simmons."

"Yeah, the lady at the restaurant the other morning."

"Uh-huh," I said. "She was all full of the wrong ideas about us. Maybe we got through to her, but you gotta know that there's other people out there who've heard about us, maybe even seen us, who still have those ideas, and with some of them, no amount of explanation will be enough."

"Anyway, I was just thinkin' about the whole family and marriage thing since we were talkin' about it in class. I'm the only one in the whole school that's married." She smiled.

"You're in MIDDLE SCHOOL!" I laughed.

"You'd rather I waited?"

"Nope. I am just glad that you seem to not be catching crap about it." At least I'd not heard anything about it from her.

Smile. "No, not when there are a bunch of pregnant fourteen year olds around. Like Mizz Ann said. Even if what we did was BAD, there are a lot WORSE things." Her hand touched mine. "And I don't think what we have is bad. Not even a little bit."

"You don't feel like I'm exploiting you? That's what a lot of people think about relationships like ours."

"Oh, yeah, I think you're exploiting me. I NEVER get to do what I want, even stuff I never expected to want. You know, like flyin', and concerts, and singin' with a band. TWO bands, actually. And COLLEGE. And goin' to your job. And after you get a shower, I plan on getting exploited some more." When she grinned, her nose wrinkled, a characteristic that made me melt.

Wednesday went absolutely normally. The run of the big motor was without a hitch.

Thursday we all piled into my truck to go to visit the University of Alabama.

We were ushered into another well-appointed office, a large window overlooking the campus. The well-dressed gentleman came around his desk, hand extended.

"Welcome! I'm Doctor Raymond Minnets, dean of the School of Engineering." He approached Cindy first. "And you're somebody we've been interested in, Miss Cynthia. Or is it 'Cindy'?"

"Cindy, sir," she said, shaking his hand. "I'm happy to meet you. This is my husband, Dan Richards, an electrical engineer, and my school guidance counselor, Mister Jim Hardesty."

Dr. Minnets shook each of our hands. "Please, folks, sit down. Let's talk with Miss Cindy."

Cindy was dressed beautifully, this time in earth tones that let her pale skin and red hair speak for them.

"Cindy, do you enjoy learning? Challenges?"

"Yes, Doctor Minnets," she said.

"Wait. What do you call HIM?" he asked, indicating Jim.

"Mister Jim," she said.

"Then, please, Cindy, I'm Mister Ray, okay?"

"Yes, Mister Ray," she said, smiling a bit more. "I enjoy learning. I enjoy teaching, too."

"What are you doing right now that you're not TOLD to do?"

I was a bit impressed, seeing him getting into Cindy's idea of her place in the world.

"Oh, let's see," she smiled. "I'm learning to fly. We have an airplane. I'm visiting an industrial construction site two or three times a month since last September. It's a combined cycle cogeneration plant. I'm singing with an amateur bluegrass group. I'm helping tutor my middle school contemporaries (Contemporaries? Yes, that was the word she used.) who have difficulties, mostly in math."

He looked at me. "Am I to assume that you're associated with that powerplant?"

"Yessir," I said. "Head electrical engineer."

"Ah," he said. "That's why your name rings a bell. You have a reputation, it seems. And she's ... your wife? Fourteen?"

"Long story, I said. "She's a unique creature."

"So I've been told." He turned back to Cindy. "I have a letter here, speaking highly of you as, and I quote, 'Engineer's Apprentice'. It comes from an alumnus, Gary Denham."

"Mister Gary," she smiled. "He's the mechanical engineer that works on Dan's project. I took pictures inside his boiler."

"Yes. Gary Denham. Says you're not the 'ooooh and ahhhh' kind of visitor. Sent me some pictures of you in a hardhat and safety glasses and a pocket protector."

Giggle. "Yessir. They're very sociable. But the project. So many thousands of pieces that have to ALL be engineered and fit together to make a functioning whole ... I want part of that."

"Admirable. Did Dan and Mister Jim explain to you the sorts of coursework you'll be required to complete?"

"Yessir. As a matter of fact, I've been playing with some courses on line. D'you know you can get complete courses from MIT?"

He looked at me again. "She calls an MIT course 'play'?"

I shrugged. "I told you she's not standard."

He smiled. "I surmised as much from her test scores. Jim tells me of the plan for her high school graduation. Miss Cindy, are you going to have any difficulty meeting those requirements?"

"No sir," she said. "And please understand I'm not bragging. It's just that I've seen practice ACT material and practice high school exit exams, and, well, no sir. Not a problem."

"I'd be interested in seeing how you do about testing out of some first year courses for college, too," he said. "But they're not practice tests, Cindy."

"All I could do is try, sir. I might be able to get by on some, but sometimes I think that the classroom work would be good, too."

"Cindy, college is quite a bit different from what you're used to. I think you'll do well, but I also think it will be quite a change."

The conversation continued for half an hour along the same vein. Halfway through we were joined by a couple of the professors, more because Cindy was a curiosity than any actual need to interview her.

