Sunshine Walkingstick Omnibus

by Celia Roman

  “No charge,” he said gently, and Missy smiled, a secretive woman smile what warmed us all inside and out.

  “You’re going to the wedding?” she asked.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  I opened my eyes real wide hoping she wouldn’t mention the name of the man I was dating. Fame weren’t too keen on what was going on between me and Riley. Seeing as how him and Riley’s daddy was entangled in the next best thing to a blood feud, I didn’t rightly blame him.

  Missy fluttered dark eyelashes and her smile stretched wide. “Are you taking a date?”

  I grimaced. Dang her hide. Why’d she have to tease me like that?

  Trey snickered and waggled his eyebrows at me, and that firmed up my resolution. Time for a subject change.

  “Run into a painter on the way up,” I said.

  Fame’s gaze jerked away from his plate up to mine and his expression went glacial cold. “Tell me.”

  So I spilled the beans, how I thought it mighta warned me before it stepped outta the woods, and how it just stared at me after, then disappeared real quiet like without threatening me. As an afterthought, I described the painter me and David found two days ago out on Patterson Gap Road, though I left out the part about the human eyes. Who’d believe a thing like that anyhow? ‘Sides which, I just wanted the boys to be careful when they was out and about, not scared outta their gourds.

  Fame listened real patient like during my recitation, his hands loose on his fork and knife. When I was done, he pinned a serious gaze on me. “You run into another painter, you call me right then.”

  I opened my mouth, closed it. I been on my own a long time, and not once did Fame ever imply I couldn’t handle trouble on my own, not even when I went after the pooka what killed my boy. “Fame—”

  He stabbed the fork at me. “Call me, Sunny girl.”

  And that was the end of that discussion. Trey and Gentry glanced at each other, then Trey caught my eye and said, “You want, I can sleep on the couch for a while.”

  I gaped at him. “What on earth for?”

  “Me, too,” Gentry said, soft and sweet. “On the floor.”

  I glanced around the table from Missy’s furrowed brow to Fame’s stone hard expression to the slightly puzzled looks my cousins wore. “A lone painter ain’t no big deal. I can take care of it on my own without you two interfering, push comes to shove.”

  Gentry placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Dad says to call, you call, all right?”

  I nodded stiffly, too befuddled to protest more. Missy perked up and burst into a spate of harmless gossip. Somebody’s baby took her first step or some such, but my mind was fixed on Fame and the way he reacted to news of that painter.

  Chapter Four

  Uneasiness rested heavy on me for the rest of the evening, hard as I tried to dislodge it. I shrugged off Trey’s offer to walk me home, half annoyed he dared ask, half pleased he thought to look after me. The trail was dark. I had a flashlight and a handgun. Didn’t need no more’n that, did I?

  But that uneasiness clung to me all the way home under skeletal tree branches and a disappearing moon, and well into my dreams. Henry was there calling to me, his pallid skin shining like a pearl, his bloodied hands stretched toward me like dried up twigs.

  I need you, Mama. Where are you?

  I woke in a sweat with the sheets tangled around my legs in the bedroom’s chill, my chest heaving under ever breath and cold dread a sick knot in my gut. God a’mercy. That was the last time I let anybody scare me, ‘specially folks what knowed I could take care of my own dang self.

  I slumped back on the bed and stared at the dark water stain twisting along the ceiling above me. Teus shoulda been more thorough in his redecorating. He got the carpet and my eyes, but there he’d gone and missed that eyesore on the ceiling.

  The thought popped into my head amidst the ruins of the nightmare fogging my brain, startling laughter outta me, and the fear lingering in me faded. Have to tell him that next time I seen him. At least I’d have the pleasure of watching that know it all grin of his twist into a disgruntled frown.

  In the meantime, I had work to do. Riley was coming by after work for Wednesday supper, as he called it, and danged if I was gonna be in a bad mood when he arrived. I kicked the covers away and rolled off the bed, and spent the entire morning jiggling myself into peaceful calm.

