Jaded (18 page)

Dodd cleared his throat, and his Adam's apple quivered. “Can I ask you something?”

He sounded nervous again, and I risked looking up. His eyes were troubled, and when I made eye contact, he glanced at the fire, then back to me.

“Of course.” I tried to sound encouraging, but I worried what he'd ask.

“How do you feel about God?”

“Oh.” I returned my gaze to his neck. “Him?”

“I mean … you believe in God, right?”

“Of course.”

He sighed. “Well, that's a relief.”

“Is it?”

“God is pretty important in my life, and you know … I was hoping He was important to you, too.” One of his thumbs circled my hipbone lightly.

“I do believe in God …”

He peered down at me and laughed. “I sense a
but
coming.”

“But the church is messing with Him. I'm surprised He puts up with it, really.”

He paused, then moved one hand to my neck and rubbed the back of his fingers against my jaw. “Ruthie, you're fascinating.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don't start that again.”

“No, seriously. You've nailed it. Sometimes Christians are a mess.”

“Yeah, my dad was a Christian.” I shrugged. “He had this enormous Bible with some kind of Western cowboy cover on it with leather laces around the edges. I always thought it looked like a rectangular saddle. He used to read it all the time, but look how he turned out.” I blinked the memory away. “Anyway, God and I have an understanding, but it doesn't include going to worship services, and it doesn't involve hanging around with Christians.”

He pushed my chin up until I was looking at him. “None of them?”

“You're different.” I wrinkled my nose. “I suppose I could hang out with you if I had to.”

His fingers were still on my chin, and he held me there as he brushed his lips against mine. He tasted of chocolate and smelled of mesquite smoke, and when he pulled away, I stood on tiptoe and found his lips again. His hand slid to the back of my neck, and his fingers twined through my hair. I forgot I was cold. I
wasn't
cold. Warmth spread through my body, radiating from his hands and mouth all the way down to my frozen toes.

I'd never been kissed like that before, but not because his technique was anything special. It was
him
. The whole of Dodd Cunningham as a man. The way he worked to provide for Grady and Milla, his easygoing conversations that always drew me in and made me forget I was nervous, that curl behind his ear that was finally growing back, the way he ate potato chips whole, even his influence on our little town.

That's what was different about Dodd.

His lips touched mine one last time before he pulled me close.

As I lay my head against his shoulder, John Mayer's next song began playing, and I knew I had been wrong.

I would definitely say
yes
when he asked again.

 

Chapter Thirty

I asked him out myself. By Thursday I was tired of waiting and invited him to drive around and look at Christmas lights that night when I got off work. He gave the impression he'd been waiting for me to ask, and I had the urge to pop him in the arm. He only grinned and nodded and said sure, he'd pick me up at the United. His eyes held mine, and my heart quivered, and the sensations and feelings running through my mind and body were foreign to me. To say the man was under my skin would've been putting it mildly.

For a while I stopped thinking about the conflict between my family and the church. I seemed to be held captive by Dodd's personality, his smile, his casual familiarity. I didn't care if he was the preacher. I didn't care if Momma despised him or if the church scorned me. I wanted to be with Dodd Cunningham—
the preacher, for heaven's sake
—and nothing would stop me.

Dodd glanced across the seat of the El Camino as he sped down the highway, following my directions to the next Christmas-light display. “Ruthie, I'm really not comfortable sneaking around behind your mother's back.”

Suddenly the conflict mattered after all.

“I can't do that to Momma. She couldn't handle it.” The dashboard cast a yellowish glow across Dodd. He wore a sweatshirt. Either he wasn't concerned with impressing me or he was attempting to level the playing field by not outdoing my work clothes. I chose to assume he was concerned about my feelings.

He squinted. “What do you think would happen?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Highway reflectors sped past my window, and I absentmindedly counted them. One, two, three, four, five. “She struggles with depression and anxiety. Mostly depression. She's all right if the status quo doesn't get rattled, but if she feels overwhelmed, she'll freak out.”

“What does her
freak out
look like?”

I crossed my arms, but then lowered them deliberately to my sides. “Best-case scenario, she would go to bed for a few weeks. Worst case? Fits of rage followed by intense remorse … which could lead to self-injury.” The volume of my voice decreased gradually. “And sometimes attempts at suicide.”

