The First Law of Love (13 page)

What in the hell?

What are you doing? Are you insane?

Something
'
s happening out there. Out by the wizard rock. I know it.

I watched and waited, the bugs attacking my legs through my stupid, thin sundress. At least Clark had let me keep the sweatshirt, which kept me from outright freezing (it was cold as shit out here at night) and prevented my arms from being entirely devoured.

Men
, I discerned after a moment, straining to listen.

Voices carried fairly well out here in the open, much like they did across the lake, back home. Though not quite enough for me to make out actual words.

At least two
, I decided.

Hunters, maybe?

Why else would a couple of men be out here at this time of night?

I
'
ll have to ask Case
–

I cut myself short, realizing abruptly that I could do no such thing. What would I say? Would I openly admit to having been skulking about his property like a stalker? Looking for trouble? Hadn't Clark just told me a cautionary tale involving that very notion? Looking for trouble only led you to it that much faster.

But there
'
s something not right about what
'
s going on out there, I can tell.

I felt this strongly. I longed for Aunt Jilly, whose extrasensory perception was strong, who could maybe get a read on the men in the distance. I jumped a little, startled at the sound of a vehicle firing to life about two football fields from where I currently crouched, on a road not visible to me from this vantage point. It was pointed in the exact opposite direction as my car, back towards Case's house.

Follow them!

I leaped into my car, turning the key and leaving the headlights out. There wasn't another moving vehicle for miles anyway, I was sure. A tiny, immature part of me thrilled at what appeared to be a real-life mystery, the kind Camille and I longed for as kids, when we'd been into
Scooby Doo
.

Hurry!

I cranked my car around and drove forward, not so much following as driving parallel to their vehicle. The car jounced beneath me and I drove as best I could, keeping one eye on the road and the other on them. Case's yard appeared on the right, the chili-pepper lights still glowing, all other lights extinguished.

I don
'
t know what
'
s going on, but I
'
m going to find out,
I told him silently as I drove past.

Case.

Charles Shea Spicer.

For whatever reason, I liked the sound of his full name.

My window was down and the scent of sagebrush strong in my nose. The car to my left was moving fairly slowly, surely passing over tougher ground than I was at present. I watched them, again like a spider in a web, observing from a distance and not about to let them get away. They reached the main road, the one that led into Jalesville, not five miles away. I stepped on it a little and turned after them, keeping my distance.

Shit, you better turn on the headlights.

Not yet.

You
'
ll get a ticket! Worse, you could hurt someone.

I clicked the button on the dash and immediately the vehicle I was following braked. They were a good deal ahead of me, but I interpreted this action as their suspicion. I braked too, instantly, letting the distance between us increase. It was only when there was a chance that they were about to disappear over the horizon that I dared to speed up, pursuing their taillights.

They drove into Jalesville ahead of me; there wasn't a hint of additional traffic on the road, which made the stoplight seem completely unnecessary. But it was my luck, as I pulled directly behind them, much like I'd pulled up behind Case's truck, and I studied every detail of the 4x4 in front of my bumper.

Black GMC, Colorado plates. Interesting. The windows had a light tint so I couldn't exactly tell how many bodies were inside. I mentally jotted down the license plate, though, and realized I could not tail them any longer; it would be as obvious as a noisy fart in a classroom full of students taking a test. I giggled at my thought, way more than a little overtired.

Probably none of this means a damn thing anyway
, I thought.

The light changed to green and the GMC pulled forward. I turned left, back towards my apartment, deciding that I needed a good night's sleep more than anything else.

Morning sunlight, warm and golden, soft as a mother's hand on my cheek. I stretched, not quite fully awake, and my first thought was to go and tell my sisters and Clinty what I had done last night. But they were in Minnesota. And I had work to do today, intent on living up to my growing (and at this point, thoroughly undeserved) reputation as the hero of Jalesville.

You have a real complex
, I told myself.

I brewed coffee, munching a banana as I reworded my argument for Tuesday night. As much as I was trying not to acknowledge it, a great deal of my attention kept getting swept into the notion that Case would be there, listening. Not to mention about half the town. But his opinion, as I was quickly discovering, mattered a great deal to me. I moved out to the porch, hoping the sunny day would distract me, but no good. I only found myself thinking about how the sun would play over his red-gold hair.

I want to see another picture of him
, I thought then, peering back over my shoulder at my laptop, lying forlorn on the sofa.

No. Tish, no.

Stop it.

I turned resolutely back to my work.

Around five in the afternoon, Clark called to tell me that they were having a bonfire at their place in a few hours, waking me from where I had dozed off on the porch chair.

“Supper, too, hon, if you haven't eaten yet,” Clark added, and I laughed at that.

“You spoil me,” I told him.

“I'm happy to,” Clark replied.

I dressed in jeans and my tennis shoes, a light gray cotton t-shirt, and brought along my brown leather jacket for when it got cold later, embarrassed that I had gone too far with the sundress yesterday. I felt small and petty, wanting to attract attention that I had no business attracting. I left my hair loose and held off on the make-up, only dashing some gloss over my lips.

