“This isn’t anarchy. It’s real well organized. At any rate, I’m not leaving.”
“Oh, yes you are. It’s very easy.” Her voice became extremely patient. “You just put one foot in front of the other, and put your hand in mine . . .”
“No, no. Everything’s settled. We’ve got it all negotiated. We’re fixin’ to let the deputies cart us off peacefully. Better publicity that way.”
The front door burst open, and a dozen sheriff’s deputies, SWAT team members and state patrol officers calmly stepped inside.
“Time to go, folks!” their leader yelled. “You ladies follow Officer Jenkins here.”
“Scoot on out the back door, Viv,” Jake urged.
“Nobody’s going to arrest me,” she said with complete assurance. “I’m obviously just a visitor.” Officer Jenkins came toward her. “How do, ma’am,” he said somberly, and tipped his wide-brimmed trooper’s hat. “Come along.”
“But you can’t . . . I’m not . . .” Vivian sputtered. “I’m a municipal court judge in Atlanta.”
“Yeah, right. And I’m Judge Judy.”
Her eyes flew to Jake.
He gazed down at her with grim regret. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you later, when we make bail.”
“Come on, folks, let’s move it!” a deputy shouted.
Officer Jenkins guided Vivian toward the door. She backed along, staring numbly at Jake, who blew her a somber kiss.
JAKE CAME OUT of the back rooms at the small-town jail with a deputy behind him and a worried look on his face. Vivian leaned against a desk in the deserted reception area with her arms crossed and her expression set. The deputy nodded to her and went into the back again.
“I tried to pay your bail,” she told Jake. “But I hear you’re not ready to leave.”
“We’re waiting on the local bank to guarantee an extension on the farm’s mortgage. Then I’ll leave.”
“All you have to do is come with me before I change my mind about giving you a ride home.”
“Look, I know you’re mad about being arrested . . . I’m so sorry about that . . .”
“Hell, yes, I’m mad at you!” She tossed her hands into the air. “You jeopardized my reputation. You jeopardized your own life. And you didn’t confer with me before you headed here to take that risk. What kind of relationship do we have if you don’t respect me enough to warn me or even ask my advice?”
“I am sorry. You’re right. I didn’t think it through. I just knew what I had to do, and I figured it’d be best for you not to know. I knew you’d try to talk me out of it. I didn’t want you following me here.”
“I was appointed to this judgeship to finish the term for a judge who retired. But it’s an elected office, so next year I’ll be campaigning to keep my position. Do you know how my arrest record is going to look to voters?”
“Maybe it will give you extra street cred.”
“That’s only useful if I want to become a rapper.”
“You knew I fought to save my own farm.”
“Lawfully.”
Vivian cupped her forehead in one hand. “Just come get in the car. We’ll talk about this at home.”
“No. I’m goin’ back in the cell. I’ll pay my own bail.”
“Fine.”
He turned on his heel, went to the door that separated the reception area from the cells, and pounded it with one fist. The deputy peeked out a tiny window and opened the door.
“What y’all want?” he drawled.
“Back in!”
An electronic lock clanked. The door swung open. With one last glare at her, Jake stepped through.
The door shut between them.
Chapter Ten
TWO DAYS LATER Vivian’s intercom chimed. She had not heard one word from Jake since the jail scene, and she ran to the door hoping he was downstairs in her condo’s lobby. She pressed the button and sang out drolly, “If you’re here to apologize, I accept.”
“Let me think what I’ve done to make women unhappy recently,” a smooth, cultured drawl answered. “Hmmm. All right. I apologize for that, and the other, and oh, all right, for that incident involving the crème brûlée and the martini shaker. Also, I swear to you, I had no idea the tattoo wouldn’t be flattering. And, let’s see . . . about the dancer. I should never have believed there’s a respectable ballet company named the Exotica Review . . . in the meantime, let me introduce myself. I’m Rylan, Jake’s cousin.”
Vivian stared at the intercom. “Is he all right? He’s not hurt, or still in jail . . .”
“No, no. Sorry, didn’t mean to worry you. Jake’s healthy and out of the slammer. I flew in for the day, just to check on him. He’s obviously miserable about what happened. I’d like to talk to you on his behalf.”
Vivian dully invited Rylan upstairs. When he knocked at her condo’s door she opened it to reveal a tall, handsome and well-dressed blond man.
“Hello.”
“I’m sure from what Jake’s said to you that you pictured me in overalls.”
“And chewing a wad of tobacco. Come in and tell me why Jake deserves to be more miserable than I am.”
He laughed as he sat down on the couch. “He said you’re a hard sell. I can see that.”
“You’re prepared to dislike me, aren’t you?” she asked frankly. “You came here to see what kind of cranky bee-atch Jake’s gotten mixed up with.”
“Actually, I’ve heard nothing but glowing stories about you. Even now, all Jake will say is that he wishes he hadn’t upset you. That’s a pretty mild remark for a man who drank most of a pint of Jack Daniels last night.”
“He ambushes me. I’m never quite sure what to expect. And I occasionally overreact.”
“He loves you. He never says that lightly. Do you love him?”
