Sunshine Walkingstick Omnibus

by Celia Roman

  Riley loved me? When in tarnation had that happened? And what was I gonna do about it?

  He muttered in his sleep and buried his face in the nape of my neck. His arm was a loose rope around my middle, comforting and easy and not one bit restrictive. Didn’t wanna wake him, but I couldn’t sleep the way I was neither, so I eased out from under his arm one inch at a time and crept off the bed.

  The light was still on. I chuckled softly and yawned my way to the door, flipped the light off. Backtracked and tucked Riley under the sheet and a quilt, then stripped down to my panties, slipped on an old-t-shirt, and gathered a spare pillow and quilt.

  Riley could say what he wanted. I weren’t in no way ready to spend the night beside him, tempting as he was.

  I dumped the pillow and quilt on the couch, and took a minute to gather his clothes into a pile outta the way so he wouldn’t stumble on ‘em in the middle of the night and maybe damage his hip.

  Them scars. Dear Lord, why’d it have to be him?

  But them scars brung him back to me, in a roundabout way. Weren’t for him getting hurt, he never woulda come back home and gone to college and took that job with Georgia’s Department of Natural Resources. He woulda never been here to know about Belinda Arrowood’s monster catfish problem, the hussy, and he woulda never tried to rekindle mine and his friendship.

  I was thankful for him being here, truly, but not at the price of his pain. Even now, after all these years, instinct screamed at me to protect him, to yank away ever thing threatening him harm. Thing was, weren’t no protecting him from the past, was there, nor me neither. Only thing we could do was move forward with what we was give.

  Funny. I was near about certain Riley was a gift. Now, if I could just figure out what to do with him, I might be a sight wiser on this whole relationship schtick.

  I bumped the heat up a notch, waited ‘til it clanked and whirred and heat sputtered outta the vents, then snuggled down on the couch wrapped in a quilt instead of Riley’s arms, like the dang fool I was.

  Human eyes in a cat’s face haunted my dreams. A black painter chased me through the deep wood, too quiet and canny. It spoke to me, a hissing rumble what sounded oddly female and ancient.

  Your time has come, Sunshine Walkingstick.

  I startled awake and squinted at the early morning sunlight streaming through the living room windows onto the aqua carpet. What in tarnation was I doing sleeping in here?

  Oh, right. Riley.

  A funny heat coiled down low between my thighs, and I curled into a ball, reflexively holding the feeling close. Riley Treadwell was asleep in my bed, or had been when I went to sleep. Curiosity prodded me to find out which. I elbowed my way upright and peered out the far window overlooking the front yard, and sure enough, there sat his Range Rover, still parked next to the IROC. ‘Less he hoofed it home half-drunk in the middle of the night, he was still occupying a large chunk of my mattress.

  I flopped back down amidst the heat of desire and the ruins of that last dream. Your time has come. Maybe so, maybe not so, but one thing was for certain. It was past time I figured out why so many painters was popping up in the deep wood, and why one singled me out last night.

  The library. They’d have books on big cats, surely, and if not, I could order a couple through inter-library loan. While I was there, I could search through back issues of Foxfire Magazine for painter tales. Seemed like there was a slew of old folklore about painters dating from the time of the Cherokee on through the county’s early settlement by white folk, if memory served correct, and since I read ‘em pretty recent, it should. That orta make a good start on my dilemma.

  I slung the quilt off and bopped down the hallway, switched to a tiptoe in the bedroom. As suspected, Riley was sprawled across the bed, one arm flung across his closed eyes, the other stretched toward where I slept. The covers was halfway down that long, lean body of his, revealing a mite too much flesh for my peace of mind. I tucked ‘em up to his chest, hesitated a minute and thought long and hard about what it meant to have him there, resting safe and sound in a place I never allowed myself to dream on, not once in all the years I knowed him.

  No matter what I told myself, no matter how hard I tried to kill her off, that hurt little girl still held a part of me. Riley’d been her salvation, and he was my friend now, if nothing else.

  I leaned down and brushed a soft kiss across his forehead, then gathered clean clothes quiet as I could and let a long, hot shower wash away the uneasiness clinging to me after them dreams.

