Innocent Milf Ch. 24

Chapter 24

The road reeled out in front of us, gray and even. This far east of town, the landscape had flattened into a seemingly endless rock-studded expanse of tough yellow-green grass, gnarled shrubs, and the occasional stubborn tree grasping at whatever spare water it could find. We'd already passed through a few smaller towns in the past hour, chatting excitedly about the Rendezvous.

"Where did they come up with the term 'booshway?'" Cary asked. Her enthusiasm and naivete about the event made her seem closer to my age. I smiled.

"I think it came from the French bourgeoise," I answered. "You know, the head guy at a trading post who was from a higher social class than the others."

Jack grunted, trying to concentrate on driving. "Trust Matt to know something that comes from French," he chuckled.

Cary snuggled up against me and rubbed my leg. "I think it's great. I wondered why everybody at knife practice kept calling the guy in charge that." She bounced a little. "I can't wait to do some knife-and-tomahawk throwing."

I smiled, but felt a twinge. As far as I knew, the last time Cary had been throwing axes was at her disastrous birthday party, distracted by her ex-husband's mistress. I hoped this event wouldn't bring up bad memories. This was going to be a smaller event--just a few groups from around the neighboring states. The big one this year was going to be in Utah and after the 4th of July. Jack's family had already planned their last big family vacation before he went to college for that week, so we had elected to go to just the local event.

As we approached a rest stop, Jack slowed down. "I need to stretch," he said. "One of you can drive us through the Petrified Forest until we get to Gallup."

I shrugged and looked at Cary. "Would you rather drive to Gallup, or take the last leg to Durango?"

"I'll take the last leg," she answered. "But I need you up front to keep me awake."

The rest stop was a welcome relief even from the relatively roomy seats of Jack's parents' station wagon. We double-checked the trailer hitch and then made use of the facilities. While Cary finished up, Jack nudged me. "Hey, so you're still good to follow through on your crazy plan, then?"

I nodded. "Yep. I'll think of it like a Final Exam for primitive camping."

Jack shook his head with a light laugh. "Man, you're nuts. I'll be staying in a motel near Mesa Verde or Four Corners. But good luck to you. I hope she likes it. Don't do anything stupid--hunting season isn't for a few months yet, but popping out of the bushes in the wilderness is a good way to surprise people and animals. And make sure you put your food in a sealed box."

I rolled my eyes, even though the advice was good. "Yes, Mister Eagle Scout, sir."

Cary's walk was still somewhat stiff from sitting in the car for a couple of hours as she approached. She hopped up a little, flinging her arms around my shoulders. I could see a tiny flicker of drawn-down eyebrows flit across Matt's face as she did so, but it was quickly subsumed. "What are we talking about?" she asked.

"Secret stuff," I pronounced with a sniff. "Top secret."

"No girls allowed," Jack added with a turn of his head. "Not yet."

Cary stuck out her tongue. "You're exiled to the back seat, buddy."

Jack smirked as we opened the car doors. "I was already going to sit in the back seat."

Cary flopped into the passenger's seat and began to make herself comfortable. "Yeah, but now I'm sending you there."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Whatever, miss Wildcat. I'm going to take a little nap. You two better not get up to hijinks in the front seat. At least one of you needs to keep your eyes on the road. I don't need to die in a car crash in the Petrified Forest with my last sight being you two sucking face."

"Dude," I rolled my eyes. "If we decided to do that, we'd pull over and roll your sleeping ass out of the back for some privacy."

As the three of us laughed, I turned the key in the ignition and started my leg of the drive. Cary and I entertained each other with more questions-and-answers about each other's lives. I learned that her son Patrick was named after the first ancestor of hers to come to America in the early 1700's--Padraig Barr. She learned that my favorite candy was Reese's Pieces. And so on.

As we passed by the variegated pillars and little mesas of the Painted Desert in the distance just to the north, I had an idea. I reached back with my free arm to tap Jack. "Hey, man. Can you take a picture of us?"

Jack grumpily slouched upright and waved a dismissive hand at me. "Better be quick."

I pulled over and we all hopped out of the car. I made sure to stand with my back to a reasonably picturesque vista and waved for Cary to join me. She trotted over and smashed herself against my side. I looped an arm around her waist and smiled, waving at the camera. Cary chuckled happily as the snap of the camera reported that Jack had taken the picture.

"Our first vacation together," I said to Cary as we climbed back into the car, making her smile warmly in a way that promised some fun in the tent later.

"Barf," Jack murmured groggily, already falling back asleep. "You two are ridiculous."

My leg of the trip ended a few hours later, and Cary and I were singing along to In the Court of the Crimson King with melodramatic gravitas as we arrived in Gallup. After a few necessary minutes to stretch and pick up more drinks and snacks from a 7-Eleven along the freeway, we got back into the car.

