After two weeks—and still no sign of Wolfgirl—he’d had his first two days “down.” A lookout relief had hiked in and continued the firewatch while he got off the mountain and went into town—a four-hour hike out and another hour skidding his car down muddy logging roads and then the bland pavement of the highway to Missoula. A night at the bar and crashing in a cheap motel. Alone.
There’d been a couple of potentials at the bar, but he wasn’t into it. He’d had his fair share of cheap s*x—it usually cost a couple beers, some nachos, and a little dancing. It had always bothered him that the dancing was often better than the cheap s*x.
He hadn’t felt that way at first, of course. Women in bars had started happening for him as he’d shifted from geeky academic to muscled mechanic from wrenching
