Hearth Song

by Lois Greiman

Hip to hip, he leaned back and rocked her gently. “You know I wouldn’t have left if I’d had a choice, baby.”

  “I know,” she said, and felt a niggle of guilt for the times she hadn’t known. That she had doubted … his motives, his loyalty… and sometimes … when the nights seemed to drag on forever … his intentions of ever returning.

  “There just weren’t any jobs around here.”

  She nodded and tried to understand. He had needed to prove himself, he’d said … as a husband, a provider. The fact that she could make a decent income while he struggled to get a job had gone mostly unspoken between them. That hadn’t been his fault, either. It had always been so easy for her. Quinton Murrell was a demigod in the world of carpentry. Claiming kinship was like a magical key to every unfinished basement, every DIY gone wrong. That had been hard on Dane’s ego. Perhaps there had been a time when Vura thought he should be able to put that behind him, for her … for Lily. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure she didn’t feel the same way now.

  “What?” he asked.

  She glanced up and he tilted a grin at her.

  “I know something’s going through that adorable little head of yours. What are you thinking?”

  She shrugged, paused, and loosed the thought. “It’s just that I’m not sure if anything has changed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not like the economy is booming here in the Hills. How are you going to get a job now if you couldn’t before?”

  He held her gaze with his. Adoration switched on in his eyes, melding with a yearning as soft as candle wax.

  The expression melted something inside her, making her tongue thick and her limbs feel heavy. He’d always had that power in his arsenal when he wanted to use it.

  “Dane—” she began, but he gently kissed her neck between the edge of her collar and the curve of her jaw.

  “Williston’s no place for a family man, Vey. There are men there who’d just as soon slit your throat as …” He shook his head. Something flashed through his eyes. It almost looked like fear, but in a moment it was gone, replaced by overt admiration again. “Truth is, I couldn’t stand being away from you any longer.”

  “I missed you, too, but what about—”

  “Work?” he finished for her and chuckled softly as he leaned back, gazing at the ceiling and pressing his hips more firmly to hers. “I had no idea when I met that cute little pigtailed girl in shop class that she would be so obsessed with making a buck.” He dropped his gaze back to hers with a grin.

  “I’m not obsessed with it. I just want to be able to pay the bills. Maybe get the washing machine fixed. Buy a furnace that’ll actually start in the fall.”

  He kissed her ear with slow intent and smiled into her eyes. “I’ll take care of the washing machine.”

  She shook her head, though it was getting more difficult to think by the moment. “We might need a new one.”

  “Then we’ll buy a new one.”

  She stifled a moan when he kissed the hollow of her throat and tilted her head back the slightest degree. “With what?” The question was little more than a rasp of pleasure.

  “I believe legal tender is the generally accepted method.”

  “Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know,” she said, and felt stupid just for spilling the words.

  But he laughed. “Geez, you sound as crotchety as my old man.”

  Her thoughts, slippery as eels, slid back to her grandfather, so frail beneath the unrelenting white of the hospital sheets. She straightened, pushed back a little. “Sometimes crotchety old men make a lot of sense.”

  “Not as much sense as the good-natured young. Like you and me.” He squeezed her. “Life’s short, baby. Let’s live a little. Have some fun.”

  “That sounds great,” she admitted. “But what about the bills?”

  He shook his head, still smiling. “I’ll get a job. I’m already looking. You know that.”

  “But you looked before you left, right?”

  “My adorable little doubter,” he said, and kissed her nose. “Yeah, I looked, but this time I’ll take whatever’s available. Short-order cook, dog poop collector …” He bent his knees a little to lock his gaze with hers. Sincerity shone in the depths of his eyes, but desire was just as clear. “Anything.” The whispered word was as reverent as a prayer. “If it means I can be with my girl.”

  It sounded so good. So right, but doubt had burrowed deep into her bones during the months of their separation. “Girls,” she corrected softly.

  His brows dipped a little, but in a second his lips twisted into a grin again. “You think I could forget about my Lily Pad?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Is that what you think?” His tone had sharpened a little.

