Until Tomorrow

by Abbie Williams

  I did want, a very great deal. But I said simply, “Thank you.”

  We hadn’t gone another mile before I fell asleep. I didn’t realize until we were already back in the Rawleys’ yard and Marshall gently touched my shoulder.

  “Hey, we’re home,” he said. Half-teasing, he offered, “You want me to carry you inside?”

  I felt my face heat up and I sat straight, saying, “I think I can manage.”

  Inside the house it was noisy with the sound of four male voices, now five, including Marshall’s. Clark bear-hugged each of us, saying, “We heard the news. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “Ruthann! We got lots of food!” Wy told me from the kitchen. He added, “I feel lots better!”

  Sean and Quinn came for hugs, too. The Rawleys were all so sweet and charming and lovable, and I felt swept into their family, thinking of what Marshall and I had talked about at the diner yesterday evening, about how close they all were. The boys all looked very much like Clark, tall and lean (Wy was still a complete beanpole), with cocoa-brown eyes, teasing dimples and long noses. Marshall alone, as I’d already observed, had gray eyes, and though his brothers resembled him a great deal, I thought he was by far the most handsome.

  Sean and Quinn looked enough alike that I commented they could be twins. Clark laughed and said, “Irish twins, anyway. They were both born in the same year, though nine months apart.” He added, “I don’t know how Faye and I managed those early days. Here were Garth and Marsh, both under four years and both holy terrors of mischief, Sean not even one, and Faye pregnant again. Fortunately Faye’s parents were still alive then and helped us through.”

  “And then I came along!” Wy said. “I was an accident.”

  “You were a wonderful surprise,” Clark contradicted, ruffling his youngest son’s shaggy brown hair.

  His brothers teased me about having to spend the night in Marshall’s less-than-worthy company, mercilessly gave him a bunch of crap for everything under the sun. Clark poured coffee and dished up a plate for me, letting Marshall fend for himself, which he did, leaning against the counter and crunching a slice of bacon, smiling a little as he observed his father and brothers waiting on me so thoroughly.

  Wy sat right beside me and demanded the whole story of the wedding, which I related as well as I could. Marshall added details here and there. He was disheveled and unshaven, with sleepless smudges beneath his eyes, and I couldn’t keep my eyes from him.

  “Dad said we’ll have a big party when Case and Tish come home!” Wy said, inadvertently blocking my view of Marshall as he bounced around.

  “But first we have to get their place in shape,” Clark told his youngest.

  “How’s it going out there?” Marshall asked his dad.

  “They lost a great deal. We cleaned up more scrap than I’d like to think about, but it does my heart good to see everyone pulling together,” Clark said. “Things have improved daily. It’s like the old days.”

  “I’m gonna go clean up,” Marshall said, wiping his hands on his jeans. Through the noise and bustle, he said to me, “We’ll head over there as soon as you get ready, how’s that sound?”

  “Good,” I said quietly, and his eyes held mine for just longer than a second, before he made his way out of the kitchen. I tried not to let myself feel so bereft without him being in the same space as me.

  Clark said, “There’s clean towels in that guest bedroom upstairs. Wy, you show the way as soon as Ruthie finishes eating, all right, son?”

  Marshall had disappeared up the same set of stairs just a few minutes earlier, but we didn’t see him as Wy led me along the upstairs hall and to a little wood-paneled room, decorated with black bears. He said, “There’s shampoo and stuff in the bathroom through that door.”

  “Thanks, Wy,” I told him and seconds later I was alone in the room. I turned in a small circle, noticing the tall windows, through which bright sunlight streamed, the little full-size bed and nightstand, the carpet and quilt all patterned with black bears.

  I could hear a shower running in another part of the upstairs, and knew Marshall was in it; my belly went weightless and hot, my knees weak, just thinking of that. And then I thought brokenly of Liam, waiting back home in Landon for me, my boyfriend of the past four years, who expected me to return to him with my heart intact. Whose tender devotion for me would never waver. Liam, who was strong and hardworking, whose blue eyes I had assumed I would see every day for the rest of my life. Whose phone calls I was avoiding.