"Nuh-uh," Jack said as I moved towards the front seat while Cary plopped into the driver's seat. "My turn. You've had hours to talk to her."

"She's my girlfriend," I protested.

"She's still my best friend, too," Jack retorted.

"She's right here," Cary interjected. "And can hear you just fine. Jack, up front." She pointed at me. "You get in the back, mister. We'll have plenty of time alone later."

"Boo," I muttered halfheartedly, but couldn't suppress a rueful smile. It felt good to have some of our old camaraderie as a trio back. "You haven't heard the last of me." I curled an imaginary mustache.

As we left Gallup city limits, Jack cleared his throat. "So. Why Matt and not me?"

"Dude!" I lurched straight up from my semi-reclined slouch in the back seat. "What the fuck!"

I could see Cary's jaw clench and tremble a little, but she took a breath. "Are you jealous?"

Jack shrugged. "A little. Not really. I mean, we're good friends, but I don't really think of you that way."

Cary nodded slowly. "I don't think the answer is any more complicated than that. I feel the same way. You're a great friend. One of my best. You and Matt helped to pull me out of a real dark time in my life when I was getting ready to spiral." She paused, then shook her head. "No, that's not right. I was already spiraling. I just didn't know it yet. Twenty-year-old me would never have let Eric push me around like he did the night of my exhibition. When you both charged in to save me."

"Yeah." Jack suddenly looked uncomfortable. "He's a real fucker."

Cary breathed out, exhaling the memory of her ex-husband. "Not my problem anymore. But there it is--just what you said. We're good friends, but I don't really think of you that way. It took me a while to realize I even felt about Matt that way." She gave me a smile over her shoulder. "I can't rationalize it. Maybe it's just fate."

Jack snorted. "Romantic nonsense. You two sure are peas in a pod. You sound just like him." He gave me a smirk to take some of the sting out of his words. He fell silent for a while. "Okay. All right. I may not totally get it, and I guess I don't have to. Just..."

"Just what?" I had been quiet long enough.

"Listen, I'm not as dumb as you guys think. I said it before, but there are some guys from our Mountain Man group who are going to be pretty disappointed by this. Maybe even annoyed. And before I go threatening to arm-wrestle anybody who says boo to my two best friends about this, I wanted to make sure it was for the right reasons."

"Are there really guys who are going to be disappointed?" Cary sounded shocked.

"Are you really that clueless?" Jack mimicked her tone of voice. "Every guy at knife-fighting who's single has had his eyes on you since you walked in the door." He cleared his throat. "And one or two of the married ones."

"I don't think you're dumb," I said to Jack. "We just... I don't know. We didn't know we were being obvious. You remember how you and Jenna were for the first month?"

Jack colored slightly. "All right, point taken. Your turn."

Cary gave him a skeptical look. "Fine. Does the age difference bother you?"

Jack hesitated. "Yeah, a little, to be honest. Matt, you're a great dude, and my best friend. But you're nowhere near ready to be somebody's dad--or even their stepdad. And if this goes the way it sounds like you want it to, that's where you're headed. And Cary, you should have known better--Matt's an idiot!"

I punched his shoulder. "Hey, I got a semester's worth of college credits already from my AP tests."

"You're a relationship idiot," Jack clarified, without the slightest hint of contrition. "And you know it. All heart and no head."

"Relationships are about heart," I groused. I passed over a 'head' joke internally, figuring it would only embarrass both of them. "And I do think. A lot. I just come to different conclusions than you do sometimes. If you think I didn't spend hours--days--thinking about whether a relationship was a good idea or not before I said anything, you're dreaming."

"Fine. Your question, then," he said to me.

"Who would win in a fight--Bruce Lee in Enter the Dragon or Mister Miyagi?" I arched an eyebrow at him.

Jack laughed, and the tension was broken. The rest of the trip to Durango was spent chatting about the various events at the Rendezvous and the trailer for an upcoming Arnold Schwarzenegger movie with Tom Arnold and Jamie Lee Curtis. But I couldn't quite dismiss the idea that perhaps some of Jack's resistance to the relationship between Cary and I was simply wounded pride over not having been chosen.

* * * * *

The guy at the toll gate wore old, weathered jeans and a Grateful Dead T-shirt so faded that it was nearly impossible to discern the skull-and-lightning bolt graphic from the gray background. He wasn't from our local group, so I assumed he was from one of the New Mexico or Colorado groups. He looked into the Caprice and counted. "Three? Okay. Forty-five bucks."

We handed over a wad of tens and twenties, and he waved us through. "Down the access road to the second turn with the cow skull strapped to the split-rail fence, then head up to the meadow. Tell the New Mexico Territory booshway how many tents you're putting up, and she'll assign you spots."