  Long about one in the afternoon, right when I was considering grabbing a quick bite to tide me over ‘til suppertime, an engine interrupted my chores, growing louder ‘til it halted in my driveway and turned off. I marked my place in the accounting textbook I was reading (part of my late devised plan to act like a genuine businesswoman), pulled the Ruger LCP .380 I kept under my desk outta its holster, and headed toward the door.

  Unexpected company warranted caution, that’s all. Weren’t the remnants of a nightmare spurring me on.

  Feet bounded up the porch steps outside in a familiar patter, and I holstered the gun. Riley. What was he doing here so early in the day?

  He rapped lightly on the door, opened it, and stuck his head in, a half grin stretching his mouth. “Hey, baby. You eat yet?”

  I pushed myself away from my desk and stood. “Was about to. Why?”

  “Thought we could run into town together and grab a bite.”

  I shook my head, as pleased by him thinking of me as I was on seeing him. “You coulda called.”

  “And spoil the surprise?” He stepped all the way in and shut the door behind him, then stood there with his legs spread wide, his arms crossed over his broad chest, and a smug grin on his face. “Besides. We have some planning to do.”

  I arched an eyebrow, attempting a sophisticated I didn’t feel. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I just ran into Jazz.”

  “In the middle of the woods?”

  “At Lake Burton Café, smart ass.”

  “If you done eat, what’re you doing here?”

  His gaze went from playful to smoldering in three seconds flat, but that’s not where his words followed. “I was in the café grabbing some water. You interested in lunch or not?”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “My turn to cook tonight.”

  “Mm-hmm. Come here.”

  His voice dropped down to a low rumble what shivered through me from head to toe, and caught along a few mighty interesting spots along the way. I shifted from one foot to t’other, a futile attempt to ease the sudden ache between my thighs. “What for?”

  “You know what for.”

  Boy, did I. Didn’t mean I was gonna give in easy. “You come over here.”

  He shook his head real slow, his stance rooted like a giant, ageless oak. “Sunshine.”

  “Oh, all right,” I huffed, but my limbs was a tad unsteady as I walked over and planted myself in front of him. “Here I am. Happy?”

  “Almost,” he murmured, and his hands dropped and caught me to him, and his mouth came down on mine, easy and gentle and sweet, and for a second, I forgot ever reason there was why I needed to resist Riley Treadwell’s hold on me as long as I could.

  He slid his mouth across mine in a practiced kiss, nipped my lower lip, then pressed soft kisses along my cheek toward my throat. “You taste good enough to eat.”

  My legs went weak, and danged if I didn’t sag against him. “If you’re that hungry, we best get some food in your gullet.”

  He huffed out a laugh against my skin. “In a minute. Rumor has it you bought a fancy dress for the wedding.”

  It took me a minute to shift gears. When my brain finally sorted itself from the mush aroused by Riley’s touch, I mustered up a tart reply. “I ain’t gonna find a matching tie for you.”

  “Not wearing a tie.” He shifted his hold on me and kissed my throat, smacking his mouth against my skin. “We’re going together.”

  “I figured we might.”

  “No arguments.”

  I drew back and eyed him through narrowed eyelids. “You telling me what to do now?”
r />   “Yup,” he said, serious like. “You and me, Sunny.”

  The soft words hung in the air between us, an unspoken promise full of bitter longing and memories best left forgotten, and the hope of better things to come. “Riley,” I said, too rattled by the moment enveloping us to utter another word.

  “You and me,” he repeated, and eased away from me. “Ishy’s for lunch?”

  I let it go, more as I didn’t know what else to do than anything, but the conflicting emotions the brief conversation engendered clung to my skin like a burr for a long time after, worrying their way into the back of my mind while I done my best to ignore ‘em.

  Riley shied away from serious soon as we left, and stayed that way through the drive to Clayton, leading me into the playful banter I was used to, almost like he never said a word to the contrary.

  I played along, too unsettled by his mood shifts to do more. Riley was steady as a rock. Slow to anger, quick to laugh, and even quicker to avoid anything what might scare me off.

  Danged if I was gonna ask what’d got into him.

