Wild and Free

by Vella Munn

  “Nag, nag, nag. Look, I need something from the truck. I’ll be right back.”

  Calley ladled a spoonful of pancake batter onto the hot skillet and was getting ready to turn it when she heard Dean’s outraged cry. She yanked the skillet off the Coleman and sprinted toward their vehicles.

  He was standing in the middle of a mess. Everything that had been in the glove compartment of Calley’s jeep was strewn on the ground around the vehicle. The tarp over the back of the jeep had been untied and now lay crumpled into a tangled heap. The items the men had transferred from Dean’s truck to the jeep had been tossed out. The whole mess was dusted with a fine layer of dried oats.

  Bear was Calley’s first thought. But if a bear had been the one to ransack the jeep, the vehicle itself wouldn’t be intact. Besides, they hadn’t heard a bear. “Oh, no,” she said, laughing. “Raccoon.”

  “Raccoon,” Dean repeated. “A very thorough raccoon. Damn! How did he get the glove compartment open?”

  “I didn’t lock it,” Calley explained. “He must have bumped into it.”

  Dean dropped to his knees. “I wonder if he took anything. So much for that box of oatmeal. Our camp robber really made a mess of that.”

  Calley wanted to be mad. Blankets and books and camping supplies and even camera equipment were strewn about in a twenty-foot radius around the jeep. The damage could be extensive, the cleanup chore monumental, and yet there was something so utterly absurd about this disaster that it was impossible not to laugh. “It’s a good thing he didn’t stick around,” she said with an irrational giggle. “I’d really tan his hide.”

  Dean was shaking his head, trying to sort through the mail Melinda had brought that he hadn’t gotten around to reading. “I’d wring his bloody little neck.”

  “You wouldn’t really,” Calley pointed out. “Not a sweet little innocent raccoon. You’d take one look at those trusting eyes and pat him on his head.”

  “You want to bet? Look at this bill.” Dean waved it in the air. “I think that raccoon tried to eat it.”

  “Do you think they’d buy that as an excuse for not paying the bill?” Calley asked. She joined Dean in the midst of what had once been organized correspondence. The front cover had been torn off a wildlife publication, but that wasn’t nearly as much of a mess as a graduate student’s manuscript. Not only did it look as if the fifty or so neatly typed pages had been tossed into the wind, but several papers had tooth marks in them. “I hope whoever wrote this made more than one copy.”

  Dean took one of the pages from her. He poked his finger through the largest hole. “Now I have a perfectly good excuse for not reading it.” He groaned. “I’m not looking forward to explaining this to the student in question. I think this particular raccoon had a paper fetish.”

  Calley retrieved an empty box that had once been filled with cornmeal. “He was a gourmet, too. I’m surprised we didn’t hear him. It must have taken him hours to accomplish this.”

  “At least we can assume he had a good time. He must have thought he’d hit the mother lode.”

  It took the better part of the morning for Calley and Dean to undo the determined raccoon’s handiwork. Dean blamed himself for leaving anything out where a curious raccoon could get his paws on it, but Calley refused to take the situation too seriously. She pointed out that there was no way they could have brought everything into camp, just as it wouldn’t have made sense for Steve and Melinda to take anything with them. “These things happen,” she said more than once. “Just think of the fun that little scamp had.”

  By the time they were settling down to a long-delayed breakfast, Dean was agreeing with her. “I figured we were safe because there was nothing in the jeep that would attract a bear. I just didn’t think about a curious and very determined raccoon.”

  “I wonder if he had Boy Scout training,” Calley observed. “He got through the knots holding the tarp in place slick as a whistle.”

  Dean grinned. He held up his coffee mug in a mock salute. “Slick as a whistle. I haven’t heard that since I was a kid.”

  Calley furrowed her eyebrows in an attempt at anger. “Don’t make fun of me, Dean Ramsey. If you do, I’ll let everyone know about the four-legged scamp who made a monkey out of you.”