Cary nodded and began to navigate the bumpy dirt trail down into the campsite. The station wagon lurched and twisted over the uneven terrain, tossing us all back and forth inside. We almost missed the cow-skull, but Cary made an excited sound around the Twizzlers in her mouth, and slowed.

Our booshway was a tall, raw-boned lady who looked like she could wrestle a bison. She was already in her kit, dressed in buskins, cotton shirt, and a jacket like mine. Her wide-brimmed hat kept the sun off her face, but her glasses still blinked in the late afternoon light as she nodded at us. We got out and stretched luxuriously--I couldn't help but let my glance wander towards Cary as she twisted back and forth.

The booshway gave us some directions and admonished us to keep all of our food in sealed containers. "Colorado is bear country," she warned. Jack gave me an 'I told you so' look. "Oh, and drink plenty of water if you're not from this elevation," she continued. "We're over a mile high here, so you'll get tired and dehydrated pretty easily. And sunburned."

All three of us worked to put up both Jack's tent and mine in the New Mexico Encampment space near a loose cluster of canvas A-frames and wall-tents. I made sure to put mine a little further away, and closer to the slope of a creek-bed. I expected to make at least a little bit of noise with Cary, and having some privacy would be nice. It also seemed the polite thing to do for everybody else.

As we set up, various members of the re-enactment group passed by and waved, or stopped to say hello. A couple of our knife-fighting friends from home stopped to chat for a longer period of time. Jack delighted in showing off his new hat: broad-brimmed and felt with a round crown and a few pheasant feathers stuck into it. Around the time that Jack was debating the finer points of smoking bison to a sort of jerky with our main knife instructor Joseph, I noticed that the other guy was looking at Cary.

Leering, more like. She had leaned forward to drive in a tent stake, and her loose T-shirt sagged down to reveal a healthy dose of cleavage. As smoothly as I could, I leaned over in front of her to secure the sisal-rope guy line. She smiled at me as I leaned close, and I brushed her hair out of her face--it was definitely down to her collarbones now. She straightened and stood, arching her back to stretch.

I did the same, and looped an arm around her waist. I could feel her heart beat--faster than normal. "Excited?" I asked. I had not turned back to the other guy yet; I didn't want him to think that I was doing this for his benefit.

Cary nodded. "Are you kidding? My first big Rendezvous! I can't wait to show you my new impression."

"Dude," I turned around to face Jack and Joseph. Joseph was giving Cary and I a strange look. "We're done here--your tent is safe from blowing away. I think we'll go kit up and do the rest of our setup in gear." I turned to guy who had been leering at Cary, as if seeing him for the first time. "Where is it okay for us to collect firewood?"

He looked like he had just swallowed expired milk, but passed it off. "Down towards the next encampment, I think. Between us and the turnoff marked with a blue-painted shovel stuck in the ground." He hesitated, and then added, "Want a hand?"

Thinking it was a nice gesture by somebody who had just realized he wouldn't be carving this particular notch on his bedpost, I nodded affably. "Sure. Give me a moment to kit up and I'll meet you at the cow skull." So saying, Cary and I went to the back of Jack's station wagon to get our stuff.

A few minutes later, we had deposited our various duffel bags, wooden boxes, and other sundries in my tent. Pulling the tent flaps closed and making sure to tie them, I shuffled out of my modern clothes and started rummaging around in the wooden chest I had brought holding most of my Mountain Man gear. I glanced over my shoulder to see that Cary was standing in just her shorts with her back to me, pondering her duffel bag.

I stepped into the long cotton drawers that go under trousers and buskins and grinned at her. "Need help?"

Cary started, but turned and smiled over her shoulder. "I might, actually. But it will probably take a minute. So I'll get back dressed and handle a couple of things while you go chop wood and bring it here. You can help me get all gussied up when you get back."

I grinned and exited the tent, slinging an axe through a loop on my belt. The other guy--his name was Paul, I remembered--was waiting by the gate to our encampment. He waved familiarly. I adjusted my hat and waved back. On our way down to the designated wood-harvesting spot, we mostly made small talk. It wasn't until I had started splitting a few logs on a well-worn stump that he cleared his throat. "So... you and 'Gives me a Woodley' huh? How long has that been going on?"

I looked over my shoulder. "Is that what you guys call her when Jack and I aren't around?" Paul shrugged, but didn't answer, so I continued. "It's Bernham now. She's divorced."

Paul snapped a few sticks over his knee. "Huh. I knew she was separated. Didn't realize it was all legal yet."

"A few days ago, finally," I said.

"Fast work on your part," Paul said with what sounded like a semi-bitter chuckle. "I guess you must have been laying the groundwork for a while, now. Just swooped right in as soon as she was free, huh?"

