To the Wild Country

Chapter Five.

Pam expected Bill to turn away nervously, clearing his throat and jumping up, as he was prone to do when things got a little too personal for him. He surprised her, as usual, with another reaction.

"I don't know, am I?" he asked, his voice rough as he stared at her, as she was staring at him.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. The sizzling of the biscuits caught Pam's attention.

"Damn, they're going to burn!" she yelped, digging underneath them with her spatula. She was happy to see they were turning a golden brown, not torched as she'd feared.

Her exclamation broke the spell they were moving into, and Bill laughed with the release of tension. He used his own spatula to tend to the fish, and the food was all done at the same time.

Bill and Pam didn't mention again, that morning, what had transpired. It was almost as if they were trying too hard, working together on breakfast as FRIENDS, they kept telling themselves. They were here for a REASON, for Operation: McKenzie, as Pam had dubbed their little trip and effort.

After enjoying the trout & biscuit breakfast, Pam told Bill she'd clean up if he wanted to get the Jeep ready to go. He finished unloading their stuff, or re-loading their valuables and his firearm.

"I'm gonna go wash up first, I smell like trout!"

He grabbed his ditty bag of personal effects to use by the riverside. Pam watched him, his back to her, and smiled when she saw him slip his fisherman's vest off and reach under the hem of his black t-shirt, pulling it over his head. He turned enough for her to see him more clearly, tossing the vest and shirt into his tent.

He turned to face her, and she maintained an attentive, but not obvious, expression on her face. She could control that, but she couldn't control the blush that again moved up her neck to her face. I'm going to spend the week blushing, at this rate, she thought. Damn, he sure looks good for his age! she couldn't help adding, smiling at him.

"I'm gonna shave, wash my hair and freshen up a bit, Counselor, if you don't mind waiting. I smell gross."

"Naw, don't mind at all, Robinson," she quipped, smirking at him. She wanted to ask, Mind if I watch? but thought that wouldn't be prudent. She was going to watch any way, of course.

"Oh, we're back into the game, huh?" He winked at her and turned to walk to the river, swinging the ditty bag back and forth, the muscles in his back and shoulders moving under his fair skin.

When he reached the shore, still in Pam's field of vision, Bill leaned over with his shaving kit and started to shave. He didn't need to undress, thank goodness, except what he'd already done. He was a professional observer, and noted the blush moving up her neck and face after he'd partly turned to face her. He was so caught up in thinking about what had been said, and unsaid, that morning that he yelped out loud as the razor blade cut into him.

"DAMN!" Pam heard from the riverside. She ran to Bill, concern on her face as she frowned up at him.

"Are you all right, Bill?"

"Yeah, nothin' a little cold water won't help. Cut myself."

She reached up to the little nick on his face; it wasn't long, but it looked deep as the blood continued to ooze from it. She took off her overshirt, revealing her black tank-top underneath, bent down and wet the end of one sleeve to dab at his face. He was so much taller than she, that she had to stretch up on tip-toes, partly leaning into his arm and shoulder for balance.

The closeness wasn't lost on either of them. Pam carefully blotted the blood away with the cold water, and as she waited for the bleeding to stop, she couldn't help but notice something.

"I've never noticed how much taller you are than Ralph, Bill."

"Um, yeah, a few inches, Counselor," he muttered, trying not to look at her. The black tanktop was intriguing him as much as his black t-shirt had caught Pam's attention the previous day and that morning. She was close enough that he could smell her: the rinse she used on her beautiful dark hair, the minty smell of her freshly-brushed teeth, the tang of sweat and earth off her glowing skin.

Bill was getting nervous, and unconsciously shifted his feet; when he moved, Pam lost her balance and pitched forward, catching him on both shoulders with her hands, the overshirt falling to the ground.

Bill caught her without thinking, so she wouldn't continue forward and plunge into the river, and the two stood there, eyes locked, motionless, for an eternity.

Pam looked expectantly up at Bill, thinking, Okay, this is it! Then she had another thought: Ralph. Before she could protest their intimate pose, Bill carefully pushed her standing, putting a comfortable gap between himself and this beautiful woman.

"Um, sorry, Counselor, my feet were starting to bother me, standing still like that and all."

"Uh, yeah, Bill, that's fine. I think the bleeding's stopped any way. You want to finish up here, and we'll get to town? I REALLY need to call Ralph!"

Bill understood her sentiments; it had come close, very very close... he had been fighting the instinct to simply pull that beautiful mouth to him, touch those warm pink lips, push that silky brunette hair back from those deep grey eyes... He shook himself, breaking out of that line of thought. Yes, she's got to talk to Ralph. And soon.

They stopped at the first gas station in town that they found, and Pam headed for the payphone.

"You do that, Pam, I'll grab us a coupla cokes!"

"Okay, Bill." She called the Operator and reversed the charges to her credit card, and the hotel clerk soon answered.

