almost done making the picnic lunch. Would you rather have mustard or mayonnaise on your turkey sandwich?"
"Tough call."
"Or both?"
"Mustard. That'd be fine."
"Mustard it is."
He followed her toward the kitchen, watching her. The sleeves had been cut off her white T-shirt. So had its lower half. The shirt ended just below her ribcage, leaving her bare all the way down to her bikini pants. She wore the skimpy pants low around her hips. They clung to her tight, firm buttocks, and moved with every step she took. Her legs were slim and tanned. Her feet were bare.
"You're sure looking good this morning," Bass said.
She grinned over her shoulder at him. "Thank you, thank you."
In the kitchen, she stepped up to the refrigerator. "Wine or beer?"
"Beer."
"Natch." She opened the refrigerator and lifted out a six-pack of Budweiser. She handed it to Bass. "I believe I'll stick with wine," she said, and pulled out a bottle of Chablis. Then she took out mustard and shut the refrigerator door.
"Can I give you a hand with anything?" Bass asked.
"No, that's fine. Just keep me company. I'll be done in a jiff."
So he stepped back and leaned against a counter and watched Faye prepare the sandwiches.
She was awfully good to watch.
Probably the best-looking woman he knew, if you didn't count Pac. And he tried not to count Pac, since she was married to his best friend.
He wondered how Pac might look in an outfit like this.
I'll never find out, he thought.
But she couldn't look much better than Faye. Nobody could.
Soon, she finished preparing the lunches. "Ready when you are," she said.
"The river's waiting," Bass said. He picked up the picnic basket and cooler, and headed for the front door. Faye walked behind him. Before leaving the house, she grabbed a couple of beach towels and her big, cloth purse.
After following him onto the porch, she shut the main door and locked it. As she eased the screen door shut, she asked, "How far are we planning to go?"
"All the way down to the lake," Bass said. He trotted down the stairs.
"From where?" Faye asked.
"The Bend."
"We're going all the way from the Bend to the lake?"
"It's only about twenty miles. I've got a borrowed car waiting down at the marina so we can drive back."
"But twenty miles? Isn't that an awfully long way to paddle a canoe?"
"It's not so far. Besides, it's all downstream. The current'll do most of the work for us."
"Even still . . ."
"You'll love it. You'll want to do it every Saturday."
"All I can say is, it's a good thing I brought my sun block."
"Yeah," Bass said. Approaching the trunk of his ancient Pontiac Grand Prix, he ducked to keep his head from bumping the stern of the canoe lashed to the roof. He set down the basket and cooler.
His trunk hadn't worked right since he'd come back from a canoe trip a few weeks earlier and found it broken open. He didn't know what sort of valuables the thief had expected to find in there. But it was a mighty large trunk, so the jerk probably figured it was sure to contain a wealth of goodies.
He'd stolen nothing except the spare tire -- a tread-less old thing of no use to anyone.
But he'd done lasting damage to the trunk's latch and lock.
The key no longer did the trick, so Bass didn't bother to try it. Instead, he pounded the trunk's lid with his fist. The latch released. Stepping back, he watched the lid rise.
Then he stowed away the basket and cooler. "Anything else you want in here?" he asked Faye.
She shook her head. "When're you going to get that thing fixed, anyway?"
"Maybe never. I sort of like it this way."
He needed two attempts at shutting it before the latch caught and held the trunk closed.
The rough, dirt parking area above the river was deserted except for a single car, a blue Jaguar parked near the garbage barrel.
"Bet they didn't haul a canoe over here on top of that," Bass said.
"Doesn't seem likely."
He and Faye climbed out of his car.
Faye stood back and watched.
Bass untied the bow and
"Tough call."
"Or both?"
"Mustard. That'd be fine."
"Mustard it is."
He followed her toward the kitchen, watching her. The sleeves had been cut off her white T-shirt. So had its lower half. The shirt ended just below her ribcage, leaving her bare all the way down to her bikini pants. She wore the skimpy pants low around her hips. They clung to her tight, firm buttocks, and moved with every step she took. Her legs were slim and tanned. Her feet were bare.
"You're sure looking good this morning," Bass said.
She grinned over her shoulder at him. "Thank you, thank you."
In the kitchen, she stepped up to the refrigerator. "Wine or beer?"
"Beer."
"Natch." She opened the refrigerator and lifted out a six-pack of Budweiser. She handed it to Bass. "I believe I'll stick with wine," she said, and pulled out a bottle of Chablis. Then she took out mustard and shut the refrigerator door.
"Can I give you a hand with anything?" Bass asked.
"No, that's fine. Just keep me company. I'll be done in a jiff."
So he stepped back and leaned against a counter and watched Faye prepare the sandwiches.
She was awfully good to watch.
Probably the best-looking woman he knew, if you didn't count Pac. And he tried not to count Pac, since she was married to his best friend.
He wondered how Pac might look in an outfit like this.
I'll never find out, he thought.
But she couldn't look much better than Faye. Nobody could.
Soon, she finished preparing the lunches. "Ready when you are," she said.
"The river's waiting," Bass said. He picked up the picnic basket and cooler, and headed for the front door. Faye walked behind him. Before leaving the house, she grabbed a couple of beach towels and her big, cloth purse.
After following him onto the porch, she shut the main door and locked it. As she eased the screen door shut, she asked, "How far are we planning to go?"
"All the way down to the lake," Bass said. He trotted down the stairs.
"From where?" Faye asked.
"The Bend."
"We're going all the way from the Bend to the lake?"
"It's only about twenty miles. I've got a borrowed car waiting down at the marina so we can drive back."
"But twenty miles? Isn't that an awfully long way to paddle a canoe?"
"It's not so far. Besides, it's all downstream. The current'll do most of the work for us."
"Even still . . ."
"You'll love it. You'll want to do it every Saturday."
"All I can say is, it's a good thing I brought my sun block."
"Yeah," Bass said. Approaching the trunk of his ancient Pontiac Grand Prix, he ducked to keep his head from bumping the stern of the canoe lashed to the roof. He set down the basket and cooler.
His trunk hadn't worked right since he'd come back from a canoe trip a few weeks earlier and found it broken open. He didn't know what sort of valuables the thief had expected to find in there. But it was a mighty large trunk, so the jerk probably figured it was sure to contain a wealth of goodies.
He'd stolen nothing except the spare tire -- a tread-less old thing of no use to anyone.
But he'd done lasting damage to the trunk's latch and lock.
The key no longer did the trick, so Bass didn't bother to try it. Instead, he pounded the trunk's lid with his fist. The latch released. Stepping back, he watched the lid rise.
Then he stowed away the basket and cooler. "Anything else you want in here?" he asked Faye.
She shook her head. "When're you going to get that thing fixed, anyway?"
"Maybe never. I sort of like it this way."
He needed two attempts at shutting it before the latch caught and held the trunk closed.
The rough, dirt parking area above the river was deserted except for a single car, a blue Jaguar parked near the garbage barrel.
"Bet they didn't haul a canoe over here on top of that," Bass said.
"Doesn't seem likely."
He and Faye climbed out of his car.
Faye stood back and watched.
Bass untied the bow and
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