He lifted his eyebrows at me without saying a word, that half-grin forming on his lips.
“Hi,” I said, and rose awkwardly, and then immediately gasped, “Ouch! Dammit!”
The glass in my hand tinkled back to the floor at the same moment Case dropped the cat and came at once behind the counter. My palm was dripping blood like a gory instance of stigmata, running all down my wrist.
“Here,” he said, calm and reassuring. “Let me see.”
“Ouch,” I breathed again. Case took my forearm into his hands and inspected the damage.
“I think it looks worse than it is,” he said, still holding me in his big hands. He was so very warm, his fingers gentle on my skin. “There’s no glass stuck in there, that I can see.”
“Well it still hurts,” I all but snapped at him, and he met my eyes with amusement.
“Does Al have a first-aid kit?” he asked. He gently released my arm and disappointment stabbed at me.
“I don’t know,” I said miserably, and then couldn’t help but giggle a little. “Some professional lawyer I am.”
“Here, go wash up and I’ll get this glass,” he said.
I left the bathroom door open, just across the office, because I was only washing my hand. Blood spiraled down the sink and the soap stung. I wadded up a bundle of paper towels and pressed them to the wound, then rejoined Case, who had located the dustpan and made short work of the mess. The white cat prowled near and twined around my ankles.
“That’s Peaches,” he said, nodding towards the cat as he dumped the glass shards neatly into the garbage. “She’s a sweetie. Do you think you might want to keep her?”
I bent, gingerly in my skirt, and scooped her up with my free hand, my other fisted around the paper towels. She was medium-sized, glossy white, with clear, translucent green eyes. She began purring at once and I said, “I do.”
He stashed the broom and dustpan and came near; I kept my eyes on the cat, pretending I didn’t feel my heartbeat everywhere in my body, including my injured palm. I couldn’t banish the picture of him cupping his wife’s head and kissing her.
It’s none of your business!
Never mind that I focused on it half the night.
You’re jealous as hell.
You’re totally ridiculous, I raged at myself.
Case cupped a hand around the cat’s head and patted her. He said, “I have all the things that my student left for her, including a bag of litter. You want me to put them in your car? I’ll bring her back to the shop with me until this evening. I just thought you might want to meet her right now.”
I looked up at him then, unable to help myself, and simply drank in the sight of him, observing that his eyes still bore the traces of sleeplessness. He was hatless, his red-gold hair appearing soft, his cinnamon-brown eyes holding fast to mine. He smelled good and I wanted to lean closer, even though he was close enough that I could almost feel his breath on my cheek.
Oh Case…oh God…
I swallowed and then said, “My stupid car isn’t running right now. I’ll probably get a ride home from Al and then try to figure it out. And thank you, that’s sweet of you.”
“I hate to tell you, there’s blood on your skirt,” he said then, nodding that direction.
“Shit!” I muttered.
Peaches squirreled free of my arm and leaped gracefully to the floor.
Case said, “Why don’t I run you home right now? You can change and then we can leave all her things at your place.”
“You don’t mind?” I asked, all a-tremble at the thought of him in my apartment. But of course I kept all of that from my face.
“Not at all,” he said easily, leaning to collect Peaches. “You look like you just committed a murder.”
I giggled a little at this, regarding my sleek gray skirt, now blood-smeared. I said, “Thank you. You don’t have to do this.”
“It’s no problem,” he assured me, maddeningly polite, as though I was his little sister. Or a family friend.
You are a family friend! I yelled at myself, grabbing my purse from the bottom desk drawer and then flipping the sign in the window to CLOSED. That’s exactly what you are. Jesus, Tish.
He held the door for me, which I locked after us, and then he again opened the door for me at his truck, parked across the street. The interior smelled as it had last week when I’d retrieved the fiddle case, herbal and spicy, just like him. His truck was dated, probably early-80s, but well cared for, the bench seat upholstered in sleek beige leather. His cowboy hat was lying on the seat and really quickly I ran my fingertips over it.