  We dropped by his apartment on the way to the restaurant. I paced up and down the sidewalk in front of the apartment complex whilst he packed a bag of casual clothes, to change out of his DNR uniform after work. Now, I liked his work outfit as much as the next woman, and who could blame me? The black polo stretched across his wide shoulders and highlighted his flat stomach, and the green twill slacks clung to his narrow hips and firm butt. But Riley in worn jeans and a t-shirt was something else. Comfortable, comforting, and tempting as sin on a Saturday night.

  Not that I was gonna tell him so.

  Lunch went smooth and easy, about like him. After, we headed straight back to my place so Riley could get back to work. He slowed his work truck, a forest green F-150, as he negotiated my driveway, and eased to a stop in the parking lot. “Who’s that?”

  I stared at the oddly familiar man sitting ramrod straight on the top step of my porch. He was old, maybe in his seventies, and wore his silver hair in braids under each ear. His blue and red plaid flannel shirt was buttoned to the collar. Its ends pooled untucked around his lap over the sharp creases of his jeans.

  The man looked up and met my gaze across the parking area. A funny queasiness clenched around my stomach and that odd sense of familiarity prickled under my skin. Where did I know him from?

  I curled my fingers around the door handle and squeezed tight. “I don’t know.”

  “Cherokee?”

  “I don’t know,” I repeated, and that was the unvarnished truth. My daddy was the only other Cherokee I knowed. His family turned their backs on him when he eloped with my mama. Seems his mama was more interested in preserving the purity of her blood than seeing her son happy. I never met her nor any of his other kin, and was dang happy for it.

  Riley cupped a warm palm over my thigh. “Want me to come in with you?”

  I eyed the stranger sitting so calm on my porch, like a statue waiting for God to whisper breath into him. “No,” I said after considering it careful like. “I’ll be ok.”

  “Sunny.” Riley sighed and shook his head, and took his hand back, leaving my thigh too cold in its absence. “Call if you need me. I’m working out this way all afternoon.”

  “I know,” I said softly, and leaned across the seats and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek. “Don’t forget supper.”

  “How could I?” he teased, a hint of laughter in his voice. “You’re making meatloaf.”

  I cut a side-eyed glance at him. “You’re the only man I know what likes meatloaf.”

  He flashed a grin at me. “Your meatloaf puts everybody else’s to shame, baby.”

  “I’m gonna tell your mama you said that.”

  His laughter followed me outta the truck. I slammed the door on it, let memory preserve it in my mind for the hard times sure to come, and walked slowly toward the porch.

  The man stood just as slow and stared down at me from a great height. “Sunshine?”

  I stopped a few feet from the porch steps and squinted up at him against the blue, blue sky haloing his head. “Yessir.”

  “I’m Johnny Walkingstick,” he said, and his voice crackled like dry leaves underfoot. “Your grandfather.”

  And just like that, ever thing good crumbled away from me, leaving me with the lonely ache of a near-orphan what’d longed too hard for somebody to love her.

  Chapter Five

  I glanced away from the man claiming to be my daddy’s daddy, and unbidden, my hands curled into fists at my side.

  “You favor your mother.”

  I snapped my gaze back to him, too ready to cut him to bits with anger sharpened words. His face held a touch of sadness I knowed all too well, tempering my gut reaction to his unexpected appearance.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “To know you.” He stepped gingerly down each tread and jerked to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. “Your eyes are blue.”

  That weren’t none of his beeswax. I bit my tongue, refusing to blurt that out. Johnny Walkingstick might’ve abandoned my daddy, his son, but he was still an elder and a guest, and as such, was owed the courtesy of the politest response I could muster.

  “How’d you get here?” I asked.

  “Walked.”

  I nearly swore under my breath. If he walked, chances was good he was gonna need a ride outta here, and I was the only soul around to do the carrying. “You couldn’ta walked all the way from Snowbird territory.”

  “Didn’t have to.” His chest rose and fell under a heavy sigh. “Can I come in? These old bones don’t much like the changing seasons.”

