Hairwolf
Chapter Thirty Six

It’s early afternoon as Foster and Stef kayak along the peaceful shores of a wooded bank. Tree branches reach out across the water vying for sunlight. Stef paddles under the branches, eye’s peeled to the banks. Tied to the front of her kayak is a long stick, stripped of its bark with a beaver-chewed-tip. It looks like a future hiking stick.

Foster paddles slowly behind her carrying a cooler strapped to his kayak. He sips water from a bottle, falling slightly behind. He watches Stef paddle under, around and through branches reaching out over the water from the banks. She lets the leaves sweep across her face as she glides through. It’s a visually beautiful moment.

“You know,” Foster says, “I don’t know a thing about you. What you do for a living, how many pets you have, what your hobbies are?”

She dips her paddle into the water, causing the kayak to turn and drift sideways. It glides under an arched, leafy branch, painting sunlight across her face as she drifts passed it.

“I’m a caregiver. It’s about the only job that allows me the time off I need for her. I have a Maine Coon kitty named Moby, which I rescued from here a couple of months ago. And one of my favorite hobbies is looking for future hiking sticks wrapped in Bittersweet vines. But I will accept alternatives, such as this beaver-et hiking stick.”

“Nothing better than a beaver-et hiking stick,” Foster says. “Boy that brings me back. I used to go off into the woods hours on end with mine. It had a thick top, curved bottom, like a corkscrew. Good for plucking things out of the water. Great stick. I hollowed out the top with a drill and kept a compact survival kit in it.”

“Survival kit...” she says, revealing interest. “You’ll have to show me how to do that. What happened to it?”

“What did happen to that stick?” he asks himself. “Oh, Benjamin Smeed. I gave it to Benjamin Smeed. He was thirteen years old. One of my first rescues as a Warden. I pulled him out from under a capsized canoe. It was partially my fault. I saw him out there fishing without his life jacket on and thought he’s gonna go under. But then he looked so peaceful and it was obvious he knew what he was doing. I almost called him in but decided to let him be. He hooked a fish minutes later and in he went in the excitement. Sank like a brick with all his clothes on. I just got to him in time. Resuscitated him on the bank and boy I’ll never forget the look on his face when he came to. Almost like it was my fault.”

“You saved his life,” she says. “How could . . .”

“. . . I can’t explain that part.”

She wants him to try. She needs to know more about this man and his experiences. It’s not like they’re neighbors and have a lifetime to figure each other out. She’s half a day away in another state and their time is getting short.

“It was as if he knew I was there to prevent that but didn’t. I know it sounds crazy but that came across loud and clear. Anyway, that was the last time he went in the water. I started taking him with me on trail repairs. He’d always ask to use my hiking stick. So, I finally gave it to him.”

Foster watches as Stef rests her paddle and allows the kayak to drift with the current as she thinks

aloud.

“So not only did you save his life but you also changed it. You changed his life. You noticed. You cared and it changed his life. Side note - don’t ever ignore your inner voice. It knows more than you do.”

Foster considers her advice.

Benjamin Smeed,” Stef says. “Now that’s a name I’ll never forget.”

Thunder clouds loom in the distance at the Warden’s Outpost. Stef sits in the backyard with a battery powered hand drill, angling the drill tip downward on the top of her new hiking stick. She’s driven, focused and biting down on her tongue, concentrating on holding the drill straight.

Foster sits close by, watching. She’s having trouble keeping the drill in place on the top of the hiking stick. Foster cautions her, but she’s got it. He would like to do this for her but, she’s got it. He sits back, painfully watching, hoping she’s got it.

He offers. “You sure I can’t ...”

“...I got it!” she says, keeping the drill aligned. She presses the trigger, “nope,” and stops.

Maybe it’s the angle or position of the stick. She hands him the stick.

“Hold it for me?” She stands on top of the chair and places the drill on the top of the stick. Now she’s got it. She drills a perfect hole.

“Like to figure things out for yourself, ah,” Foster asks.

“I’m a doer. I learn by doing – and watching. But mostly doing. This required doing, not watching.”

“Pretty independent,” he says, almost regretfully.

“Well, yeah,” she says, almost obviously. “I need to know how to do everything myself. I hope that doesn’t bother you?”

“No,” he says, disingenuously.

Stef sits down, parking the drill on her lap, looking at her stick. She knows she has to address this side of her with him.

“So what part of it not bothering you, bothers you?”

“How much time do we have,” he says, jokingly, hiding his embarrassment. She knows whatever he’s feeling has a source, a reason. And she wants to find it.

“I can ask Brizzbee.”

“Maybe we should both ask Brizzbee,” he says with a smile covering his embarrassment.

“We don’t need to ask Brizzbee,” Stef says, adamantly. “Let me guess. You have a hard time with independent women.”

“No.” He says, very unconvincingly. There’s more he’s not saying and doesn’t know how to say it.

“You wife was independent, wasn’t she?” Stef asks. “And now you think all independent women are untrustworthy. That’s not fare. It really isn’t...”