I watched him round the hood, sun glinting off his beautiful hair, Peaches prowling all along the floor at my ankles. My heart was jittery. He climbed in beside me and unhooked his sunglasses from the steering wheel where they’d been hanging, settled his hat over his head with an effortlessly graceful motion that reminded me of how he’d saddled Cider the other night.
“It smells so good in here,” I told him as he shifted into first and did a quick u-turn in the road, to head in the right direction.
He tapped a bundle hanging from the rearview mirror, which I hadn’t noticed. He said, “Sagebrush. It grows all over in the foothills.”
“Case,” I said in rush, before I completely lost my nerve, startling him a little, as he looked over at me and I could tell his eyebrows were raised, even though his eyes were covered in sunglasses. I gathered myself with effort and said, “Last night I ran into Derrick Yancy at the fair. On the way home. He was in the parking lot. He tried to feed me a bunch of shit about how he wanted to hire me and that I was too pretty to be a lawyer —”
“He said that?” Case asked, low and quiet. “He spoke to you that way?”
“He was being an asshole,” I said honestly. “Asserting his power.”
“He’s a bully,” Case said then. “No better than a fucking junkyard bully. He might dress well and have money, but that’s all he is. He didn’t try anything else, did he?” His voice was carefully neutral as he asked, but his shoulders and jaw were tense.
“No,” I said, though I thought of how Derrick had taken my arm. I added, “But he drives an SUV with Colorado plates.”
Case looked my way again and said, “I’m missing something here.”
“I have to backtrack,” I said, feeling all hot and squirmy again. I looked out the windshield at the sunny day before I composed myself enough to say, “Last Friday, after dinner at the Rawleys’ I drove out past your house, since I wanted to see it,” I sensed his surprise like a third person in the truck, but I plowed ahead, “Anyway, I drove a ways past your place and then…I felt like I was going to get lost, and I climbed out of the car and kind-of paced for a while…”
Case was staring at me rather than the road, but I couldn’t look at him. I interrupted myself to say, “You missed the turn to Stone Creek…”
“Shit,” he said, pulling over to the curb and then remaining motionless, his hands hanging from the top of the steering wheel as he regarded me. Slowly, he lifted the sunglasses from his face and I braved a look at him. He was utterly stone-faced, an expression I had already learned that he’d perfected.
I actually stuttered as I said, “P…pacing helps me collect my thoughts.” Peaches jumped onto the seat between us and I startled a little. I drew a breath before I continued, “I’m sure I was still on your property and I heard voices, from way out in the foothills. So I waited a little longer and then I realized at least two men were walking out there. They got into a car and drove back to Jalesville, and so I followed them. And I realized just last night that it was Derrick Yancy’s SUV I was following. I don’t know if he was driving that night, or not. But they were trespassing on your property.”
Case opened his mouth to say something but then seemed to think better of it, as he chewed his bottom lip for a second. He knitted his eyebrows at me, as though trying to process what the hell I’d just said, while I felt sweat pool between my breasts. At last
he said, ignoring for the moment just why I had been, for lack of a better term, trespassing on his property too, “That was probably dangerous of you.”
“They had no idea,” I said, with more assurance than I felt. “What do you think they were doing out there?”
I could almost see his thoughts whirling; he looked out the windshield and said, “I knew there was something more to this. I knew it. There’s something they’re not letting on.”
“What can we do? Should we tell Clark? Hank Ryan?” I asked. Peaches stuck her nose in Case’s side and purred, rubbing her head against him. He stroked her absently with one hand.
“Not just yet. I have an idea, though.”
“What’s that?” I asked, excited despite everything.
“How do you feel, professionally, about a stakeout?” he asked.
“You mean out on your property?”
“Where else?” he said, but his lips curved into a half-grin as he continued to watch me.
“I better dig out my hiking boots,” I said, feeling a grin nudge at my mouth too.
