Chapter 2

Rhonda was true to her word. I'd been up for a couple of hours moving gingerly around the cabin in my T-shirt and boxers after a better night's sleep than I expected. I managed to cook up some oatmeal and made a pot of boiled coffee that turned out surprisingly good. I guess I was learning.

This time when Rhonda came, she shouted "Hello the house!" as she approached, probably to give me time to put something on if I wasn't dressed yet. I opened the door and waved her in.

I poured her a cup of coffee as she stepped through the door. "Thanks for coming by. I'm definitely in need of another application of that cream, but the last application and the Tylenol really helped me get through the night. I slept a lot better than I thought I would."

"I thought you might. If you looked at the label, you saw it said 'Tylenol PM'. I figured you'd need some kind of dope to get any sleep at all. Have you taken any this morning?"

"Um, yeah, just a few minutes ago. Does that mean I'm gonna be dopy for the rest of the day?"

"Well, maybe until this afternoon." She smiled and kidded, "Don't be operating any heavy machinery."

She pulled a little white bottle out of her pocket and handed it to me. "The coffee will help, and I brought some of the regular Tylenol from home. Now, get settled on the bed and I'll lay on some more of this lotion."

This time she spent more time rubbing on the lotion and again, it was pure pleasure. The meds were kicking in and I'd almost drifted off when she said, "Turn over." She did my chest and belly, then started on my legs. When she got to the tops of my thighs, her fingers traveled a little way up inside the leg of my boxers. I guess I was relaxed enough from the PM not to react. Except I could feel my dick starting to grow.

I guess she saw it too, because she stopped and walked back over to the table. "Good coffee this morning, Curtis. You're making progress."

"Thanks." I got up, waking a little funny to hide the tent from my semi-boner, and sat across from her to finish my coffee. "Yesterday, you said this place was on your regular rounds. How much territory do you patrol anyhow?"

"Well this station is in a national forest and it's all my territory. I try to patrol all the roads at least twice a week. Mostly I just check out campsites to make sure nobody's starting any forest fires. I answer a lot of questions and give a lot of directions. I also try to keep track of the animal populations. Sometimes, like recently, I find evidence of poaching. That's what I'm spending a lot of time on now, trying to run them down. So far, no luck."

"That's too bad. So what are they poaching? Deer?"

"Yeah. So far, I've found the remains of five deer just a few miles from here. I guess the poachers must be selling the meat. The problem is that they're probably taking them with bows, so nobody hears any gun shots."

"Wow! Well, good luck with that. I wish there was something I could do to help."

"Just keep your eyes open and give me a call on the radio if you see anything suspicious. That'd be a big help."

"I'll do that."

"Great. Guess I better get on down the mountain. Want me to stop by later to rub on another application?"

"If you don't mind, but don't bother if you're busy."

She stood up to go and joked, "Never too busy to tend to the wounded. See ya this evening."

"Bye, Rhonda! And thanks again."

As I puttered around rinsing out the cups and washing the breakfast dishes, I wondered if her tentative exploration up the leg of my boxers was meant as a message or if it was just her being efficient. I hoped for the former, but common sense said it was probably the latter. Rhonda struck me as pretty much of a no-nonsense type of woman. I couldn't picture her doing anything that might be construed as 'unprofessional'. Well, making me pee on my pants might have been a little bit light-hearted.

I pulled on my boots and headed toward the outhouse to cap off my morning routine. I noticed it was starting to cloud up in the west and I wondered if we were going to get some thunderstorms coming through in the afternoon. Since I was still too sore to really do any extended hikes, I was kinda hoping we would. I like the rain, and it would keep the air temperature down.

As I sat in the outhouse doing my business (something about that function seems to initiate introspective thought), I got to thinking about why Granddad had engineered this trip. Like Rhonda said, he probably wanted me to "grow a pair" and fend for myself, attain a little depth, as he put it. So was that happening? I mean, how could you tell? It's not like it's something you can measure, subjectively or objectively. And what did he mean by "depth" anyhow? All I could figure was that he meant the total accumulation of experiences in my life. Or more likely, how I dealt with those experiences. Yeah, that had to be it. Like, did I walk into them with my eyes open and deal with them straight on, or did I turn my back on the potentially bad experiences and just hope they'd go away?