  “No. Of course not. It’s just that …” She shrugged. It was odd, standing there in her Carhartts, slowly simmering with long-repressed desire, a blushing debutant in canvas overalls. “You’ve been gone so long.”

  He kissed her, softly, slowly. The caress fired up a half-dozen forgotten emotions, a cauldron of bubbling hormones.

  “Well, I’m not gone now, am I?” he asked. His voice was low and quiet. The words brushed softly against her lips, against her soul.

  “No.”

  “No,” he agreed and kissed her again.

  “So where have you been?”

  “You mean today?” He pulled her closer, rubbed himself gently against her. “Didn’t I tell you? I went to talk to Kevin. See if he had any job openings.”

  “I thought that was this morning.”

  A shadow of displeasure crossed his boyish features. He had never liked being questioned about his whereabouts. But Vura felt itchy, foolish, oddly dissatisfied. There had been a time when she had ditched her overalls for sundresses and swirly skirts. Had ditched who she really was, too, maybe. All the while insisting that it was her idea. But over the past several months, she had found a shadow of her former self, that girl who had known she was different. Had known and been proud.

  “Kev said Emerson might be hiring.”

  “Really?” She didn’t try to disguise the hope in her tone. Emerson, Inc. was one of the area’s biggest steel building manufacturers. They had a good reputation and solid standing in the community. A community as tightly knit as an all-wool sweater. “Are they?”

  Dane shook his head and hooked his thumbs into the hammer loops of her overalls. “Not right now, but I helped them out a little while I was asking around. Fred … you remember Freddie Langton, don’t you?” he asked, and nuzzled her neck.

  “Angie’s uncle?” she asked, and felt her system amp up a little more. They’d gone to school with Angela Langton. Small, cute, and ultra-feminine, she had worn clingy shirts and butt-hugging leggings to class every day during their senior year. The effects had not gone unappreciated. But tonight Dane was acting as if she herself was as delectable as any lip-licking centerfold. So maybe their time apart hadn’t been wasted. Maybe it had been good for them.

  “Angie’s uncle. Yeah.” He nodded. “He was already ancient when we were in middle school. Anyway, he was pouring cement so I helped out. Thought maybe if they saw a guy with a little juice left in him, they might consider hiring someone this side of a hundred.”

  Vura winced, felt herself pull away.

  “Baby …” He tugged her back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said, but her grandfather’s tired face appeared in her mind.

  “Come on, honey.” He turned her back toward him. “This is me you’re talking to.”

  She breathed a sigh, closed her eyes. “I’m afraid Gamps isn’t going to …” She couldn’t quite force out the rest of the sentence. “I’m worried about him.”

  “About your grandfather? Why?”

  “He’s really sick.” She swallowed, silently chiding herself. She had friends who had barely blinked at the passing of their grandfathers, but maybe they hadn’t learned to caulk a sink from their Gamps,
to shoot a twelve-gauge, to do a handstand. Maybe they hadn’t learned every single verse of “Stand Up for Jesus” while snuggled between him and the woman he loved more than life. “Anyway …” She cleared her throat. “He’s been in and out of the hospital all month.”

  “Oh no.” He breathed the words. “No wonder you’ve been so upset.”

  “I thought I told you.”

  “Did you? Yeah.” He nodded. “I guess you did. With everything that’s been going on, it must have slipped my mind.” Exhaling heavily, he dropped his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He smelled wonderful, and his hand, where it caressed her back, eased away a little knot of tension. “I’m such an insensitive clod sometimes.”

  “Yeah, you are,” she said, and they both grinned, faces close, chasing away a dozen worries.

  “But listen … Randall Murrell is a tough old bird. He’ll probably outlive us all.”

  “You think so?”

  “Remember when he broke his finger while putting that sink in for … who was it?”

  “The Gilberts.”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “Gil told him to get his ass to the hospital, but he didn’t. Just bandaged it up with electrical tape and finished the job.”