  To think of not going home to Liam, back to my life in Minnesota and the sweet, simple life I dearly treasured, was absurd.

  Unthinkable, Ruthann.

  You’ve been carried away by all the stress here, that’s what.

  But in my mind I was already back in Marshall’s arms in the dawning light, held so perfectly close to him. I touched my lips with the fingertips of my right hand, playing over them softly, thinking of how terribly much I had wanted Marshall to kiss me this morning. He had kissed my forehead, and I felt the impression of his mouth there even still. I almost didn’t want to shower.

  I entered the tiny attached bathroom and my heart jumped against my ribs. On the counter was a folded towel and a t-shirt, and I knew that Marshall had been the one to place them both there. My hands went directly to the t-shirt. It was his, and then I smiled, wide, at his subtle stamp of possession, seeing that it was from his high school days, a white, much-worn team shirt with M. RAWLEY written in all capital letters across the back in forest-green print.

  I showered, scrubbing my hair and my face, wishing I had a razor to shave my legs, but beggars could not be choosy. I dressed in my old shorts (minus yesterday’s underwear, very grateful I wasn’t having my period), my bra and Marshall’s t-shirt, which I saved for last, slipping it slowly over my head, with a distinct thrill. It was snug enough across the breasts (I reflected that he had surely been even more lean as a teenager) that I had to stretch it out with both hands, but otherwise it fit perfectly.

  The drawer in the bathroom revealed three toothbrushes still in store packaging (thank heavens), and so I brushed my teeth, braided my hair, and called it good. I let my braid fall over one shoulder, turning my back towards the mirror so that I could see Marshall’s name between my shoulder blades, and then I was smiling again, shivery with anticipation of seeing him.

  He was in the kitchen when I clattered down the stairs, leaning backward against the counter with the base of his palms caught on its edge behind him and talking to Wy, and my gaze went straight to him. He paused in what he was saying to Wy, watching me with subtle and yet heated admiration. I couldn’t tear my eyes from him. He had combed through his dark hair and shaved since an hour ago. I hadn’t yet seen him without his dark scruff since I’d been here; he looked younger, and more handsome than ever. He was wearing work clothes – well-used jeans and a faded green t-shirt, heavy-duty work boots, and he said, “Good morning. Again.”

  “Thanks for the shirt,” I said, not quite able to successfully draw a full breath past my rapidly-beating heart. I felt almost as though I’d been kicked in the chest.

  “Of course,” he said, smiling at me now, just a little, dropping his right shoulder forward.

  “Yours, I’m guessing?” I teased, my voice light, feeling rushes of heat all along my nerves.

  “In school there were so many of us in a row that we just got used to having our first initial on everything,” he affirmed. He glanced down at the shirt, and subsequently my breasts, just briefly, before he concluded innocently, “It seems to fit pretty well.”

  He was so dang naughty. I narrowed my eyes at him, though was unable to keep from smiling, even as Wy, who was drinking a glass of milk, watched us with ill-disguised interest.

  “You guys ready, or what? Marsh, you finished with your little beauty routine?” Sean asked, sticking his head in the side door that led out to the garage. He snorted a laugh at his own joke.

  “Hey, it takes time to look this good,
” Marshall said right back, unfazed.

  “Ruthanna-banana, you wanna ride over there with me and Quinn?” Sean offered, having adopted Tish’s old nickname for me. He was wearing huge black sunglasses and a black ball cap, plus a black t-shirt.

  “You gonna rob a bank on the way?” Marshall asked his younger brother.

  “Nope, already got lucky, just last night,” Sean said without missing a beat.

  “Liar,” Wy said with certainty, rolling his eyes and backhanding a milk mustache from his top lip.

  “Thanks, but I planned to ride with Marshall,” I told Sean, my heart thudding even harder at the feel of his name on my lips.

  Marshall sent his brother a smug smile.

  “Hey, it’s your nose. See y’all there,” Sean said, banging back out the door.

  I giggled, inquiring, “What’s he talking about?”

  Wy supplied helpfully, “Farts.”

  Marshall shoved off the counter with both hands, roughing up his brother’s hair. He said to me, “I’ll try to control myself.”

