The First Law of Love (20 page)

Case started the engine and I asked, “What do you think about Yancy's claim that he had an ancestor who was cheated out of land?”

“I was hoping to talk to you about that,” he said. “I had all these things I wanted your opinion on the other night.”

You did?
I marveled. I said honestly, “Me too, with you.”

“I'm curious just what he's using to make that claim. Documents, letters, family stories, what?”

“That's a good question,” I agreed. “I admit I wasn't expecting that. But Case,” and I loved saying his name so much I nearly said it again (and I was sure I was not imagining that he liked it too), “I know there's a connection between the timing of the plant closing and the company sweeping in here.”

“I agree with you, but it may just be that they caught wind and saw an opportunity,” he said. “It could be nothing more than a sharp business sense.”

I said, “But I know it's not. I promised Al I wouldn't rest until I found out.”

Case angled a look my way. He said, “You're dedicated. I respect that very much.”

Pleasure that he would say so rippled all through me, warm and sweet as melted chocolate. I replied, my voice far softer than normal, “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

There was a beat of something between us, the awareness of a powerful, thrumming connection. I felt tight in the chest and thought I might die, and there was no exaggeration in that notion, if I didn't touch him at once.

I knew he felt the same, I knew it to my bones, as his hands tightened on the steering wheel. I let myself study him from the corner of my eye and yearning clamped my body into an immediate and intense stranglehold.

And so it was that I found myself asking something totally ridiculous, to cover the intensity of my emotions, “So, how long is the winter out here?”

He answered in the same tone, quietly, “The old-timers have a saying: when summer heads back up the mountains, it meets winter coming down.”

“Sounds like northern Minnesota,” I said. I swallowed and then asked, “Do you ski and snowmobile, all that stuff?”

“Some,” he said. “The worst part is that I can't get out to ride as much as I'd like. It gets a little claustrophobic.”

“I remember that from Landon,” I said, as we cleared the town and the landscape stretched to the horizon on all sides, gorgeous, giving away no secrets at all. “That's when it's great to have the café, especially. Everyone gathers there and hangs out and passes the time.”

“It sounds like you have a close family,” he said. “That's such an important thing. Gus and I are pretty far apart in age. Sometimes I feel like he thinks of me as a second dad.”

“But you always took care of him, so that makes sense,” I said, without thinking, and could have bitten through my tongue. Case didn't know that Clark had told me so very much about his past.

I sensed his gaze upon me for a second, though I kept mine nervously out the windshield. He said, “Yeah, I suppose that's pretty obvious. Our own father was not the world's best role model. And Faye Rawley was more like a mother to him than anyone. I loved her too, but she couldn't replace my mom.”

“How did she die?” I asked him quietly.

“Faye, or my mother?” he asked.

“Yours,” I said.

“She was sick. To be quite honest, I don't know all the details. I know she had some kind of genetic abnormality that her own mother has passed to her, a defect in her heart valves. It was how Grandma Dalton died, too. Even though we didn't go much to the doctor, she made sure Gus and me were checked for it.”

“
And?
” I could hardly speak the word.

“They said we checked out all right at the time,” he said.

His heart. Oh God
…

He had once tried to give his heart to me, and I had not only handed it right back to him, I had thrown it across the ballroom at White Oaks Lodge. My own seemed as tiny and shriveled as a raisin, at just the thought of my own behavior.

But you didn
'
t know him then.

And besides, he doesn
'
t feel the same way anymore
…

“Well that's a very good thing,” I told him, my voice low.

“Aw shit! Look at that!” he said then, in a completely different tone of voice. To my surprise, he braked and pulled to the left side of the road, taking the truck well onto the scrubby edge. He shouldered open his door and called, “C'mon!”

I scooted after him at once; he was already headed down into the ditch as though drawn by a tractor beam. I hesitated at the edge of the road, in my dress and nylons, heeled sandals. My goddamn ridiculous shoes. Case was standing about twenty feet away, fingers linked together and braced on the top of his hat, looking out towards the distance. I looked that way too and saw a herd of horses, running along fast enough to kick up dust.