I thought about half a dozen different snarky and snippy answers, but finally settled on simple. "It had been building for a while. Just sort of happened." I surveyed my work and decided that we had enough firewood to cook some food this evening. I started to bundle the wood together with some rope I had brought.

Paul sighed. "Well, to the victors the spoils, I guess. You guys take turns with her, or what?"

That got my attention. "Are you kidding?" my voice was sharper than I had intended.

Paul held up his hands, clearly taken aback. "Hey, no offense. We've all heard you three making your 'all for one, one for all' jokes. I thought maybe the three of you had something going." He smirked. "It's weird enough that a lady the same age as me is hanging out with high schoolers, let alone sleeping with one of them."

I gritted my teeth. I was probably going to have this conversation a lot, so I may as well get used to it. "Might seem weird to some folks," I answered, hiking the bundle up onto my shoulders and cinching the ropes like backpack straps. "Not to us, though. It's just me and Cary. Jack's our good friend, and he's already got a girlfriend."

Gathering up his own pile of wood, Paul raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Is his girlfriend a cougar, too?"

I shook my head. "Nope. College-bound just like us. I'm the weird one."

"Lucky one, you mean," Paul snorted. "Fair warning, the instant you go to college and you two break up, I'm gonna be first in line. So you better have your fun while you can."

I shook my head. "Don't hold your breath--we're planning on sticking together for a while."

When I got back to our tent, Cary was sitting outside of it on a small folding camp stool covered with an old woolen blanket to disguise it. She was still wearing her modern clothing, but had dug out a firepit and set up rocks in a circle around it. In the approaching dusk, the flash of her teeth in a welcoming smile was even more brilliant.

"Welcome 'home'," she smiled. "Come help me into my corset before we go down to Jack's to cook. I had a strange conversation with Instructor Joseph."

I smirked. "Probably about as weird as mine with Paul." I tied the flaps closed behind us again as we entered the tent, and my eyebrows went up. "Wow. You've been busy!"

Cary had taken all of our stuff and arranged it in the tent as if it were a tiny, rustic 19th century one-room apartment. Our sleeping bags were opened and zipped together to make a double-sized giant bag and mostly hidden under a wool blanket and an old bear skin rug with bald patches that Cary had gotten from an antique shop. No good for fancy décor, but perfect to evoke old-time pioneers.

My gas lantern sat on my wooden chest, and most of our clothing had been hung up on the back strut of the tent, almost forming a half-curtain. A new oil lantern that I didn't recognize sat on top of one of the plastic boxes that Cary used to transport her stuff--again, covered other with a blanket to disguise it. The floor had an old rug rolled out on it to spare the canvas groundcloth of the tent from our dusty shoes.

I surveyed our tent--I was already thinking of it as "our" tent--and turned to Cary. "Tell me about Instructor Joe's talk," I prompted her.

Cary sat on a wooden chest and pulled her socks and shoes off. "He was almost cute. He was talking to me like he was an uncle, making sure I 'knew what I was doing' and telling me to be careful, because 'young bucks can be pretty reckless.'" Cary shook her head. "But he also spent some time telling me what a great guy you are, and warning me not to take advantage of you."

That surprised a startled laugh from me. "Ha. Is that what we're calling it? Because you can 'take advantage' of me as much as you like. Or at least until I need to take a break to walk it off."

Cary shimmied out of her jeans and folded them neatly. "He was pretty serious. I think it put him in an awkward position to be trying to advocate for both of us at once."

It seemed like putting other people in an awkward situation was something our relationship was going to do a lot. But that was because of their assumptions, not anything intrinsic to our relationship. "Not his problem to worry about," I replied. "Although I guess it's nice to think that he's trying to look after both of us." I frowned. "Anything else?"

Cary shook her head and tugged her T-shirt up over her head. "Not really. I tried to just give him some time to talk, but he kept stammering and eventually just sort of waved his hands at me and told me, 'You two be good.' Whatever that means."

I tugged at the release for Cary's bra and let it fall. "I think you know exactly what it means, and I fully intend to ignore it." I reached around and cupped Cary's breasts from behind. "I hope you do, too."

She wriggled her shoulders against me and settled back. "Hmmm. You, sir, are wicked. A most wicked man of dishonorable intention. Are you going to help me into my outfit, or just stand there giving me goosebumps?"

I ground against her once more before turning her towards me. I held her by the shoulders at arms' length for a long moment, drinking in the sight of her captivating nakedness. I grinned as Cary flushed and went to cover herself. "And what are you looking at, sir?" she muttered shyly.

"I'm looking at you, miss." I tilted my head, and we both chuckled at the Last of the Mohicans reference.

Cary fluttered her hands at me in an embarrassed way and went for her shift--the long linen shirt that went under all the rest of her gear. "As if you don't get enough of this already."