  “Scamp?” Dean mocked. “What hills did you say you were raised in? Are you sure they had TV reception in the back country?”

  The easy banter continued while they cleared up after their meal. When Dean agreed that it was too late in the day for them to accomplish anything in the woods, Calley retired to her tent so that she could write to her family. She had no idea when she’d be able to mail the letters, but if she didn’t get some things down on paper now, she might talk herself out of the project later on.

  An hour later, Dean poked his head into the tent opening. “I don’t suppose you know how to fish.”

  “Of course I do. I—”

  “Then you’re on,” Dean interrupted. He stuck out his hand. “The one who catches the least fish cooks for the rest of the time we’re here.”

  “Wait a minute,” Calley protested. “I didn’t bring any fishing equipment.”

  “I have both Steve’s and mine. You aren’t chicken, are you?”

  Calley pushed herself up off the sleeping bag and stuck out her hand. “You’re on, mister. I thought you were working.”

  Dean shrugged before pulling her out of the tent. “I got bored. I’d better warn you, though. I’m pretty good.”

  “So am I” was all that Calley said. When Dean handed her a tackle box, she reached for a number 14 Adams fly, checked to make sure the pole was equipped with floating line and tied three feet of light monofilament to that. She was securing the fly to the end of the monofilament before she stole a glance in Dean’s direction. He was watching her closely.

  “Ahem.” He drew out the word. “What kind of knot was that?”

  Calley quickly draped her hand over her handiwork. “A granny,” she lied.

  “Yeah? You’re fast.”

  “And good.” Calley turned her back on Dean before he could see her grin. She reached the river first, easily casting her line into a riffle close to the far bank. “Find your own spot,” she warned when he tried to join her. “I’ve claimed this one.”

  “That’s where I was going to fish,” he protested.

  “I know.” Calley shot him a smile. “I don’t believe in cheating, but when it comes to winning bets, I go for blood.”

  “I should have known,” Dean grumbled as he stalked off.

  Two hours later Calley was back in camp with a full string of fish. She knew she was taking advantage of Dean, but he really had walked into that one. He should have known better than to assume that just because she was female she was at a disadvantage when it came to fishing.

  “You cheated,” Dean spluttered in mock anger. He’d walked into camp holding up a half-dozen decent-size trout, but when Calley showed him that she’d already cleaned double that amount, he quickly lost his superior grin. “Where did you learn to fish?”

  Calley gave him her most superior smile. It wasn’t until several minutes later that she explained. “I paid for my sophomore year’s tuition with my winnings from tournament fishing,” she explained after teasing him by talking about everything except the question she knew was on his mind. “I took first place in three consecutive tournaments at Kootenai, Bitterroot and Musselshell. You’d be surprised at the money to be won from fishing.”

  Dean groaned. “I don’t suppose they were all fly-fishing tournaments?”

  “As I recall, they were.”

  “No fair,” Dean protested. “I’ve been had.”

  “That’s twice today.” Calley laughed. “Once by a marauding raccoon and once by a fishing pro.”

  Dean dropped his catch on the cooking table and squared around to face her. His eyes took on a teasing glitter. Slowly he advanced on her. Calley scrambled to her feet in mock alarm. She started to back away, but he was too fast f
or her. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you? Now you’ve had it.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pinning her arms to her side. Then he leaned over her, forcing her to arch her back in a futile attempt to escape.

  Calley went weak under the gentle assault caused by his tongue and lips on her neck. She closed her eyes, secure in the knowledge that he was strong enough to support her weight. Her total focus narrowed until she was aware of nothing except the delicious sensation he was capable of arousing. Slowly he headed south with his exploration, relishing his command over her when her strangled gasp gave away her emotion.

  What had started as play all too soon became passion. Dean was aware of his arousal. As long as he held her in his arms, he had almost no control over his emotions. His lips centered on the tantalizing valley he’d found with his hand last night. She could tell him to stop, and he’d obey her, but as long as she didn’t put on the brakes, he would explore. Her head was thrown back, giving him easy access. That was all the encouragement he needed.

