FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Joan Findlay, more troubled than usual, considers her options during a bit of pleasant weather.

It's been a couple of years since Joan and Zach started dating, and I felt like it was time to figure out the next steps for their relationship. This is a story that is, to be honest, principally written for me, Joan being something of my own avatar, but I am sharing with you because some of you ask how Joan is doing and that is a pretty good question. Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff. Newcomers, all you really need to know is Joan and Zach are in a relationship, and Cannon Shoals is a small and economically depressed town without a whole lot going on, and that makes relationships tricky. Everything else should be (ideally) explained along the way.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

---

"Sometimes I Live in the Town," by Rob Baird.

“Well, for starters, I need to take a bunch of old supplies to the dump. And I've been putting off rewiring the outlets in the lobby. And I should—"

She reached over, and put her finger to Zach Leon's lips. That was the problem with the red squirrel, was he had a way of getting himself lost in the wrong kind of distractions. “Is the dump gonna be there tomorrow?"

“Sure, but—"

“Check the weather." He hesitated; Joan pulled her phone out triumphantly. “Fog, like usual, 'cept this time they're saying after noon that front will be in and it's rain, rain, rain. Until Tuesday, at least."

“I thought you liked the rain."

She dropped her phone back into her pocket and put both paws on her hips. “When I don't got a good reason to be outside, maybe."

Zach looked straight into her eyes. She had a Border Collie's eyes—piercing, unnerving—and even though he'd learned to adapt, the squirrel was no match for her. Finally he sighed, and placed his paw over hers, giving it a squeeze.

“Better," the collie pronounced.

“You already have a lunch packed, don't you?"

Not like there'd be any other reason for her to have the backpack, and he probably knew that, but sometimes Zach liked stating the obvious. “And I already stopped by the IGA and got you some pop. So here I am, cycled—what is it, must be five miles on your bushy-tailed account, and you're talking about rewiring outlets! I swear sometimes, Zach…"

“More than sometimes," he said, before smiling and pulling her into a kiss. His lips were warm, reassuring—got to be sometimes it was hard for her to think of much else when he was doing that. Sure enough, she was out of breath and her mind had wandered elsewhere when he pulled back.

“What was that?"

“I said you live like a mile away. Don't have to be dramatic."

She stuck out her tongue. “I do if you're being stubborn," she countered. “What do you say? C'mon."

Zach rolled his eyes, kissed her again, and slipped his arms free of her. Half a minute later he came back, holding a worn key for the TR6 parked around the side of the Beachcomb-Inn.

The Triumph's yellow paint asserted its vintage to the point of pushiness. Sometimes Joan wondered if maybe guests thought it was part of the decor—wasn't like the motel was any more modern. Hadn't been that far back that the sign out front advertised that all the rooms had color TV.

Frozen in time, like the rest of Cannon Shoals, but—no. She shook her head, kicking the thought away. Zach glanced over; said nothing. Like her stare, he'd gotten used to most of her habits—had all the way back when they were in school together—and he must've figured that if the collie had something to say, she would.

But she didn't; had nothing worth saying. The argument played out in her head in a matter of seconds. The whole damn town is stuck in the 70s. Then: well, but that ain't true and anyway Zach keeps the car running and it's got the new tape player and all. Finally: it's a perfect day for a convertible, and that's what matters.

Zach got the top down, then held the door open for her. She took her seat, and waited for him to go through the rest of his routine—check the engine, and the tires, and look beneath the TR6 to make sure none of the puddles had gotten worryingly larger…

At last he joined her and, like she'd known it would without the squirrel's prophylactic worrying, the car started right up. “Where to? The PCL?"

“That's what I figured. 'Less you want to go somewhere else?"

But Pauline C. Leupold State Park, just to the northeast of town, was convenient. Zach took the 'long way' there, avoiding the highway in favor of Washington Street, along the Neatasknea River, and even so it didn't take more than ten minutes until they were pulling in to the trailhead.

The past few days had been hot, and apparently nobody in Cannon Shoals wanted to take their chances outside. There was only one other car in the lot, an old Jeep Cherokee. “Allie's not working today?" Joan asked.

“Asked for it off," the squirrel confirmed. “Stef's wife must be out of town."

“Maybe she just wanted to go hiking."

Zach fixed his convertible's top back into place, casting a look up at the cloudless sky like he didn't trust that it might not rain a day early. “Ever know her to be the type?"

