Run Wild With Me

by Sandra Chastain

  “What about you, Sam? How’d you get to be a carpenter?”

  “I learned woodworking in school. That’s what they do to the tough guys, put them in shop classes. Funny thing, I found out I liked it. On a construction site it isn’t who you are that counts, it’s how good you do the job.”

  He reached out and brushed a cracker crumb from her upper lip. His unexpected touch was electric, and Andrea knew he heard her gasp.

  “In Arcadia,” she admitted, “it’s who you are and what you do. We may not always approve, but if you’re one of ours, we care.”

  “I don’t think my mother believed that.”

  Andrea didn’t know how to answer him. “I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t know what happened there. None of us understand.”

  “I do. She had me, and they threw her out. She spent the rest of her life wishing for this place. I never understood why it was so important to her.”

  “I think,” Andrea said slowly, “that it’s because our roots nourish us, become an anchor when the storms come. Maybe your mother needed that.”

  “An anchor in the storm. I’ll have to remember that. I’ve never been around people who accepted your weaknesses. In fact—” he hesitated for a long moment, “I’m not sure I believe they exist.”

  “Believe it, Sam. People in Arcadia care about each other in a way that outsiders don’t understand.”

  “ ‘Outsiders’? My mother was an insider, and she didn’t belong either.”

  Five

  Andrea began to stack the dishes. David had been an outsider too. She didn’t know why he kept coming to mind. He was part of her past, a part that was finished long ago.

  “I have to get back to work,” she said with a sigh.

  “Ah, shucks,” Sam teased, sorry that he’d said something to draw her back to the present. “Must we? Couldn’t you take the afternoon off? We could go fishing?”

  “Afternoon off? Absolutely not!” Andrea protested as she went back into the kitchen. “Sam, you have to understand that you just can’t come in here and expect me to …”

  “To what?” He ambled after her, closing the distance between them. “Why do you move away from me whenever I start to get close?”

  “I …” She could almost hear the sound of her heart thudding against the wall of her chest. She couldn’t think when he was so close. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even bring up a picture of the past she’d sworn to learn from. “I don’t know how to deal with somebody like you, Sam. You’re a stranger here. And I don’t know how to … to be discreet.”

  “You’re right. That’s me, a stranger everywhere. Maybe Arcadia and this”—he looked around the tiny kitchen—“is the closest thing to a real home I’ll ever know.”

  “I’m sorry, Sam. I think you’re confusing your dream of Arcadia with affection for me. Just let me be your friend.”

  “ ‘Friend’? Secret lovers I’ve had, but secret friends who can’t even have lunch together? That’s something new. How do friends act when one of them wants to kiss the other?” He watched her take a quick breath and lick her lip nervously.

  “They don’t. It’s friends or nothing, Sam. I think I’ll just leave these dishes until later. Buck will be climbing the wall if I don’t get back.”

  “Okay.” Sam let out a long breath. Buck wasn’t the only one climbing the wall. “What do just friends do around here that’s legal?” He picked up his tea glass and rinsed it in the sink.

  “Well, they go to church socials, or to the lake, or roller-skating.” Andrea wiped the kitchen counter and switched off the air conditioner and the overhead fan. She led the way back to the patrol car, pausing only to pull the screen door closed.

  “Oh, Stormy, can’t you just see me at a church social? Gabriel would blow his horn, and the walls would fall down.”

  Andrea stopped by the car and looked at Sam’s bitter expression. “Gabriel might blow his horn, Sam, but our walls are strong.”

  “Yeah, I’ve had firsthand experiences with small-town walls. They hold you too close sometimes.”

  “Only if you want them, Sam. There are some people who don’t. I do.”

  Sam saw the certainty in Andrea’s face. He couldn’t seem to find the proper quip. His thoughts were more ambiguous. There was a long minute when everything seemed to stand still. At last he opened the car door for Andrea and bowed gallantly as she slid behind the steering wheel.

