by Vella Munn
“Then try it again.”
“On you?”
Calley nodded. “I have a great deal of experience listening to people’s problems.” She laughed a little. “Lots of girl talk about men before Melinda figured out that she was in love with Kirk.”
“Then I won’t burden you with any more now.” Dean released her and got to his feet. He turned back to his fish, slowly wrapping them in heavy plastic.
For a minute Calley sat where she was. She loved watching Dean work, even if all he was doing was wrapping fish. All the parts of his body worked in perfect harmony. He was big enough to be able to play football. Someday she’d ask him what sports he participated in, learn whether he followed any of the professional teams. There were a million things she wanted to know about the man who’d been part of her life for less than a week.
So many things about herself she wanted to tell him.
“Baked,” she said as he was cleaning up his work surface. “With butter and onion slices.”
“What are you rattling on about?”
“About how I want my fish cooked. Not that I should have to remind you, but you lost the bet. You cook from now on.”
“You cheated,” Dean protested. “I’m an amateur; you’re a pro. You should have come clean about that.”
“You didn’t ask,” Calley pointed out. “You’re the one who was so sure a woman couldn’t possibly know more about fishing than you. I can’t be held accountable for your ill-advised male ego.”
“Ill-advised male ego?” Dean glared. “Who hired whom, lady?”
“Irrelevant and immaterial,” she pointed out. “If you’re going to try to pull rank on me, I’ll cry and pout.”
“Can you really cry and pout?”
Calley twisted her mouth to one side. “I’m not sure,” she had to admit. “I haven’t tried that since I was a kid.”
“Something tells me that was never part of your repertoire. I think we have enough onions to satisfy your palate. Do you think you’d possibly be able to set out the china while I attend to dinner? Just make sure you put things back where you found them. That’s about the only thing that ruffles Steve’s feathers.”
Calley let Dean know that he was asking a great deal of her. She made a show of pulling out paper plates and mixing up nonfat dry milk to go with their meal. She’d settled herself near the campfire with needle and thread and a couple of her shirts that needed mending when Dean dropped a jacket on her lap. “While you’re at it,” he said. Before she could protest, he’d gone back to the meal preparation.
Calley tackled his jacket first. She brought it close to her face not because the light was poor but because the jacket held something of his essence. She ran her arm up a sleeve, allowing a slow warmth to wash over her. Had he permanently imprinted himself on the fabric? Would anyone but her notice?
When she was finished securing the loose buttons, she folded the jacket and left it on her knees while she worked on her garments. As the tantalizing aroma of onions sautéing in butter reached her nostrils, she carried the jacket into his tent. She crawled in on hands and knees, noticing that the rumpled sleeping bag still carried his shape.
The man was everywhere.
Calley dropped her burden on the sleeping bag and backed out. His essence in the small space was more powerful than she was willing to deal with tonight. “Aren’t you done yet?” she protested as she gave his work a critical look. “It isn’t that hard to cook a trout.”
“Complain, complain, complain. Here I’ve been slaving over a hot stove all day, and what thanks do I get?”
Calley ignored him. She wondered aloud when Steve and Melinda might be back and nodded agreement when Dean expressed concern that Steve might pull up stakes if he wasn’t given the freedom to deal with the bear exactly the way he wanted. She sat on the most comfortable log, waiting patiently for Dean to serve her. “Not bad,” she acknowledged after her first bite. “It could use a little fresh lemon.”
“What do you think this is? The Ritz?” Dean glared at her over his own meal. “If you don’t like it, you can always cook.”
Calley shrugged elaborately. “You know about the traditional division of labor. I hunt. You cook.”
“When horses fly. Aren’t you supposed to be gnawing on a hide so I can have warm boots about now?”
Calley returned the glare Dean had given her, but the appeal of fish done to perfection was too much of a distraction. She could tease later. She concentrated on eating. “I didn’t realize how tired I was of prepackaged, freeze-dried foods until I tasted this,” she admitted. She smacked her lips. “My compliments to the chef.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He was staring into the night; his eyes had a faraway look. “Have you ever tasted smoked salmon? Not the kind they try to pass off at those deli shops but the real stuff?”
“I don’t think so,” Calley admitted. “I’m sure I haven’t tasted what you’re referring to. You’re talking about the way they do it in Alaska, aren’t you?”
Dean nodded. Because his eyes still weren’t focusing, she guessed that his thoughts weren’t on the here and now. When he spoke, she knew she was right. “There’s so many things I’d like to show you about Alaska. I know you’d enjoy it. What do you think of watching a dogsled race?”
“I’m sure I’d like that. I’ve always wanted to see the aurora borealis. I’m not so sure about nights that last twenty-four hours, though.” Calley wanted her words to have the strength to take Dean away from his thoughts, but his mood was infecting her, as well. Tonight Alaska seemed a million miles away, a lifetime apart. She wondered if he was thinking about a true vacation or whether work would somehow be involved. A vacation, she hoped.
They could fly into some remote spot, burdened by nothing but photographic and fishing equipment. Dean would know where there were Dall sheep, seals, moose, fox and eagles to photograph. Although she knew better, Calley wished they could cut themselves completely off from civilization. That would give them enough time. Enough time to learn a million essential things about each other.