“People can change," Joan said, though the relationship between Allison Navarro and Stef Kelly still hadn't changed much. Either Mary Kelly was fine with that or she hadn't figured it out, and from the way Allie talked the vixen was oblivious, and while in Joan's mind the Allie-Stef thing wasn't exactly subtle…

“Water? You've got water?"

“Mm-hm. Bottles are in my backpack."

From the trailhead it was a mile to Cattail Pond, and that was a fairly gentle grade, shaded by old pines Martin-Barlow hadn't gotten its chainsaws on. Zach took her paw, and they chatted about nothing, really, on the way up to the pond.

Business at the hotel was brisk—summer'd treated the Shoals well. Her own job at the Pergamon Bookstore was more than simple busywork, but the store's owner tended to the wide-eyed and they never seemed to make progress, really. Just like the previous year. Or the one before that.

You're going to have to tell him at some point. He'll understand. Her ears flicked. Or he won't understand and there's gonna be an argument and what then, huh? Where do you go from there? What part of it do you think he'll understand?

Zach was talking about what his father Clarence wanted to do with the first floor of the Beachcomb-Inn. She knew he wanted to be professional, a good businessmen—that if she tried to explain how when she had to talk him into a picnic on a Saturday he was supposed to be free the effort of that explanation stuck, snagged and tore on little jagged bits of her thoughts, she wouldn't make any sense and she'd lose her composure and then he'd feel bad about that even though it wasn't his fault, even though he loved her as much as she loved him…

It's a perfect day for a hike, too.

Cattail Pond was still. Ripples broke the surface at intervals, and dragonflies buzzed and flitted around its edges, but there were no other people. “You want to stop here?" Zach asked.

“I'm not hungry yet. I could keep going, if you wanted to."

“Which way?" He caught her looking towards the northern path. “Really? You sure?" She started walking by way of answer, and they left the pond for fresh shade, and a steeper track up and into the hills. “Tell me if… if, y'know…"

Joan hadn't admitted to her boyfriend that she went hiking because of her leg, not in spite of it—that was what the bike was for, too. These days the stiffness was mostly gone. It only hurt if she really pushed herself. Or in winter, when the weather kept her indoors.

Her mother still wouldn't let her drive. Getting her license renewed took a month of arguing—Val reminding her daughter at every opportunity how dangerous the highways around Cannon Shoals were, and how long she'd been in the hospital like Joan could've forgotten that, though when she mentioned it Val was quick to say that Joan forgot plenty of things.

Like Zach, Val claimed to care about Joan. The difference was that Zach just said tell me if, y'know and let the matter drop. And he went hiking with her in the first place.

And that he knew the truth about the crash, though he'd never mentioned it since the day she told him, which was also the day they started dating because he was the only one who really understood her and that made it all the more difficult when the weeks started to run together, and the years became claustrophobic.

If she lingered on those thoughts, her mind stopped wandering and drifted with unnerving precision back to the same topic. Her life had really started then, in that brief moment before her Honda hit the guardrail. And for a while, in that second adolescence of her physical therapy and the job at Pergamon and her relationship with Zach, it seemed…

Not that she was happy, not all the time, but that it was possible to be happy, for more than accidental and bizarre stretches. For a while it seemed like the pieces were there.

Back in January she'd been in the bookstore, trying to get something done for Paul Fisher, and Zach came to pick her up. It wasn't until they were at the Beachcomb-Inn that she realized Paul must've called him. Must've been worried about the way she stared at the rain out the window, and how it had been a week of rain, and a week of staring…

But that was winter, grey and dark and wet. It wasn't supposed to be like that in the spring, and the warm summer that followed. She wasn't supposed to be out in the sun on the first pleasant Saturday in August wondering why it felt so awkward talking her boyfriend into spending time with her.

Or what it meant, for either of them.

They were back in the light, now. Joan stopped. “I love you," she said—testing how the words felt in her muzzle. How they sounded. If her voice caught on any of the jagged bits.

Zach slid his arm around her waist. “I love you, too," he answered. He was smiling, and when he kissed her a thrill ran through her thoughts, and caught on nothing. Entirely genuine.

So there's that.

The clearing, a wide scar along the hillside, hadn't changed since at least high school. Joan didn't know which fire was responsible—whether she'd even been alive to remember it—but the slope had always been the same scrubby grass, holding back at a distance from blackened stumps as if afraid to seem too demanding in their greenery.