"Never enough," I answered firmly. "But you're right. My wickedness can wait. Let's get you dressed and go find help with food. Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you about Paul."

I briefly related the salient points of our discussion as I helped Cary into her corset and proffered a shawl. She shook her head wonderingly. "Well, he can 'be first in line' as much as he likes. You and I are sticking together." She suddenly shot me a half-worried look. "Right?"

"Of course." I hugged her close. "Come on, let's go find Jack."

* * * * *

Birdsong in the clear Colorado air woke us the next morning. Cary hadn't even bothered to put on a nightshirt, and we were wrapped around each other for warmth and comfort. I was fairly confident that we had kept quiet enough last night that Cary's muted mewling and our mutual heavy breathing wouldn't have disturbed our nearest 'neighbor.' I had brought her to climax and had to put my hand over her mouth as she moaned--a memory I found both amusing and incredibly arousing.

True to my word, I made us sausage gravy and buttermilk biscuits for breakfast over our little campfire. Cary loved it--whether because I had made it for us or because she found it genuinely delicious, I couldn't tell. She kept finding excuses to touch me or run her hands up and down my arms affectionately as I fried the sausage over the sputtering fire. We nodded happily at other campers who had awakened, some of whom gave us strange but silent stares as they walked past. I ignored them.

Jack greeted us without any snarky comments, and we spent a fantastic day hiking the wilderness around the campsite in early 19th century gear with a small group. A heavyset mother in worn gingham with two children a little older than Patrick adopted Cary for the walk, and the two of them chatted for quite a while. Jack and I compared modern methods of wilderness survival with historical strategies: a topic that drew frequent contribution and discussion from many of the other hikers.

I could tell after the first mile that hiking in soft leather boots not much more substantial than moccasins was going to leave my feet sore at the end of the day, but I was having too much fun to pay it much attention. I glanced over at Cary, who picked her way over rocks and rills with equal aplomb in her low-heeled boots that looked like something a 19th century schoolmarm would wear. I made a note to ask later if her feet were sore.

Once in a while we passed a group of regular hikers in their muted windbreakers and modern boots, and gave them a friendly wave. I chuckled to think that each group probably left the experience thinking that the other one was odd. Cary gravitated towards Jack and I as we took a break for lunch. I gazed over the colorful flower-spangled meadows and the nearby mountain peaks as I chewed thoughtfully on water-softened hard-tack.

"This stuff really is terrible," I chuckled. "Even if it is historically accurate."

Cary put down her small sketchbook in which she had been roughing out the lines of the mountains, and leaned against me. "This is so much fun! I've seen so many new kinds of flowers and birds. I just want to paint all of this." She popped a blueberry into her mouth. "Oh my gosh, these are wonderful. Have you guys tried them?"

We spent the next minute or two trying to catch blueberries in our mouth as Cary tossed them towards us. Jack eventually got the most, and we high-fived. Cary moved towards me and put a blueberry directly in my mouth, holding her finger against my lips. Jack gave a slightly embarrassed grunt and went to talk to the hike leader.

"Wanda," Cary indicated the big lady with her children, "said that kids are welcome, and I should bring Annie and Patrick next time! She had all sorts of advice about where to find appropriate patterns for our impressions as well."

I smiled, but privately thought that having kids along with Cary and I would detract from what I considered to be one of the main reasons for going camping together. Still, it would probably make Cary happy. And not everything had to be about sex. I shrugged. "You should try it. I'm glad it's just us this time, though. I have a surprise for you later."

Cary's face lit up. "Oooh! Is this the mysterious 'no girls allowed' thing you and Jack were talking about?"

"Maybe." I pulled out my knife with studied unconcern and pretended to clean under my nails. "You'll just have to wait and see."

The early afternoon was spent making the other half of the loop back to camp as our hike leader pointed out various plants that pioneers had used for food, medicine, and materials. Once, we could hear a distant bugling sound, and he held up his hand. "Elk," he explained. "Best not to stumble on a group of them."

Cary continued to chat with Wanda, and with Logan--a fit fortysomething guy in a truly impressive 1830's trapper getup. I could spend a year working on my impression and still not have as authentic an outfit as he did. He was a fixture at the Mountain Man re-enactments, even though he wasn't one of the Bowie Knife guys. I had seen him several times over the past few years, and always admired his kit. I was happy to see Cary making more friends.

Jack and I joined a couple of the other younger guys only a few years older than us in roving off-trail here and there to look for various signs of game. Not that we had any intention of hunting, but it was good practice for recreating the experience of being an actual mountain man. Cary smiled but demurred when we asked if she wanted to join us--too absorbed in talking about costuming with Wanda and Logan.