  “Lordy, Chief,” Sam said with a tense frown as he got inside the car and slammed the door, “how in the world do you stand these gnats swarming in front of your face all the time?” He fanned the cluster of black insects away.

  “I’m so used to them that I guess I don’t even notice. They’re as much a part of Arcadia as the cotton dust.” She started the car and drove away.

  Sam didn’t seem to hear her answer. “I’ve been thinking,” he finally ventured, “that it would be a waste to lose my mother’s house to a tax auction. After all, I am a carpenter. I could repair the house, include the back taxes as part of the deal, and sell it, make a little profit.”

  “Why would anybody want to pay full price when they could just pay the taxes and get it all?”

  “So, it’s a bad idea, not the first one I’ve had. It’s just that this is the first house I’ve ever almost owned.”

  Andrea glanced at him, watching his eyes take in the countryside they passed. It was as if he were somehow drawing in what he was seeing, like a plant reaching for the sun, soaking up the serene essence of Arcadia. She understood that serenity, and she felt it now in Sam.

  Sam saw her smile and felt his heart warm. He’d only stopped off to see the place his mother had been so attached to, not to spend what little money he had fixing up the old house that somebody else would probably tear down.

  But there was nothing wrong with spending a week or two getting to know the chief a little better. She needed a little loosening up, and he needed to understand about belonging. He might even take in the Founder’s Day Picnic. Was it really chance that had brought him to Arcadia, or had he been searching for it all along?

  On her way back to the station Andrea dropped Sam at the local supermarket and gave the clerk instructions to deliver Sam back home along with his groceries. Buck didn’t ask where she’d been, and she didn’t tell him. She didn’t go to the Friday-night movie. And on Sunday, for the first time in years, she pleaded ill and stayed home from church. She hadn’t seen or heard from Sam in four days.

  On Tuesday afternoon Buck hitched an early ride home with Otis, leaving Andrea at loose ends and as jumpy as a cat with a bad case of fleas.

  A call came in from Lewis over at the county state patrol office. There’d been no news yet on her private inquiry, but there’d been another theft. A backhoe had been stolen from a construction site above Midway. He wanted to alert Buck to be on the lookout. “Seems like these thieves are getting brave,” Lewis said. “That’s the third piece of heavy equipment we’ve had reported stolen in the last month. They’re insured, but those machines cost a pretty penny.”

  Andrea took the report and said they’d watch for the stolen equipment. The phone rang again.

  “City hall.”

  “Hello, darlin’. Miss Louise was kind enough to allow me to use her phone. Have you missed me?”

  The air rushed from her lungs, and she sat down with a thud. In her mind she could see the smile on his lips, and her throat burned with tension.

  “Are you there, Chief?”

  “Of course, Mr. Farley. What can I do for you?”

  Logically Andrea knew that was a loaded question. But then everything she said to this man seem to have a double meaning.

  “Mr. Farley? My, how formed we are this afternoon. I like ‘Sam’ better. Sam wants you to drop by his place and ravish his body. But I suppose that’s out.”

  “You suppose right, cowboy.”

  “In that case I will settle for the chief returning my papers. I could come in to town and pick them up, bu
t I thought you might not want me to do that.”

  “You’re leaving town?” There was a barely audible click on the line, and Andrea knew that they had an audience. Either someone was using Louise’s party line, or Agnes was listening in.

  “I’m trying to decide. I have to make a living, and I doubt that there’s much demand for a carpenter around here. Your walls don’t seem to need much repair,” Sam said, losing the teasing drawl. He’d heard the click too.

  “All right. I’ll have Buck and Otis drop them by,” she managed in as neutral a voice as she could muster, considering that her heart was tap-dancing in her chest.

  “Fine, ma’am, I’d appreciate that.”

  Andrea replaced the receiver and swung her chair around. Buck should be at home. She tried to call him. There was no answer. Where was he when she needed him?