She fetched a bottle of water out when Zach asked for it, and took a second for herself. To their west, the open space afforded a view of the Pacific Ocean, blue under the light that dazzled its waves in brilliant static. “It's pretty," she murmured.

The squirrel's arm was still about her. “Yeah." He nosed the side of her neck gently. “Lot of pretty things up here."

Joan smiled, too, reflexively. And then, recognizing the reflex, she grinned wider, and gave him a hug. As long as she stayed, leaning against him, feeling his chest rise and fall, the smile took no effort.

“Do you want to keep going? The lake is… uh…"

“A little ways, I think, 'cept I didn't check the map too close, so who knows?" Incautiously, she bared teeth with her grin. “Don't got to get back, right?"

He laughed. “No." Then, a moment later, after they started walking again: “I locked the car, right?"

“Allie isn't gonna steal the Triumph."

“True. If anyone's good about keeping their paws off what doesn't belong to them…"

The squirrel had a point. Joan snickered. “I meant 'cause what are the odds she knows how to drive a manual?"

“Oh."

They crossed the rest of the clearing in quiet. Joan let her black ears cool, out of the sunlight, until she no longer remembered how it had felt. “Does it bother you?"

“Her and the fox?"

“Yeah."

“A little. You?"

“I don't know. I don't, really. Like, I guess it should… Stef seems alright, but I wouldn't be dating him or nothing—well, not like that's a good way of measuring it, huh? I like Allie."

She saw his slow, contemplative nod out of the corner of her eye. “Sure, I like Allison, too. Maybe Stef bothers me. Someone's going to get hurt, and that's really his fault more than hers."

“If you asked Allie, she'd say that Stef's been getting hurt for years, though."

“I don't know anything about his wife—just what Allison says. Maybe it's a bad marriage, but… you know, if it's not working out, you should do something about it, not just… take it as an excuse to do whatever the hell you want. If he thinks it isn't working, why hasn't he done that?"

“I don't know."

The squirrel shrugged, and kept his shoulders low. “Me either. It's probably just my upbringing. If dad knew, I'm not sure he'd want her working for us. That's not right, though. It's not any of our business. Is it?"

“'Cept as she's our friend. It's our business that way."

It was a weird friendship, though; Joan thought about that fairly often. More than Zach did, almost certainly, though he could be kind of reserved about things like that and she'd never gotten around to prying because that definitely wasn't her business.

Back in high school she'd only really known the ocelot as the girl who dared her to climb the KCNS-FM radio tower, and Joan still couldn't say why she'd gone and done that. It was just a thing that happened—now not the worst or most dangerous she'd done—and Allie left town and that was that.

She'd come back during that weird winter, the winter it snowed for the first time in years and a fall gale nearly wrecked a few of the Shoals' fishing boats. It was in that storm Zach had drawn the truth about the accident from her, and then they'd borrowed an empty hotel room, and in everything that followed she'd never gotten around to telling her she was just 'Joan' these days, not Jamie. Certainly never gotten around to asking Allison why she came back.

Or why she stayed.

Of course it was different, though; the ocelot had problems, sure, but she wasn't stuck, didn't feel how the clouds got heavy and smothering, and sometimes it was like the Border Collie couldn't think of anything else. Just the clouds.

“You want to head all the way to Old Mill? It's a beautiful day," Zach said, looking up at the light that filtered from the trees. And it was. Gorgeous. Perfect, even, as days went.

A perfect day for a picnic. She turned the thought over and over in her mind until it finally settled into place. “We could, if you want." Zach took her paw, and she squeezed back gently.

Old Mill Pond got its name from a camp whose memory was half a century old by the time Joan and Zach had been born. Now it was just where people came to fish from the soft earthen dam. Or to picnic. Or to talk.

Allison Navarro was leaning back, resting on her elbows, eyes closed to the summer sun. Two others were with her: Stef Kelly and a buck Joan had seen around without ever really catching his name.

Stef noticed their approach first, lifting his paw and gesturing to the pair. “Got company. Your boss, ain't it?"

The ocelot craned her head and sat up, nodding. “Hey, Zach. Hey, Jamie. I had today off, right? I thought I did…"

“You did," Zach said. “We just figured the weather would be good for a walk. After the rain, and all."