When we got back, a fourth person had joined their group--a guy about Cary's age that I had seen at a couple of other Rendezvous. His kit was pretty basic, but he asked a lot of good questions from the experienced folks. I couldn't help but notice that his gaze drifted to Cary more often than not, and that he laughed at Cary's jokes louder than at Wanda's or Logan's. For her part, Cary talked to him just as if she were talking to Wanda or Logan--open and friendly.

By the time we got back to camp we were all a little tired and footsore. Cary went to take a nap before we all started on dinner, while Jack and I went to practice axe-throwing. A lady that I had never met from the next camp over motioned us over as we were returning. Jack and I were used to it--as some of the youngest people here, we got plenty of unsolicited advice.

"Are you two with that nice red-headed lady?" she asked. Her tone wasn't unfriendly, but it wasn't warm either.

I raised an eyebrow. "You mean Cary Bernham? About a head shorter than me? Auburn hair? Gray eyes? She's wearing an embroidered linen blouse and long dark skirt today. Always carries a Bowie knife on her hip."

"That's her." The woman's mouth flattened into a prim line. "You boys better behave yourselves. You know how it looks when you just march into her tent at all hours of the day like that?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but Jack was quicker. "It probably looks like we've been best friends for a while, ma'am. Which is true."

"And it's my tent, not hers," I added. "She only has a modern nylon tent, so she left it behind this time."

We waved goodbye without waiting for a reply and turned back towards camp. I sighed. "Jesus. Sorry. I've had a few incidents like this already. Why the fuck does everybody think this is suddenly their business?"

Jack was quiet for a moment, the crunch of gravel under his feet the only sound beside the wind. "It's... it's just unusual. Look, I'm your guys' best friend, and I still think it's a little weird. I'm working on it. But people will jump to conclusions." He sighed. "I've had one or two talks with folks, too. Mostly telling them to mind their business."

I digested that quietly as we parted ways back to our own respective tents. As my buff-canvas wall-tent grew closer, I noticed that Cary had left the back panels untied again, and they flapped open in the breeze a little. I quietly stepped into the tent and tied them closed. Cary had stripped out of everything except the baggy linen drawers that served as underwear and was asleep topless in our double-wide sleeping bag. She stirred as I entered and sat up blearily. "Is it time to make dinner?" she asked.

I knelt and touched her face. "We still have some time. How are your feet feeling?"

"Tired. I think the elevation is getting to me a little. And sore. Those boots weren't made for walkin', I guess." Cary giggled at her own joke.

I reached for her feet and worked my thumbs up and down the bottom of her soles. She arched back and moaned low in her throat. "Oh, God. That's... that's really nice. Nobody has ever done that for me before." She pushed the heels of her hands up her sides and trailed them along her breasts in pleasure. "Wow. I think I'll keep you."

"I'm like a bad penny," I chuckled. "Now that you've got me, nobody else will take me. You're stuck, mon amour." Once I had finished with her feet I moved up to her calves and worked on those, caressing, squeezing, and pushing my thumbs into areas that felt stiff. Cary happily gave me feedback about what felt best.

She stretched her arms above her heard. "I think I'm about to melt into a puddle," she purred. "Now, come over and here and let me work on you. I bet your feet are pretty sore, galivanting around for miles over rocks and roots in those soft boots."

We spent that time luxuriating with each other and talking softly about what we had seen on the hike. Cary was like a little kid--the wonder and enthusiasm that she brought to everything shone in her face as she spoke. I lounged against one of the wooden crates and just reveled in listening to her talk and watching her as she massaged my feet and calves.

From time to time I would leaf through her sketchbook that she had brought along. There were all sorts of drawings in it going back several months: from a broken vase to the view out of her apartment window. There were also several sketches of me. I grinned. One of them was of me asleep on her bed with the sheets wrapped around my knees and stomach.

Another two days of rifle shooting, learning knots and lashings, setting snares, and navigating on land by the stars left us both exhilarated and satisfied. We Three Musketeers kept pretty close together, with plenty of time on our own to pursue our individual interests as well. Jack made it a point to stop by and hang out with Cary from time to time as well, while I was off doing something else. I was happy that he made the effort to show her that she hadn't been "demoted" to secondary-friend.

Cary shocked everybody at the Bowie-knife exhibition (except for Jack and me) by not only participating, but solidly besting most of her opponents. Her agile, graceful flicks, snaps, and thrusts with the big blade were a joy to watch, and both Jack and I shouted our unreserved encouragement. As we went around the circle, both of our own matches went really well, but Cary was the star of the show--being one of only two women fighting that day.

"Wow. Pretty and good with a knife," a fortysomething from New Mexico in red cotton and buskins said to me with a nudge. He pointed towards her with his plastic practice-knife. "Know if she's attached?"

I grinned without warmth. "Sure do. She's my girlfriend. We train together."

