I threw myself into work the next day, more than usual, determined to impress Al on this last work day of my first week in town. Never mind that I could hardly think of anything but the fact that it was Friday and that tonight Case would be at the Rawleys’ house for supper. But I did a good job keeping that thought basically unacknowledged, working over my research, calling people to come to the meeting next Tuesday, looking through back stories from the local news affiliate that served the Jalesville area, thinking of what I’d heard about the power plant closing and Derrick Yancy’s company sweeping in, vulture-like, not long after.
There was a connection, I was certain.
It was after four when Al got back from court and said in surprise, as the bell above the door tingled, “Tish? What are you still doing here? It’s Friday.”
I looked up from my desk. My neck was a little cramped, along with my right hand; Mary had left over an hour and a half ago. I lied, “I didn’t realize it was so late in the day.”
Al came over to the far side of the hip-high counter where Case had stood on Monday. He set his briefcase atop it and regarded me with a fondness that reminded me of my dad. He said, “All work and no play…might I remind you? I heard you were at the show at The Spoke last night. How was that?”
“Good,” I said briefly, not meeting his eyes. I added quickly, “I promise to get outside this weekend. I’ll hike around the foothills, or something.”
“I’m holding you to that,” Al said.
I sat on my porch for a good half hour when I got home, just staring, watching the sun strike the mountains in the distance. Listening to the sounds of people through the open windows of other apartments, the ringing of a phone, a mother calling to her kids, a distant radio. I pressed the base of both palms to my eyes. Pressed hard, until all I could see were patterns of swirling color against the backs of my eyelids.
An hour later I parked in the yard at the Rawleys’ place, determined to bury away my more vulnerable and uncontrollable emotions. Instead I let myself feel the tug of this place, which welcomed me the same way that Shore Leave did, back home. Warm with light and laughter, crowded with people who talked over one another, food lining every horizontal surface. I felt the immediate pull of family, though they weren’t exactly mine. But I pretended a little, indulging myself, missing my own. It was a gorgeous time of night. I climbed out of the car and stared westward for a minute, just appreciating. Case’s truck was not in sight, as I was one hundred percent aware, and so my heart had calmed, at least fractionally.
I had tried really damn hard to look good without appearing to have tried hard, if that made sense. I was wearing a sundress of the palest blue imaginable, casual but really pretty, one that fit like a tank top with an ankle-length skirt. I left my hair pinned up high, added silver hoops and a single silver bracelet. A little make-up, some mascara and my favorite raspberry lip gloss, and that was that. I studied the sunset, wondering when he would get here, breathing deeply of the herbal scent in the air, distinctly different than the lakeshores of Landon.
“Pretty out here, isn’t it? I haven’t gotten tired of it yet,” he said from behind me, and I started as though punched in the kidney, spinning to see him approaching with the sun gilding him.
Oh God, oh my God. Holy shit.
I was a fool to think I could be around him without experiencing this tidal-waving of desire. Case kept his eyes on the sunset, as though he hardly realized I was staring speechlessly at him. He joined me at the side of my car, where I was standing still enough to put roots into the ground, and rested both hands on top of his head, linking his fingers. He may or may not have been aware that this defined his biceps really, really well. He was wearing faded jeans and a faded red t-shirt, his bone-colored cowboy hat, boots and a belt with a fancy silver buckle, the same belt from last night.
“I didn’t see your truck,” I babbled, then cringed internally. I wanted to tell him that I had absolutely loved watching him play last night, that I was sorry I hadn’t stuck around to say good-bye, because I was chicken and madly jealous, and I had no right to be jealous over him.
“Gus stopped by and we rode over on the horses,” he explained, still not meeting my eyes. I stared up at his profile, crisp against the blue of the sky. He had a stubborn-looking chin, a straight-edged nose that could probably take a punch or two. The sun shone in his irises, its beams angled low enough to sneak beneath his hat brim, creating a color I’d never seen in someone’s eyes, a rich auburn. His lashes were as red-gold as his hair.
Oh, I said, without saying the word, still ridiculously tongue-tied.
“You want to meet them?” he asked, at last looking over at me.
I swallowed and managed to say, thinking he meant the Rawleys, “I’ve met them plenty of times.”
That half-grin again, just like last night. He said, “The horses, I mean, you want to meet them?”
Oh for the love, Tish. This time he was openly amused at my stupidity, I could tell.
You are a graduate of Northwestern Law School. Pull it together!
I straightened my shoulders and said, as though it didn’t matter much one way or the other, “Sure.”
