“Dammit,” I muttered, shuffling things in order to attempt to stoop delicately in my heels and skirt to fetch it; I felt like crying and hated myself.
“That was some fearless work,” he said then, surprising me as he came up beside me, bending to grab my errant notebook before I could. As he straightened I felt everything within me come all at once alive and pulsating.
“You’re still here,” I said, and I sounded foolishly grateful.
Case handed me the notebook and I held tightly to his gaze with my own.
“Can I walk you to your car?” he asked. We were both still holding the notebook, between us, our fingertips close, before he surrendered it to me.
“Of course,” I said, trembling and all a-flutter.
Case took off his sport coat as we walked side by side down the hall leading to the foyer, rolling back the sleeves of his dress shirt, looking more like the cowboy musician I knew, but I liked it. I liked it far more than I could even begin to admit. And I loved the way he’d spoken so calmly and yet with such controlled fire, going after Yancy along with me. I thought about what I had learned tonight, not the least of which that Case was a man of conviction. He was forthright. He stated his opinion with dignity, though I suspected he would be more than willing to take the gloves off, if push came to shove.
I respected that immensely.
And, if I was totally honest, it made me hotter than fucking hell.
At the door, he moved ahead to open it for me, and I used this as an excuse to look up at him, saying, “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he said easily, as we walked outside into the balm of the summer evening. The sky was crystalline with starshine and I took a moment to breathe deeply; I was close enough to Case as we descended the stone steps that I could smell his aftershave, something rich and pleasantly spicy, coming from him. I fantasized about putting my face against his chest.
The parking lot was emptying now, people backing out, taillights flashing as the residents of Jalesville headed for home. I thought of all the people who were worried, worried deep in their bones, that the places where their families had put down roots, carved a life for them generations earlier, were now threatened with displacement. How many of these people were driving home tonight thinking about the fact that they may very well be displaced by this time next year? That they would have no choice but to sell to Capital Overland, in the end.
Case and I reached the sidewalk in front of the courthouse and I paused, watching people climb into their vehicles, feeling helpless. Had I done anything to help this evening? Case remained at my side, and I had the sense he was watching me from the corner of his eye, even as he kept his gaze in the same direction as mine.
“I just wish I felt like I’d done some good tonight,” I said, unhooking my jacket at the waist. I was sweaty and my jacket felt too tight so I shrugged out of its confines; beneath it, my indigo blouse was limp. It fit like a fancy tank top, leaving my shoulders and collarbones bare, though still far more conservative than any of my usual summer outfits.
Case turned to me and said, his voice deep and steady, “Hey. You were incredible in there, if you don’t mind my saying. Yancy was doing his best to take you out at the knees, but you didn’t let him push you around. That’s impressive.”
His words buoyed my stomach, my heart; had I been fishing for a compliment? I curled my jacket around my forearms and said, “Well you were pretty damn impressive yourself. You care and people sense that.”
He shrugged, looking into the distance, at the outline of the mountains on the western horizon; it was so hard for me to tell if my words had any impact upon him at all. He said quietly, “I do care. This place is my home. I know it doesn’t mean shit to someone like Yancy, but it’s all I’ve got. It’s all most people around here have. We have to stick this through, together.”
He means himself and the other residents, not you!
Tish, you idiot.
“You’re right,” I said. The air around us was growing quieter as cars and trucks vanished down the road. I heard crickets then, and the beating of my own heart, which seemed absurdly amplified, as though I had my ears plugged, as Case turned his chin back in my direction and tipped it down to look in my eyes. His shoulders in their pale shirt were wide and strong against the dark sky. He stood with his own jacket caught over his forearms, held to his stomach. He was wearing his stone face again. I couldn’t draw a full breath.
He said, “This was a worthwhile evening, and you should be proud of yourself.”
“Thank you,” I said, hardly more than a whisper.
More time crept past as we couldn’t seem to look apart or find an excuse to say good-night. He lifted his right hand from beneath his sport coat and my heart absolutely leaped, but he was just fishing the keys to his truck from his pocket. He said, “I play this evening, so I better get going.”
“Out at the fairgrounds?” I asked, even though I knew well that’s where he was headed; I was concocting shallow excuses to keep him a little longer. I wanted him to ask me to come and watch him play, too shy to do so otherwise, even though the fairground was very near Stone Creek.
He nodded.
I was pulling at strings to keep him here with me. I said, “I’ll have to text Camille and Mathias about this evening. They’ll want to hear about it.”
He smiled then, his gaze moving up and to the left, back into time, and he said, “I wish they lived out here. It seems like yesterday that we all met. That was such an incredible night.” His eyes flashed again to mine and my heart stuttered painfully, as he added, “For a number of reasons.”
“They miss it out here, I know,” I said, looking intently at him.
“Yeah, I miss them too. I felt so at home with them, the both of them.” He seemed in a hurry then, shifting his sport coat over his left shoulder and holding out a polite hand to let me lead the way. I did, feeling as deflated a leftover party balloon. It was only a handful of steps to my car; there, I fought the terrible urge to catch his shirtsleeve.