“Oh, for sure. Sammy Benson said he might join—him and Matt have been talking about the fishing. Didn't see 'em?"

“Nah. Just you."

“There's a surprise. He's such a flake—what did I say?" she asked the deer. “Didn't I tell you he was a flake? Hey, guys—you know Jessie? Fellow musician."

Jessie leaned towards them, stretching out his paw to shake their hands. “Allison lies," he told them with a grin. “I fuck around with the Unindicted Co-Conspirators, sometimes—not like a real band."

“We're talking him into it." Allison reached over, patting the buck's shoulder affectionately. Stef and Allie were in a real band with their high-school friends Sam Benson and Roger Hall—the group had an album and everything—not just kids killing time at the Chain and Capstan. “It takes some persuading."

“And you're almost out of it."

“Persuasion? Nah. At least enough for another." The ocelot pulled a plastic bag from her purse, holding it up to gauge the contents. “You in, Jamie?"

“Not today, I think." The more inclined her mind was to wandering, the less the Border Collie trusted any paths pot might lead her down. “Thanks, though."

Jessie lifted his arm, checking his watch. “I need to start heading back, anyway, spots."

Allison looked disappointed, but replaced the baggie in her purse. “Not work, though, right? You're not playing hookie for us—better not be. I'm responsible," she added, for Zach's benefit.

Zach said nothing, and Jessie stuck out his tongue, so the buck probably had a good idea of how Allison and her personality worked. “No. My dipshit kid brother, though, remember?"

She screwed her eyes shut. “Fuck. Right. Sorry. Let's go—was good seein' ya, dog. You too, Zach. Tomorrow."

The squirrel nodded. The three of them headed back down the path—Allison between them, one of their paws in each of hers. Complicated, Joan assumed, though that wasn't any of her business, either.

“He's picked her up at work a few times. I dunno if… maybe I thought they were roommates or something," Zach mused. “But she's in Riggs's girl's place—like, three hundred square feet. Can't have a second room."

“A little friendly for just roomates, anyway, though, huh?"

“Amy's trying to rent the space above her pharmacy. That'd be better for two people like them. Not too expensive…"

“I wouldn't know. I imagine they don't need it."

“Is he at the IGA? I feel like I've seen him at the IGA."

Joan shrugged. “Beats me. You could ask Allison."

“I think he has a van. Is he Eric's kid?"

Zach was, the Border Collie thought, avoiding any but the most trivial questions. “No, must be a Hahn. Becky was telling me Jordan Hahn got his new truck pulled over a while back, and a DUI out of it. Picked a fight with Mr. Kendrick—wasn't his first fight, either. I mean, I don't know about you, but I wouldn't fight Clint." Clint Kendrick had a temper to match his black fur, and muscles to back it up.

“Me either. Lunch?"

“Lunch," she agreed. They found a spot on the dam and sat; she pulled the wrapped sandwiches from her backpack and handed one to the squirrel.

He undid the paper delicately, without tearing any of it—though also without remarking on Joan's own lack of care for such things. “How's your cousin doing?"

“Becky? Good. Talking about another kid, though. Her husband got a promotion, and she wants one, 'cept—well, not that I'd tell her, but… she'll be forty next year. I think?"

“It's not as risky these days, though, probably."

“Probably. Could be she's just jealous of Kris Woodward, though. Like it's a fad or something. Can kids be a fad? Guess not like… pogs. 'Cept people do collect 'em."

“You think you'll change your mind?"

She arched an eyebrow. “Did you?"

“Nah. It was an academic question, dear."

“Okay. Then no, I haven't."

He busied himself with his food for a moment. “I figured we were on the same page. But then, the way you were talking… it's kind of funny, really."

“Funny?"

“Well, because neither of us want to raise a kid in a town like this. We agree—right? Right. But…" His laugh was gentle, soft as the waxing afternoon. “You used to say you didn't fit in. Listening to you catch up on gossip with your cousin, it's just…"

“Gossip?"

“Kendrick this and Woodward that and—you're a natural," he finished, grinning at the collie. “Better than you think."

I am?

She hadn't thought about it that way. Her cousin, who worked at Rainbow's Diner, was a notorious, unapologetic gossip. She was also family, and Aunt Terry'd always had a soft spot for Joan—that was why she wound up joining them for coffee, or dropping by their house.