Calley tore herself free from the thought. “What time of year would we go?” she asked, even though it really didn’t matter. “Not winter, I hope.”
“What? Spring.” Dean’s eyes swung from the night sky. “Alaska comes to life in the spring. There are some lakes near Haines. We could put in a canoe or inflatable raft, and I’d show you a thing or two about still fishing.”
“It sounds perfect. How far from Haines are these lakes? I don’t want my line getting tangled up in someone else’s. Are you sure we couldn’t go somewhere more remote?”
“Remote?” Dean drew out the word. Because of the darkness Dean didn’t think Calley could see the tension creeping through his body. Damn! Was that feeling never going to end?
“You know,” Calley explained, “farther from civilization than we are now. Maybe—” She laughed. “Maybe we could chuck the CB and play like survivalists.”
“That isn’t very practical, Calley.”
She sighed. “I know it isn’t. Just indulge me my fantasy for a little while, will you? I’ve always wanted to try living off the land.”
Damn her. The woman wasn’t afraid of anything. Dean’s eyes went back to the forest. There was no way she could comprehend what he was going through, sitting here surrounded by night, ears alert for alien sounds. It hadn’t been this bad when Steve was here because the Indian’s sense of peace about the land was infectious, but Calley was a woman. No, that wasn’t it. She was someone he desperately didn’t want anything bad to happen to. Certainly not what had happened to him. “It isn’t as easy as it sounds. There’s nothing romantic about silence so profound that it has a sound of its own,” he said, testing her. “That can drive a person crazy.”
Calley shrugged. “That’s a pretty remote possibility. Dean?” She raked her hands through her hair in a gesture he now associated with serious thought on her part. “I’ve always wanted to test myself. Learn what
I’m capable of. You can understand that, can’t you?”
He wasn’t sure. Not anymore. “Calley, what are you trying to prove?”
She looked sharply at him. “I’m not trying to prove anything. All right.” She pulled on her hair. “Maybe I am. I’m finding strengths I didn’t know I had. I guess I want to test the limit of that strength.”
“No one expects you to.”
“I don’t care what other people expect. I don’t know if I can make you understand this, Dean, but I want to try. It’s easier being a woman than a man. Not as much is expected of a woman. But I’ve always believed that that’s a cop-out. Complacency can backfire on a woman. If she’s raised like a hothouse plant, she grows up ill equipped to handle life’s problems. All right, maybe I’m overstating the case, but I don’t want to go through life having never really tested myself. I want to know that when the chips are down, when there’s no one to fall back on, I can stand on my own two feet.”
He had to ask it. “Have you always felt that way?”
“I think so,” she answered slowly. “I’ve always loved a challenge. That got me in a lot of scrapes when I was a kid. The bigger kids were always daring me to do something. Of course, I took them up on it.”
“That can backfire on a person.”
“Tell me about it.” Calley laughed. “Who do you think got caught trying to break into the principal’s office?”
Dean looked at her as if her intelligence was suspect. “No one tries to break into the principal’s office.”
“They do if someone says it can’t be done,” Calley explained. “Like I said, I was always game for a challenge.”
“Like being dropped in some remote part of Alaska?”
“Maybe.” She laughed again. “If I could survive that, I think I could handle anything.”
“What do you think your chances are of coming out alive?”
“Pretty good. Does that sound egotistical?” she asked. “I’m sorry if it does, but if I don’t believe in myself, who will? That’s a question I think everyone has to answer. We all have to have confidence in ourselves. Believe we can handle everything that’s thrown at us.”
And she could. That knowledge was what kept Dean from touching her again that evening. She was sure and confident, without fear. Damn her.
Chapter Seven
Dean and Calley were finishing breakfast the next morning when they heard the sound of a truck. Calley felt relief at the prospect of having Steve and Melinda back with them. Dean had been quiet and remote last night, and she had not been looking forward to spending the day in the company of someone who spoke only in grunts. What bothered her the most was not so much his mood as not understanding what had brought on the sudden wall that now stood between them. There’d been no hint when they started talking about a fantasy vacation, but somewhere, somehow, Dean had shut her out.
“It was marvelous!” Melinda squealed as soon as she was out of the truck. “I took sequence pictures of Steve and the park vet while they were working on the black. I’m thinking of calling National Geographic to see if they’re interested.”
“Isn’t that aiming a little high? You’d be competing with photographers who’ve been in the business for years,” Calley warned as she gave her friend a quick hug. “Are the pictures developed yet?”
Melinda admitted that they weren’t. “But the story that goes with the pictures is fantastic. I just know someone’s going to be interested in it. If I get paid enough, I’m holding out for a real wedding. I might even convince you to get out of your jeans and into a dress. You will be my maid of honor, won’t you? Kirk couldn’t argue if I paid for the traditional route, could he?”
Calley gave up. Obviously Melinda was too excited to be bothered by anyone’s pessimism. Melinda probably wouldn’t notice that Dean was acting like a cigar-store Indian, something Calley wished she herself could do. As soon as Steve and Melinda were settled back in camp, Steve started telling them about the trip to Yellowstone. The first day had been spent in a futile attempt to locate the injured bear, but by the next morning they’d heard from a couple of hikers who’d stumbled upon the ill-tempered creature near Whistler Geyser.
