To the Wild Country

Chapter Eight.

WALTERVILLE, OREGON

The town of Walterville, Oregon, was alive that Thursday night, with protesters-turned-celebrants, newspaper and television broadcast crews, townfolk and State police troopers, who'd been ordered to return to the little town to help maintain order. It was almost like a mini-Mardi Gras, the way everyone was carrying on, bringing the partying out into the dusty streets.

It was a very warm Summer evening, and the restaurants and bars throughout the town had wisely chosen to stay open, to rake in the extra business.

Pam, Bill, Rabbit and Airhead took refuge in Rabbit's coffeehouse, where it had all begun.

Pam's eyes lit with delight when Bill returned from the counter, where Rabbit had made the two mocha lattes, on the house. "Naw, Robinson, I insisit, you two were what helped save those beautiful old trees! It's the least we can do, especially for you, Pam!"

The two sat silently sipping what was becoming their favorite hot beverage. After they'd had a chance to suck a little down, Bill turned to Airhead.

"Sorry we had to be so hush-hush, Airhead. This was a first for me, actually; just ask the Counselor here. But the McKenzie River is extremely important to me. I hope to retire up here some day!"

"You two hanging around much longer, now that we've got this resolved?"

"We're heading back to Portland early Saturday morning, so we're hoping to get some fishin' in all day tomorrow."

Airhead stood, offering his hand to Bill. Bill stood and returned the younger man's firm grip.

"Well, Robinson, if I don't see you before then, I wanted to thank you, and Pam too, for all your help! Like they say, you got here just in the nick of time!"

Pam stood, and all four exchanged farewells. Pam and Bill waved one last time to their new friends Airhead and Rabbit, offered a goodbye to the rest of the coffeehouse's customers, and stepped out into the warm night.

They turned together to face the partiers down the road, in front of a lively tavern, and shook their heads, smiling.

"These folks sure can party, can't they?" Bill asked.

"Sure can. Here, you go to the Jeep, I'm going to call Ralph, now that it's later." She handed Bill the keys and went to the phonebooth.

Pam was getting all-too-familiar with the "phoning Las Vegas" routine, and was soon connected to Ralph's room. After the third ring, she was about to give up in anger and frustration when she heard the other end answer.

She was shocked to NOT hear Ralph's voice, but the voice of a young woman... a woman who seemed to be very much out of breath, panting into the phone.

"Hello?" A pause. "Hello?" the woman's voice queried again breathlessly.

Pam's first impulse, after she slammed the handset into its cradle several times, was to scream in frustration. On the fifth try, she'd convinced the handset to stay in place, and she ran out of the booth, screaming at the top of her lungs. She figured now would be a good time, with all the activity down the street drowning her out.

The nails of her right hand, from slamming the phone repeatedly, were broken and one was bleeding. Her throat was raw from screaming, and she stomped back to the Jeep, her heavy hiking boots kicking up clouds of dust.

Bill was startled out of a light doze from pounding on the hood of the Jeep.

When he saw it was Pam assaulting the truck she'd rented, Bill ran out of the vehicle and around to her, grabbing her arms and dragging her away from the Jeep.

"PAM, what's wrong?? PAM!! CALM DOWN, what's wrong?"

He'd never EVER seen Pam Davidson in such a rage; she was almost scaring him with her fury.

Chest heaving, panting for breath, Pam managed to get out in an almost even tone of voice: "A WOMAN ANSWERED THE PHONE, BILL!"

"WHAT?"

"Yes, at ONE-THIRTY IN THE FUCKING MORNING!"

Bill drew her roughly to him, holding her against his shoulder as she panted and heaved against him. "Pam, Pam, honey, calm down, you've got to calm down, sweetheart!"

She was shaking all over now, her knees growing weak as she grasped at Bill's supporting arms, opening and closing her hands in frustration. The pain in her right hand was getting more and more noticeable, and she started sobbing against Bill from both physical pain and emotional anguish.

After a moment, the images cropping up in her mind of what was going on in Las Vegas, she pounded her fists into Bill's chest. He withstood it, only shifting a bit so she wouldn't hit his holstered gun. He knew she had to do this, so she could work it out of her system and come off the adrenalin and fury.

Bill continued to hold her tightly, not giving her room to struggle against him or fall down. He muttered soothing words into her ear that was so close to his mouth, telling her it was going to be all right, that they'd find a way to work it out.

When he felt her finally stop shaking against him, he pulled back enough to look down at her, to see if she'd come out of her rage.

"You all right, hon?" he asked quietly.

She looked up into his eyes, the concern and compassion he was feeling for her obvious in his expressive face. She clung to him, wrapping her arms around his torso, leaning her head softly against his chest. He was tall enough that she could do that, taller than Ralph she noted again. Bill's arms were comforting, his soft deep voice soothing, and all she wanted to do at that moment was rest against his tall frame.

"You're a good friend, Bill," she mumbled into his t-shirt. She moved her hands under the vest he wore, and pressed her fingertips into his strong back. She gasped in pain when her right hand pushed down too hard, the nailbeds protesting the pressure. "I think I hurt myself."

"I think you did too. Didja wanna go back to the campsite?"

"Lemme stay here a bit longer, Bill. It feels so good, I don't wanna move," she was mumbling into him, her speech almost incoherent with her cheek and mouth pressed against his chest.

Bill certainly didn't mind. He didn't think it a good idea to tell her what HE thought of the whole situation: a woman, answering the phone at this hour? He was appalled, but remained quiet. It was time to focus on Pam, who was his friend, regardless of what Ralph may or may not be doing with some broad in Vegas.

"Stay there as long as you wanna, darlin'," he cooed to her.

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

"All right, g'night everybody!" Ralph gasped out to his co-workers as they went to their respective hotel rooms up and down the corridor.

Ralph opened his door, and led Kathryn in. The whole group of them had just run to the hotel from the casino they'd all hit that night, caught unexpectedly by a summer rainstorm.

Ralph said breathlessly to the panting Kathryn, "Why don't you go fix yourself a drink, I've gotta get outta these wet clothes!"

He threw down his soaking wet briefcase and jacket, and ran for the bathroom. As soon as the door shut, he heard the phone ring.

"Can you grab that, Kathryn? I'll be out in a sec!" Ralph yelled from the other room.

"Hello?" Kathryn asked, panting for breath and falling onto the bed. She heard people partying in the background. "Hello?" she said louder, still trying to catch her breath. I'm so out of shape! she thought.

All she heard in reply was the phone at the other end slamming down, a click then a dial tone.

Ralph came out, dressed in a fluffy white robe, and towelling his curly blond hair dry. "Who was it?"

Kathryn turned to face him, reclining back on his bed. She looked him up and down and smiled at what she was seeing. "Oh, I don't know, some drunk dialed the wrong number. I heard a party going on in the background."

Ralph shook his head and chuckled. "Las Vegas, go figure."

He reached into the closet and drew out another white robe. Throwing it at her, he said, "Here, why don't you get out of those wet clothes?"