“Yes, I do. I’ve never met anyone else like him. I’m just not sure how we’re going to build a future that reaches from here to Tuna Creek and back.”
Rylan stood. “Well, that’s settled then. I can quit worrying.”
“Is that all you came here to ask?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes.” He headed for her door.
“Wait. Tell me something I need to know about Jake. Something that will help.”
Rylan opened the door then halted. Looking back at her, he smiled sadly. “He loves surprises.”
And then he was gone, striding to the elevator. Vivian shut the door and began making plans.
BAREFOOTED, JAKE SAT in his kitchen with a cup of coffee and nothing but pictures of long-dead Coltranes to keep him company. He hung his head over the cooling coffee.
Mooooo.
At first he thought he was losing his mind. Then he knew he hadn’t—there was no mistaking the low mooooo of a cow outside. Jake covered the distance from the table to a living room window in a few long strides, pushed the uncooperative old wood up with a mighty shove, and leaned out between his faded green drapes.
“Mooooo,” a small, brown-and-white cow called again.
“Moooo,” Vivian echoed. She looked up at him plaintively, her hand holding a thick lead rope attached to the placid cow’s halter. Vivian wore stiff new overalls over a plaid shirt. She shivered in the growing cold of evening. “I brought you the one present I knew you couldn’t resist,” she told him. “She’s named after a beautiful and famous Italian lady.”
Jake sagged against the window frame. “Who?” he called.
“The ‘Moo-na Lisa.’”
They stared at each other for a long, suspenseful moment. Then he slammed the window down and disappeared.
Vivian’s hopes curdled.
“Come on, cow,” she whispered huskily, and began leading Moo-na Lisa toward the street. Suddenly she heard the rattle of the gate opening. Vivian whipped
around and watched Jake loping towards her. A smile burst out of her, and she dropped Moo-na Lisa’s rope.
He scooped her into his arms. “I’m so sorry about all of it.”
“I wasn’t thinking straight the other day, either.” She drew in the air with one hand, searching for words. “I was afraid, all right? What if you’d been shot by some trigger-happy SWAT officer? But I am proud of you. Your passion, your integrity, your anarchistic attitudes . . .”
“Mooooo,” their bovine chaperone put in.
“We gotta take care of Moo-na,” he said. “She’s a prize performer.”
“Udderly charming,” Vivian quipped.
In ten minutes, Moo-na Lisa was back inside her trailer with a paid driver taking her up to Jake’s land in Tuna Creek. Jake and Vivian walked back to the apartment hand in hand. Silently, that simple touch a lifeline between them, they entered Jake’s kitchen.
They kissed quickly, then slowly, then intimately, and Vivian circled his neck with her loving arms. He ran his hands under her, lifted her, and spread her legs so that she could wrap them around his waist. Jake smiled at her as he sat down in a kitchen chair.
“Can’t you apologize quicker?” she demanded.
“I’ve got more pride than I’ve got sense sometimes,” he admitted, weaving his fingers through her hair. Their lips met, sampled, enjoyed. “I just wanted you to be proud of me the other day. When you weren’t, it nearly killed me.”
“I was, I am,” she said. Her breath shattered against the top of his head as he nestled his face in the scoop of her neck and hugged her tightly.
“Will you marry me, Viv?”
All the color drained out of her face. “Let’s make love and talk later. I’ve missed you so much.”
“I want to know the answer, Viv. Hit me with it.”
“Where do you expect to be a year from now?”
“Back in Tuna Creek running a new dairy farm. As soon as I get this place fixed up and sell it.”
“Where does that leave the two of us?”
“In Tuna Creek, on a new dairy farm.”
“Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said in the past?”
“There’s plenty of law to practice in Tennessee.” He grinned a little. “I’ll handle the teats, you handle the torts.” When she just stared at him his smile faded. “What exactly are you sayin’, Viv?”
“I don’t know yet. Isn’t it enough to be together, now, without worrying about the future? We’ll figure it out later.”
“So we won’t talk about marriage?”
“Not yet.”
“Love and marriage aren’t separate things—not in my mind.”
“Then let’s not talk about either one.”
“Fine,” he muttered.
She pushed herself off his lap. “Fine.”
“You gonna stay here tonight?”
“Yes!”
She stomped down the hall to his dimly-lit bedroom and began pulling off her clothes. He followed her, then stood in the room with his hands on his hips and one leg angled out, watching her strip to her panties. Blushing under his unfriendly scrutiny, Vivian pulled the colorful quilts down and slid between the sheets, then turned her back to him.
A minute later, she heard his clothes and boots slap the floor with angry force. Jake settled heavily beside her in bed. His long, hairy leg brushed her short smooth one—he was much too big to avoid in a double bed. So they lay there with the light still on, together but achingly apart, their reunion strained and unhappy. Vivian hugged her pillow.
He prodded her shoulder with one finger. “If I pretend to cry, will you turn over?”
“Nope. No mercy.”
“What do I have to do to get you to turn over?”
“Ask me to.”
“Turn over.”
“That wasn’t ‘asking.’ That was ‘ordering.’”
“Would you please turn over, dammit?”
Slowly, she rolled to face him. “There. Happy?”