He smiled then, a wide, genuine smile, and I swallowed hard at the sight, heart thumping almost painfully, my hands curling into tight fists because I wanted to touch him really terribly and I knew I could not do that. The clenching motion hurt my injured palm.
“We better get you home and then back to work,” he said then, growing very businesslike all of a sudden, driving around the block to get back to the right street.
“What could be out there worth prowling around in the dark for?” I pressed, trying to forget about how much I craved another sight of his smile.
“There’s a local legend, about gold that was buried back in the 1800s somewhere around here. It’s been a tall tale in our area for over a century, so it’s plausible that Yancy may know the legend. My pa —” he paused only fractionally, but I knew enough thanks to Clark to have at least a context for understanding this hesitation. Case went on, quietly, “My pa believed in it. When I was a boy he used to spend nights out there in the foothills, searching for it.”
“He did?”
Case’s jaw tightened just a little, almost unconsciously, and again I restrained the desire to touch him, his hand or his shoulder…his face…
“He was a drunk,” he said, softly and without rancor. But I could hear pain in his voice, no matter how deeply buried. He added, “But he believed in that gold. After my mom died, he gave it up though.”
I wanted to ask why; especially I wanted to ask him about his mother, Melinda, but he had driven into Stone Creek’s gravel parking lot just then, so I shelved this urge for now. I said, “You can pull into my parking spot, right there.”
Case did so and I collected Peaches with my left hand, tucking her against my side as he jogged around the hood to open the door for me. He didn’t so much as touch me. Instead he said, “Here, let me take her,” and so I passed Peaches into his arms. He collected her close as I climbed down, and then he leaned back into the truck to grab a few things from behind the front seats.
“I can take something,” I said, as I had nothing but my purse and he was juggling an armload, but he shook his head at me, hat and sunglasses in place. I readjusted the purse strap on my shoulder and dug around for my keys as we walked into the cool interior of the apartment building, where all of the residents’ mailboxes were lined up in a row.
“Second floor,” I said, leading the way up the carpeted steps. We were silent on the way to 206, just down the hall, third door on the left. I unlocked it, very heatedly aware of him close behind me. Inside my apartment, I said, “You can put that stuff anyplace. I’ll be right out.”
I retreated to my room, all hopped up, as though I’d popped an upper, or a handful of caffeine pills, which I had done exactly one time, second-year at Northwestern. I leaned against the closed door and pressed both hands to my blazing cheeks, hearing him out in my kitchen.
Oh God, the computer!
I recalled slamming it shut last night without closing out the screen. The screen with the dozens of images of him that I had been scrolling through before I went to bed.
Calm down! There’s no reason on earth for him to look at your computer.
I was very aware of my nearly-nude body as I slipped from my bloody work clothes and stood in my nylons just at the edge of the closet. My heart would not slow its pace. Fuck, I hadn’t done laundry in days. At last, growing desperate, I grabbed a casual, creamy cotton sundress that I would never have dreamed of wearing into a law office in Chicago and slipped it over my head, knowing Al wouldn’t care or probably even notice, one way or the other. I had a little trouble with tie that wrapped around the waist, one-handed as I was at present, and fantasized for no more than a lightning flash about calling Case to come in here and help me.
“Shit,” I muttered to myself. I would go out into the living room and ask for his help; that would be all right.
Family friend, I reminded myself, almost gritting my teeth. Case hadn’t so much as mentioned a word of the things that he had said to me at Camille’s wedding, leading me to believe that probably he had been drunk enough that they had faded, if not fully evaporated, from his memory of that night. Or, more likely, had utterly reconsidered his youthful position on those matters.
You’re the one who can’t forget what he said that night.
You’re the one who reads too much into things.
Right?
I rounded the corner of the hallway; he was nowhere in sight and neither was Peaches. But then I saw them out on the little balcony and I slipped silently across the carpet in my stocking feet.
“Hey,” I said, sticking my head out the door.