  Riley was still asleep when I come out wearing a black t-shirt and jeans with Missy’s ring hanging ‘round my neck. I gathered up my boots and shut the bedroom door behind myself, then checked the time. Eight oh seven, still way too early for the library to open on a Saturday.

  Would bacon and eggs frying on the stove turn Riley’s stomach?

  I shrugged and stuffed socked feet into my boots. Only one way to find out.

  I barely slapped bacon on a flat skillet when he stumbled into the kitchen in his underwear, one hand ruffling his auburn hair, a scowl on his face.

  “Where’d you go?” he asked.

  I prodded the sizzling bacon with the end of metal tongs. “Where’d I go when?”

  “You got up.”

  “’Course I did,” I said, cheerful like. “It’s morning.”

  He slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, arms and legs spread wide, and glared at me. “I wanted to wake up with you.”

  Seeing him sleep softened and morning grumpy was so sweet, I relented and dropped the hardass act. “How’s your head?”

  “It’s there,” he grunted. “You making enough breakfast for me?”

  “No hangover?”

  “I didn’t drink that much.”

  “You were sloppy drunk with it.”

  “Not that sloppy,” he muttered, and I narrowed my eyes at him. So he had been fooling me last night, the scamp. See if I let him have my bed again.

  That insidious heat curled into me, hang it all. If that’s all it took to rev my engine, maybe I should let him in my bed more often rather than not.

  I harrumphed and twisted back around, and prodded the bacon a bit harder than I orta.

  “Can I borrow your shower?” he asked.

  “Borrow away. I ain’t brought in spare clothes yet.”

  “I’ll get them.” His chair scraped back and his bare feet thumped light against the floor, and his body bumped against mine from behind. “I like waking up to you, Sunshine.”

  I endured the tickling kiss he smacked to the side of my neck, bit my lip against a giggle. “Go on with you, now.”

  “Your wish is my command, baby.”

  And he strolled outside in his boxer briefs for all the world to see whilst my cheeks flamed and burned, and I struggled between hoping nobody’d spot him and wishing he’da spent a minute more cuddled up behind me.

  Chapter Eight

  Riley wolfed down breakfast a mite too fast for a hangover struck man, arousing my suspicions all over again. Weren’t nothing to say, really. I didn’t resent him being there, and he was such good company, I couldn’t hardly push him away.

  After breakfast was eat and the kitchen set to rights, we headed out to the library. Riley insisted on tagging along. Said we could go from there up to Glenville Lake near Cashiers and eat pizza at this place a friend of a friend told him about.

  Now, there’s where I shoulda been warned what maybe Riley knowed me a mite too well. I was a sucker for pizza, a rare treat I never allowed myself too much of. If my home cooking was the way to his heart, pizza was sure enough the way to mine. Reckon he knowed it, too, and weren’t one whit hesitant to take advantage of my weakness, more’s the pity.

  The library parking lot was near empty when Riley parked his Range Rover in a spot close to the entrance. He held the doors open for me, then excused himself to gander the new releases shelves in hopes of finding the latest C.J. Box book.

  I hit the computer
catalog and run a search for wild cats. Lots of returns popped up, mostly on domestic breeds. I writ down the Dewey decimal numbers of the ones what weren’t and trudged to the back for a good look-see.

  Just past the paperback rack, I about run over Jenny Brookshire, she what woulda been Henry’s first teacher if the deep wood hadn’t took him. She was carrying a stack of half a dozen books, most of ‘em more’n three inches thick.

  I reached out a steadying hand and offered her a smile. “Howdy, Miss Jenny. Long time, no see.”

  A shy smile blossomed across her pretty mouth. “We should try running into each other outside the library.”

  “Yup, we should.” The title of the top book caught my eye. Thucydides. It rung a faint bell. “More Greek history?”

  “I just can’t help myself.”

  Me, I was glad we didn’t all have that problem. It was hard enough keeping up with the myths and legends the monsters I hunted was drawn from, or vice versa. Learning actual history was a good sight beyond me.