But Joan wasn't cut from the same cloth as the exuberant, extroverted Rebecca Holloway. Becky thrived in Cannon Shoals. She thrived on the gossip. She thrived on the town's thin walls, and the news they spread.

Second kid or no, she'd be happy forever at the diner, and church on Sunday, and the Fourth of July parade, and beneath the Christmas lights she put up like clockwork, and…

Her boyfriend's voice broke in. “You're not hungry?"

She tried to take another bite of the sandwich. It was thick in her mouth, tasteless and dry; she forced herself to swallow and set it down. “I guess not."

“Trade sandwiches?"

“No. I—it's fine. I'm sorry."

“It's okay." Zach put his own sandwich aside, and laid his paw over hers. “Hey. Is it fine?"

“Maybe."

“What's on your mind, Joan?"

“Can I say 'nothing'?"

He gave her a gentle, knowing smile. “You can say it, but I've been dating you for too long. There's never nothing on your mind."

And he'd been dating her too long to give up; she knew that, too. And the way it would work is he'd keep asking, while she tried to get her thoughts together, and she wouldn't have enough time before they all came spilling messily from her muzzle like whatever sauce they'd put on the sandwich.

Why'd you let them do that? You know you never like the oil, and they always put it on 'cause they ask you at the last minute and you always just say 'yes' without thinking about it and then you figure it's too late to say 'no' and…

“I'm sorry."

“For?"

“I'm not… doing well. I don't know why, it ain't like…" She shook her head quickly. “Nothing in particular, 'cept I can't… I can't see my way out."

His head tilted; concern darkened his eyes. “Of the town?"

“I guess. I feel like I've trapped myself. Somehow. And I'm trapping you—that's what I'm sorry for, Zach, that's what I meant if I could get the—get the fucking words out. I'm sorry. It's a perfect day. I just wanted an afternoon, and…"

Fingers stroked the back of her paw softly. “I know it's not always the best, sweetheart. Do you want to head back? You don't have to explain. We can just—"

“No." She cut him off, and fought back her regret at having done so. “It's not about explaining, either. I… I don't want to be something you put up with, Zach."

“You're not." He slid himself closer, and put his arm around her shoulder. “You've never been that, Joan."

The Border Collie's eyes closed; she felt wetness prickling the corners. “What it is, is… is it isn't fair, that's what I mean," she decided. “It's not fair."

“What about it?"

She opened one eye. Zach wasn't looking at her; his unfocused gaze was out towards the pond. “Y'know, like Allison… maybe you're right, and it's wrong what she's doing. 'Cept, though… except I see the way she smiles and I get it, I think she should be happy, and it's not fair that you're so good to me and I'm just… just…"

“Just what?"

He wouldn't say 'broken,' and if she said it the semantics of the topic might derail the conversation, and so she shook her head, and lied for the both of them. “I don't know."

“Have you thought about going back to the doctor? I mean—would it help?"

“Probably? Maybe. Probably," she decided. “Mom won't hear it. Not while I'm living with her, she won't—you know she still says Uncle Coop just didn't hear that train, right?"

“What if you told her about… um. Your thoughts. In the past."

“You mean about trying to kill myself?" Zach flinched; Joan lowered her ears apologetically. “Sorry. If I told her, she'd… if she believed me, she'd have me committed. I don't know. I…"

“You don't have to know. It's alright. We'll figure it out."

“I guess."

“We will." She nodded silently. “Why would you think you were trapping me, Joan?"

“'Cause you got the motel. And everything. You got a lot to deal with and…"

He slid forward until he was in front of her. Then he took her paws, one in each of his own, and pulled himself close, so their eyes met. “Joan. You're not one of them. I don't deal with you. I don't put up with you."

She listened to the words, gauging where they landed—how close they got to her brain. Dangerously so. It was tempting to believe him, and to let the moment pass, and to enjoy the afternoon—it was such a beautiful one, after all, a perfect day for—

Zach squeezed her paws. “C'mon. You there? Listen to me, Joan, you—"

“I believe you. Sometimes. No—fuck. Fuck, I always believe you, an' it makes everything okay as long as you're here but—but then I sober up and it's just the same me and if you weren't… if you weren't…"

His hold relaxed, slightly. “If I wasn't?"

“If I was you and… and I wasn't looking at me, like…" She jerked free of him, folding her paws in her lap. “I bet it would be harder to say."

