Chapter 7

Dub's voice, as he asked if they were going to get married, sounded clearly serious to Angela. Her panic wiped away all ability to be sensitive to the situation.

"Of course not!" she gasped. "I couldn't possibly marry you!"

The first thing Angela noticed was that, when her body stiffened to unconsciously punctuate her words, her internal muscles stiffened too, and pushed Dub's soft penis out of her body. It was almost poetic that her body rebuffed him at the same time her voice did, though she didn't think of it that way, of course. She just realized she had pushed the offending member out of her body. She also rolled off of his warm body onto the cool ground cloth beside him. Perhaps it was the fact that his hands let her go that caused her panic to ease, and allow her to think about what had just happened, and how it might affect Dub. His first "love" had rejected him out of hand. His response replaced her panic with confusion.

"Oh ... okay."

Just like that he seemed to accept that she couldn't possibly marry him.

"I mean it wouldn't work out," she said, trying to justify her harsh statement.

"Yeah, I know," he said. He sounded sad, but not crushed.

"I'm glad you understand," she said, more to make herself feel like less of a heel than to make him feel better.

"We better get some sleep," he said. "I planned on gettin' up early."

"Oh. Yes. Of course."

Something in her unconscious made her roll away from him, as if to break the physical bond between them even more. Her conscious mind had no clue yet that their physical bond was already permanent, and that her fertilized egg was, at that moment, extending the bond to create an an umbilical cord. She would soon be literally tied to Dub's offspring.

As contact broke, though, her conscious mind noticed the cold, and urged her to roll back against him where he still lay on his back. She resisted, despite the feel of cold and alone-ness, until it felt so horrible that she started to roll toward him despite her will to resist. At that moment he turned on his side, facing away from her, and sighed. Her mind heard "goodbye" in that sigh, and she stilled her body, able to resist again.

Her mood could not have been called miserable, truthfully, because there were still bits of electrical impulses of the joy she had so recently experienced flitting around in her brain. Those sparks of ecstasy seemed to have a life of their own, refusing to die, as her practical mind intoned over and over again that it was best to break this bond, once and for all. The unthinkable had already happened. Those unwelcome sparks of ecstasy that wouldn't die made it clear that the unthinkable could ... probably would ... happen again, and that was ... unthinkable.

So it was an unhappy, cold, nearly naked Angela who sought sleep that evaded her, as bits and pieces of the last month, and last day, and last hour floated unbidden through her mind.

Eventually she fell into an exhausted sleep that was troubled by dreams where she was reaching for something in the fog, and couldn't see it, and was afraid of it, but wanted it anyway for some reason. While she couldn't find what she was looking for in the unhappy dream, her body obeyed the impulse to move toward comfort and warmth. Fully asleep, she rolled to snuggle against the warm back next to her.

She didn't feel the hand, also warm, that reached to lie on her hip, or hear the slight snore of the man who was also unaware he was helping her press against him.

Waking was a nightmare of its own, because Dub simply threw the sleeping bag to one side, sat up, grabbed his clothing for the day and then left the tent to get dressed where he had more room. The cold of the morning and his sudden absence struck Angela as if freezing water had been thrown on her.

"Dub!" she whined. "It's cold!"

"Get dressed," came his calm reply. "Move around and you'll warm up. I'll start a fire."

She hadn't put her next day's clothes out where she could find them easily, because she hadn't thought of a need for that. They were still safe and dry in her suitcase.

Which was outside the tent, because there was no room for it inside.

It was marginally brighter outside the tent where she found herself trying to tiptoe over the cold, rocky ground on bare feet that were screaming at her to do something sensible, like put on shoes and socks. Then the rest of her body started wailing that it was even colder too. In short, she looked like she was doing some wild fertility dance in the early morning light, or, perhaps, a pagan ritual dance to get the sun to break over the horizon. She was moaning, rather than chanting, which spoiled the impression somewhat. Dub simply thought she looked funny, though he was wise enough not to laugh. Instead he blew life into the coals of the fire and added wood, trying to get it going quickly so she'd have a place to warm up. As soon as that was accomplished he got the coffee pot going and then took the lid off the flat Tupperware container that held eggs already out of the shell and strips of bacon, coated with those eggs. He dumped that into the skillet and set it close enough to the fire to heat up, but not burn anything.