  But it weren’t beyond all in my acquaintance. I hid a once over of Jenny behind a quick blink. She was smart and pretty in a classy sorta way, and always dressed neat as a pin.

  And she had a thing for ancient Greeks.

  A grin stretched my mouth plumb from ear to ear. “You seeing anybody, Miss Jenny?”

  The faint smile lingering on her face dimmed and she shifted the books in her arms. “Why, no, I’m not.”

  “I got this friend.” Well, he weren’t exactly a friend, but close enough. “Probably knows more Greek history than any scholar on record.”

  “Oh, well, I…” Her cheeks flushed pink and she glanced away. “I’m not sure I’m ready to meet someone.”

  Her fiancé dumped her. I near about kicked myself when that tidbit popped into my head. Trust tactless idjit me to bring up a painful piece of somebody’s past. “Sorry. Shouldn’ta said nothing.”

  Her gray eyes flashed back to mine and her smile reappeared. “I appreciate the thought, Sunshine. It was sweet of you to mention him.”

  Was it sweet to redirect a minor deity’s attention away from me onto a kind, unsuspecting schoolmarm? Probably not, but I couldn’t rightly tell her that, now could I?

  We chatted a while more about school and kids and the tourists clogging our highways, then parted ways on polite goodbyes. Riley come outta the stacks right then and lit up when our eyes met. “Hey, baby. You almost ready?”

  I waggled a thumb over my shoulder at the direction Jenny disappeared to. “Was chatting with somebody. Still gotta ferret out some books.”

  He tucked the lone book he held under his arm and offered me a broad palmed hand. “Let’s divvy it up. I’m hankering for a long drive with my best gal.”

  I shook my head, but divvy I did, giving him the books catalogued in the children’s non-fiction section.

  Which served him right for fibbing about how drunk he was last night.

  I headed off for the adult non-fiction section and scanned through the handful of books on wild animals. Not a single one discussed large cats in depth, leastwise not the cats what was native to the Southern Appalachians. I bit back my frustrations and lit off toward the circulation desk, and was caught by Riley holding three slender volumes in his hand, not one over a quarter inch thick.

  I didn’t even have to open ‘em to know they was the wrong ones for my purposes.

  Riley sighed and pressed a quick kiss to my mouth. “Sorry, baby.”

  The simple touch warmed me inside and out. I shook it off best I could and tried to act like it weren’t no big deal for a man to kiss me so casual like in public. “Not your fault. I’m gonna try to order some.”

  It took a few minutes for the clerk on duty behind the circulation desk to track down a coupla decent books on mountain cats and another few to order ‘em. Riley was back by then, having apparently refiled the books where they belonged.

  I glanced away, hiding a grin. What a Boy Scout.

  He checked out his lone book, then we hit the outdoors, ready to enjoy the first day of turkey month, and I forgot all about re-reading back issues of Foxfire Magazine for them myths.

  Glenville Lake was pretty as a picture under the strong November sun. Trees spread their leaf-shorn branches over second homes, a stark reminder of the coming winter. True to his word, Riley carried me to Slab Town Pizza and split a Duke with me. We ate our fill and near about rolled outta there, then strolled down to Grandpop’s Ice-Cream Parlor and topped ourselves off with a scoop of the good stuff each.

  As we rolled outta the parking lot onto the road leading to Cullowhee, Riley said, “We’ll bring the boat up next summer and spend a day or two on the lake.”

  I gandered at him side-eyed. That was taking an awful lot for granted, assuming I’d let him stick by me ‘til then, or that he’d want me at his side either one.

  I love you so much, baby.

  I glanced out the passenger’s side window, pretending an interest in the passing scenery what weren’t there. Naw, he couldn’ta meant it, not as liquored up as he been. That’d just been Riley being sloppy drunk and sentimental, was all, or at least too tipsy to drive. Any woman’d be a fool to set store in what a man said when he was under the influence, and Fame Carson didn’t raise no fools, Gentry aside.

  ‘Course Gentry being the way he was had more to do with his mama doing meth when she was carrying him than any native smarts, or lack thereof, on his part.