“That was one mad bear with a king-sized foot ache,” Steve explained. “We figured he couldn’t forage very well for himself and that he was getting desperate. He was determined to get his paws on the hikers’ food. They had to take refuge in a tree to escape him. Fortunately these two hikers weren’t novices. They knew the bear’s behavior wasn’t normal. They pacified him by letting him demolish their backpacks and then ran for the park management as soon as the black wandered off. They were making some noises about suing the park for the loss of their equipment, but I think they listened when I told them that they accepted the risk when they went into the backcountry.”
“Did you get the black that same day?” Calley asked. She didn’t try to hide the fact that she was both excited and disappointed. Listening to Steve’s story wasn’t the same as being there. “We were treed, too, but our bear was pretty bored with us,” she explained. “She didn’t really even try to come up after us.”
Dean shot Calley a look, but she chose to ignore it. This morning she couldn’t read his mind if her life depended on it. Instead, she concentrated on what Steve was telling them, that the actual spotting and tranquilizing of the bear didn’t take place until the next day. Steve explained that the park management made arrangements for them to make use of a helicopter, and Steve was able to shoot the bear while leaning out of the helicopter door. “It took three tries before I hit him,” Steve admitted with the lack of boastfulness Calley had come to expect from the Indian. “He was so mad at the helicopter that he didn’t head for cover.” Steve’s voice turned serious. “I don’t blame him. I would have been furious at anything man-made myself.”
“Why?” Calley asked.
“Because that poor bear had a large chunk of glass from a soft-drink bottle buried in his right front paw. It was badly infected.”
Calley shuddered. “But you were able to get it out, weren’t you?”
Steve nodded while Melinda bobbed her head in agreement. He explained that after they’d determined what was wrong with the bear, the helicopter pilot had to go back for the vet, who’d been tied up with another emergency. Steve had been able to remove the glass, but then the vet arrived and cleaned out the wound and stitched it closed. “He used several layers of stitches and made them small so I hope the bear won’t be able to pull them out before he heals. I don’t know.” Steve sighed. “It’s a freak accident, but it’s the kind of thing that’s going to happen as long as bears have to share the park with humans.”
“I don’t suppose you were able to find anyone who wanted to hear that,” Dean said sarcastically. His lips were tight as he continued. “People run all over that park, but they expect animals to live their lives as if nothing’s happening.”
Steve groaned. “I think I’ve heard this argument before. Dean, you and I can’t change a park policy that’s been going on for decades.”
“Someone’s going to have to. Otherwise there isn’t going to be a Yellowstone worth going to before long.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” Steve reassured him. “But I think they’re finally catching on. They’re admitting there is a problem. Maybe there’s hope for the wildlife yet.”
“Yeah?” Dean sounded doubtful.
Steve went on. “Yeah. While we were there the rangers were talking about a female grizzly and her cub that had been spotted near Hayden Valley. First one in that area in at least five years. Everyone’s pretty excited about the cub. They closed down the trail there. They’re not going to take a chance on anyone disturbing those two. You know that kind of action wouldn’t have been taken a few years ago.”
“For how long?” Calley asked. Like the others, she shared a deep concern for the wildlife in the national parks.
“All summer, if necessary,” Steve explained. “The park personnel adm
its that there are fewer than two hundred grizzlies left in Yellowstone. They’re even admitting that former park management is responsible for that.”
“Are they also willing to admit that only about thirty of those are cub-bearing females?” Dean asked. “The old blanket policy of killing any grizzlies that threatened man has just about wiped them out. Damn! Who was there first?”
Calley winced, not in reaction to Dean’s sharp words but in sympathy for the magnificent creatures who’d been sacrificed because of the greedy needs of visitors. “It all leads back to when they closed down the old dumps,” she mused aloud. “The bears had been feeding on those dumps for years. When they were closed because someone decided man was turning them into scavengers, the bears started foraging elsewhere. Like around campgrounds.”
“You’ve done your homework, haven’t you?” Dean said. “Of course, the park personnel could always move the bears to remote areas.”
Calley knew she was being tested. “An expensive proposition,” she pointed out. “I’m sure you know that better than I do. And what if, or should I say when, the bear comes back? Are they going to ship it out again or label it dangerous and kill it?”
“What would you suggest?”
Calley was ready for Dean’s question. “Two things—reopen the remote dumps and, if necessary, close down any campgrounds near a grizzly habitat.”
“You’d get a lot of complaints with that plan.” Dean was staring at her with a relentlessness that would have shaken her if she hadn’t been convinced that the needs of the few remaining bears had to come first.
“The grizzly can’t be brought back from extinction,” she said simply. “Humans can be moved.”
“I think you should let her be the spokesman the next time you’re in Yellowstone or D.C.,” Steve pointed out. “Once she gets the fire going in her eyes, they’ll have to listen to her. Besides that, an attractive young woman makes a better spokesman than an ugly old man like you.”