  Slumping back into the chair, Andrea felt every ounce of resolve drain out of her. Who was she kidding? She’d been a walking zombie for the last four days. Sure, she’d helped get a stray cow out of a cornfield and answered a call to settle a dispute over who owned the blackberries growing between two formerly best freinds’ property on the other side of town. But she’d been uncharacteristically cross with the troublemakers, threatening to confiscate the berries as evidence until they’d agreed to forget their quarrel and make pies for the Wednesday-night church supper.

  Everywhere she’d been, she’d run into someone who’d had a question about Sam Farley. She squinted, trying to ward off the threat of a nagging headache, knowing all the time it wasn’t the headache bothering her. It was Sam. He was worse than the summer heat. She hadn’t laid eyes on the man for four days, but he was smothering her with his unseen presence.

  Maybe if she returned his paperwork, he’d pack his knapsack and hit the road. Maybe then she could get rid of the restlessness that plagued her from the time she got up in the morning until she finally went to sleep at night. She lifted the phone.

  “Agnes, I’m going to run home for a while.”

  “Buck’s not there.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Andrea stated. “He’s just on the porch and can’t get to the phone.”

  Ten minutes later she discovered that Agnes was right. She decided it was time she faced Sam Farley again anyway. This staying away was worse than seeing the man.

  The driveway to Mamie’s house had been cleared. The brush had been cut back, and the grass had been mowed. Andrea drove the police car up the hill and parked it behind the house beneath a large sweet-gum tree at the edge of the freshly mowed yard.

  Sam heard her car and met her on the porch. He opened the screen door and stood, just looking at her. He’d hoped she’d come, alibiing his need by telling himself that it was simply her body that was driving him crazy.

  This time she’d plaited her rebellious mass of black hair into a long braid that fell across her shoulder and ended at the swell of her breast. Her lips were a soft pink, her cheeks flushed in the sunlight. She wasn’t wearing any makeup. With her dark lashes and crystal-blue eyes, she didn’t need it.

  “Hello, Andrea.”

  “Andrea.” This was the first time he’d called her that. It changed their relationship. Everything was different somehow. “So, you do know my name.”

  Sam stepped back into the kitchen doorway and folded his arms across his chest. “I know.”

  “The place looks nice,” she said, feeling as if she were standing on the moving floor of the fun house at the county fair. What was there about the man that affected her equilibrium? He was wearing jeans, as usual, this pair with a raveled hole in the knee, and a black polo shirt. He was barefoot. And his feet were long and—ugly. Thank goodness, there was something about the man that she could focus on without feeling her pulse throb in response.

  “Thanks. I’ve been … working on it, here and there.”

  “Why go to all that trouble? Bad idea, remember?”

  “Because—” he hesitated, then went on, “it feels good. Louise is even teaching me to cook. It was either that or starve,” he added abruptly. “I don’t expect you to understand. I’m not sure that I do, but for as long as I’m here, this place is mine.”

  “I do understand.” And she did. Already the house was taking on a lived-in quality that was warm and inviting. She could tell he was pleased with her answer.

  He nodded and held out his hand. “You’ve seen the here. I want you to see the there.”

  She looked down at his hand and back at his face questioning. Suddenly the remaining tension dissolved, and she watched the frown on his face turn into a tentative smile. Andrea couldn’t help smiling in return. He wasn’t David, and she wasn’t her mother. For as long as he was around, she’d be his friend. Andrea placed her hand in his, and he drew her into the dark coolness inside.

  “I’m not sure this is a smart move,” she said breathlessly.

  “If it isn’t,” he said in a voice just as winded, “I’ll teach you some. Smart moves are my specialty.”

  She followed him through a kitchen that was clean, though it was obvious that he was using it, and down the corridor, stopping just as he reached the parlor door. He looked down at her, and the silence was filled with the sound of two hearts beating. Even in the darkness she could see the unspoken desire in his eyes. But this time desire was tempered with something more. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was caring. Maybe they were both suffering from that case of raging passion Madge had wished for. She couldn’t tell whether it was her heart or his she was hearing.