He led me to the split-rail corral that surrounded one of the barns; there were two barns on the property, but I favored this one, which looked like something out of an old-time western. As we walked, he kept a very appropriate distance between us; he hardly afforded me a spare glance. I felt foolish and vain, vain as a peacock as Gran, my dear great-grandmother, would have said, over the fact that I had been hoping he just might compliment how I looked.
At the fence he leaned on his forearms; I was just a hair too short, even in heeled sandals, to do the same, so I climbed up on the bottom rung to mimic him. A light breeze kicked up my skirt and I sucked in a quick breath, but Case didn’t seem to be paying me overt attention, if any at all, as he made a low whistling sound in the direction of a cluster of horses. One, a delicious caramel color, nosed away from the group and clumped over to us.
“This,” he said, with fondness ripe in his deep voice, “Is Cider.”
I reached, not without caution, and patted the horse’s sleek neck. She was warm and solid beneath my hand, and I felt a smile, a genuine smile, moving across my lips. I rubbed my palm over her more firmly, stroking her hide. There was a small white patch just between her nostrils, and I wanted to put my fingers upon it but held back, uncertain if this would be all right.
“She’s beautiful,” I said. “She’s a girl, right?”
He laughed a little; we were in the shade afforded by the house now, and I studied him again, my heart stuttering along much faster than normal. I told myself I was just flustered by memories of things he’d said in the past, by how many times I’d repeated those long-ago words to myself last night, as I’d lain alone in bed, restless and tossing half the night. He met my eyes then, still smiling, and nodded affirmation, scratching her neck on the opposite side. He said, “I’ve had her since she was just a few weeks old.”
“How old is she now?” I asked, dragging my eyes away from him.
“Close to five years,” he said, stroking the backs of his curled fingers along her jaw, with clear affection. My hand stalled on her neck, motionless as I watched his hand move. He looked back over at me, though just for an instant.
“Is that old for a horse?” I asked, clearing my throat a little.
“Not at all,” he said easily. “Her brother Buck is a little older. I’ve had him from the time he was a foal too.”
“Is he with the other horses?” I asked, wanting to linger out here on the fence, with him.
“Right over there,” he said, nodding. “Gus rode him over. He’s the one on the right there.”
“Is he a buckskin?” I asked. “Not that I’m an expert or anything…the name was my first clue…”
Case affirmed, “He is. Cider is what you’d call a sorrel.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” I asked.
“It has to do with her coloring, just like a buckskin,” he explained patiently. He laid his hand flat against her neck and said, “Usually sorrels have a reddish-yellow undertone.”
Behind us I heard the door to the house open.
“Thanks for introducing me to her,” I told him.
“Evening, Tish!” Clark called. “You were in an all-fired hurry last night!”
Unsure how to answer, I stepped down from the fence, not quite as nimbly as I intended because of my shoes, and sensed more than saw Case reach as though to assist me. His hand didn’t quite make contact and in any event, Clark took my arm in a gentlemanly gesture, tucking my hand around his elbow.
“I was just tired last night,” I said lamely, very aware that Case was listening.
“Understandable,” Clark reassured, leading me towards the house, patting my hand. “As soon as Garth and Becky get here we’ll eat. I’ve got drinks out already,” and then he looked down at me, teasing, “But maybe you better not go there this evening.”
“Ha, ha,” I said gamely.
“We’re out back, you guys!” Marshall called as Case and I came through the front door and they caught sight of us. “Tish, you gonna get bombed again?”
“I haven’t the past few nights I’ve been here, have I?” I grumbled at Marsh as I stepped out onto the porch, even though he hadn’t been here either of those nights to know this was true. Marshall blinked a couple of times at the sight of me; I saw his eyes flash to Case, who was, as I was completely and vividly aware, just behind me.
“You look nice,” Marshall said to me, almost wickedly. “Real nice, Tish.”
I rolled my eyes at him, all fluttery that he was saying so in front of Case; I just wished that Case would notice. Would say something.
But why?
To what end?
I was so confused.
“Hi, Tish!” Wy heralded from the picnic table, where he was loading a plate with appetizers. “Where’d you go last night?”
“Can I get you a drink?” Marshall asked me. Everyone was already probably on their second round; Sean and Quinn and their girlfriends, Gus with his, all of them in chairs close to each other. Gus had his hand on Lacy’s thigh as she said something that was making him laugh, and he looked so much like Case that I felt a lump of jealousy lodge itself in my throat – I wanted to be sitting here on this same porch with Case touching my leg that way, with such tender intimacy.