  Outside under the hot sun, the guys had their trucks running; Marshall explained, “Sean and Quinn share the work truck, that’s the green one there, and then Dad has the dually for hauling the horse trailer,” he indicated Clark’s enormous diesel, which Wy was learning to drive, “And then I managed to scrape together enough cash to buy my own truck. It’s a beauty, as you already know.” I eyed his rusted-out truck. The twisted wire holding up the back bumper wouldn’t last much longer. I had discovered yesterday that the passenger seat had a loose spring, which I’d sat upon for hours. But best of all, I got to ride in it with Marshall, alone.

  “I like your truck a lot,” I told him honestly.

  “I like you a lot,” Marshall returned easily, grinning at me as he settled his black cowboy hat over his dark hair, and I glowed. I absolutely felt myself glow.

  “We’ll see you over there!” Wy called, from the driver’s seat of the diesel.

  “Sunscreen,” Marshall ordered as we pulled out behind Sean and Quinn. “There’s some in the glove compartment.”

  “Thanks,” I said, fishing out the orange bottle. “That’s one thing I try not to forget.” I squirted a dollop onto my palm and then asked him, “You need some?”

  “Nope, but I’ve got a good base tan. You don’t, and you are Irish-princess fair,” he said.

  “Well thanks,” I said softly, thrilling at his words. Somehow Liam had never made my stomach feel this light, like a flower petal carried on an evening breeze. I added, “I should probably have a hat.”

  “We’ll get you one,” he said, shifting into third as we rumbled over a gravel road and I spread the sunscreen on my bare arms. I loved both his use of the word ‘we’ and his implication that I was going to be here long enough to require a hat.

  I was about to return the bottle to the glove compartment when Marshall reached and flicked my knee with his finger, as he’d done last night. He ordered, “Don’t forget your legs.”

  “Don’t you flick me,” I said, even though I was delighted that he had done so, even more deeply sunk into enjoying myself than I had been yesterday.

  “You gonna lick my ear again?” he teased right back, holding his curled finger aimed at my leg, a little higher up my thigh this time. I giggled and evaded.

  “I didn’t lick your ear,” I corrected him. “I gave you a wet willy.”

  Both of us were laughing and he demanded, “A what?”

  “What do you call it?” I asked, using the edge of my hand to block his attempts to flick my leg.

  “If it was any of my brothers, I’d call it worth a beating,” he said. “But from you…”

  “Oh, don’t do me any favors,” I said, catching his wrist in my hand as he went in for the kill. He was so hard and warm. Before I could even tighten my grip, he slipped his wrist free with one effortless motion and was probably aiming for my upper arm; it wasn’t exactly his fault that I shifted to avoid him and he ended up flicking the side of my left breast.

  “Ow!” I yelped, though it didn’t hurt so much as startle me. I knew it was an accident and I was still laughing, but Marshall looked legitimately shocked, and he said instantly, “Oh God, I so did not mean to do that…”

  “I get a freebie now,” I demanded. “And you have to take it.”

  “That’s fair,” he agreed, holding up both hands as though I had pointed a gun at him, before reclaiming the wheel with his left. He implored, hamming up the pleading, “Remember that it was an accident…please, Ruthann…sweet Ruthann…”

  “I’m not that sweet,” I muttered, pretending to peruse him for a good vulnerable spot. If I was possessed of a braver soul, I would torture him by aiming for the fly of his jeans, but no way was I that bold.

  We had arrived at my sister and Case’s place, which I had not yet seen, and I was momentarily distracted, looking out the windshield at the rebuilding efforts, which were well underway in the bright midday sunlight. Marshall took total advantage of the fact that I had looked away, parking across the street from the yard and jumping out of the truck, slamming the driver’s side door.

  “Hey!” I cried, chasing right after him, the prickly roadside grass scraping at my ankles; at least I was wearing my tennis shoes. He had a head start but didn’t exactly try to evade me, as I caught the back of his t-shirt before he’d even cleared the gravel road. I reminded him as he shifted smoothly to break free of my grip, “Freebie! Take it like a man!”

  Marshall laughed, his head tipping back, but then stood still, holding his hands up and to the sides. He grinned at me and offered, “Take your best shot.”