“Oh wow,” I breathed, and forgot all about the inappropriateness of my footwear, hurrying right after him. I was a little winded as I reached his side; he looked to the left, down at me, the lowering sun refracting from his sunglasses, painting his face in amber. He appeared reverent.

“You don't see them too often,” he explained. “Isn't that a sight?”

“Are they wild?” I asked, shading my eyes from the glare.

“They are. God, it makes me happy that something still is, you know what I mean? That not every wild creature is locked up in a goddamn zoo.”

I thought of the Lincoln Park Zoo, back in Chicago, and understood what he meant. Though I had never thought of it that way, it made sense to me.

“No one tries to round them up? Control them?”

“No…occasionally a rancher's horse gets mixed in, and that calls for saddling up, if you want your horse back. Usually the mares, during mating season,” he said, so very matter-of-fact, still studying the horses as they receded into the distance, dust clouding them nearly from view.

I felt a hot pulse all along my center at his words, peeking over at him as he remained in the same position, his hands braced over his hat. His biceps were amber-tinted in the sunbeams, solid and strong and sharply defined. I felt my jaw bulge as I gritted my teeth, determinedly knocking aside all feelings of raging attraction.

No use.

“That makes my whole day,” he said, turning back for the truck.

“Mine, too,” I muttered, picking my way carefully along the uneven ground. Just behind me, Case stooped to break a twig from a nearby plant.

“Here, for your car,” he said, offering it to me. “It's sage.”

“Thanks,” I said, still terribly unsettled, desire skimming along my skin like the tips of knife blades, just as keen, demanding my attention. I took the sprig from him, oddly as charmed as though he'd offered two dozen red roses. I held it under my nose and inhaled. “Oh, that smells so good.”

At the truck, I clambered in the driver's side ahead of him and he took us back out on the road. A minute later we drove past the Rawleys' place, and then Case took the left on Ridge Road, out towards his own home. I could tell he wasn't going to question exactly why I had been out here the other night, letting that sleeping dog lie; I was glad, as I couldn't exactly explain why either, even to myself. I recognized the mailbox, the barn cast now in sunlight, the trailer as rundown as ever.

Why are you so judgmental?
I demanded of myself.
Jesus, Tish
.

He parked near the barn and Buck and Cider immediately came loping from its depths. I could tell that the barn was in far better repair than the trailer, appearing to have new shingles. It was constructed of stained wood, unpainted, a split-rail corral circling outward from the west side. A pair of medium-sized black and white dogs, fluffy and with tails wagging madly, came bolting from behind the barn.

“Get down, guys,” he said, as the dogs leaped up on their hind legs against the truck. He climbed out and bent immediately to one knee to knuckle their heads. The second my feet touched the ground, the dogs raced around the truck and leaped at me, tongues lolling, their bodies wiggling excitedly to displace each other for full attention.

I leaned to rub their heads with affection; I knew I looked like a snobby city girl, and actually, embarrassingly, cultivated that image, but I truly loved animals. These two reminded me of Grandma's old labs, Chief and Chester.

“Guys, come on. Down!” Case ordered, though he was smiling, pulling off his sunglasses and then his hat, swiping the back of one wrist over his forehead before resettling it into place. The dogs obeyed, though they crowded my knees, their brown eyes bright with excitement at this new body in their yard.

“So, who are these two?” I asked.

Case indicated with his sunglasses, pointing to one and then the other as he said, “Mutt and Tiny. They're border collies. Poor guys need sheep to herd.”

A sleek orange cat leaped atop the highest rail of the corral and walked precisely along, while Cider and Buck stuck their noses out and Cider made a neighing sound, a clear call for attention.

“What are you talking about? You have a zoo right here,” I teased him, moving to cup Cider's nose. She blew a breath at me, and I laughed, patting her neck, one hand on either side of her face.

Case joined me near the corral, scooping the cat into his arms and rubbing a thumb over its head; it began purring as though equipped with a motor. He said, “You know, as a kid I wanted to be a vet more than about anything.”

“That's funny, I wanted to be one too, for a long time,” I told him. I nodded at the cat. “Is this everybody?”

