Far out in the swamps on the south side of Spearfish Lake, the birding was absolutely fantastic.

It was getting warmer now – not real warm yet, but it was clear that this was going to be a hot day before it was over with. While Jack kept his eyes open for the occasionals and rarities that would expand his life list, he was enjoying himself immensely watching Vixen go through the thrill of discovering species that Jack had long considered common. Sometimes it was easy to forget how much fun watching the easy stuff is, he thought.

Not surprisingly, Vixen was picking up several new birds an hour. Some weren’t exactly new birds – she was familiar with the more common species of ducks, for example – Mallards, Blacks, Blue-winged Teal, common and easy to pick out, although Jack made her look up the entry in the Peterson’s for each one, along with the range maps. But there could always be surprises, and that was where some of the teaching took place. At one point in the morning, Vixen commented about a “funny looking Mallard.” He made her flip through the Peterson’s, and after some study by both of them, she concluded that it wasn’t a Mallard at all, but a much less common although not exactly rare Northern Shoveler.

“Wow, that’s a little different,” she commented as she included it in her rough notes.

“Yeah, a little out of the ordinary,” he agreed. “As I see it, one of the tricks is to become familiar enough with the common stuff that when something uncommon comes along it springs out at you. That breaks down after a while, because sooner or later you’re going to run across some species where all the field marks are so subtle that you can’t tell one from another in binoculars.”

“That’s where that big camera comes in, right?”

“Right, to a point. I still have to pick out a bird that’s enough different to grab my attention. Small songbirds can be very confusing, warblers especially so in the fall. I was just lucky that I saw that Kirtland’s Warbler and it caught my attention. Sometimes it’s just easier to get several good photos of a bird and go over the field marks from the pictures than it is to do it through binoculars. I really haven’t had the chance to go over those pictures I took of the Kirtland’s Warbler thoroughly, but it’s pretty distinctive compared to some. It’s all practice, Vixen. Practice and learning. You realize that you’re probably having the best day you’re ever going to have when it comes to adding to your life list? We’re just plowing through the easy stuff today. From here on it gets harder, but a new addition becomes more rewarding.”

“Yeah, I’ve looked through the book just enough to realize that after a while it isn’t going to come easy. How long did it take you to run up to two thirty- seven or whatever it is?”

“About six years, off and on,” he shrugged. “You have to understand that most of it is right around here, so that limits me a lot. There are a lot of birds that just don’t come this way. I might get to two-fifty right around here, maybe a few more, but beyond that I need to go to where the birds are different. You have to remember, up till I turned sixteen most of my birding was based on walking or taking my bike, except for a few times when Mr. Buckland and I went out together. Then it was mostly right at the car, since he didn’t get around very well anymore. I’d dearly love to be able to go to some of the birding hot spots and pick up a few. I’ll get a chance to, sooner or later.”

“What kind of hot spots?” she asked, still scanning around looking for birds she hadn’t seen before.

“Well, elsewhere,” he said, deciding to see if the coffee was still warm. “Florida, anytime of year but especially summer or winter. In the summer, some real tropical birds visit. In the winter, there are wintering birds from other areas that spend time there. Several sea birds, like I’m a little weak on gulls and have no saltwater birds at all. There are several types of birds that only show up in Florida anyway. If I went to Florida for a couple of weeks at the right time and worked at it, it wouldn’t surprise me to add fifty birds to my life list.”

“Let’s go in the winter sometime,” she smiled, putting down the binoculars and holding out her coffee cup, waiting for Jack to fill it. “Sometime when we’re really sick of the cold.”

“Probably won’t be this winter,” he smiled as he poured some coffee for her. He had to admit to himself that two weeks in Florida with her held plenty of possibilities, only some of which involved birding. They weren’t at that point yet, but it seemed like there was a good chance of it coming. A little surprisingly, he found himself looking forward to that time. “I imagine your mother might not be real thrilled if we took off for two weeks at Christmas this year.”

“Yeah, that might be pushing it a little,” she agreed. “That might have to wait for college when we can go on spring break. Are there any interesting hot spots around here?”

“Oh, several,” he said, pouring some coffee for himself. “It all depends on what you want to see. There are several wildlife refuges over around the Mississippi where literally thousands of waterfowl congregate. When they get frightened, or take off for the morning, you’re supposed to really be able to feel the earth shake from the sound of their wings.”

“Wow, that sounds neat,” she smiled. “Do you think maybe we could try that some time? Like maybe this fall?”