“It isn't. I love you. I say that a lot, Joan, even when you're not there. When you text me? Or when I look at my pictures and you're in them? I say it then. Even when I'm by myself."

“I do, too. I don't know what I'd do without you, and it's…"

“Then don't think about that. I know where your brain goes, collie." Her boyfriend reached into her lap, taking hold of her again. “I was going to ask you something. I dunno if this is a weird time or not? Maybe it's not a weird time."

“You want my sandwich?" she asked carefully, in case it was a fraught question and the option to defuse it still remained.

“My dad doesn't like me living in the motel. He wants me closer. There's that place on Grant I mentioned, over the pharmacy—like it's been vacant for two or three years, but I guess it's in good shape. If I offered to rent it off Amy, would you want to move in?"

“What?"

“Kinda big. I won't use all the space. It's as close to Pergamon as it is to the hotel. You could walk to work instead of cycling, if you wanted."

“This is a weird time," she started.

“Maybe," he agreed, and leaned forward to give her a quick kiss. “Maybe not. Look, Joan. It's been a while. You missed your chance for me to get cold feet about 'dealing with' you. Whatever happens, we can handle it. Didn't you say yourself that your mom wouldn't want you seeing a doctor?"

“Yeah…"

“So what if you moved out? You're an adult."

“I—well—I'm not—I get a certain logic to it, Zach…"

“If you don't want to, that's fine. But figure out if you don't want to, or if you think I don't want you to. And then let me make my own decisions. What do you want?"

She'd never actually considered the possibility, and now that it was tumbling around in her thoughts there were plenty of jagged bits for it to hit. Her soft ears quirked, waiting, but nothing happened. Nothing caught. “I'd love to. Of course. I…"

“Save it." He grinned, kissing her again—longer this time; warmer. “I'll ask Amy tomorrow. Keep the 'buts' for, like… picking appliances."

“Why?" It was too late for the doubts that lingered and demanded attention in the corners of her anxiety—her voice was a little thin, she could hear that, but it came out in weightless words. “You're gonna Clarence this, aren't you? Five dollar toaster from the thrift store…"

“Hey. If I were my dad, I'd drive up to the Goodwill for the better selection. Spend a buck on gas to buy a four-fifty toaster. God, I love your smile—do more of that. Are you crying?"

“No…"

“You are." His arms circled the Border Collie, and his nose touched tender velvet to her own. “Pretty sure…"

“Huh-uh." Of course she was, but that couldn't be helped any more than the smile could. The gentle shake of her head did the trick of spurring him towards another kiss. “Just love you, that's all."

“I love you, too. You and your—"

She hugged him impulsively, squeezing the sentence to a halt. “My what?" she asked, now that she had the initiative.

“Your smile. Your eyes. Everything. I love everything about you. Your little black-and-white butt is gonna be part of my life for a very long time. How's that?"

Her tail was wagging. He must've been able to feel it, because he was smiling, too, and the squirrel's paws slid to the small of her back where the animation wiggled the whole of her lower body. “Everything?"

“Wouldn't be you otherwise, would it?"

She kissed him, of course. Wasn't like he could've expected anything else. Wasn't like she could've doubted him, even if she tried, and her mind was good at trying things like that. He was right: they could handle it.

Joan lost herself in that conviction, and the touch of his fingers, and when the squirrel leaned into her she didn't resist. He guided her gently to the ground, and their muzzles drifted apart, momentarily: “I love you."

I know.

The earth was warm and tantalizingly soft under her back. And Zach was just as warm above her: his lips pressed to hers, and before she even consciously felt his tongue the collie had her muzzle parted just enough to let him slip within her.

His paws started to roam, and the touch left a heated trail in her thick pelt. And then… were his fingers under her t-shirt? They were—his claws kept moving further up, bunching the worn cotton. Joan chanced to break the kiss, momentarily. “You know we're in public…"

“Nobody else around. And it's a gorgeous day. What do you say?" He leaned back, paws at her sides with the t-shirt pulled up as far as he could get it.

Joan sat up. It was unlike him to take a risk like that, unless he figured there really wasn't anyone else around, or unless he'd finally learned to be the proper kind of distracted, or unless…

“There you go," he murmured, when she lifted her arms up and let him pull the shirt from her. “Like I said: gorgeous day."