I swore a flush stole over his cheeks, but it was difficult to tell, as he was already so tan and still wearing his hat. He used his free hand to pat Buck's neck as he said, “No…”

“Who else?” I asked, rapt with curiosity.

“I have a rabbit in the barn,” he said. “And a few chickens…”

“You do?” I giggled at his expression. He looked like a kid, sweet and endearing. I couldn't resist teasing him, “Do you have a shoebox with a turtle, too?”

“No, thank you very much,” he said, his tone teasing me back a little. “I like animals, what can I say?”

“So that wasn't just an excuse to leave last night,” I said. “You really did have to feed all the animals.”

He looked at me in complete silence for a moment; my heart hammered hard against my ribs. Only Cider swinging her head in annoyance broke our absorption with one another. Case said, “Whoa there, girl, I'll get you fed.”

“Can I use your bathroom quick?” I asked. I felt intrusive, asking this way, but it was that or go find a place to squat out amongst the sagebrush.

“Of course,” he said, tucking the orange cat under his arm. “Just to warn you…I wasn't exactly expecting company…”

I rolled my eyes at him.

He smiled a little and clarified, “Your place was so clean today…”

“I just don't have a lot to do in the evenings,” I said. “Normally I live in complete squalor.”

He laughed a little at my words. His yard was in shade at this point in the afternoon, only the top half of the barn bisected by the bright, slowly-sinking sun. Case led the way to his trailer, a green and white double-wide; the chili-pepper lights were strung in two rows above the screen door, which sang on its hinges as he opened it for me, taking me instantly back to the porch at Shore Leave, where the door always made the same sound.

Inside, my eyes roved all over his home. There was an undoubted intimacy to seeing someone's space in this fashion. I might as well have peered into closets and underwear drawers while I was at it.

Case said, not following me inside, “On the right, down that hall.”

He retreated to feed the animals; I watched him out the window before moving in the direction he'd indicated. The windows were all open a good six inches, allowing the scent of sage into the interior. The walls were paneled in wood, the carpet in the living room a burnt-orange. There was a small television, an old leather couch with a bed pillow at one end; did he sleep out here?

The small kitchen had one table, three chairs, dishes stacked in the sink, probably a week's worth. I trailed my fingers along the counter as I moved slowly through his house, picturing him leaning against it drinking coffee in the mornings, as the sun spilled through the east-facing windows. Blinds, but no curtains. Pictures on a lone shelf; I was drawn to these as though they were magnetized.

A couple of shots of him performing with the Rawleys, one from a long time ago, as he looked the way I remembered him from Camille's wedding. And then, my heart seizing up, I spied a small wallet-sized photo, tucked like an afterthought into the edge of a larger frame, of him and Lynnette. Before I could question the wisdom (I had less than no right, it was so not my business) I lifted it from the shelf and studied the image.

An engagement picture, maybe. She was facing him, hands on his shoulders, and they were both smiling into the camera, outside somewhere, sunlight dusting their hair. She was pretty. Really pretty, with soft brown eyes and full pink lips, and I hated that I cared. Under the sunlight in the picture Case's hair appeared afire, sparking with reds and golds. He seemed to be smiling genuinely; he appeared happy.

God, you are a selfish, selfish little bitch
, I told myself harshly, tucking the picture back into place, feeling as though images of my fingerprints covered it visibly, incriminating, my rudeness on display. Of course he didn't spend all these years longing for you.

But he wrote a song for me once.

I bet he wrote plenty of songs for her too.

Grow up, Tish, Jesus Christ.

I found the bathroom and could hardly meet my own gaze in the mirror. The space was tiny and cramped, tiled in greens that spoke of the 70s. It wasn't really messy, just full of the evidence of the man who lived here. I imagined that woman, Lynnette, living here too, but pushed the nauseating thought away. The shower curtain was drawn aside, a lone bottle of shampoo on its side on a shelf built into the tiles. I flushed the toilet and then found myself lifting the bottle to my nose to inhale; it smelled spicy and just like him, and I closed my eyes.