“Maybe,” he said, a little hesitantly. “It depends on how the fall goes, and how much your mother is going to be able to put up with the idea of us being gone way out of town, at least part of the night and maybe overnight.”

“Uh, yeah, that might limit things,” she nodded. “Don’t think that I don’t want to do it, though. Any other places around here?”

“There’s bound to be something,” he nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “Maybe we could run over to Whitefish Point on Lake Superior along in the fall. There’s a lot of migration through there, some impressive bird counts. But to do it right runs into the problem of most likely being gone overnight.”

“Well, let me think about it a little,” she smiled. “Something might work out. Any of it sounds exciting.”

“You act like you’re getting into this,” he smiled.

“Yeah, I am,” she nodded, draining her coffee cup and putting the binoculars back to her eyes to continue her scan. “I mean, I guess I thought bird watching was kind of an old-fogy thing, but there’s more to it than I thought. I realize I haven’t been out with you much, but I can’t imagine what I’ve been missing laying around the house all summer, bored shitless, and wishing I had something interesting to do. It beats the living hell out of yapping on the phone all day about who’s dating who, who broke up with who, and all that shit. I just wish you and I had been able to get together before. I feel like I’ve missed a lot.”

“Well, I sure enjoy being out here with you. It’s been fun watching you catch the bug, and you’re picking it up quickly.” Once again, Jack had to wonder how much of her interest was in birds, and how much of it was in him. If she did have a real interest in both the birds and him, then she might want to stay with it. If her interest in birds was mild, and mostly in him, then the birds might be forgotten as the two of them got closer. It was real neat to have a girlfriend who was a birding buddy, so long as both of them went together. There was nothing much to do but wait and see, he thought. At least the wait promised to be enjoyable.

Frenchy stood back and looked at his car, really pissed now. Really, really pissed. “Some motherfucker is going to die for this,” he fumed out loud. “Just fucking dead.” Being pissed off kept him from having to confront the question of what he was going to do now. If only one tire was flat, there was no question – he’d just change the tire. But four flat – what the fuck could he do? He had to get those tires blown up pretty soon so he could make the beer run up to Lame Badger’s. Fuck, he needed a beer right now, but he knew damn well there weren’t any left. If he didn’t get the beer run made today, it was going to be awful dry tonight when he hung out with his buds.

Maybe one of his buds could help out, he thought. After all, they were going to be getting the benefit of his making the beer run! It’d be goddamn embarrassing, that was for sure, to see that someone had done something like this to him. They’d laugh at him, and the last fucking thing he could stand was to have someone laugh at him. On the other hand, if he called up someone, they’d at least know he was pissed, and they’d know why he was pissed. They could have a good laugh while he beat the snot out of whoever had done this to him – at least before he cut off his dick and made him eat it. “Goddamn motherfucker,” he snorted as he reached for his cell phone.

Who to call? Maybe Rusty Frankovich; Frenchy had seen that Rusty had some sort of a pump that plugged into the cigarette lighter and that probably would do the job. Rusty wasn’t one of his real close buddies, like Larry and Matt, but he hung out with them some and wanted to be more in with the cool crowd. This could be a favor that would let him think he was getting a bit closer, and Rusty was just enough scared of him that he might not laugh too bad right in his face. It made sense.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Rusty’s cell. Rusty came on almost immediately. “Hey Rusty,” Frenchy said. “You still got that tire pump of yours? Shag your ass over here and bring it.”

“Oh, shit, no,” Rusty said.

“You’re telling me no?” Frenchy replied with menace in his voice. “Who do you think you are to tell me no?”

“I’m telling you no because I don’t dare go out of the fucking house,” Rusty told him. “I’ve got my ass in a sling with my folks, bad.”

“What the fuck?” Frenchy snorted. “Can’t you just tell them to go fuck themselves, you’ve got a bud that needs a hand?”

“Not after last night,” Rusty replied sorrowfully. “People were all over my ass left and right. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about it. My fucking sister has been calling everybody in town to pass it along. I tried to take her cell phone away from her but Dad just about decked me.”

“I ain’t heard shit,” Frenchy replied. “What the fuck happened, anyway?”

“You know that little bitch Summer Trevetheck? Well, I thought I’d show her a little of the good life and maybe get me some. So I did the date thing and took her down to the Multiplex. The movie was just getting good when I thought I’d get me a little touch of her boob just to get things going, and she hauled off and slapped me. Well, there ain’t no skank that’s going to treat me like that, so I got up and left. I figured if she was going to be like that she could find her own way home. I guess when she got home she told her old man about it, and he was over here breathing fire over me leaving her there. Dad was breathing fire, too, and so was Mom. They were about ready to kick the shit out of me, with my sister laughing her ass off all the way. So now, I’m grounded roughly forever. I can’t even go out for football.”