His head jerked to look at me, and then he slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road as the hum of tires on pavement lowered a pitch. “She's attempted suicide?”

“Twice. The first time was after Daddy left. She was in a treatment center in Lubbock for the better part of a month. That's when I started staying with Uncle Ansel and Aunt Velma a lot.”

He reached over and laid a hand on my shoulder. “I didn't know.”

I wished he'd keep driving. If another car happened along and saw us on the side of the road, they would undoubtedly stop to render aid. “The next house is just around the corner.”

“Time to bottle up those emotions again?”

I slid across the seat and pressed my lips against his, obviously surprising him. “Yes. It's that time.” His eyebrows lifted, and he leaned toward me, but I returned to my side of the car and pointed down the road. “After you round the corner, you won't be able to miss it. Just pull over in front of the house.”

He chuckled low and let his foot off the brake. “Yes, ma'am.” He cleared his throat softly and seemed about to say something, when the Christmas lights came into view. “Whoa!”

It was the Coulsons' place. The house was set near the road, and we had an excellent view of their plastic, antique yard art. “They've been working on this collection for years. From garage sales and eBay mostly, and every trip they go on, they bring back another addition.”

Flanking the front door were soldiers and three-foot candlesticks. On the roof was a Santa complete with his own plastic chimney. Next to him was another Santa with a sleigh and eight reindeer in flight. The yard lay utterly filled with every possible decoration. Elves, snowmen, candy canes, presents, teddy bears, angels, carolers, and a complete nativity scene, including camels. Each plastic treasure was illuminated from the inside with a lightbulb.

Dodd pointed to a Snoopy figure at the corner of the house. “Peanuts. Ruthie, this is great.”

I giggled. “I know.”

He pointed again. “What's that one near the porch?”

“Maybe an elf next to a mailbox? Looks like he's sending a letter to Santa.”

“And look, there's Tigger.”

I searched the yard. “I don't see Winnie-the-Pooh anywhere.”

“No, he's not here.” Dodd studied the yard slowly, then muttered, “Oh, now …
no
.” He leaned toward me, placing one hand on my shoulder and pointing with the other. “Look at the side of the house. They've got two pilgrims and the Easter Bunny. That's just wrong.”

I smiled at him. So much light shone from the yard, the interior of the car was lit as brightly as the afternoon sun. “At least they tried to hide them around the side.”

A curtain moved at the front window, and Dodd shifted the car into gear. “Looks like it's time to go. Where next?”

“Back to town, actually. But drive straight through, because we're going about ten miles west this time.”

We had already been to the fire department, where the volunteer firefighters had set their lights to music. And on our way to the Coulsons' plastic explosion, we stopped by a farmhouse bedecked in blue lights reflecting in a small lake.

When I first suggested we drive around looking at lights, Dodd had been leery, speculating there weren't enough decorated houses, but now I felt pleased to see him enjoying himself. Even though we had to drive twenty minutes between houses, the results were worth it.

I pointed to a large two-story lit with multicolored bulbs. “Not my favorite, but it's nice just the same.”

“What? Oh, right.” Dodd frowned slightly.

Whatever distracted him was about to work its way to his mouth.

“What was the second time your mother made an attempt?”

I flopped my arm on the edge of the window. “Are we still talking about Momma?”

“Not if you don't want to, no.” He shook his head and smiled sheepishly. “I'm sorry. Let's talk about something else.”

But of course, neither of us could think of anything else after that. We rode in silence for a few minutes, with Dodd humming purposefully, before I caved. “Three years ago, Neil Blaylock cheated Uncle Ansel in a cattle deal.” I glanced at Dodd. “He sold Ansel twenty heifers that ended up sick. My uncle spent a lot of money on the veterinarian, but he still lost five or six head.”

Dodd's elbow rested on the doorframe, and his fingers pressed against his temples. “I know I'm not a cattleman, but how could either of them know the cows were sick when Neil sold them to Ansel?”

“It was just too convenient. Momma said Neil did it to get back at her for some reason. She never told me what.” I fiddled with the radio, trying to tune in a local station but getting only static. I clicked it off. “She was in treatment longer that time.”