Meanwhile the cold had finally penetrated deep enough into Angela's brain that she started thinking clearly again, and she got dressed quickly. She noticed the slickness between her legs, particularly the cool feel of it where it lubricated her thighs, but there was nothing she could do about it at the moment. The mere thought of getting in the river in this cold made her shiver even more. Her brain told her it would be warm later, and she could take care of hygiene then. She thought briefly about the fact that there was sperm mixed into that slickness, but there was nothing she could do about that either. Rather than confront what that might mean, she shied away from it. As happens with many people, she thought the problem might just go away if she didn't think about it.

Clothes helped almost immediately, and stepping closer to the fire to sit and put on socks and shoes helped too, such that by the time she was fully clothed, Angela felt more irritated by the cold than controlled by it. She watched Dub fiddle with the skillet and coffee pot. She felt like she should say something, but had no idea what that should be, and stayed silent.

Dub got up and went to inspect the deer carcass, hanging from the rope. Apparently all was well, because he returned to the fire without doing anything other than looking at it.

"Soon as we get fifteen or twenty fish, we can head back," he said. His voice was curiously void of emotion. She tried to convince herself that was normal. He was only talking about fish, after all. But it sounded wrong to her ears for some reason.

"Okay," she said, and that sounded wrong to her ears too, but she couldn't figure out why.

Breakfast was quiet. The rest of the day was quiet, for that matter. He did, in fact, teach her to fish and the first few times her bobber dipped and jerked, the excitement of that diverted her from thinking about her "problems." After that it was a matter of pride to try and catch as many fish as Dub did. There was some kind of secret, though, that she couldn't fathom, because he hauled in twice as many as she did over the next four or five hours.

He left the fish on a stringer in the river while they had lunch, and then packed everything back up while she started cleaning fish. She was aghast that his intention was to wear the pack AND carry the deer. Even when he hacked off the legs and head of the animal, she was sure the combined pack and deer must weigh more than a hundred pounds.

"I can carry the pack," she offered.

"Your suitcase and the fish will be plenty for you to handle," he said.

And they were. On the way there she had been able to transfer the suitcase from hand to hand. Now, though, she had something in each hand, and she couldn't let the stringer of fish hang at arms length, because the fish would drag in the dirt if she did so. As a result, her muscles felt like they were on fire and she was thoroughly miserable when they finally got back to her car. She didn't even care that she felt covered with fish scales and stank when she got into the car.

She just automatically stopped around the corner from his house. He didn't say anything, but simply started hanging things off his body until he looked like a pile of man, animal and mechanical parts.

"Thanks," he said, reaching for the stringer of fish. "I hope you had a good time. You done pretty good fer a city slicker."

Her amazement that he considered her a "city slicker" kept her mute as he shrugged the deer carcass higher onto his pack. He had to make an adjustment for the rifle that was in the way, but then looked at her.

"Guess I'll see you later."

She could only nod. She didn't have the faintest idea what to say to this man any more.

What irritated her was that, as he trudged away from her car and around the corner to his mother's house, that damn stringer of fish was dragging in the dirt.

Angela's departure from Bob's house had been well thought out. She hadn't thought about her return at all. As a result, a thoroughly bedraggled and dirty young woman stumbled into the house to find her mentor, partner, and landlord sitting at the dining room table working on a crossword puzzle in a book. He glanced up.

"Thought that fishing thing was a hallucination brought on by the drugs," he commented. "Appears not."