He grunted. “No. But I’ll do.”
They burrowed their heads together and kissed. She huddled under the covers, kissing a path down his body. His back arched.
Much later, they lay side by side in the dark, holding hands. Jake sighed. She could almost hear him thinking.
“Stalemate,” she whispered. “Give it a rest, Coltrane.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I have to get things settled between us.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I’m gonna stay here.”
“It’s out of the question. You’ve got to go back to Tuna Creek, even if that means we’ll have a long-distance marriage. You’d be miserable caged up here in the city.”
“No. You’re the most important part of my life. I’m gonna stay in the city. I won’t sell the apartments, I’ll play landlord. I’ve never expected to get diddly squat for this place, anyhow. Roberto and the others can keep their apartments rent-free if they’ll help with maintenance.”
“No.”
“Yep. So that’s settled.” He wrapped her in his arms.
She sighed and let him think the discussion was over.
Chapter Eleven
“BROTHER GABRIEL, it is now March. You have been a very bad boy since I last saw you in January.”
“Oh, no, Your Honor, I am no longer addicted to my animal passions. Kanye no longer speaks to me from store windows. I listen to a high deity now.”
Vivian leaned across her desk and eyed the thin, acne-scarred, earnest little man from head to toe. He wore voluminous brown trousers and unlaced sneakers, a green overcoat buttoned to his chin, and a tweed cap that was one size to small on his rusty hair. He carried a dog-eared People magazine and an impenetrable shield of righteousness. One of the doors at the back of the courtroom swung open, and she glanced up as Jake eased in. He grinned at her, cut his eyes to make sure no one was looking, and blew her a kiss. Vivian let the corner of her mouth crook up as if she’d caught the kiss.
“Brother Gabriel,” she said patiently, “I am pleased to see that you are no longer annoying ladies on the street.”
“Hallelujah.”
“Amen,” she reinforced. “But you cannot trade that habit for street preaching—not when you preach to the passengers of our public transportation system.”
“But they are spineless, sinful devils,” he said somberly.
“That could very well be true. But you cannot call them that. It makes them angry. It makes the court angry.”
“But the angels are happy,” he protested, waving his People. “Angelina Jolie.” He pointed at her photo.
“Angelina doesn’t ride MARTA.” The courtroom spectators tittered, and Vivian rapped her gavel. She let her gaze filter up for a split second and saw Jake leaning against a back wall at about the same angle as the droopy state flag next to him. His face was red with restrained laughter.
She cleared her throat. “Brother Gabriel, I see here in this report from your doctor that you’re showing up for regular appointments at the clinic and taking your meds.”
“Yes, Your Honor. And I’m working at a thrift store. I sort shoes and clothes.”
“I’m proud of you. But if you want to preach you’ll need to do it somewhere besides inside the public buses. I’ll write you a list of approved locations. All right?”
“I shall behave,” he promised. He leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered out of the side of his mouth, “You have blossomed since we last talked.” He opened his magazine and pointed at a photo. “I asked Alec Baldwin to give you a happy heart, and he did.”
“Why, thank you, and give my thanks to Mr. Baldwin, too.”
“I will.”
She looked up at Jake. Thanks, Vivian repeated mentally, Jake winked, pointed in the gene
ral direction of her office, and eased back out the door. With a half smile, she turned her attention to Brother Gabriel again.
He gave her a thumbs-up.
She rapped her gavel. “The court recognizes your sincerity and your efforts to reform, and releases you on your own recognizance.”
“Praise be!” Brother Gabriel shouted.
She was still smiling when she walked into her office an hour later. She saw Jake’s chicken-scrawl note under the keys to his pickup on her desk. A pensive expression erased the dimple beside her mouth as she read.
“Will get Prius washed. Pick you up at seven in my best duds. Love, Jake.”
“Are you and Jake still going out?” Cal asked from the doorway.
“Yeah. We’re meeting Jake’s cousin. Rylan. He’s in town on business, and he’s staying at the Four Seasons.”
“You look worried.”
“Jake’s paying. It’ll cost him a fortune.”
“But he wants to impress you.”
“Cal, he’s got a little book where he’s written down every penny I’ve ever spent on the apartments and every penny I’ve ever given to his tenants. He keeps telling me, ‘This entry here will come back to you in a mink coat one day. That one there will be a pair of diamond earrings.’”
“Oh, Vivian, I think I love him, too.”
Callender clasped her hands in front of her and looked sentimental. Her long eyelashes trembled. Vivian stifled a wry smile. “The truth is that you just don’t want to make Jake feel shabby,” Cal went on. “You two are so sweet together.”
“Don’t get started now, Callender. Don’t boohoo on me . . .”
It was too late.
“I envy you so much,” Cal whispered hoarsely, and disappeared out the door, sniffling.
As usual, Jake was punctual as the sunset. Vivian heard her front door open, smoothed her hands down her oyster-white blouse and simple gray skirt, made an air-kiss at herself in the bathroom mirror and hurried to greet him with open arms.
“Come right on . . . in.”
He gave her a slow, charming smile as he shut the door behind him.
Just a Little Bit Guilty Page 11