Our visit ended with the expression of fervent desire that Cindy consider studying at University of Alabama.

There was a little lunchroom conversation with a few other faculty members. A couple of them engaged Cindy in questions and answers.

Afterward, we climbed back in the truck and started the trip back.

"What did ya'll think," Cindy asked.

"I was more impressed by Dr. Minnets' line of questioning," I admitted.

"Me too," Jim added.

"I thought it was interesting myself," Cindy said. "And he sort of warned me about the work. And those other professors that talked to me ... Interesting."

"You don't have to make a decision right away, baby," I said.

"No," Jim said. "these are just quick looks. Give 'em a couple of weeks and then we'll talk some more with them. If they don't call you, we can call them."

Cindy crossed her arms. "They'll call," she said. "I'm sure they will."

I hoped they would.

The rest of the trip home was conversation about the upcoming 'concert'. Word was out on the jobsite and I expected at least a handful of visits from people out there who paid attention to the little redhead who kept popping up every couple of weeks.

Since we had Jim in the truck, we had to drop him off at his house. We stopped by a fast food chicken place and picked up dinner, saving Ann a bit of cooking and giving us another chance to enjoy the company of friends.

And finally we were home. While Cindy was showering, I checked email, tapping out one to my sister and brother about Cindy's latest college event, and then I saw one in the queue that was different. Addressed to me. About a job. A permanent job.

I heard the shower shut down, signaling the end of Cindy's shower, meaning it was MY turn. I shut the laptop's lid and got up to do my evening routine, catching a squeeze from a naked Cindy as she pulled her nightshirt over her head. I did my own thing, finishing up my shaving in time to assist Cindy in brushing her hair to spun copper.

She joined me on the sofa.

"Baby, I got a bite on a job in Montgomery," I said.

"Ooooo," she squealed. "That's University of Alabama."

"Yeah," I said. "or, if we pick a spot east of there to live, it's close enough to commute to Auburn."

"Except I'm too young to drive," she said.

"There is THAT," I admitted. "We'll make something work, though."

"I bet they have groups that carpool an' stuff," she said. "I could pay gas or something."

"Uh-huh. We'll work out something, if have to hire you a chauffeur," I said.

"So what kind of job is it, babe?" she asked.

"Staff engineer. Power plant. Sort of like the one we're building, except older."

"You could do that standing on your head, sweetheart," she said. "Oh, look! Tootie emailed me, said you told 'er about the UA visit."

"I did. I'm proud of you. But this job thing, it's not the only one I sent feelers out for, you know," I said.

She closed her own computer and slid across the sofa and into my arms. "Things work out for us, Dan. They just DO!"

I wanted to buy onto her optimism. Somehow things WOULD work out. I hoped. I saw that I needed to do further research. Some more emails. Some more phone calls. It's been a long time since I had to look for a job. The last couple of years I'd had one on the back burner before I finished the one I was on, but that was always another few months on the road in the trailer or some other temporary arrangement. This time I wanted a job that would last me until Cindy got out of college, however long that might be.

Cindy read me like an open book. "Honey, you're thinking again, aren't you?"

"Yes, little one," I said. "Just trying to find the job that's going to take care of us while you're finishing college."

"Not having a problem, are you?" she asked.

"Nope. Told everybody on my cover letters that I would be available in July. That gives us time for this project to finish, for YOU to graduate from high school, Miss Fourteen, and for the two of us to fly the length of the Rockies, then come back and set up housekeeping wherever we need to be."

Her face was inches from mine. "It would be nice if we were close to my new college, even if we had to take a little lower pay, wouldn't it? I know you could make a lot more money traveling, but that would be difficult while I was in school."

I remembered the early days of our relationship, where all I wanted to do was hang around until I got her through the school year. And then the box opened and I found out what sort of prize was inside. And now I was planning my life so I'd be able to give her more than she ever imagined. But now her imagination was expanding.

"We'll do just fine. The house in Louisiana is paid for. I ... Uh, WE don't owe a stinkin' dime to anybody. I've done pretty well with investments and we've got money in the bank. We'll get you through school and then we'll both get jobs together, at least in the same city, and life will be great."

Her arms laced around my neck and a kiss landed on my lips. "Great. Like it is now. Even better."

"Yes it is, dearest," I said, returning the kiss.

"Let's go sit on the bed an' play rummy," she said. "and just relax."

"Okay," I said. Well, we started off playing cards, anyway."

Friday. Cindy off to school, me back to work. I spent most of the morning uploading a control program and watching a couple of technicians run it through its paces. The appropriate lights blink and the appropriate noises came forth. Reporting this bit of the project as complete made me happy. In the afternoon I filed the reports, archived a copy of the software and documentation, accompanied the client's new electrical supervisor through the facility, and it was time to go.

Out the gate, I called Cindy. "Hey, cutie, I'm on the way home."

"Okay, love," she answered. "I'll be at the office with Mizz Helen an' Mister Charlie."

"Okay, sweetie, ' I said. "Be there in a minute."