Will he be there?
I wondered as I drove through town and then out to the Rawleys'. I was not yet pathetic enough to have questioned Clark about this, though I had wanted to, very much.

He might not even be there.

He will
, I assured myself.
He
'
ll ride Cider.

I gripped the steering wheel in both fists as I was suddenly overwhelmed with a vision, intense and immediate, of riding Cider along with Case, sitting in front of him, his chest bracketing my shoulders, his thighs aligned with mine, his kisses on my neck, from behind.

Oh God.

Oh my God.

I shuddered hard then and mentally banged my forehead on the steering wheel as I turned into the driveway.

His truck isn
'
t here
…

I parked and climbed out of the Honda, trying to appear casual as I went straight to the corral fence, peering at the barn doors, open to the evening. I could see the edge of a stall, and the Rawleys' horses were all in there, as I could hear, but I could not discern if a certain sorrel with a white spot between her nostrils was also among them. I pretended that Cider would come clomping outside, knowing I was here, to greet me.

It was just Clark, Wy, Marshall and me for dinner; I ate as much as I was able to with a ball of disappointment sitting heavily in my gut, though we talked easily and I truly enjoyed their company. When the sound of a truck entering the yard came rolling through the open windows, I almost jumped out of my seat to run to the door – but it was just Sean and Quinn, returning from a roofing job, dirty and starving. I was debating which excuse I could use to beg off and leave early, go home and curl up on my bed, when Clark said from the kitchen, where he was refilling his wine glass, “I told the boys eight-thirty. Wonder where they are?”

He means Case and Gus.

My eyes flew to the grandfather clock in the living room; it was quarter to nine, and we were lingering around the table as Sean and Quinn finished up their supper. At Clark's words my energy was all at once restored, my heart alive and fluttering around as though it had sprouted a pair of little feathery wings.

“Gus's got dinner at Lacy's folks tonight,” Sean said around a huge mouthful of cornbread. The Rawley boys had accepted me as a sister; I knew this because they acted just like brothers around me. I might as well have been a boy for the level of comfort they displayed in my presence, belching and telling off-color jokes, unconcerned if their hair was messy or their clothes were stained with a day's work. Instead of repelling me, I only felt the warmth of acceptance. At the same time, I knew I was completely safe with all of them, that they wouldn't hesitate to stand up for me, if occasion ever required.

“What about Case?” I asked Sean, who was elbowed up to his plate on my left, sopping another bite of cornbread through gravy. At my question I felt Marshall's eyes upon me, from across the table.

“He's probably on the way right now,” Quinn answered, snatching a third pork chop from the platter in the middle of the table before adding, “He joined us shingling on the Hellers' barn today, for the afternoon. Said he had to go home and clean up quick.”

I smiled at this news, wide, unable to help myself. I happened to be looking at Wy, whose eyebrows lifted as he inadvertently smiled back at me. I grew flustered then, rising and finding an excuse for my restless movement by helping clear the table; I had insisted upon loading the dishwasher each of the nights that Clark had invited me, feeling as though it was a small way to repay him for his kindness, for making me a part of the family this summer.

“Shit,” I muttered, as gravy splashed on my t-shirt on my second trip, right between my breasts. I had been carrying too many dishes for one armload. I rinsed them in the sink and made the mess on my shirt worse by scrubbing at it with a damp towel. It was then that I heard the dogs barking outside, in a friendly, excited way. In a greeting.

He
'
s riding up!

He
'
s here, he
'
s here!

I darted down the back hallway to the little half-bath I knew was there and clicked on the light, shutting the door and regarding myself in the mirror. Again my cheeks were as hot as though I'd downed a couple of bottles of wine on my own, rather than the single beer I'd actually sipped with dinner. Heat had absolutely overtaken my face. I ran my fingers frantically through my hair, which was extra wavy and tangled in the humidity. It appeared that maybe I hadn't even brushed it today, and here I was in a stained shirt.

There was a small window in this bathroom, open a few inches, and even though I was on the opposite side of the house, I distinctly heard Case, joking about something. Then he told Sean to grab Garth's old guitar.

“It's still here, isn't it?” Case asked, his deep voice carrying through the night, right to me. I fantasized that he was going to ask if I was here; but of course he would have seen my car. My heart was on a roller coaster, currently at the peak of a steep hill, poised to race downward into open space.

“Yeah, I'll grab it,” Sean said.

“Guys, help me with this wood!” Wy called plaintively, from farther away, probably around the barn.

“Buddy, you gotta help yourself with your
own
wood,” Marshall teased his youngest brother. “Ain't nobody gonna help you with it, unless maybe you get a sweet little girlfriend.”

They were all laughing then; I couldn't help but giggle too, feeling a little like I was back in high school. But it wasn't an unwelcome feeling.

Wy fired back, “At least I
have
wood,” and then there was more laughter, and the sounds of scuffling, and I realized I couldn't keep hiding out in here, gravy stains on my shirt or no.

As I came back into the kitchen, Clark called through the screen door, “Tish, honey, can you bring that six-pack on the counter?”

“Sure thing!” I called back, hooking my fingers around the cardboard handle.