Case said, without looking back at me, “It’s a great view out here. This is a nice little place.”
“Would you mind helping me for a second?” I asked, my heart cart-wheeling as he turned at this request. He was still wearing his cowboy hat and sunglasses, so I couldn’t tell what he was really thinking at all; his mouth was unsmiling.
“Sure,” he said. Peaches darted around my ankles, back inside.
I stepped out onto the balcony and asked, now feeling about ten years old, “Can you maybe help me tie this? I’m sorry…my hand…”
“Sure,” he said again, and I was undoubtedly imagining that he sounded just the slightest bit hoarse.
I turned and felt his hands take up the ties, just at my waist, and a sharp-edged breath lodged in my chest. I was instantly so aware of my breathing that it became absurd; Case was perhaps a foot away and he asked, “Knot or bowtie?”
I tipped my chin to my left shoulder and my heart jolted, hard; he was so tall and immediate behind me. To cover my nerves, I asked, trying to tease, “A knot? Are you kidding me?”
“Bowtie it is then,” he responded easily. His fingers inadvertently brushed my waist, no more than a few seconds’ worth, but it took everything in me to repress a shiver.
“Thank you,” I said the second he was done, hurrying back inside and to the bathroom to inspect my palm.
The cut wasn’t terrible; I washed it again and slapped a couple of band-aids over it, then inspected myself in the mirror. My face was so flushed I appeared sunburned, my hair windblown from its clip. I refastened it quickly, wincing at the pain in my palm. Out in the living room I heard Case call, “You want to leave Peaches here, see how she likes it?”
I rejoined him, all fluttery and butterflies-in-the-stomach at the sight of his eyes; he’d removed his sunglasses in the apartment and he looked steadily at me as I came near.
“Sure, that’s a good idea,” I said. “Thank you again.”
“Anytime,” he returned. He said, “We better get going…”
I bent to speak to my new cat, telling her, “Be good until I get back, all right?”
Outside the sun was edging past towards afternoon, hot on our heads. Well, at least hot on mine.
“I need a hat,” I reflected as Case opened the door for me. I felt compelled t
o tell him, “You’re such a gentleman.”
“That’s all my mom’s doing,” he said, as he backed the truck from my parking space. “She was insistent. Gus was too little when she died, he doesn’t remember her at all, but the one thing she wanted was for us to be polite. To treat ladies well, she said.”
Probably because she was married to such a lowlife, I thought, watching Case’s profile as he took us back downtown. I said, “That’s no small thing. And I’d say you learned well.”
A flash of his grin. He said, “So today is Thursday. And the fair is in town two more nights. What are the odds —”
“Good, they’re good,” I interrupted, understanding where he was going. Part of me was fearful that he would suddenly reconsider asking me to join him on a stakeout. I was not about to let that happen and so I added quickly, “What better time to sneak onto someone’s land, when the whole town is preoccupied?”
“True,” he mused. I was watching his forearm as he shifted gear, the way the muscles along its length tightened, the red-gold hair, surely bleached from the summer sun, the freckles that were scattered all along his darkly-tanned skin. He asked, “You want to try tomorrow night, after dinner at Clark’s?”
I wanted to be near him. I understood this. I further understood that I could not let on that I felt this way; no matter that now he apparently regarded me as a sort of buddy, maybe a kid sister…
It wouldn’t be right.
Tish, it wouldn’t be right.
Do you want him?
Yes, I fucking want him, but he’s not the sort that you can have a fling with.
This I understood with sterling clarity. I asked, half-kidding, “Do you have night vision goggles and all that?”
He angled me a smile and said, “No, but that would probably be a good idea.”
“They were probably about a half mile from your front yard, on the east side of the road.”
He said, “You’ll have to show me where you saw them. Do you remember well enough?”
“I do,” I said, thinking of the T-shaped wizard rock, my heart skipping along at his words.
The First Law of Love Page 17