Dodd spoke quietly. “Three years ago. Your senior year?”

“Summer before. I was already working at the United, but I upped my schedule to thirty hours a week, and after graduation, the school board hired me to work days at the high school.” A sarcastic laugh slid from my throat. “It's a good thing everyone in town doesn't treat me like the Blaylocks do, or I probably wouldn't have a job.”

Dodd gripped the steering wheel and stared down the highway. He didn't speak.

“What?” I asked.

His expression softened, and I knew he hadn't meant to let me see his reaction. He spoke smoothly as though to buffer his words. “It's just that I can't picture Neil Blaylock deliberately hurting your family. He's a strong Christian man with high morals. None of it makes any sense.” He glanced at me. “Is it all right if I pull over so we can talk about it?”

“We're almost to the next location, so just keep going.” I wasn't sure I wanted to talk about it. Not if he was going to defend Neil Blaylock. “Turn on that gravel road after the mile marker.” When I looked his way again, his face was so downcast, I couldn't stay irritated. Maybe he really couldn't make sense of things. I couldn't either. The Blaylocks, especially Neil, never made sense to me.

Dodd's expression shifted to wonder as we came close to the next light display. “Where's the house?”

“It's just the Christmas tree.” A hundred yards away, Old Man Guthrie's evergreen stood smack in the middle of a cotton field. White lights twinkled from its branches, shedding an eerily festive glow across the moonlit landscape.

“Stop the car at this gate. We can walk in or just look from here.”

Dodd turned off the car and stared. His eyes drifted across the field before he slowly rolled down his window and opened the door. “How is that done?” He stopped near the front bumper.

“I'm not sure. Mr. Guthrie used to be an architect. He designed a lot of buildings in the Panhandle.” I shrugged. “His house is three or four miles from here.” I pointed. “You can see the porch light.”

Dodd stood in the moonlight and ran a hand over his mouth and chin. “I don't hear a generator, so he must have an electric line out here.” He glanced at me as though he had forgotten I was there. “Can we walk over there? Do you mind? Would the owner care?”

“No, he's a friend of Uncle Ansel's. I called this afternoon.” I smiled. “At least, I have permission. I don't know about
you
.”

Dodd grabbed my hand and laced his fingers gently between mine. “Thank you for bringing me here. And I'm sorry about before.”

I pulled him through the gate. “So, your fascination with this tree. Is that the mathematician in you?”

“I guess.” He chuckled. “I always love figuring out how things work or trying to make things work better, or more efficiently, or more productively.”

As we approached the tree, Dodd jogged ahead of me, walking in a circle, studying the trunk and the illuminated ground beneath the branches. The tree was much taller than it appeared from the road. “This is a ponderosa pine,” he said. “The owner must have some kind of lift equipment to get the lights up there. Even an extension ladder wouldn't work. And he definitely has an electric line out here. Do you suppose he ran it all the way from his house?” He didn't wait for an answer. “But I can't figure why he'd do that just for Christmas decorations. He must need electricity for something else. Or maybe the electricity was here before the fields.” He stared at the neat rows of plants as a slight wind whistled through the evergreen needles.

“And you thought no big trees grew around here.”

“They don't. Obviously he waters regularly, which is why he planted it so close to the well.”

I followed his hand gesture to a metal pipe I hadn't noticed, and then I leaned against the tree trunk and laughed out loud. “You're like a five-year-old at the science museum.”

“Actually …”—the tempo of his voice increased—“when I was little, I'd take Mom's appliances apart, figure out how they worked, and then put them back together. Well, mostly I got them back together.”

“I'll ask your mother for her version of the story later.” I looked up into the canopy of branches above my head, losing myself in the mass of twinkling lights.

“Do that,” he challenged, stepping closer.

“You need to quit teaching high school and get an engineering degree.”

He rested his forearm against the tree just above my head and gazed into my eyes. “I don't know about that.”

His nearness relaxed me, and the back of my head bumped lazily against the trunk. “You should obey me.”

“I'll think on it.” He leaned down and covered my lips with his.

As we kissed, my brain whispered a warning, but my heart was far louder, and I lost myself in his touch. When he pulled away with a smile, I could still faintly hear the echoes of doubt, but I desperately shoved them from my mind.