I drove on, dodging through dozens of cars with the same idea I had, to get home.

My cellphone rang. I flipped it open and saw 'Jim Hardesty'.

"Hey, Jim! What's up?"

"Your wife's stirred things up at school, that's all."

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"Oh, no. It's a good stir."

"What happened?" I asked.

"She turned in a paper for social studies. I've seen it. I think the title is 'Who Dropped the Bomb on the Nuclear Family'."

"Oh, really? She was wrapped up in that Wednesday night. I picked at 'er because it was supposed to be two pages and I thought the subject was too broad."

"Well, she turned in THREE pages, and her social studies teacher wants her to put it in the social studies fair."

"Oh, that'll be interesting. She's already too different, Jim. Married. Graduating at fourteen."

"And" I added "How many people know about her shooting incident?"

"Everybody," he admitted. "And she's going up against high school students. Unless you say 'no'."

"Lemme ask the little darlin' what SHE wants to do," I laughed. "But what do YOU think?"

He laughed. "I think that if she feels like it, we let her put together something, rough it out, you know, and then we see what her social studies teacher says. And then..."

"Then we let Cindy run with it," I laughed.

"Yeah. But we don't push her," he said. "Like we've ever pushed Cindy."

I told Cindy about the conversation.

"Oh, yeah," she said. "I'd love to give that a try. She read my paper right after we turned 'em in. told me she liked it."

Saturday was a cold, blustery day. We popped out of bed and let the restaurant up the road provide us with breakfast, and then retreated to the trailer for something thrown together in one pot, leaving us with the afternoon to lounge around reading, not feeling guilty about it because it was just nasty outside. At five we were at the Hardesty house loading up equipment for the Saturday evening show.

The flyer on the park bulletin board made sure we had almost a hundred percent attendance from the park denizens. That was pretty much normal. What was different this time was the work crowd, My engineer buddies, one of my technicians, the electrical foreman, several of the crew, Jeff Simmons and his wife Mona, who we met at the diner a couple of weekends ago.

We rolled out an extra rack of folding chairs, and in a redneck version of the parable of the loaves and fishes, ice chests and coolers appeared and cold beverages were passed around on one side, and a big coffee urn provided hot beverages on the other and our motley crew mounted the stage.

I introduced the band to the crowd and welcomed all our guests, noting that we did indeed have twice the normal participation, and then we laid into the music.

Yeah, simple, unsophisticated stuff at first. Got people to clapping and feet to patting and loosened up, and then Cindy and Theresa did a few, and then we took a break and got approached by a few people who offered to give things a try. You'd be amazed, sometimes, to find out that the old guy with the paunch and grey fringe around the bald head could really shred a guitar. If they fit, they played.

We noticed several video cameras out, too, recording the show.

Jim and I and Ann lapsed into a slow waltz and Bill Carmody came up and tapped Cindy.

"Can you dance, Miss Cindy?" He asked?

"Yessir, not real good, but I can try," she answered.

"If you'll dance with me, I'd appreciate it." He held his hand out. She grinned. And I watched my wife dancing around the floor, five-three with six-four, three hundred pound Bill, and that got a few other couples up to dance. We finished the number and got calls from the audience to do another waltz.

Cindy got picked on to dance with several others before I implored her to return to the stage for a couple more songs. I got a couple of the fill-in players to do a waltz, playing with me, so Jim and Ann could take a turn around the floor together, and then they returned the favor for me and my brilliant little redhead. I also noted a smiling Mona Simmons dancing with her husband.

Ten o'clock was our scheduled ending time, but when we announced our final number, groans and calls from the audience talked us into a few more sets. Fortunately, the same people who called for us to hang around, hung around themselves to help us load up. Of course, when it came time to unload at Jim's, we had no help, but we laughed and got the task done.

Ann came up. "Look! We got a collection tonight!"

"A collection?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I put a bucket out front, and people dropped money in it. We got a couple hundred bucks."

Jim said, "Now what are we supposed to do with that?"

"I dunno," I said. "When we did that gumbo, I gave some to Steve for cleaning up."

"Here," she said. "What'd you give 'im?"

"Seventy-five bucks."

She counted it out. "I'll save the rest and buy some refreshments for next time."

Cindy chirped, "It was something the way things just showed up. Cold drinks. Some beer. Somebody made coffee."

"That was Steve," I said.

"Well, it was great," Cindy said. "even better'n last time."

"An' dancin'," Cindy said. "First time for that?"

"Yes," Ann said. "Your Mister Bill broke the ice on that one."

Jim wrapped his arm around Ann's waist. "How long's it been since we danced, babe?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Too long, guy. That WAS nice! And YOU asked me!"

"'Cuz you're still the prettiest girl at the ball," he said.

"Flattery'll get you ... oh, never mind!" she giggled, blushing.

"Then we'll get out of your way," I said. "c'mon, Cindy. These people..."

Teresa moaned, "Mooo-oommm!" To Cindy, in a stage whisper, "They're sooo embarrassing!" And she smiled.