  “Dean. Dean?”

  Inwardly he groaned. “What?” he asked without lifting his mouth from his exploration.

  “My back’s killing me.”

  One instant longer. One last taste of silky flesh. Then Dean straightened and helped Calley regain her balance. “I think I like losing bets with you,” he managed to say.

  She clung to him, not because she was unsure of her footing but because they’d erased any distance between them and she didn’t want distance to take over again. “When are you going to get around to cooking all those fish?”

  “Later. Now—” Slowly, reverently, he ran his hands up the sides of her neck until he was holding her face in his hands. He inclined his head, relieved to see that she was waiting for him. When their lips met, he experienced an exquisite tenderness that held his inner storm at bay. She was so much more than a co-worker, but what they might yet become to each other was something he wasn’t wise enough to know. What he did know was that he couldn’t get enough of touching her, holding her, kissing her.

  “That was quite a reward. What do I get if I lose a bet with you?” Calley asked when at last their kiss ended.

  His eyes melted into hers. “Can’t you guess?”

  “No.” The word was spoken painfully. “You said it, Dean. We aren’t ready for that.”

  “How do you know what I was thinking?”

  She didn’t try to answer his question. Instead, Calley gently removed herself from his arms. She felt cold and lonely standing apart from him, but that was the only way she could regain control of herself. Her blood had become superheated; her lungs were incapable of keeping up with her need for oxygen. Touch her? His tongue in the valley between her breasts, his body looming over hers, was much more than a touch.

  Shaking, Calley turned away. No matter how hard it was, she had to break free from the spell he’d cast on her. She said the only thing that came to mind. “Where have you done most of your fishing?”

  Dean knew what Calley was doing. Although he wished it could be different, he understood her need to place distance between them. He spoke casually. “Many places. The best was in Kodiak, Alaska. The Salty Creek. Coho salmon.”

  “With Waina?”

  Dean nodded. “We followed bear tracks to a shallow pool,” he explained. “It was October, and the willows and alders were turning orange and red.” He spoke rapidly, wanting to share as much of the experience as possible with her. “The big silvers had just arrived, and the bears knew it. I kept thinking about the bears; I could see fish everywhere. In the distance the surf was pounding. I was mesmerized by my surroundings.” He took a slow step toward Calley. “I’d like to take you there someday.”

  “I’d like to do that,” Calley admitted. “I’ve always wanted to go to Alaska. Do some fishing. I wish someone like Waina could go along to tell us things we can’t get out of a travel book.”

  Dean wrapped his arm around her shoulder. He didn’t try to kiss her. “Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned Waina.”

  “That’s all right,” she said from the shelter he was offering her. “I can’t expect you to stop thinking about her. I understand the impact she had on your life.”

  “But she isn’t part of what you and I are.”

  What are we to each other? Calley wanted to ask. But there wasn’t enough of a bond between them to examine that potent question. Calley was aware that she was on the frontier of a new adventure, but if she plunged forward too quickly, it might be lost. “It looks as if we’re going to be living on fish for several days.”

  Dean gave her a quick squeeze but allowed her to leave his side so she could finish the task of placing the fish in plastic bags. While he gutted his fish, she carried hers to the river where the cold would preserve them. “I’ve only had more than my fill of fish once,” she explained after she’d returned and was watching him. “That’s all we had to eat for a week.”

  “A week of nothing but fish? What happened?”

  Calley laughed. “You think that raccoon made a mess of things. Have you ever seen a camp after a black bear’s been through it? There wasn’t enough worth salvaging to talk about.”

  “Where was this?”

  “About fifty miles from here.” Calley straddled a log before continuing her story. “Mike and I were doing research, a lot like what we’re doing here. We’d chosen an area inaccessible by vehicle and were dropped in by helicopter. When that black took off with our food supplies, we had two choices. Either we could spend the next two days hiking out, or we could tough it out until the helicopter returned. That’s one time I really was glad my dad had taught me how to fish.”