  Vura grinned. “He can be a little stubborn.”

  Dane huffed a laugh. “Mules can be a little stubborn. Your grandfather can be downright ornery.”

  “I know. But that’s the thing. I’ve barely ever seen him sneeze. He always seemed so … invincible, almost. But now …”

  “He’s really not doing well?”

  “I don’t think so. I mean … he was resting pretty comfortably, I guess.” She sighed, remembering the scene she had left less than an hour before. “Tonk was there. I think that actually helped.”

  “Tonk?” His hand stilled on her back.

  “You met him at the race. Remember?”

  “The dude with the girly hair, right?”

  “I wouldn’t call it …” She paused and wondered why she was arguing. She had always favored neatly cropped men. Half the time she was tempted to chop off her own hair, but she’d learned early on in her coverall-wearing days that being mistaken for a boy wasn’t all that appealing. “Anyway, he …” She pursed her lips and remembered to breathe. “He burned some sweetgrass.”

  “Why?”

  “To purify the air. Help bring him peace, I guess.”

  “I meant, why was he there?” he asked, and released her with a scowl.

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “Just to see Gamps, I suppose.”

  His brows lowered a fraction of an inch. “They bosom buddies or something?”

  She scowled. It was a fair question; who would take time to visit an old man he barely knew? “Maybe Tonk has some amends to make.”

  “Amends for what?”

  “I get the feeling he just wants to help out. Do what he can. I think he’s kind of a …” She felt foolish again. “Kind of a medicine man or something.”

  He snorted. “I get the feeling he’s kind of a con man.”

  “What?”

  “Think about it, Vey. Your grandpa’s not exactly destitute, is he?”

  She shrugged. “I guess he’s got some savings.”

  “Some savings,” he said, and laughed. “Vey, just because he’s as tightfisted as a troll doesn’t mean he’s not rolling in dough. You think it’s a coincidence that he’s just about to gasp his last breath and suddenly this guy shows up from out of nowhere with a bundle of stinking weeds and a …”

  He stopped. She stared at him, heart pounding a slow dirge in her chest.

  “I didn’t mean it like that, baby,” he said.

  She shook her head, numb, wounded.

  He swore and tried to pull her close again, but she tugged out of his grip. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, baby. That’s not what I meant at all. I’ve always liked the old man.”

  She breathed a laugh.

  “I did,” he said. “I mean, I know he wasn’t my biggest fan after I knocked up his little princess, but he was a good guy. I always said that.”

  She stared at him aghast. “Was?”

  “Is! I meant is,” he said, and blew out a hard breath. “I just keep messing everything up today. I guess I’m more tired than I realized.”

  Sadness burned her throat, stung her eyes.

  “Come on, baby,” he said and, reaching out, grasped her hand. “Let’s go upstairs, forget about everything for a few minutes.” He smiled, suggestive. “Or a few hours.”

  She blinked back the tears.

  “Okay?” He tugged her a little closer.

  “Sure,” she said, but even as she said it, she found herself backing away. “I just have to lock up the birds first.”

  He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “Can’t they fend for themselves for one night?”

  Maybe she should agree, go upstairs, forget about everything. Maybe a good wife would do just that, but the faces of her grandfather, her daughter, her father all blended together, spinning her into a miasma of should-haves and musts and what-ifs. “It’s been kind of a …” She cleared her throat. “Kind of a tough week. If we lost a chicken, Lily would be heartbroken.”

  “Well …” Dane abruptly dropped her hand. “We wouldn’t want to upset Lily.”

  “No, we wouldn’t,” she said, and twisted to turn away, but he caught her arm.

  “Vey.”

  She snapped her gaze back to his.

  “Jeez, you’ve always been a pistol when you’re mad.”

  “I’m not mad, I’m just—”

  “What?” he asked, and raised his brows at her.

  “Tired.”

  “Yeah? That why your eyes are spitting at me like a wildcat’s?”

  “Listen, Dane …” She let her shoulders slump. “I don’t have the energy to fight tonight.”