“. . .That’s not what I think. First of all she was more type A as well as independent. And it is those “people” that tend to think more of themselves without being concerned how it effects others. She was trustworthy, because she flat out told me, albeit after the fact.”

“I don’t know any type A personalities,” Stef says. “I keep a very small circle.”

“Lillian’s a type A, without the selfishness,” he says. “She’s going to do what she wants and there isn’t a damn thing anybody’s going to do a thing about it.”

“Yeah, that’s Lillian. But you know what? You’ll see. As much as I am independent I’m insecure. What has a front has a back. The larger the front, the larger the back and boy oh boy do I have a big back. If I’m not careful I could be very needy and dependent. So the guard’s always up. You know what I’ve been waiting for? Another kiss.”

“You don’t have to wait for another kiss. You can just lean over and . . .”

“. . . Oh, but I do. Because I like being wanted. It’s a nice feeling. And for me to reach out and take it would kinda be like cheating. And I don’t want that. I’m independent, not aggressive. I want you but I want you to want me more. Does that make sense?”

“I think?!”

And thinking about it is what he’s doing. He’s not kissing her or even thinking about it. Is he playing with her? He notices her waiting on him. “Oh, jeez. I’m sorry. I really was thinking about it.”

“We’re gonna have to work on your focus. Little too much of random thoughts goin on over there.”

Foster takes a minute. Now it’s awkward. He can’t just reach over and kiss her. That would be too out of place. Stef is looking at him but he’s looking around the yard.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I don’t know. Now I feel like you’re watching me.”

“I am. I’m sitting here waiting for my kiss and I’m not getting it. Oh for Pete’s sake, get over here.”

She grabs him and plants a delicious kiss on his lips. It’s a deep kiss. A long kiss. Stef falls limp in his arms. They separate slowly, surprised.

“Is it me or are those getting better and better with every kiss?” he asks.

Stef opens her eyes and reveals fear in them. She didn’t expect it to take her down like that.

“This is terrifying for you, isn’t it?” Foster asks.

Stef looks down at the ground. “Very.”

“I can’t tell you how to handle this,” he says. “I obviously have a dog in the game.”

“It’s, “dog in the fight,” Mr. Game Warden.”

“Fight, right.”

She’s laughing at him but it’s an endearing laugh. Time with him is proving to be a complete joy for her. “Yeah, I’m terrified but you’re worth it. You relax me and excite me at the same time and then there’s this. Simple exchange. No pressures, no falsehoods. It’s all out there.”

“But there is fear,” he says.

“They’ll always be fear as long as there’s her. I have no control over her, she’s very powerful and will always win. She’ll always come first. She has to. Even though it’s her, it’s still me.”

“You’re afraid of her.”

“I’m afraid at the cost of her.”

“I get that. I get that. I’ll see your fear and raise you one lack of confidence.”

“Oh, boy. A game,” she says. “I love games.”

“I sit here and ask myself what in the world do you see in me? I’m at the top of my pay grade, which is entry level in most jobs. I’m an average looking guy that on most days comes home with a bite mark or a wounded animal. I don’t own a tie. My idea of fine dining depends on what kind of pie they’re serving for desert. I’m a freak for pie. Then there’s the real killer. This is my beast. The first time I think you have an interest in someone I’m probably going to just walk home and let you have him.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’ll walk home and let me have him?”

He’s not proud of the admission but it’s his truth.

“Well that’s an easy fix,” she says. “We’ll just have to make damn sure it’s a long walk. Give you time to think about that bone-headed move.”

She gets up and turns to him. “You win. You get all my chips.”

He grabs her by the arm and pulls her in close. Her tummy lays across his face and he snuggles in. She runs her fingers through his hair, smiling.

“You asked me if I could beat that,” he says.

“Oh, you beat it. And I’ll be beating you, you leave me anywhere. Walk home, my ass. Now show me how to make waterproof matches.”

He’s looking at her. “Close your eyes.”

She takes a seat next to him and closes her eyes. “Why? What is it, a bug?” She leans in, eyes closed. He nibbles at her nose and then slowly finds her bottom lip and pulls on it with his teeth. She pulls away, “Stop! What are you doing? That... that needs to be done another time. Oh my God. You can’t do that. Not on the day of a full moon. My senses are heightened more now than other days.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them. Even ones I didn’t know I had.”

“Good to know,” he says, leaning in to the back of her neck, completely ignoring her. “I got to check you for ticks.”

“You’re wasting your time,” she says, trying to hold steady for him. “I don’t get ticks.”

“We’ll see about that. Stay still. I think I found one.” He bites gently at her neck causing her to erupt.

“David, stop! God in Heaven,” she says, shuttering.

“Alright, alright. Take all the fun out of finding a tick.”

“What’s goin on?” Lillian says, rounding the corner carrying bags of food.

“What’d we miss?” asks Brizzbee, following with assorted beverages.

“He’s checking to see if I have a tick.”

Lillian must have heard that wrong. “Excuse me.”

“Tick. T,i,c,k. You’re a sick woman, Lillian.”

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