He said nothing after that, but I could feel his gaze on both Cary and I back and forth for several minutes. Especially after she came back over to me and wrapped herself in my arms, exhilarated and gleeful at her own performance. She absolutely glowed when I called her 'my wildcat with a knife.' For the exhibition, she had dressed in men's clothes: breeches and an extra linen shirt of mine with a colorful kerchief around her neck. Already big on her, the ties of the neckline had come a little loose during her exertions, drawing a few stares.

At the axe-throwing and rifle-shooting contests, I occasionally caught Jack giving Cary and I a guarded look, or speaking in low and heated tones to somebody else across the field. But whenever I approached him, he would smile and wave it away. I wondered how much "interference" he had been doing on our behalf. I had certainly fielded a few more questions or implications from people over the few days that we had been here.

By the fourth and final night of the event, we had all gathered around a bonfire to sing songs, eat roasted nuts, and generally shoot the shit. The guy I had noticed from the other day kept looking across the fire towards Cary and I as if he was trying to puzzle things out. I waved at him once, but he didn't acknowledge it. Maybe he was just staring into the distance.

Cary leaned against me as I played a few songs on my mandolin, to scattered but appreciative applause. Jack raised an eyebrow under his wide-brimmed felt hat. "You've gotten better. I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

I smiled at his compliment. I was nice to have people recognize my progress. He and I chatted for a bit, with Cary chiming in. After a while, she stood and stretched. "I'm getting sleepy. You know where to find me." She leaned forward and gave me a kiss. I ran my free hand through her hair and then released her. I could see a few people giving us a look, but ignored it. If Jack was grimacing beside me, I couldn't see it.

As her swaying form disappeared into the shadows back towards the tents, Instructor Joe came and sat next to me. Jack glanced between us and then stood, announcing that it was time for him to find an outhouse and hit the hay. I waved, and Instructor Joe gave him a friendly nod. As Jack departed, Instructor Joe took a sip of something from a flat flask and fixed me with a long, steady gaze. "Well, I guess Cary already told you that I had a talk with her," he said without preamble.

I nodded. "Yep. Not the first or last time, I guess." I tried to think of a nice way to tell a man that I respected and had known for a couple of years at this point to mind his own business. After an extended silence, I turned towards him. "Anything you wanted to say to me specifically?"

He took a deep breath and settled back on the long log serving as our makeshift bench near the campfire. "Ah, hell. I'm no saint. And I wasn't born yesterday, either. I've met your parents once or twice, and I'm probably the same age as them. I was a college student in the sixties. Make love, not war. All of that. It's how I got into all of this, if you believe it."

I raised an eyebrow, curious. Despite having taken Bowie-knife fighting lessons from him since I was fifteen, I'd never heard his origin story. I let him ramble for several minutes about his old days. Finally, he smacked his open palms on his thighs. "You're a bright kid--or a bright man, I guess I should say. Everybody is starting to look like a 'kid' to me these days. Don't get old. What I mean to say is, be careful. With Miss Bernham, I mean. You two have been making a bit of an impression. Adulthood stinks sometimes, and it can take some time to get used to it. There's a lot of unexpected challenges, even for smart guys. And smart gals."

"I appreciate what you're trying to say," I answered. "Cary and I have talked this over a lot. And of all the people who think that our private lives are suddenly their business because of the age difference, you've been the most tactful so far."

Instructor Joe's eyebrows went up and he barked a whiskey-scented laugh. "Ha! Well, that's me told, isn't it? Put me in my place, sure enough. Okay, Matt. I hear you loud and clear. Good luck to you both--and I don't expect you to take it easy on each other during practice."

I grinned. "If you think sleeping together would make Cary take it easy on me in a match, you've had one too many swigs of whiskey."

He slapped me on the back and stood, chuckling. I looked around and realized that most people had already left. I stood, let the pins and needles in my legs fade, and walked back towards our tent. Everything was dark, and I picked my way cursing over hidden tether-ropes. As I approached our tent, my hackles stood up--a dark shape loomed at the back of our tent, hunched like a bear.

Bear? Jack and the booshway had both warned that this was bear country. Cary was in our tent! Heedless of the danger, I dashed forward. Trying to scare the bear away might make it angry, but at least I could grab Cary and get her to safety. I burst into our tent and rushed towards Cary. A slight rustling at the back of our tent made my heart thunder, but I grabbed Cary's wrist.

She jolted awake, eyes wide. "Bear," I whispered, and pulled her to her feet. I threw a blanket over her and started pulling her towards the car. Just as we got to the front of the tent, the canvas walls shuddered and noise--a human voice--swore and sputtered. Somebody had tripped over our staked-down tent ropes just I had been doing.