The first thing I saw upon stepping outside, my senses on high alert, was Cider nosed up to the corral fence. I nearly burst apart with happiness at this sight, my eyes already roving the yard for a glimpse of Case. Marshall and Quinn had constructed a kindling tepee out in the stone pit beyond the wooden barn, which was already blazing away as Clark prepared to position larger sticks, and then I saw Case, in a lawn chair, plunking along on the old guitar.

I smiled joyously, pausing at the corral to pat Cider's warm jaw; because no one was looking, I pressed a quick kiss to the white spot on her nose, in the exact place that I had observed Case press his lips to her yesterday. When I approached the fire with the six-pack held in one hand, he looked right up at me and actually grinned, wide and warm. I felt about as hot as the center of the growing bonfire. Case nodded at the seat beside his and my heart executed a complete backflip, in pure joy.

“Hey,” I said, tamping down the urge to reach my free hand and stroke his red-gold hair, which was freshly washed, I could tell, so soft-looking in the firelight, the orange flames playing over the angles of his face, his firm chin and strong nose, his beautiful cinnamon-spice eyes. I settled into the chair and angled my knees towards him, setting the beers on the ground.

“Hey there,” he said softly. He began picking out the tune of the song with which he'd ended his show at The Spoke just two nights ago; I recognized it even though he was using a guitar rather than the fiddle this time. He strummed almost unconsciously and then asked me, “You have any requests?”

I do, oh God, I do.

But I can
'
t request any of those things of you.

I continued to study his eyes, so close to him, when he usually kept a subtle distance between us. I could not for the life of me figure him out. Last night he'd been aloof, except for when we talked about the horses. Tonight he seemed relaxed, approachable. So much so that I was seriously considering displacing the guitar and climbing right onto his lap.

I was so dangerously close to saying,
I drove by your place last night, Case. And something was happening out there.

I had to find a way to tell him.

He raised his eyebrows at me then, certainly wondering at my silence. I said, “What you were just playing was really pretty. I liked it the other night too.”

Was that satisfaction on his face? I thought so, watching him intently. He said quietly, “Thank you.”

“Did you write it?” I pressed, even though I knew he had.

He strummed a G-chord, his eyes now in the fire, and nodded.

“That's so impressive,” I told him, truly wanting him to know I felt that way, that he impressed me greatly. I wished we were alone out here; I was so greedy of my time with him, wanting to hoard it. I wanted to ask him a thousand questions. I wanted him to look back at me.

“Casey, we're on for Wednesday at the fairgrounds, right?” Marshall asked, flopping down on my other side, and I longed to kick him for interrupting.

Case nodded. He said, “Lee asked me to fill in on the stage The Spoke sets up, on Tuesday, but I told her not until after the meeting.”

“I can join you Tuesday,” Marsh said, then bumped his shoulder against mine, the way Clint might, back home. He teased, “Lots of hot girls come to the fair.”

“Lots of hot girls like musicians,” I agreed, bumping my own shoulder back against Marshall, with maybe a hair more force than required. “
Lucky you
.”

Marshall got me in playful headlock then and knuckled my scalp, totally fucking up my hair. God, he was just like Clint. I yelped and elbowed his ribs and then Case reached behind me and slapped the back of Marsh's head, hard.

“Ouch!” Marshall complained, releasing me. “Fine, I give up. I'm no match for the two of you.”

“Dammit, Marsh,” I grumbled. “Now my hair is all tangled.”

“It already was,” he said right back, all defensive. “I didn't do anything that wasn't already done.”

I had to giggle at this logic.

Case was back to strumming the guitar, seemingly unconcerned. His arm had touched my back, just briefly. I wanted to beg him to put his arm around me, this time on purpose, and for much longer than a second. Marsh saw Wy coming with a tray of s'mores supplies, and jumped up to snatch a chocolate bar.

“He's such a
child
,” Case said in mock exasperation. I giggled. And then he added, quietly, “And your hair is beautiful, all down like that.”

I drew in a breath at these wholly unexpected words, my cheeks erupting with heat now. He studied me silently for the space of one more breath, before he looked back at the fire, still gently plucking the strings.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Wy abruptly claimed the spot that Marsh had abandoned.

“Here, Tish, can you take this?” Wy asked, passing me the tray. “Will you be in charge of making the s'mores?”

“Sure,” I said, settling it over my lap. “I'll make a little assembly line here.”

Sean passed around roasting sticks.

“I can roast you one,” Wy offered, as my hands were full as I unwrapped the Hershey bars and broke graham crackers in half.

“I got it, buddy,” Case said easily, setting aside the old guitar and reaching to take two marshmallows from the tray on my lap. I held completely still for just a second before resuming what I'd been doing. Case said to me, “I roast a pretty good marshmallow, just so you know.”

I peeked at him, so completely happy to be close to him like this, that he was joking with me, relaxed.
He had complimented me
. I said, “I'm holding you to that. I can never get the right balance. Either too burned or too raw.”

Case said, “Once Garth had a marshmallow catch on fire out here, so he starts waving it around, freaking out, and it flew off the stick and landed on his nose.” I giggled at this, and Case went on, “We were only about twelve or so.”