Chaparral.I follow her out to the car. She’s driving a tank: a new Toyota Highlander she calls the “spaceship.” When I get in, I can see why. There are more bells and whistles in this thing than apps on her iPhone. After I buckle myself in, we’re off. I look over at her four-eleven, 105-pound, pintsized body that’s perched forward on the seat so she can reach the pedals. She’s an excellent driver, better than her brother, but there’s something about her being my baby girl that always makes me nervous when she’s behind the wheel. I don’t worry about her. It’s the other cowboys on the road that scares the hell out of me. Call it a father’s parental anxiety, but seeing my little girl’s life flash in front of me every time some i***t speeds past brings my heart to a standstill.
I keep my mout