I filched my own keys from my purse and forced a cheerful tone as I said, “Have a good evening then.”
“Good-night,” he told me. I was probably imagining I heard a note of regret in his deep voice. Yes, clearly I was imagining this, as Case barely paused before continuing towards his truck, several rows over. I stood there, all abject, with no good reason for this at all, when my heart flared with something like hope; he had paused and turned halfway back towards me, and asked, “See you at the Rawleys’ on Friday then?”
“I’ll be there,” I responded.
Three days away, I thought as I drove home to Stone Creek.
Friday is three whole days away.
You’re crazy as a jaybird, girl, I heard Gran say, my dear great-grandmother, who’d died almost ten years ago now.
Crazy as a fucking jaybird, I agreed.
I showered for a good fifteen minutes, then snuggled into a long pajama t-shirt and curled up on the couch with my notebook, looking over my notes on Capital Overland, adding the bit about the alleged Yancy ancestor, who’d been cheated out of land. But a pair of auburn eyes kept appearing in my thoughts, distracting me, until I finally sat with both hands pressed to my face, letting myself think of Case, and how he’d appeared tonight.
I want to be watching him play, right now.
I want to be close to him.
To further torture me, I could hear the sound of music across the creek from the fairgrounds, although I couldn’t tell if Case was singing at the moment.
I want to be near him.
I have no right to want these things.
When would he get home tonight? Would he go straight there after singing? His home, his family’s land, now his and his brother’s, all they had left in the world, Case had said. Were the chili-pepper lights glowing? Did Buck and Cider come from the barn and poke their noses over the top of the corral to greet him when he pulled into the yard? What if a black 4x4 was even now prowlin
g his property? I sat up straight at that, knowing I had to tell him.
But what excuse would you use?
Why were you out at his place on Friday evening, anyway? Miserable, I set the notebook aside and wrapped into my own arms, unable to answer that question.
Hours later, deep in the night, a storm rolled over Jalesville, the thunder grumbling a low-pitched threat, rain spattering the windowpanes. It wasn’t quite enough to wake me, instead incorporating into my dream, where I’d fallen asleep on the couch. And in my dream, I was holding Case’s head to my breasts, my fingers in his hair, and his mouth was open over my nipples. I couldn’t get enough of his hot, suckling kisses upon me, the feeling of them spiraling outward through my entire body, and the growl of the thunder was my desire; I begged and begged him for more, panting, my breath coming in hard gasps, even as he held me to him with strong hands spread wide across my back.
I woke up to an especially frightful crashing and fell directly off the couch. Heart hammering like a blacksmith on acid, I lay flat on my back and tried to make sense of what was happening. My body was rigid with tension; I’d come awake in the middle of a powerful orgasm. I could hardly move for the sensations rioting through me. Lightning sizzled, backlighting the curtains, followed by another tremendous, building-rattling burst, and I jerked to a sitting position, a wave of dizziness rippling through my head.
“Holy shit,” I said, as my apartment was once more filled with unearthly blue-white light. “Oh, holy Jesus.”
My dream was still happening in my head, and I closed my eyes to get back to it, shaking as I cupped my breasts, naked and taut beneath my pajama shirt. I shuddered and bent forward, and somehow understood that I would see Case before Friday. I knew it, and this knowledge filled me with enough strength to climb back onto the couch and sleep until morning.
Chapter Nine
I spent the entire next day battling the urge to run straight down the sidewalk to Spicer Music, where I had not yet been brave enough to venture, and burst right through the door to see Case. Just see him. That was all. Just put my eyes upon him, and then I would unbutton my blouse…
Tish, you are crazy. Cra-zy.
But it was such a realistic dream…
At the law office, Al was so proud of how I’d presented myself last night that he couldn’t quit remarking; he might as well have been my father. I thanked him again and again. Evidence of my good work bore fruit even before noon, as two families called the office to say that they had officially turned down the offer from Capital Overland.
“Minor victories,” I said, though I was pretty proud of this accomplishment too.
“None are minor in this instance,” Al said, beaming at me. “I have to be in court at one. You hold down the fort for me, all right?”
“Aye, captain,” I teased.
By the time I finished work at five, I was near rabid to see Case. I drove home and frittered uselessly around the apartment for three hours before at last making up my mind and changing into a soft, black, daisy-print sundress (an old one of Camille’s that I may have “borrowed” without her knowing) and black sandals, having decided to walk around the fairgrounds, on the off chance that Case would be done playing and also wandering around, looking for me too. I knew he was performing on the main stage tonight, along with Marshall, but I had no idea what time.
Dressed and ready, I debated driving versus walking. It would likely be late when I came back home, but the beauty of the summer evening made up my mind and minutes later I found myself strolling along the gravel path that led to the bridge spanning Stone Creek. Beyond the creek stretched the fairgrounds, the sounds of which had played in the background while I brushed out my hair and applied make-up. I could smell mini donuts and popcorn from a hundred paces out. At the main entrance, two older men with orange vests and pocket aprons waved me inside the gate.
“Have fun, honey,” said one of them. “Your fee is on us.”
“Good work at the meeting last night,” the other told me, and I blushed with pleasure.