That can never happen, I thought fiercely.
Gus called over, “Casey, you gotta come tell us about that one time…” but then he was laughing too hard to continue, as Lacy pinched at his ribs.
“Sure, a gin and tonic would be great,” I said, suffering Marshall’s knowing look. I defended, “I’ll just have one.”
“Coming right up,” Marsh said, winking at me; he had a good wink, and I could tell he knew it, which almost made me giggle. He asked Case, “How about you?”
“I got it, little bro,” Case replied, delivering what seemed like a playful little punch to Marshall’s midsection as he walked past him, though Marsh released a surprised whoosh of breath.
Wy caught my elbow and hauled me to a seat near the fire, then immediately claimed the chair on my right. I tried to pretend I wasn’t watching, observant as a spider, for Case to grab a drink and come sit down. There was a chair just to my left that was yet unoccupied.
“Tish, wasn’t that fun last night?” Wy leaned forward eagerly to claim my attention. He continued to remind me a great deal of Clinty, once upon a time. He had the same earnest expression at all times.
“It sure was,” I said, peeking at Case from the corner of my eye. I saw him take my drink from Marshall and my heart went all crazy again. Marshall muttered something to him that it was far too noisy for me to hear, but Case ignored this and paused near my chair to hand me the drink, over ice and with a lime wedge. He had a can of cola in the other hand.
“Thank you,” I told him. The sun was in my eyes, backlighting him so that he appeared haloed in a golden glow.
Case sat just where I’d been hoping he would as Wy went on, “Tish, for real, Dad says you’re calling up everybody in town to get rid of Capital Overland. That everyone is saying that you’re gonna run them out of town!”
“People love to make things larger than life,” I reminded Wy.
“No, really!” Wy insisted. He said, “Super Tish!” and then I giggled, unable to help myself, almost spitting out a mouthful of gin in the process.
I shook my head at Wy, aware of Case subtly watching me, from the corner of his eye, too.
“They know something they aren’t letting on,” Case said then, sitting forward as though restless, curving both hands around his can of soda. His words were just what I had been speculating. He added, “And I’m worried the offers might prove too tempting for some people.”
“Not all the sales are final,” I confirmed, feeling comfortable in this knowledge after my week of research. “Unfortunately Derrick Yancy is a good salesman, I’ll give him that.”
“You’ve met him then?” Case asked, looking intently at me. I felt such a splash of heat whenever his eyes touched mine, as they were now, but I didn’t let any of that show on my face.
I nodded, saying, “He reminds me of about half the spoiled rich kids I went to law school with. That entitled attitude. The arrogance. But he’s also smart. I’m considering him a mortal enemy at this point.”
Sean said, “He doesn’t give two fucks about our town.”
“Language!” Jessie scolded.
“Well, he’s right,” Marshall said, shoving at his brother to gain a seat on the glider. Sean obligingly scooted over.
“I agree with Case. I think that Yancy knows something he’s not letting on,” Quinn said. “I think he’s a criminal.”
“He’s a businessman,” I corrected, then teased, “Same difference. In all seriousness, I wish he was a criminal. Then I’d have something concrete to attack him with.”
“You’ve met a bunch of people around here this week,” Marsh said to me, sipping his beer.
“And you’ve made quite an impression,” Clark added, joining us, though he remained standing. He said, “I mean that in the most complimentary way, you realize.”
“I do,” I assured Clark, flattered that he thought so; Case was still looking at me as though concerned, but when my eyes flashed to his, he looked instantly away, out towards the horizon.
“This guy won’t get our land, will he, Dad?” asked Wy.
“Not while I can still draw breath,” Clark said.
“And not yours either?” Wy asked Case.
“Hell, no,” Case said, and Gus nodded vigorous agreement. Case said, “There’s that info session next week at the courthouse, and I’m hoping to talk sense into some people, Hank Ryan included.”
“Next Tuesday, right?” I asked, my fingertips twitching for my notebook and pencil. “Al wants me there, too. And who is Mr. Ryan?”
“Hank Ryan is a councilman, former rancher,” Case explained. “He chairs the council now. He’s been considering selling, I’ve heard.”
“I’ve heard the same,” Clark affirmed. “Damn, that would be a real score for Yancy.”
“Why here?” I asked again, not yet having found a satisfying explanation, even in theory. “Why Jalesville in particular?”