"Yes, Ralph Hinkley's room, please."

"One moment, miss." Pam heard the phone ringing, about ten times, when the hotel clerk came back to her. "I'm sorry, miss, but Mr. Hinkley doesn't seem to be in his room right now. May I take a message for you?"

"No, that's okay, I'm not at my usual phone. I'll check later today."

"Very good, miss. Goodbye."

Bill saw her frown as he returned to her. "Did you talk to Ralph already?"

"No, he wasn't in his room. The clerk let it ring about ten times."

"He's probably gone to breakfast before the morning panels begin, Pam, I wouldn't worry about it."

Pam looked at him, not saying anything. She hadn't missed his calling her "Pam" more and more often over the last two days.

"What's wrong?" Bill asked as they returned to the Jeep.

Well, she had told him to call her "Pam," hadn't she? Instead of "Scotty?"

"Nothing, Kell."

He pulled a map out of his back jeans pocket. "Here's a map of the town. You should be able to find the public buildings on that. The station clerk said there's a coffeehouse nearby, popular with the college crowd. If I'm going to find anyone opposing this land sale, I'll bet ya dollars to doughnuts it'll be there."

The two climbed into the Jeep, leaning close together to look over the map. "Here, Kell, is the coffeehouse. I'll drop you off and take the Jeep to the county office to do my part."

"Sounds good."

It was a short drive to Bill's drop-off point. Before he climbed out, Pam looked him over once more.

"You've got your gun on under that vest?"

"Of course."

"I wouldn't show it to anyone, if I were you. These people don't take too much to firearms."

He scowled, but nodded his head in agreement. Damned hippies, he thought; they're all for gun control, aren't they?

"Remember, ROBINSON, who you're dealing with. You don't like this crowd, but for this one time, you both have the same goal in mind: saving the land along the McKenzie. Keep telling yourself that, stay focused, don't get caught up in other politics, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am. Or Pam."

She reached forward abruptly, tousling his hair.

"Hey, whadja do that for?"

"You look too straight, even with jeans, t-shirt and fishing vest on. Maybe you shouldn't have shaved, either! You look more the part now: a scruffy guy who's just hitchhiked in from... um, where're you from?"

He winked at her and opened the door. "Seattle, where else?"

She laughed in appreciation. "Works for me! Hang about here, you'll see me when I get back."

"Will do! Thanks for the ride, lady!"

When Bill entered the coffee house, he saw that the young man at the counter had been watching him and Pam out of the big store window.

"Can I get you something, man?"

"Yeah, got mocha?"

"Sure, one shot or two?"

"Two."

"Right."

Bill, not knowing how mocha lattes were made, or indeed what "one shot or two" meant, watched the younger man go to an elaborate machine.

The young man looked up at Bill. "So just got into town, huh?"

"Yeah, how'd you know? Am I that obvious?"

The man laughed. "Naw, saw you climb out of that fancy red Jeep. Where ya from?"

"Seattle."

"Cool. Come to enjoy our lovely land, while we still have it?" he asked, the bitterness obvious in his voice.

"The big land development sale, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"That's why I'm here, to see what I can do to fight it."

"Right on, brother, we can use all the help we can get!"

Bill looked around the little restaurant, and saw a handful of young adults and a couple of older people, closer to his age. They were all quietly chatting, but it was obvious to Bill that the ones closer to him and the barista were covertly listening in.

Bill watched the barista pour the steamed milk, coffee shots and chocolate syrup into a big ceramic cup. He was surprised he didn't get it in a styrofoam or paper cup, then remembered where he was: Oregon. Most environmentally friendly state on the Pacific rim. If it wasn't to go, they'd automatically use washable ceramic. He didn't comment.

"That'll be $1.30."

Bill handed him two dollars, and told him to keep the change.

"Thanks, man!"

Bill sipped the delicious mocha a few times, loitering up by the counter still. No customers were waiting, so he thought he'd avail himself of the young man's information about any protests coming down the pike.

"So, dude, what can I do to help? Is there anyone getting together later? Well, not too late from what I understand."

"Before we get into that, what name should I call you? I'm Rabbit."

Bill stuck out his hand. "Robinson."

"Just Robinson?" the barista asked, returning Bill's handshake.

"Yep."

Rabbit looked him up and down, almost suspiciously. "Robinson, you ain't, um... a FED are you?"

"Why would you ask?"

"Don't know."

"I'm a spy, whadya think?"

The two laughed at the absurdity.

"No, seriously, man," Bill continued. "I'm here to FIGHT this land deal that the gov'ment is allowing to happen. Would a Fed do that?"

"I guess not, no."

"You were going to tell me how I can help?"

"Go talk to that dude over there," Rabbit said, pointing to a man who'd been listening in on their conversation. Rabbit raised his voice. "Airhead, this is Robinson, he wants to do what he can to help!"