Cary spun, holding the blanket to her chest with one hand and her antique Bowie-knife extended with the other. When had she picked that up? "Bear?!" she cried, "More like a peeping Tom!" Her fear turned to fury so quickly, I could barely keep my grip on her as she rushed back towards the open tent flaps. The wind kicked up, revealing the shadowy figure of a person dashing away from the back of the tent.

Our commotion awoke other campers, and within seconds somebody had shined a very modern flashlight at the retreating shape, revealing the guy who had been looking at Cary across the campfire. He held his hands up as a half-ring of us closed in. Cary was white with fury.

"You want to tell me just what the heck you were doing outside of my tent?" she snapped.

The guy looked between us, shrugged, and looked from face to face in the small group that had emerged to deal with the mistaken 'bear' threat. Finally, he sighed. "Look, I just thought you'd be up for some fun, that's all. Thought I'd try my luck."

"Try your luck?" Cary's shrill, indignant response was joined by the booshway's, almost in unison.

Embarrassed but hardly repentant, the guy turned his palms up and spoke past Cary to the other men standing nearby. "I mean, she's hardly been picky, right? We've all seen both of these teenagers going into her tent. I can't be the only one that heard her the other night, either. And she keeps undressing with the tent flaps open. Like she wants to be seen."

Cary looked like she was going to stab the guy, and I quickly pulled her into my embrace instead. It did the job of both keeping her close and covering her--she was only wearing panties beneath the hardly-adequate woolen blanket she had snatched up. "Dude, what the hell. She's my girlfriend. Jack is our best friend. Everybody here knows that." Even as I said it, I couldn't help but recall Paul's words from a few days ago: You guys take turns with her, or what?

"I keep forgetting that Matt's tent has back flaps," Cary murmured, suddenly realizing just how undressed she was and pulling the blanket over her shoulders in my embrace. "Mine only has a front zip-door, and our clothes are hanging over the top part." She turned her molten glare on the guy. "So what? You were just going to let yourself in and start touching?"

The group grumbled in disapproval, and the guy stuck his hands in his pockets, clearly aware that opinion was against him. "I would have stopped if you pushed me away," he answered, defensive. I noticed he hadn't said if you said no. My blood was boiling, and I had half a mind to sock him. If I had talked for just a few moments longer with Instructor Joe, I would have come back to Cary fighting off a stranger in our tent--or responding in her sleep because she thought it was me. My hands curled into fists.

Noting the anger of the small crowd and how close I was to the boiling point, the camp booshway stalked towards the guy, placing herself between him and us. This sort of outrage was probably a bad idea in a camp full of people armed with knives, bows, axes, and black-powder rifles. She indicated Cary and I with a no-nonsense flick of her wrist. "All right. Bernham, Baker. Back to your tent. For God's sake, try to be quiet tonight. You--" she pointed at the guy, "had better be out of here at sunrise. I don't want to hear a peep from you."

As we headed back to the tent, Cary ducked her head. "Well, that was mortifying. Have people been hearing us make love this whole time? I thought we were being quiet."

"I thought so too," I frowned. "I guess the tent is really bad at muffling sounds."

Cary's uncertain grin flashed at me in the starlight. "Thanks for coming to rescue me," she said. "You've made a real habit of being my knight in shining armor." She chuckled. "You thought it was a bear?"

I grimaced. "That seemed a lot more likely to me than some creep thinking he could just come into our tent and try to fool around with you. What the fuck. Who does that?!"

"It's okay," Cary said soothingly. "Come to bed. Let's just snuggle up and go to sleep."

I glanced at her quizzically in the semi-dark as I tied the flaps to our tent firmly closed. "How are you not furious?"

She dropped the blanket and nuzzled up against me, pressing her breasts into my chest. "I'm pretty angry. But we're here together. I'm safe. Nothing happened. And to be honest, this isn't much different than plenty of attitudes I've encountered before."

Incredulous, I stripped out of my linen and leather. "Jesus. You're used to this sort of thing!"

"I wouldn't say 'used to it,' but most women are pretty familiar with guys who think that anything less than a glass of cold water in the face is an invitation." She trailed her finger down my chest. "I'm freezing. Come warm me up."

"Is that an invitation?" I teased.

"A demand," Cary said with mock-sternness. She wiggled her hips back and forth. "What do I have to do to convince you?"

I grinned. "That's a real good start," I answered, stepping over to engulf her in my embrace. I would never get tired of feeling her naked breasts against me and having her lay her head on my chest. I let my fingers trail all over her as we fumbled into the double-wide sleeping bag and wrapped around each other.

We spent the rest of the night in each other's arms as the wind sighed through the pine trees on the edge of camp and the brook murmured at the bottom of the hill. Tomorrow I was going to spring my surprise on Cary. I let that happy thought and the feeling of her lithe warmth pressed into me wash away my indignance.