“God, that sucks,” Frenchy said. “That’s really going to fuck up the team. Can’t you get your old man to cut you some slack?”

“I tried, Frenchy, I tried, but last night not getting the shit kicked out of me was about all the slack I could manage. Maybe they’ll ease up when school starts, but for now the farthest I can go from my room is the bathroom. I can’t even go down to the refrigerator. I’m already getting sick of looking at the walls in this place. I don’t even have a TV in here, man.”

“Shit man, that really sucks,” Frenchy said, just a little glad that he didn’t have asshole parents like that. His might steal his beer, but they never tried to come down on him like that. “How about if someone comes over to borrow the pump? Matt, maybe?”

“It won’t work,” Rusty told him. “My truck’s not here. God knows where they took it or what’s going to happen. I guess they think I might just drive off in it. Sorry, Frenchy, I don’t know what I can do to help you.”

“Well, piss,” Frenchy snorted. “Hang in there, maybe I’ll give you a call sometime.” He clicked off the phone, knowing that he wouldn’t call again soon, if ever. If Rusty would let a bud down like that, no matter what his asshole parents said, he wasn’t any bud of his.

Summer’s hand hovered over the phone, wondering if maybe she was going too far. She still hadn’t made up her mind whether to approach Jack about the pictures. Another talk with her mother had come to just the same conclusion as she’d reached earlier. Her mother couldn’t get Eloise on the phone, mostly because her dad was hanging around, and calling her grandmother about it would mean that the call would have to be private. It might be a while before they could find out what her grandmother thought, but Summer couldn’t believe that it wouldn’t come to pretty much the same conclusion.

Maybe the thing to do in the short run, she thought, was to call up Jack and sort of open communications with him. After all, she had a pretty good reason, to thank him again for rescuing her last night and bringing her home. She couldn’t very well approach him about the photos, not just yet, but she might as well get a little friendly with him in case it came down to having to use her body to convince him. That might be a little difficult with Vixen in the way, but she figured she had at least a little advantage in that. After all, she was willing to use her body right now to get those photos and convince him to keep it quiet. Even as cuddly as Vixen had been with him last night, Summer thought she knew Vixen well enough that it would be a long time before Vixen let him into her panties. She also thought she knew Jack well enough that he wouldn’t push her about it. It wasn’t much of an advantage, but maybe it would be enough. Maybe.

Taking a deep breath, she dialed the phone. It rang a couple times, then Jack’s mother picked it up. “Hi, Mrs. Erikson,” she began. “This is Summer Trevetheck. Is Jack around?”

“Afraid not, Summer,” she replied. “He and Vixen Hvalchek went birding way before dawn. I don’t know when they’ll be back.”

“I heard that he was going with Vixen a little,” Summer said. “I didn’t know she was into birds though.”

“I didn’t either,” Mrs. Erikson replied, “but here lately you don’t see one without the other. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were out looking at birds all day. Can I leave him a message?”

“No, not really,” Summer said. “I just wanted to call him up and thank him again for rescuing me last night.”

“Rescuing you?” Mrs. Erikson replied, her ears perking up. “What happened?”

Summer gave a brief version of the disastrous date with Rusty Frankovich, and told about meeting Jack and Vixen in the lobby of the Multiplex. “I really appreciate it, Mrs. Erikson,” Summer concluded. “That was a real nice thing for him to do, and you can be proud of him.”

“It’s not surprising that he’d do something like that,” Jack’s mother replied. “He is a pretty good kid, after all. I’ll let him know you called.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Erikson,” Summer said. “I’d appreciate it.”

Summer punched off the phone with a sigh. From the sound of it, Jack and Vixen were boyfriend and girlfriend now, which pretty well agreed with her own conclusions from the ride back from Camden the night before. That meant Vixen might be a real obstacle if it came down to it. Keeping the existence of an Old Way Circle in Spearfish Lake a secret seemed like an even more distant prospect that it already had been.

“That’s a funny looking heron over there,” Vixen pointed out.

“Where over there?”

“Over by that old stump with the big turtle on it,” she said. “That little blue heron, in the water up to his knees.”

Jack raised his binoculars. Vixen was getting better at picking out birds worth taking a look at. “Sure looks like a Little Blue Heron to me,” he smiled.