  “Good. Then you go on upstairs and—”

  “I can’t leave the chickens to—”

  “Annnd …” He grinned, pulling her close again. “I’ll go take care of the poultry.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know,” he said, and kissed her. “But you’ve been carrying the load long enough. It’s time I do my part.”

  “Sometimes the hens roost outside and have to be gathered up.”

  “Then I’ll gather them up.”

  “Once they’re roosting, they don’t move, so they’re kind of hard to find unless you know—”

  “Vey …”

  She stopped talking, took a breath.

  “Let’s just assume I’m smarter than the chickens, okay?”

  She forced herself to forego any further arguments, though it was difficult. “Okay.”

  He nodded and kissed her again. “Maybe you could …” He shrugged, tugged on one of the straps of her overalls. “Slip into something a little …” He smiled and slid his hand between the Carhartts’ metal buttons that were fastened at her hip. His skin felt warm as it burrowed beneath her shirt. “Less comfortable.” He massaged gently.

  She felt her head fall back a half an inch.

  “What’dya say?” The question was breathed like a prayer against her sensitized ear.

  “Okay.”

  “It’ll be better than okay,” he said, and kissed her again. “That’s a promise.”

  Chapter 16

  Vura awoke slowly, emerging from her so-real dreams with slow reluctance. She’d been surrounded by moonlit waters. Waves caressed her naked skin like liquid silk, and his hands … those gentle, powerful hands, flowed over her body in concert with the steady beat of his heart against her back. The slow rhythm of his voice awakened half-forgotten desires and set her nerve endings buzzing. The horse beneath them stood contentedly, waves lapping at her withers, carrying her tail like a flag on the warm currents. Starlight shone like diamonds on her glistening neck, on the water, on the long midnight hair of the man whose bare thighs cradled hers from behind. The man with the Indian-deep voice an
d the artist’s magical—

  She opened her eyes with a snap and shoved the dream to the farthest reaches of her mind. Reality shifted to the forefront.

  She felt a little chilly, a little itchy. It took her a moment to realize why: Instead of her usual T-shirt and shorts, she had donned a lacy little number Dane had bought her years ago. Cut high at the hip and low at the chest, it had not, she realized, been created for comfort. Even now, one of the narrow ivory straps was cutting into her shoulder. She tugged at it groggily. Her hair was still sloshed across her face like a dark wave, casting the morning in sable shadows, but her daughter’s chipper little voice wrenched her to full wakefulness.

  “Whatcha wearing?”

  “What?” Vura yanked her gaze to Lily and past, grappling with memories. Where was she? What had she done? And with whom? Dane! Where was he? It took her a moment to remind herself she had nothing to feel guilty about; Dane was her husband. It took longer still to realize she hadn’t seen him since their poultry discussion the previous night. “I …” She tugged her attention from the empty doorway to her daughter.

  “What’s wrong, Mama?” Lily asked, and climbed laboriously onto the mattress, a tattered Foo Foo in tow.

  “Nothing.” Vura inched the blankets up to her chin. “Nothing’s wrong, honey.”

  “Did you lose your Black Diamonds T-shirt?”

  “No. I just …” She cleared her throat, feeling foolish and wishing she had gone with an affirmative. The loss of her softball team’s shirt would at least give her an excuse for the silly garment she was now wearing. But if she had learned anything as the mother of an über-curious child, she knew that a lie would haunt her until the day she cried uncle. “I just thought it would be nice to wear something different for a change.”

  “Oh.” Lily was kneeling on the bed, lining up a hundred questions in her disheveled little head. “Did your Pops buy that for you?”

  Vura blinked. The idea of her father purchasing such an article of clothing made her cheeks burn. “Listen, honey, why don’t you go get dressed, and I’ll—”

  “Pops likes white,” she said, and bounced slightly, head bobbling. “His truck’s white.”

  Vura pulled the covers a little tighter to her chin. The stupid negligee was half-lace, half-torture, all embarrassment. “I know, sweetheart. Now, why don’t you—”