"Oh Bob," she sighed. She wanted to pour her heart out to him, but was sure if she did so he'd think she was a silly, stupid girl. All she could manage was "I wasn't ready for that at all."

"Who'd you go with?" he asked.

Without thinking she answered. "Dub. Dub Fisher."

"Dub takes his hunting and fishing seriously," said Bob.

"You can say that again," she said, thinking about how he never complained once on the long trek back to the car, burdened as he was. He also had never set the deer down and rested. He just plodded along until they got there and then dropped the deer carcass in the dust with a sigh.

"Kind of got in over your head, huh?" suggested Bob.

"Yes." She felt tears starting to form and blinked rapidly. "I'm going to go take a bath."

"Good idea," said Bob.

Angela was glad Bob hadn't pressed for details about the weekend. She soaked in the tub until the water got cool and then took a three hour nap, which was unusual for her. She almost never slept during the day, because normally it left her feeling tired instead of refreshed. When she woke, though, and smelled cooking smells, she felt much better. She got up to find that Bob had made a batch of chili-mac. He filled a bowl for her when she walked into the kitchen.

"I could come back to work tomorrow," he said.

"You're supposed to stay out another week," she replied.

"Yeah, but I COULD come back to work tomorrow." He glanced at her. "If you need me, I mean."

"I actually did all right while you were gone," she said.

"I knew you would."

"Yes, you did. Thank you for having confidence in me."

"You should have confidence in yourself," he said.

"I do." She sounded injured.

"In some ways," he said.

She wasn't sure what he meant, but conflict was the last thing she wanted in her life right now, so she let it go. "You just do what the doctor ordered," she said. "When was the last vacation you took?"

"When I went hunting and fishing with Dub last year," he said.

"YOU went with him?" Her voice rose an octave.

"Sure did," he said.

"But ... how?" Obviously she thought he was much too old to be able to do what she had just done.

"I imagine I did just like you did," he smiled. "I put one foot in front of the other and was glad as hell when we got back."

"Oh," she said, amazed.

"Course I didn't sleep with the boy," he said calmly.

She stiffened. "What makes you think I slept with him?"

"You leave your tent and sleeping bag outside?" he asked. "Cause mine are still in the garage where I left them."

She slumped. "Shit," she said softly.

"It's none of my business, Angela," he said. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry."

"I suppose you want me to resign," she said heavily.

He looked surprised. "Why on Earth would I want that?" he asked.

"He was my patient, Bob," she said tightly.

"So is every other man in town," said Bob. "Potentially, at least. Do you think that means you can't have anything to do with any of them except medicine?

"Of course," she said. "It's unethical."

"You're not unethical," he snorted. "You're just human, that's all. Dub's a fine figure of a man."

"You know I shouldn't have let him..." She closed her eyes. "I don't want to talk about this."

"As is your right," said Bob. "But don't let any high falutin' ideas of resigning get into your head, because I won't hear of it. You owe me four and a half more years and I'm gonna get every minute of it out of you, Doctor." His voice was almost hard. "We clear on that?"

"Yes sir," she said tightly. "I think I'll go to bed now."

"After what I know you've just been through, I expect that's a wise idea," said Bob.

The next morning he insisted on riding to the clinic with her, despite her resistance.

"I just want to see things," he said. "I'm not going to strain any stitches."

Holly was delighted to see him and actually kissed him on the cheek.

"I was so worried about you," she said.

"You were not," he laughed.

"Well that's what employees say when they're trying to get a raise," she smiled.

"You know you're not due for a raise," he said.

She nodded. "Can't hurt to grease the skids, though. You look better than when I saw you last, by the way."

"Feel better too," he said. "Everything all right?"

Holly glanced at Angela. "Great," she said. "Other than the fact that I pined for you every day, I didn't miss you at all."

Bob grinned. "Danny never had a chance once you had your sights set on him, did he."

"Not a prayer," confirmed Holly. "Now, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be home in bed." She looked at Angela again.