  “No,” I said flatly. Courtesy only went so far and mine was running out quick like. “State your piece and go. I got business to attend.”

  “This is family, Sunshine.”

  I spat resentment onto the ground. “Not mine.”

  “Your blood and mine,” he said slow and real careful like, “are the same.”

  “Only one quarter of it, way I figure,” I retorted. “Anything else?”

  His gaze went a little vacant, like he was seeing something somewhere ‘sides here, and cold shivered through me though not a single breeze stirred the warm afternoon. First time I seen a look like that, Old Mother’d sat herself down across from me and warned me about Teus in that roundabout way of hers. Hadn’t figured it out ‘til events sorted themselves, which was just like a seer. Why couldn’t they speak plain so folks understood ‘em?

  But the old man didn’t speak on prophecy or a foreshadowing. He simply rested them rheumy eyes on me and spoke in his low, raspy voice. “I loved your father, same as you. He’d want us to know each other.”

  Bitter tears sprang into my eyes. I blinked ‘em back, cursed low when one streaked down my cheek anyhow. “You got no call to speak for the dead, old man.”

  “The dead speak for themselves, Sunshine, some louder than others.”

  He shook his head and shambled past me, and I turned to watch him walk away. “Don’t come back,” I called after him, and he raised a hand without looking back, like it was the only farewell he could offer.

  “Watch out for yourself, Sunshine,” he said, so low I shoulda never heard him. “Watch the deep wood.”

  An awful dread snaked down my spine. I put my back to him and fixed unseeing eyes on the slowly fading hex signs Old Mother’d painted on the trailer’s door. The old man’s words weren’t nothing to me. I watched the deep wood ever day, had since Henry died. That weren’t liable to change so long as monsters roamed the hills searching for the blood of innocent and sinful alike.

  I waited ‘til the old man’s footsteps faded to silence before going inside, then went straight to the cussing jar and dropped in a like amount of quarters, one for ever curse I thought about expelling during Johnny’s visit. Seeing as how he was my grampa, disowned or not, thinking was the same as saying.

  But the whole thing twisted my panties in a wad from start to finish. What
right did Johnny Walkingstick have to come calling now, some two and a half decades after turning his back on his only son? What right did he have trying to wiggle his way into my life when he coulda been there all along like a grampa was supposed to be?

  Irritation morphed into a knot of hurt anger wrapped around the swift, irregular thump of my heart. I popped my fist into the desk, hard. The wood plank top jiggled under the blow, bouncing pencils and paperclips into the air.

  Dang that old man. Dang him right to the devil. Shoulda chased him off soon as he uttered his name.

  I dropped into my desk chair and sprawled out, arms and legs akimbo. Frustration ate through my blood, ratcheting the lump of anger in my chest tighter and higher. Johnny Walkingstick had some nerve. He shoulda never come here, begging my favor. He shoulda just let well enough alone. I was ok now, weren’t I? Henry was gone, true, and God rest him wherever he lay, but I had Fame and Trey and Gentry, and Missy and Riley, and a host of friends to call my own. Sure, Mama was in jail, but she was still my mama and she still looked after me, best she could. I didn’t need no long lost relatives showing up unannounced on my stoop, didn’t need them or their pity or their stupid warnings about a danger already familiar.

  Dang ol’ deep wood.

  The thought sliced right through my high dudgeon, chilling it with the suddenness of a hailstorm on a hot summer’s day. The deep wood. Human eyes. A painter acting out of character, and all that on top of the day-to-day monsters lurking in the shadows.

  Monsters what hadn’t been so active of late as they was a coupla weeks back.

  Johnny Walkingstick was right. The deep wood weren’t no place to underestimate. It was my job to clear it out, make it safe again, for Henry who died before he had much of a chance to live, and for myself, too. His death was my fault. I still had a lot of atoning to do for that terrible lapse in judgment.

  I scraped shaky hands over my face and into my hair, smoothed it down best I could, then shoved myself outta the chair. Folks needed my help, a better way to spend the day than stewing and feeling sorry for myself. No time like the present, was there?