His grin was lopsided, quirky—the kind of friendly, good-natured, dorky smile that snapped her thoughts back. He was still Zach—that was all that mattered—and she pounced forward to close the distance and take his lips in another kiss.

The squirrel didn't protest when she pinned him, and when she settled on his lap, pressing heavily on a decreasingly subtle stiffness in his pants, he didn't suddenly regain his sense of modesty. He gasped and arched up to meet the collie's grinding, instead.

So this is really happening, she thought—though by that point her paw was behind her back, undoing her bra, and a second after it fell away Zach's fingers cupped her, squeezing, and the need for thoughts, as such, faded, and instinct took over.

Her leg twinged; she growled, flattened herself to the squirrel with her paws at his shoulders, and tried rolling him. Zach grunted, pushing back the other way. She rolled, cocking her head when the blue sky framed her boyfriend's face over her.

“Dam," he reminded her. “Don't want to roll into the water."

“Looking out for me."

“Both of us. Wouldn't want to get anything wet." She started to roll her eyes, and he kissed her deeply to interrupt it before undoing her jeans. She wriggled from them, ignoring or oblivious to another protest from her leg. It didn't matter.

Not much mattered. The squirrel's back arched over hers, so that even as he kissed her he could be unfastening his belt, shuffling out of his remaining clothes—not a word about the dirt staining them; not a word about how close they were to the path.

Not a word at all until his hard shaft slid up along her thigh, and bumped against her, and he paused. His muzzle lowered; his voice was husky in her ear. “What all have you got in your backpack, Joan?"

The collie froze. Her paw tightened on his back. “Fuck. Nothing. Sandwiches."

“Wait—really?" He pushed himself up to look at her.

“I didn't figure we'd be… I mean…"

“Okay. Well, we can head back, and—"

As he spoke she was biting her lip, waiting for the thoughts to catch up—but they didn't. “No," she cut him off.

“What?"

“Take me." Before she lost her resolve. “I need you, Zach."

“You're sure?"

“It's okay." She grinned, toothier than she really meant but her focus was wavering. “If you knock me up, I'll take the Nobel Prize for it."

“By yourself?"

“I'd be doing most of the work. 'Less you're about to show me o—other… wise…" He pressed in gently, and she gasped, but it was a few more seconds before she noticed her own breathlessness more than his warmth, and the smoothness of her boyfriend's shaft working further inside.

“I love you," he whispered, and when he said it Joan thought she could almost feel that, too, along with the slick, bare flesh sliding within her until their hips met and the heat of his body radiated into her fur.

She echoed the words, tense and high-pitched through her panting. A kiss forgave her tremulous voice, and then his thrusts absolved her completely. All she could think about was his stiff warmth filling her, the silky intimacy undeniable and thrilling.

Steady, even strokes hilted the squirrel's cock fully every time he took her, helped by the involuntary nudge of her own hips in counterpoint. He bucked faster, and a moan rose in her muzzle—whimpered and giddy by the time it broke free. God, he's so warm, and there was so much of him, and she needed the squirrel now even more than when she'd begged her mate scant minutes before.

Even without words he seemed to take the permission she offered. Zach's tempo sharpened, hips pumping quicker and harder to drive his length home in solid, forceful plunges. Tension built like he was hammering the collie's own rising pleasure into her, working it on the anvil of her trembling hips.

Her head dropped back. Blue sky dazzled her unfocused eyes, and her muzzle fell open to cry out. And at that moment he shifted once more—pounding, swift, clashing to the Border Collie. The changed pace jolted her mind to the constant pressure of her lover's cock ramming into her, every throb and tug exquisite.

She yelped his name once as the sky darkened, then vanished altogether, echoes dancing on her eyelids. Then a second time, when the rush of the collie's peak overwhelmed her and the world condensed, shrank past her ability to form words or command her shuddering form.

At first when she could think straight again she thought he'd stopped moving completely. Then she felt a firm push, nudging his well-buried shaft against her walls, and its pulsing throb a heartbeat later. Zach's soft groan washed into the white fur of her throat, and the warmth of his breath echoed a sensation of wet heat growing around him, deep inside her.

His rocking came at last to a shaky stop. He kissed the side of her neck, and he told her he loved her, and for a long, honeyed spell while he caught his breath he remained above and within her. Forever? If she didn't think too hard about it they could be there forever.

The squirrel's paw patted the ground, seeking purchase.

“No."

“Joan?"