  “Here and there,” Andrea repeated. “Is this the there?” she managed in a ragged voice.

  “No. This is this.” He dropped a quick hot kiss on her parted lips and stepped away before she could respond. He pulled her through the front door and turned her to the end of the porch with a proud flourish. “This is the there. What do you think?”

  She followed his gaze in confusion. The only thing she could see was a paint-weathered swing hanging motionless on the shaded end of the porch. Still dazed by the kiss and what she’d seen in his eyes, Andrea needed a moment to realize that the swing was what she was supposed to see.

  “Mamie’s swing?”

  “Yes. I found it in the barn. Needs some paint and maybe some new chain, but I think it will hold us. Come and sit with me, on my porch, in my swing, Andrea.”

  “I don’t know.” She held back, knowing that it wasn’t the strength of the swing she was questioning.

  “Ah, come on. Don’t worry about the neighbors. We’re too far from the road.”

  “They won’t know I’m here. I parked behind the house,” she answered too quickly.

  Sam held back a smile. She’d come to him, not openly yet, but she’d come, and that knowledge made his heart sing. “I’d better tell you, Chief, that’s no guarantee that you won’t be found out anyway. They seem to come out of the woodwork around here, the neighborly townsfolk.”

  “Oh? I’m sure they’re just being friendly.”

  “Curious is a better word. I’ve been invited to share a meal, to go to the Founder’s Day celebration, to attend the church social—me, the unredeemed sinner. I could be an ax murderer, and they wouldn’t know the difference.”

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “An ax murderer?”

  “No. At least not yet. But if you don’t come and sit down, I may start hacking.”

  “All right.” She allowed him to lead her to the swing and sat down, hoping that the wood was stronger than it looked. She wasn’t too sure about her own strength. There was a loud creak when Sam sat down beside her, but the seat held. For a long minute they just sat as Sam touched his bare foot to the floor, nudging the swing into movement.

  “Sam, don’t get angry with the people who drop by. As far as they’re concerned, you’re Mamie’s grandson, and that’s all that matters. They trust you.”

  “Yeah, and there’s a fool born every minute. Arcadia sure has its quota, including me. I’m beginning t
o believe them.”

  Andrea turned toward him. “I know it’s next to impossible for you to realize that you’re welcome here. But you are, because of Mamie. Don’t,” she said simply, drawing her gaze away from the intensity of his expression, “make us regret accepting you.”

  They sat, allowing the swing to glide back and forth, creaking shrilly in the silence.

  He slid his arm along the top of the swing and rested his fingertips loosely against the back of Andrea’s neck. For four days he’d cleared and cleaned, had avoided the people who just happened to drop by. He hadn’t seen Andrea, but there hadn’t been a minute that she hadn’t been on his mind. Now she was beside him, and he realized that all his work hadn’t been for his grandmother. It hadn’t been for his mother. It had been for her. He took in a breath that filled and expanded his lungs.

  “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry if I made a problem for you and the governor,” he said, then wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want anybody on this porch with them. But he couldn’t talk about what he was feeling unless he knew that she cared.

  “You didn’t. And … I wanted to.” Her answer had come easier than she’d expected.

  “You know, according to Louise, the talk is that you and I are an ‘item.’ I’ve never been an ‘item’ before.”

  Andrea was startled. No, this story was one piece of gossip that hadn’t come her way. “I can’t imagine why. We aren’t.”

  “Oh, but we are, darlin’. We’re involved. I just don’t know what that means—yet.”

  “Sam Farley you have an overactive imagination. Nothing has happened between us.”

  “Nothing?” He liked the way she didn’t look at him. That and the flush on her face said more than if she’d flung herself into his arms.

  “One kiss isn’t anything to make a capital offense out of. We’re nothing more than friends, acquaintances,” she amended primly.

  “Only friends? I think you’d better speak for yourself, Chief Fleming,” Sam drawled lazily. “Strictly from my point of view, I think that the governor has a reason to be worried. And I’ve kissed you twice so far.”