Well, I guess the only way I'll know if I'm making progress is when we meet up again at the end of my thirty-day walkabout. Maybe he'll see me differently. Or maybe he won't.

The rain did come, but it wasn't in the form of thunderstorms. About noon, a thick fog covered the mountain and the precipitation started with a cold drizzle, then got heavier until by late afternoon, it was coming down pretty hard, making the air cool and heavy. The rain was nice, but the dense clouds made it so dark, it was almost depressing.

The Tylenol PM I took in the morning had me all logy and dozing until around noon. After that wore off, I read and snacked for the rest of the afternoon, waiting (anxiously) for Rhonda to come back and do me again. Yeah, well one could hope.

It occurred to me that I really should clean myself up before she got there. I hadn't bathed for two days and I was probably starting to smell a little funky. A sniff of my underarm area confirmed it.

I warmed some water on the stove and poured it into the washbasin. Then I stripped and gently went over my tender skin with some tepid, slightly soapy water, washed my hair and patted myself dry. The taste in my mouth told me my teeth needed a good brushing.

So, cleaned up and undoubtedly more presentable, I waited for my company to arrive. And waited. And waited.

Rhonda was a no-show. How disappointing. But she was a woman with a job to do and higher priorities in her day than nursing me, so I had no right to feel neglected. Maybe she was hot on the trail of the poachers.

Giving up any hope, I made myself something to eat, brushed my teeth again and tried to get comfortable with my book. But bathing had dried out my skin and I was starting to itch as well as burn, so I slathered the cream on every place I could reach, which was pretty much everywhere. There were a couple of spots I couldn't quite reach on my upper back, so I smeared a little of the cream on the bottom of a wooden spoon and spread it around.

That did it, so I guess I didn't really need Rhonda to do that for me, but her hands were a hell of a lot more pleasant than my hands or a wooden spoon. And I missed her company.

Once it started getting really dark outside, I knew for sure she wouldn't be coming, so I lit the lantern, settled into my bed and tried to read.

By the next morning, I was actually feeling a lot better. My scorched skin was still a little tender, but most of the burning sensation was gone and I could move around freely without too much discomfort.

It was still foggy outside but the rain had stopped. I stoked the fire in the stove, put on some water for coffee and got dressed in proper clothes for the first time in two days. I didn't even need any Tylenol.

I was still hoping in the back of my mind that Rhonda would show up, but she wasn't really needed. As I said, I'm sure she had more important things to do. After a big bowl of oatmeal sweetened with strawberry preserves (gotta have that sugar hit), I climbed the tower to call her on the radio and let her know I was pretty much recovered. That would save her a trip.

"Hello, ranger station! Ranger Yancey! You there?"

Nothing. Maybe she hadn't made it to the office yet. I had just put the radio back in the charger and turned to leave when I heard some static, then, "Curtis! That you?"

There was something wrong with her voice. It was strained and weak, like she was struggling to talk.

I grabbed the radio and answered, "Yeah, Rhonda, it's Curtis! Is there something wrong? You don't sound right."

A few seconds delay, then, "Thank God! Need help! Can't ... get anyone ... on other channel. Need your ... help. I'm hurt!"

"You're HURT? Jesus, Rhonda, where are you?"

"West side ... Donner Mountain ... bottom of cliff!

Holy shit! I keyed the mic and practically shouted, "Where is that, Rhonda? How far from me?"

Another long delay. "Three or ... four miles down that ... road. My truck ... parked in ... trees."

Now I was panicked. "Down what road?"

"One I use ... to come up ... to cabin."

"OK, OK! I know the one you're talking about! You say three or four miles?"

"Yeah ... look for green ... Tacoma. Hurry ... Curtis ... not breathin' ... so hot!"

"Can I call for help on this radio?"

"Probably won't ... get through on ... this channel."

"Hang on, Rhonda! I'm on the way!"

Holy fuck! I jammed the radio in my back pocket, took the stairs two and three at a time and ran for the trees, then stopped. I don't know why, but I thought I'd better take the rifle. I dashed back to the cabin and grabbed it, checked that it was loaded and headed back for the trees at a dead run.

The brush I was running through was soaking wet, so by the time I got down the hill to the road, so was I, up to my crotch. The dirt part of the road was muddy, so I stayed in the middle where the weeds grew. I took off down the hill running like I was doing a 440, but I made myself slow down to a fast jog, knowing the faster pace would waste me in no time.