  Me and Riley spent the rest of the day together, hitting landmarks and historic sites when they appeared and otherwise having a high ol’ time. After a quick supper at his place, we headed out to Wal-Mart shopping for necessities. We hadn’t done more’n park and get out when a friendly voice called, “Hey there, Sunny.”

  Conner Robinson. I cringed and near about ducked back into the SUV. He was the preacher man at the Baptist church me and Henry attended way back when. Was him I gifted them quarters from my cussing jar, by way of leaving ‘em on the stoop of a door at the church. He was a good man, was Preacher Robinson, in spite of hailing from the city. Brung his family up and settled ‘em into the community proper like, and done his best to minister to any what needed him.

  Including, apparently, a no account half-breed like me.

  Riley come ‘round the side of the car and smiled. “Conner. How’s it going?”

  Conner murmured to his wife, swung his youngest onto a hip, and goose-stepped across the parking lot toward us between cars rolling along the asphalt. “It’s going. You ready for basketball? I hear the Rec Department’s trying to get the men’s league going again.”

  “I’m not ready to give up football yet,” Riley said, and both men grinned like dang loons.

  What was it about men and sports anyhow?

  Conner glanced at me. “Do you mind if I steal Riley away for a minute?”

  I shook my head, too relieved at not having to muster small talk to question him. “Sure. I’ll just go on in and get started.”

  Riley bent down and pecked a kiss on my cheek. “Be right there, babe.”

  I waved him away and trotted across the street, and happened to look ‘round whilst checking for cars. Riley had his wallet in one hand and a small slip of paper in t’other, and was handing the latter to the preacher. Both men wore somber countenances, like they done lost their best friends then and there, and I almost turned right back around and walked over just to see what was wrong.

  A car honked, startling me out of spying, and I turned my attention back to getting in and outta Wal-Mart without being mowed down. Weren’t none of my beeswax what them two was up to. Riley spending a night in my bed didn’t make it otherwise.

  Saturday night was social time, judging by the crowded aisles. Near about ever body was gussied up and strutting their stuff with a partner. I shook my head and turned into the paper goods aisle. Date night. Never thought I’d be part of it again, ‘specially not with Riley Treadwell at my side.

  My earlier worry reared its head an
d I brushed it aside. If something was wrong with Riley, he’d tell me. Or else. That’s just all there was to it. That weren’t possessiveness talking. It was friendship. Friends leaned on each other, didn’t they? And me and him was friends again after too long apart.

  A Cherokee woman pushing a buggy with a round faced toddler seated in front of her wheeled past me. I paid her no never mind. Likely, we was related in some way. About all the Eastern Band was, but seeing as how my daddy’s parents disowned him before I was born, I knowed not a single other Cherokee soul.

  “Sunshine?”

  The voice was hesitant and feminine and unfamiliar. I half turned toward it. The Cherokee woman was standing behind me, one hand gripping the buggy’s handle in between the toddler’s hands. She was about my height, but chubbier by some thirty pounds, which ain’t saying nothing. I was plumb scrawny. She was maybe average weight for her height or a little less. Her long, near black hair was pulled into a ponytail and her dark eyes was the same shape as the young’un’s. They was both dressed in upscale jeans and long-sleeved t-shirts.

  An uneasy finger run down my spine. This woman was trouble. I immediately rejected the notion, reexamined it when it stuck. Not her, but something about her. I fished around a minute trying to place where the uneasy originated from and got not a blessed notion for my troubles.

  So I nodded polite like and said, “I’m Sunshine.”

  Her face broke out in a wide, friendly smile. “I thought that was you. We saw your picture in the Clayton paper not long ago. Rhapsody?”

  I swallowed down a groan. Riley talked me into going to that charity function a few weeks back so I could meet the Greenwood Five and maybe solve the problem they was having with their docks being torn up, and look how that turned out.

  “Sorry,” the woman said. She stuck a hand out to me and shook mine good. “I’m Libby Squirrel. Your grandmother and my grandmother were sisters.”

  Being the grandmother what disowned me, I reckoned. A bitter twist grabbed hold of my innards. Me and Libby was of an age. We shoulda growed up together, shoulda knowed each other inside and out, and woulda if it weren’t for Betty Walkingstick.