“Thank you,” I told them.
There was just no such thing as a county fair in a place the size of Chicago. I was taken back to my high school days in Landon as I walked along the midway, bombarded by the sights and sounds. Food vendors in trailers painted with brilliant colors and decorated with flashing bulbs. Music blasting from the bigger rides, like the Ferris wheel and the Zipper. Carnival games, where you could win huge stuffed animals and t-shirts with neon slogans.
I was surprised at the amount of people who called to me by name, and whose names I knew in return; I might as well have been at Trout Days, back in Landon, and I was warmed at this notion. In Chicago, I would likely never have this experience. Despite the growing sense of familiarity, I was too shy to ask anyone when Case and Marshall would be playing; I determined that I would find out for myself. The main stage was through the grandstand, not directly visible from the midway, and the crowd was increasing now that the sun had set, the mood ever more boisterous. I was starting to feel like a stalker, scanning groups of people at first covertly and then less so.
As my heart was literally palpitating, I decided I needed to quit walking in circles and that a drink was in order. Fortunately I spied the beer garden. Two women were working the counter of a small building open to the outside, lit from within by cheerful lights. Though I could have ducked inside to the main tent housing what was surely a bigger bar, I sat instead on a stool where I could continue to observe the action on the midway.
“Hi, hon,” said a woman with a deep tan, lots of eyeliner and long hair held back in a clip. I thought she might possibly have been from The Spoke, vaguely recognizing her from Thursday. She leaned her palms on the counter opposite me and asked, “What can I get you?”
“A Mich Golden,” I said, in the mood for beer. “Thank you.”
“Coming right up,” she said.
It was at that moment that I heard excitement ripple through the stands and someone said into a microphone, “Good evening, Jalesville!”
I sprang to attention, but it wasn’t Case or Marshall, instead someone whose voice I didn’t recognize.
“Here you go,” she said. “Can I start you a tab?”
“Isn’t Case playing tonight?” I asked, no longer caring about being subtle.
“He played the early set tonight,” she said, and disappointment swelled like a living thing within me. “Traded spots with the guys playing now.”
I would not ask if he was still here. I would not. Instead I nodded and sipped my beer.
If you start getting all teary-eyed right now…I warned myself angrily. But you just walked around for an hour and didn’t see him. He’s not here.
“Speaking of the devil,” she said then, nodding at something over my shoulder, and my heart pulsed and throbbed. I dared to peek behind me, casually as I could, fidgeting with my hair as if that was my excuse for movement.
Case was headed our way from a distance, guitar case in hand, black backpack slung over his shoulder. He was wearing his customary jeans and t-shirt combo this evening, cowboy hat in place, chin tipped a little as he listened to the guy he was walking with, who was also carrying an instrument.
“Dang. He is such a sexy man,” the woman said and my gaze flew back to her face.
It would not be in your best interest to tear out her eyes, I told myself, taking a long pull from my beer.
She smoothed her hands down the front of her server apron and thrust out her breasts just a little, almost unconsciously, as she continued watching Case, and I felt all my hackles rise, though I had less than no right. She said, as though I was a good friend instead of a virtual stranger, “I told Lynnette she was crazy to let him go. I’ve heard he’s incredible in bed, and I believe it. Takes his time on all the right spots, if you know what I mean.” And then she looked at me and winked.
I couldn’t help but smile back, even as my nipples tightened and a burst of heat smashed through my lower bod
y. Goddammit, of fucking course she would say such a thing to me right now. Just what I needed to hear.
“Another, sweetie?” she asked, nodding at my now-empty bottle.
“Sure,” I said, somewhat hoarsely.
She opened a second beer and set it in front of me while I used every bit of willpower I possessed to remain facing away from Case, determined not to turn and watch him approach, dying for him to come and sit by me. I would not ask him to; probably he would walk right past without even noticing me.
But then the bartender smiled in an undeniably warm welcome, asking, “You guys ready for a drink? Sounded good earlier.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said a man I didn’t recognize. “And we’re plenty thirsty.”
I turned that way at once to see Case with his eyes on me.
He’s here, he’s here, he’s here!
I rejoiced at this even as I played it as cool as I could. I hadn’t seen him since the parking lot at the courthouse last night. Well, unless I counted my thunderstorm-induced dream.
Oh God…
“Take a load off, boys,” the bartender invited and my heart was up somewhere near the stratosphere as Case sat on a stool to my left, though he left one empty between us. He braced his guitar case beneath the edge of the bar. The other guy sat on his far side, leaning over the bar to grin at the woman behind the counter.
I tilted my chin to peek at Case, who looked over at me at the same moment. Candy colors flashed over our faces and there was a ripple of screams as the Zipper started back up, across the midway. Music from the main stage played in the background.
“Hey,” he said, softly.
Was he as glad to see me as I was to see him? Oh God, I hoped so…
“Hey,” I said back, eating him up with my eyes. “I guess I missed your show.”
“We traded spots,” he affirmed, accepting a beer from the bartender with a polite thank-you; she tugged teasingly on the brim of his hat and I thought my own bottle just might bust in two in my grip.
The First Law of Love Page 15