“Stay." He paused. “Stay in me. We don't have to go anywhere."

“You're comfortable?"

“Uh huh." If her leg was going to give her trouble, it hadn't started yet. Finally he gave in, relaxing back into her arms. “That's better. I love you, Zach."

“I love you, too."

That was all that needed to be said. Nothing about their future, nor their past. In any case it wasn't arguable, she reckoned. The proof of it was in the tone of their voice. Why dwell on it when there was such a gorgeous day to enjoy?

She ran her fingers through his fur, stroking from his mid-back down to the curve of his shamelessly beautiful tail. The squirrel twitched as she pet along its length. I love you. There were so many ways to say it.

Eventually Zach softened enough to slip from the dog; he rolled onto his back, and held her paw, and she let the afternoon soak into her, meeting the contented glow of her own emotions, mixing, wrapping the rougher edges of her thoughts in cotton.

“Might get dressed," Zach said at last. “Or I'll fall asleep."

“Alright." Wouldn't have been the end of the world, and Joan was drowsy too, though there were better places for a nap than the old pond.

So she sat up and watched him, sighing happily. Nothing keeping them from doing it again—for that matter the weather would be pleasant for at least a few more weeks. Could even make a regular thing of it, 'cept folks would get suspicious if they kept seeing his Triumph parked there, 'cause it wasn't like the squirrel really did much fishing.

Maybe we can borrow Allie's Jeep; that's inconspicuous, she thought. Wonder what the rumors will say if folks see me driving it. Probably figure her for the girlfriend type anyway. The collie found herself giggling, and then—

“What's so funny?"

She became aware of warmth, running into her fur. “Hold on," she ordered the squirrel, holding up one paw to stop him and staunching what she could with her other. Before it made too much of a mess she hobbled down the bank to the pond.

“Did that help?" he asked on her return.

The desultory attempt at rinsing had, for the most part, just left her paws soaked. She shrugged, flashing a grin to sooth his expression and adding a kiss just in case. “Better than nothing."

“Sorry. I'll remember to carry a—mm?" She lapped his nose to make up for the nip. “For next time. I mean."

“Next time we'll be closer to a shower or something. Our shower—right?"

“Right!" The realization put him at once in good spirits, and it held all the way back down the trail to the parking lot. “Oh, huh."

A silver pickup truck had replaced Allison's Cherokee alongside the Triumph. “Nice day, right?" Joan said. “We weren't gonna be the only ones with this idea."

“Not with all of our ideas," the squirrel teased. “Wonder whose it is. Do you know? Huh—you do know. I recognize that look…"

She cocked her head, doing her best to betray nothing. “I have a look? This is just my face, Zach. You should be used to it."

“You'd be an awful politician. Whose is it?"

“Sam Benson's."

“Really?"

“Mm-hm. That's why we were talking about Clint Kendrick—uh, Becky and me. My cousin. I said earlier she was talking about Clint and Jordan Hahn? Well, she said Sam got really mad at Vic Gowen on account of, uh, he just bought this truck from Vic and a week later the transmission seized."

“Yeah?"

“Brit Kendrick told my cousin: if she hadn't stepped in? Sam would've decked Vic for it, but I guess he must've thought he'd fucked up because they fixed the transmission for… well, Becky said 'fifty bucks' but even if it wasn't…"

“Huh," Zach said.

“Used to be Tim… Cameron's I think? Used to be his truck, but he had to sell it 'cause—well, for when he was in jail last year, I guess, to help his wife out and stuff. I can't remember if it was Cameron or Tim Cutler who had the assault thing."

The squirrel coughed. “I'm glad I can count on you for gossip, after all. But, uh. Sam was gonna go fishing, right?"

Joan rubbed her boyfriend's arm. “Was hoping I could distract you from figuring that out. Maybe we just didn't notice 'em at Cattail."

“We would've seen them."

“Probably. And the fishing's better at Old Mill, anyhow, everybody says that 'cause without the trees there's no shade or nothing on Cattail. But who knows? They coulda… I dunno…"

“Kept to themselves?" Zach finally shook his head, and unlocked his car. “Hope they enjoyed the show."

“Want me to ask Becky?"

“Next time. If I know I'm gonna have an audience…"

“Yeah?"

“What do you think?" He chuckled, gave her a kiss, and shoved the collie playfully towards the hood of the car. “Get in."