  Dean acknowledged the fact that his wasn’t the only past with another person in it. “What happened? Didn’t you secure your food supplies? How did the bear get to them?”

  “Timing.” Calley wrinkled up her nose. “We hadn’t been there an hour. The helicopter had made a couple of passes, dropping off our supplies, and we were out looking for our tent when Blackie snuck in and started wolfing down everything in sight. I got back first and ran him off.”

  “You ran off a bear?”

  Calley stiffened at the disbelief in Dean’s voice. “It wasn’t a grizzly,” she explained. “You know how blacks are. If you make enough noise, they’ll turn tail and run.”

  “Why didn’t you wait for Mike? Let him do it?”

  Calley didn’t know whether to be angry or amused. “If I’d waited for Mike, that bear would have done more than eat our food supply. I wasn’t going to take a chance on his destroying the CB. I grabbed a couple of pans and started banging them together. I made a spectacle of myself, but it did the trick.”

  Calley was finished with her story, but Dean continued to stare at her. He was holding a thin-bladed knife in his right hand. His hand dropped to his side. In his mind he saw a slightly built woman standing her ground against three hundred pounds of shiny black hair, deadly claws and teeth. Intellectually he knew she was right. The chance that the black would attack her was minute. But because Dean had memories and terrors to battle, he saw the creature sinking its teeth into Calley’s flesh.

  “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “Don’t ever do what again? Protect my property from a camp robber?”

  “A bear isn’t a camp robber,” Dean said through clenched teeth. “He could have killed you, Calley.”

  “That isn’t too likely, and you know it. He started backing up the minute I showed up. I knew I could call his bluff. Dean, don’t forget. I’ve made wild animals my life’s work. I know what I’m doing.”

  Of course she did. Dean shook off his anger and outrage and acknowledged that Calley was right. If it had been a grizzly, she would have known how to handle that situation. He didn’t have to do her thinking for her. “You’re a pretty resourceful woman, aren’t you?”

  “I try. I’m glad you can admit that.”

  Dean put down his knife, wiped his hands on his pants and sat beside
her. “Mike said you were the best.”

  “He did?”

  Calley’s voice sounded hollow, but Dean chose to ignore that. “He said you had an instinct when it came to animals. That you’re resourceful and you don’t panic.”

  “Coming from him, that’s a compliment.” Calley looked at her hands resting on the log next to his. Hers were smaller and softer, but they shared a certain strength fashioned by their common life-style. “What else did he say?”

  “If you mean, did he say anything of a personal nature, no. Whatever you may think of Mike, and I take it there’s a lot of bitterness there, he had the utmost respect for you professionally. He said you were someone people depended on.”

  “I’m surprised he sees that as a positive trait,” Calley said bitterly. “Considering that’s what came between us. I’m sorry.” She raked her hand angrily through her hair. “I don’t particularly like it when other people dissect their past relationships. I never intended to do that.”

  “Why not?” Slowly Dean drew her hand out of her hair, holding it between both of his. “You let me talk about Waina. Why shouldn’t you be allowed to do the same thing?”

  “Because you don’t hate Waina.”

  “You don’t hate Mike.”

  “Don’t I?” Calley tried to pull her hand free, but Dean wouldn’t let her. “You’re right,” she relented. “I don’t hate him. I just don’t want to talk about him.”

  Dean was tracing a pattern with his fingers on the back of her hand. The setting sun had cast a rosy hue over their surroundings. Calley’s flesh was absorbing that color. “You’ll have to someday. That’s the only way you’ll be able to put that to rest.”

  Calley straightened. She’d been watching what Dean was doing to her hand, but now she met his eyes. “You have to do the same thing, Dean. That’s the only way you’ll be able to end your nightmares.”

  Other than a quick arching of his spine, Dean gave no indication of how deeply he’d been touched by her words. “I tried that once. It didn’t work.”