To the Wild Country

Chapter Thirteen

It didn't take long for the two to dry off and warm up, after they snuggled in the make-shift "double bed" they'd created by zipping their sleeping bags together.

Pam enjoyed the feel of Bill spooned behind her, his long arms and legs entangled with hers; she felt so small next to him, a sensation she wasn't used to. She was discovering a lot of things she wasn't used to, actually. Her thoughts were tumultuous as she'd alternately think of Ralph, then Bill, then Ralph yet again and what it looked like he was doing in Las Vegas, maybe this very second while she was pressed against his best friend.

She thought firmly to herself, reaffirming her convictions, that this was something she'd wanted, something she'd told Bill to NOT feel guilty about. She didn't want him to regret their special evening together, and she didn't want to either. She pushed all thoughts of Ralph out of her consciousness, and simply relaxed, melting against Bill's warm chest.

Bill felt Pam move against him, melting ever closer, relaxing. He knew from the way she was so silent, so motionless for a time, that her thoughts were raging about what had transpired. He'd come to know her ways and her body language well over the last several months, and smiled softly to himself about how he'd also come to know her body VERY well this evening. If he never made love to a woman again in his life, he could die content knowing that he'd made love to the most beautiful woman on the planet. He firmly believed Pam Davidson had that honor. He put his hand on her flat, firm tummy, rocking slightly against her.

"Hmmmm, Bill," she sighed, wriggling against him. "Are we warmed up sufficiently?"

He chuckled softly in her ear, giving it a quick nibble in apology. "Naw, Counselor, I'm really dead tired. I don't want to make love to you in a half-ass manner."

She laughed at his language. "Okay, okay. I'll shut up and go to sleep. Here, lemme snuggle up here."

She shifted so her head was resting on his bare shoulder, and within minutes, the two were sound asleep, their faces lit by secret smiles as the events of the evening filled their dreams.

The following morning, Bill had managed to extricate himself from Pam's embracing arms, and sneaked out to the fire ring. He worked as quietly as he could to get the coffee ready, and their fishing gear, so they could catch their breakfasts again.

His own thoughts mirrored Pam's from the night before: wondering about the Ralph Situation. What was going on in Vegas? What was going to happen to Ralph and Pam when he returned? What about Bill's own relationship with Ralph? Pam had told him to not feel guilty, that as of right now, she considered herself single and available. Yeah, but he's my best friend, for Pete's sake! Bill thought, muttering to himself. What kinda best friend did I turn out to be?

Then he re-hashed in his mind what Pam said had happened on the phone: 1:30 in the FUCKING MORNING as she'd screeched, a young woman answered the phone, panting and trying to catch her breath. Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure THAT one out. Bill was going to have to find out from Ralph, yea or nay, if he and some young thing of a teacher had had a little early-morning rendezvous, that's all there was to it.

But, for now, he decided as Pam did: to put Ralph in the back of his thoughts. Plenty of time to deal with that come Saturday, Bill knew. Plenty of time for Pam and me to have some more fun. And great sex.

A half hour later, while Bill poked absentmindedly at the fire, he looked up to see Pam emerge from their shared tent. She'd thrown on her big overshirt, and her khaki shorts peeked out from underneath the long hem.

"'mornin', gorgeous," Bill said, turning to the coffee pot. He poured her a cup, knowing she liked it black and strong, and silently handed it to her.

"Hmmmm," she replied, taking that first all-important, eye-opening sip. She peered at Bill over the rim as he turned back to poking the fire. He had a different outfit on this morning: old banged up sneakers, gray with age, a pair of khaki shorts similar to her own, and his favorite "Happiness Is A Warm Pistol" t-shirt under his fishing vest.

"More fishing this morning, Bill?"

"Yeah, figgered we can catch breakfast again, and eat the leftover groceries later on today." He looked significantly up at her, the morning sun lighting his greenish-hazel eyes. "Didn't wanna have to go anywhere today, too much to do."

She laughed at his lack of tact and the hopeful expression on his face. She certainly had no problem with that, if they could recreate today what they had the previous evening!

"Sounds great. Let me visit the little girl's room and freshen up a bit, and I'll be ready. I see you've already got my gear out."

"Yep, wanted to start early light, when they're bitin' before the heat gets us."

Pam was gone and back again within ten minutes and smiled as she picked up her pole, fishing hat and tacklebox. She plopped the hat on her head and quipped, "All righty, McDuff, lead on!"

Bill picked up his own gear and led the way, as Pam had commanded. A few moments into the short hike to the water, and Pam muttered something.

"Whazzat, Counselor?" Bill said over his shoulder.

"I said, 'Damn!'"

Bill laughed. "And why'd you say that?"

"Oh, no reason," she said, smiling as she watched Bill's long stride ahead of her. That man's all leg, she thought happily.

"Dames're weird," Bill opined when they reached the shore. As before, they fell into a comfortable silence, each baiting their hooks and casting them, first Bill, then Pam as courtesy dictated.