“I know it’s a little blue heron,” she said. “But what kind of heron is it?”

“Like I said, it’s a Little Blue Heron.”

“Jack,” she replied, raising her voice a little. “Quit teasing me.”

“Look at your bird book,” he said.

She put down her binoculars, and thumbed through the Peterson’s until she found the page with the dark herons. No crest, dark neck, bluish and white bill instead of yellow. She checked out the range map; mostly a southern bird, coastal and Mississippi Valley, but the map noted that the bird was an “irregular wanderer” into the local region. “That’s a find, isn’t it?” she asked.

“You darn betcha,” Jack said, reaching for the box with the long-lens camera. “Still not what you call a really rare bird, but you don’t see many around here.”

“Have you seen them before?”

“Just once,” he replied, getting the camera set up to take a photo. It had film in it; Jack habitually loaded the camera as soon as he took out a used roll, just in case something unexpected should come along. “And I didn’t get a photo, so this one goes on my life photo list. It’s going to be a pretty good addition to your life list, too.”

“At least I saw it before you did,” she smiled.

“No, I’ve been watching it for a while, waiting for you to pick it up,” he whispered as he slid out of the Jeep and rested the camera on the windshield to steady it. The bird was well lit, in a good profile. He hit the button, and the motor drive ran off a handful of pictures. He stood there waiting for the bird to turn, but it was looking in the water at something. Something to eat, probably. He kept the lens on the bird, waiting, waiting. There was no way of telling how he sensed that something was going to happen, but he had the motor drive running when the bird’s long bill struck and came up with what looked like a minnow. It raised its head, flicked its neck a little, and the minnow slid down the long throat.

“Wow, that’s neat. Did you get it?”

“I sure hope so,” Jack said. “That’s going to make a hell of a photo. I’m going to have to show you my bird album sometime.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see it,” Vixen replied.

“It’s constantly changing as I get better pictures,” he told her. “I don’t know if I told you, but I want to take photography classes in college while I work on the degree in wildlife biology. Someday I have to figure out how to get some good equipment, rather than this old stuff. It works, but it sure would be nice to be digital.”

Jack kept the camera on the heron for the next several minutes as it poked around in the shallows. He took several more frames of the bird at various angles before it decided that enough here was enough, gave a squawk, flexed its muscles and flew away.

As Jack got back into the seat, Vixen was biting her lip, thinking again of something she’d been thinking about for a while. Should she do it? It was, well, kind of forward and slutty, but it would be fun, too – and there was no chance it would go any farther, at least not for a while. Besides, it would be interesting to see how Jack reacted. They’d only been going together for a couple of days, but she really liked Jack and thought that things would go places with them. What would happen with college was still a big question mark, but there was no reason that she couldn’t have a little fun now. A bird in the hand, and all that. Besides, she could chicken out right up until the last instant and he’d have no idea she’d planned it. Oh, what the hell, she thought. It’ll give Jack a thrill, and it’ll give me a thrill.

“It’s getting warm,” she turned to Jack and stated lazily. “Would it louse up the birding too much if I got out and changed my shirt?”

“Can’t see why it would,” Jack nodded. “Something might take flight, but we’d be back to normal in a few minutes. I think I might as well peel out of my jacket, as well.”

“Well, all right,” she said, reaching around behind her for the little backpack she’d brought. After a little digging, she pulled out a camouflage spaghetti strap camisole that she hardly ever wore anymore but would be perfect for today. It was a couple years old and she’d grown a little, so it would be tight and short on her.

As Jack squirmed out of his jacket, she stepped out of the Jeep, and began to unbutton the flannel shirt she wore. She was dead sure that Jack knew that she wasn’t wearing a bra – after all, he’d felt her up pretty good while they were waiting for it to get light. Unbuttoning the shirt gave him a little bit of a flash, which was what she wanted, but she turned her back before she took it off. There could be no way that Jack wasn’t looking at her back, unencumbered by a bra.

Taking her time, she pulled the camisole over her head, put her arms through the straps, and pulled it down to just above her breasts. Ready or not, here we go, she thought with a shiver of excitement going up her spine. She turned towards Jack as she pulled the camisole down, timing it so he got a very good but brief look of her bare breasts. “Ahhh, that feels better,” she smiled. “That shirt was getting to be too much.”

Jack desperately wanted to say something but couldn’t think and was tongue tied anyway. Finally, he noticed her big grin and realized that she had flashed him deliberately. “Vixen,” he smiled, “you’re something else.”

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