  I moved to flick the lean, tempting expanse of his torso, intending to give him a good, solid one, but he shifted at the last second, twirling me around and lifting me right up into the air, my spine to his front, his arms strong as steel bands around my waist. He proceeded to carry me across the road towards the action, and I spit loose strands hair out of my mouth, as my arms were effectively pinned by his, laughing too hard to really struggle.

  “You owe me!” I gasped out, bouncing along in his arms as he walked, my knees bent as though I meant to push off the nearest solid object.

  “Oh, I always pay up,” he said softly, right into my ear, his voice sending shivers through me, his hat brim bumping the side of my forehead.

  “You are an evil, evil man,” I told him, only provoking more laughter. Curious stares were being directed our way. Sean and Quinn jogged to catch up with us.

  “What’s going on here?” Sean demanded, resettling his ball cap so that it was backwards on his head. He tugged on my braid and asked me, “You need me to kick Marshall’s ass?”

  Quinn assured me, “We’ll take care of him, little Ruthie, don’t you worry.”

  “This is the second-best thing that’s happened to me just today,” Marshall said with what I heard as total sincerity, squeezing me even more tightly to him. I knew I should probably be upset with him for this kind of manhandling, but I wasn’t. Instead I felt decidedly wonderful.

  “What’s the first-best?” his brothers questioned, in almost perfect unison.

  “Oh, no way, that’s for me to know,” Marshall said, maddeningly, a little boy with a secret. I giggled even more.

  “Look out, it’s the rest of the Rawley boys!” called a woman’s voice. “Hide your daughters!”

  There was good-natured laughter from all parts of the big yard, a sense of flowing movement as people came over to greet us. Marshall set me gently to the ground, curling his hand around my braid for just a second before fully releasing me. I tugged down the hem of my shorts, which had crept pretty far up my legs, and then straightened my t-shirt. Wy raced over to join us, and I tucked loose curls behind my ears, still terribly flustered from being held to Marshall’s chest that way.

  I warned Marshall, “I’m not forgetting anything,” and he winked at me, all lazy confidence. He had such a naughty, sexy wink and my heart wouldn’t slow its pac
e.

  A short, balding man, wearing khaki dress pants and a button-down shirt that had wilted in the heat, came directly to me and caught my right hand in both of his. He said, “You have to be one of Tish’s sisters. My dear, I’m Al Howe. I’ve heard so much about you girls from Tish. Welcome.”

  “I am,” I said, recovering most of my self-possession. I shook his hand and said, “I’m Ruthann. I’ve heard a lot about you, too. I’m happy to meet you.”

  “And Tish was married this morning, is that right? Oh, I couldn’t be happier,” Al went on, patting my hand before releasing it. He said, “I knew Spicer was in love with her even before Tish did, I do believe.”

  “What do you think of what we’ve done here?” Garth Rawley, the oldest of the brothers, asked, swiping sweat from his forehead with the back of one wrist. He was shirtless and instead of a hat wore a red bandana tied over his dark hair. He added, “Ruthie, good to see you.”

  “This will make Tish so happy,” I said, looking beyond Garth towards what had been the barn. Of course I hadn’t seen it before it burned, and could only imagine the destruction, but there had to be a dozen people here now, working hard. The yard was burned black in an enormous, vaguely circular shape, and the air still held the lingering scent of char, but there wasn’t much other evidence of the old barn.

  “Holy shit, you’ve been busy,” Marshall said. “Shit, tell me what to do and I’ll get right on it.”

  There was a skeletal frame in place already, the beginnings of a solid rebuild. Al appropriated my arm, leading me around on a tour. I met other residents of Jalesville and more than one person told me how much they adored Tish, how she was part of the reason their town hadn’t been completely lost to Capital Overland. The only other person I knew already was Garth’s wife Becky, who had come with them on the summer visit to Landon three years ago.

  “That Marshall got you into one of his t-shirts, huh?” Becky said after she’d hugged me and kissed my cheek. She was pretty and soft-looking, with blue eyes and smooth, buttercup-blond hair in a ponytail. She grinned at me and rubbed my back briskly, adding, “That Rawley charm is tough to resist, I know.”