They sat on the soft grass, next to the spot that Pam had rested on only hours before as Bill tended to her, standing in the cold rushing water. Pam looked at the spot, the grass crumpled and twisted from her thrashing about. She blushed, remembering what he'd been doing to her with his lips, his tongue.

"Whew, Maxwell, we're going to leave our calling cards all over the place by the time we go tomorrow morning."

She patted the grass, encouraging it to straighten up again.

"Hmmm, most likely."

That was all they said until first Bill, then Pam, caught a fish.

"Wanna try for two apiece? Good eatin', great food for energy and endurance," Bill pointed out.

"Sure, I think we'll need it."

"Good."

Not too long after, they each had their second fish.

"Great, let's get these cleaned. I'll do that if you wanna make the biscuits again, like before!"

They returned to their tents and the fire ring, and Bill stoked up the embers to get the frying pans heated up. The sun was higher, and the combined heat of that and the fire made Bill wipe his brow.

"Whew, already gettin' toasty today." He reached under the waistline of his shorts and yanked his t-shirt out. He threw off first the fishing vest, then his beloved t-shirt, which was so worn it was as gray as his banged-up sneakers.

He carefully balled the t-shirt up and threw it into his tent, then slipped the vest back on.

"Didja need help with that, or should I just clean fish?"

"Ugh, you do fish. Biscuits smell a lot better."

Pam waited till Bill turned away from her, and moved quickly, before he had a chance to cut into the now-dead fish. Bill saw the movement out of the corner of his eye, and before he could exclaim, Pam had his t-shirt in her hand and she was running as fast as she could, away from the campsite and him.

"Ha ha, got it!" she squealed, knowing he'd give chase. She knew how he was about this shirt: even his fishing hat wasn't as precious to him. She had been aching to get him playing with her again, as they'd done the night before, in their wrestling match she'd found so exciting. Getting his dander up about the t-shirt was a surefire way to get him roughhousing with her again, and she couldn't wait.

But he'd have to catch her first.

Pam was gone, into the brush, when she finally paused long enough to turn around and see where Bill was. She was startled when she saw he was nowhere about.

"What the...?" she muttered to herself, gasping for breath, trying to be as quiet as she could be. "Where is he?"

Somehow, in all the excitement, Pam had forgotten that Bill Maxwell, FBI, was a seasoned combat soldier. And quite familiar with this terrain.

"Oh God," she whispered to herself as she remembered her friend's background. "I'm screwed."

Her heart was thumping in her ribcage. She was as excited now, as alert and cautious, as she used to be in her youth when she and the neighborhood kids would play Capture the Flag at sunset, in the Summer months. She went into "stealth mode" as she called it, and every little sound, every bird chirp or rustle of branches, brought her to full alertness.

A twig snapped. She quickly turned her head, her eyes wide, but saw nothing, heard nothing.

A flutter of wings, and she turned again, startled, as a flock of birds exploded from a nearby tree. Still, nothing.

After a few moments of this, Pam's heart was pounding so fast she could swear Bill would hear it in whatever cover he was using. She looked frantically about, spotted a clearing she'd dashed by, and broke cover.

She stood in the open, looking around desperately, feeling almost like a doe surrounded by wolves she knew were hiding in the brush. She stopped at a small copse of trees, which seemed to have a natural hiding place, shaped by the branches forming a small hole.

Pam stared at this spot, convinced Bill was in there, peering at her with those gorgeous eyes. She took a hesitant step forward, determined to not get so close that he could leap out and snatch her.

"Bill?" she asked tentatively.

A rustle, a snap and the adrenalin shot into Pam, and she leapt sideways, turning to face Bill running at her from an entirely different direction.

"BILL!" she cried, laughing, dancing gracefully away from him, still clutching his precious shirt to her.

He stopped, and when he did, she did as well. They had several feet between them. Pam knew she was limber enough to dash out of his grasp, regardless of the fact he had lightning-fast reflexes. The adrenalin that was pumping through her veins would save her in this "fight-or-flight" situation she'd put herself in.

Bill Maxwell didn't say a word. He was looking Pam up and down, her beautiful tanned skin flushed with excitement and health, her ample chest heaving up and down, her face cracked with a wide grin of beautiful teeth and pink lips.

God, she's beautiful, he thought as he always did. He rarely saw her like this, aglow with excitement and pleasure, so happy and carefree, it was all he could do to not grab her then and there and take her. Which is what he was trying to do, and obviously what SHE wanted him to do.

She knows how I love that shirt, she's doing this on purpose, just to get a rise outta me. In more ways than one. He realized it was the play, the rough-housing, that she loved so much, as they'd done the night before.

Hmmmm, if that's what she wants... he thought wickedly to himself, that's what she'll get.

He gasped, and looked behind her, a startled expression on his face. His ruse worked, and Pam gasped instinctively, turning to see what had scared Bill so. What is it, a bear? Cougar?

She paused long enough to establish that she was in no immediate danger, and turned back... and Bill was gone.