"I tried to tell him," objected Angela. "He wouldn't listen!"

"Exercise helps a body heal," he said wisely. "If you need me you know where I am." He turned for the door.

"Where are you going?" asked both women at once.

"Back home," he said, waving over his shoulder.

"You're going to walk?" asked both women at once.

He stopped and, with over stated patience, said "Exercise helps a body heal. Please remember that." Then he turned and left the clinic.

"Should I go after him?" asked Angela.

"No. He's too stubborn to listen to reason," said Holly. "Besides, if he didn't think he could do it, he wouldn't try. It's only a mile." She turned around. "Your first patient is here anyway, so you can't leave."

Angela was glad it was a full day. It kept her from thinking about anything except medicine.

And ... of course ... Dub Fisher.

When she left the clinic Monday, she decided not to go pick him up. On Tuesday, she felt like she wasn't ready to face him, or have the discussion that was needed. Wednesday turned into Thursday, and then it was suddenly Friday, and it was too late to go find him, because now she wouldn't be able to explain why she hadn't seen him all week.

Each night when she got home, Bob quizzed her about what patients she'd seen and what her diagnosis, treatment and the prognosis had been. It kept her mind off of Dub, at least until she went to bed, where she tried to figure out what, exactly, she should do about their relationship. Mostly she felt aggravated at herself, and responsible for letting things go much too far. That Bob wasn't holding it against her was comforting, but that didn't mean she bought into his concept that besides being a doctor in Turkey Hollow, she was also a woman who lived there, with a woman's needs. In any case, she couldn't pursue that kind of relationship with the likes of Dub Fisher. It was just ridiculous. Wasn't it? She felt sure it must be ridiculous, because they had almost nothing in common, and likely never would. Why, then, did she feel so unsettled about admitting it was ridiculous?

And so, because she didn't know what she wanted to do ... or should do ... she refrained from picking Dub up the next week too.

Bob, showing that he was wiser than he acted, stayed out an additional week, and then showed up at full strength, and raring to go. It seemed like she had more freedom, even though her work load didn't really change that much. Holly had postponed as many appointments as she could to work around Bob being gone. Two more weeks went by with her going on what amounted to auto pilot. Eventually, the more or less constant knot in her gut morphed into the realization that there really wasn't any relationship with Dub to worry about any more. That brought feelings of guilt with it too, because she hadn't intended to just never see him again. She DID like him. In fact it was more than just "like." That was part of the problem, because she just couldn't imagine the two of them being ... that close.

She was all right at work, interested in each patient, but after five she might as well have been on heroin. She tried to read, or do a crossword puzzle, curled up in one of Bob's overstuffed arm chairs, but usually ended up just sitting there, wondering why she let herself feel so bad. Bob usually had the TV on, but she rarely paid any attention to it. Or to him.

As was becoming usual for her, she slept late on the weekends. Her body was beginning to be affected by the fact that she got to sleep much too late, even though she often went to bed early.

Bob always seemed to be up before her, no matter how early she got up. He had a car, but rarely drove it. His habit was to walk to and from work. She still drove to work, primarily because she wanted to sleep as long as possible, and then had to do cosmetic things that a man didn't, which took time. At least that's what she told herself. After that day at the clinic when, only a week after his operation, he had walked home, she had begun to feel guilty that Bob walked and she drove. He never seemed to have anyplace to go on the weekends, but that didn't seem odd. She didn't either.

On one Saturday morning she was therefore surprised when she walked into the kitchen and the first thing Bob said to her was "I wonder if you'd do me a favor today? I'd like to go for a drive in the mountains."

His obvious intent was that she actually do the driving. "Sure," she said. "I don't have anything planned."

"I know," he said. "You never do."

She looked at him quizzically, but he ignored her and moved his breakfast dishes to the sink. "Do those later," he said, mostly to himself. Then he looked at her. "Soon as you get something to eat I'll be ready."