“We’re ripe for the picking, that’s why,” Case said. “Power plant goes belly-up, everyone out of work. It’s almost too good to be true from Yancy’s standpoint. And I still don’t get the sense that they’re here in Montana just to buy vacation property.” He was turning the soda can in slow circles between his strong, long-fingered hands, the hands I had watched for hours last night, as he played and played.
I took a long drink of my gin and tonic.
“Enough business talk,” Sean insisted, from the glider a few feet away. “Ease up, you-all. I’m trying to get a little drunk right now.”
I laughed a little at this and said, “Sorry, I have trouble relaxing.”
“We’re here! The party can start!” Garth suddenly called from inside the house, as he and his wife Becky, along with their son Tommy, arrived. They came spilling out onto the porch, and I stood at once to go and hug both of them, congratulate them on the newest addition to their family.
“You look so grown up,” Becky told me, gathering me for another hug. She was angel-faced, blond and blue-eyed, a little more plump than I remembered from three years ago, but she’d just had a baby in the last year. Little Tommy was adorable, already claimed by Sean’s girlfriend, who was cuddling him to her breasts.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.
“Don’t work too hard while you’re here,” Becky told me, booting Wy from his chair so she could sit near me. I’d gotten to know her fairly well the summer they’d all come to Minnesota. She went on, “I wish I could offer to take you out on the town, but I have my hands so full these days.”
“You playing later?” I heard Garth ask Case, settling near him with a beer. So far I hadn’t observed Case have so much as one drink; he’d stuck to cola or water, last night too.
“Not tonight,” Case said.
“Maybe we can get to the fair next week, though,” Becky was saying, and I refocused on her.
“The fair?” I repeated.
“The county fair and the music fest. It’s a good time,” she said. To Wy, she smiled charmingly and said, “Be a honey and go get me a beer, will you?”
Dinner was incredible; I was becoming far too accustomed to being spoiled in this fashion. I hadn’t yet really tried to cook in my little apartment and dreaded the thought, as I despised housekeeping. We ate on the deck as we had the past few nights that I had been a guest, at an enormous picnic table, Case at the far end, and I tucked away all hints that I minded being displaced from him; though when it was apparent he was planning to leave, no more than a few minutes after dinner had ended, it became a little more difficult to suppress the flutterings of disappointment that seemed to have taken wing inside my body. But of course I didn’t let any of that show.
He and Gus had a conversation about Case bringing Buck with him, so that Gus could ride home to his and Lacy’s apartment with her, and then Case bid everyone farewell; his eyes scarcely passed over me and then I was watching his shoulders, his back, as he descended the steps leading up to the deck, clearly planning to walk around the house to the barn, to collect his horses.
Wait.
Before I had even concocted a good excuse, I rose to my feet and threaded through the chaos on the deck, ducking inside and scurrying across the living room and entryway, just beating Case to the front yard. I startled him as I opened the screen door, I could tell, though he buried that away at once. He was again nearly expressionless as he paused and regarded me silently. He’d donned his cowboy hat since dinner, leaving his eyes in partial shadow beneath.
“I just…” I said, slightly out of breath, holding the screen open against my forearm. Jesus Christ, Tish. And then, even though I hadn’t planned to, I said what I’d been longing to all evening, “I just loved hearing you play last night.”
He continued to watch me for a long moment, in which I felt increasingly foolish, but then he said quietly, “Thanks.”
I was suddenly less than five paces away from him, though I didn’t recall moving. I wanted to reach and take the hat from his head so I could see his eyes without the shadow over them. I said, “You’re very talented.”
His face remained unreadable, though I saw his chest rise as though with an indrawn breath. Again he said, “Thank you.”
“Well…good-night,” I said then, suddenly self-conscious as hell, having so obviously chased him out front.
“You want to meet Buck?” he surprised me by asking. “I have to saddle up Cider, so I have a minute.” So casually, as though it didn’t truly matter to him one way or the other.
I felt a smile beam over my face before I could stop it, but he was already heading for the corral, resettling his hat as he walked. I followed in his wake, catching up with him at the gate.
“On second thought, those shoes won’t protect your feet enough,” he said, nodding at my sandals. “You better stay on this side of the fence.”
I nodded acceptance of this and again climbed up one rung so that I could lean over the top beam. The air was chilly now that the sun had faded and indigo shadows were gathering. Case disappeared into the barn, reemerging a few seconds later leading the two horses. He walked them right up to where I waited on the fence, not meeting my eyes until he drew near.
“This is Buck,” he said, tilting his hat brim towards the larger of the two, a gorgeous animal with a creamy hide and a thick black mane and tail. He patted the horse’s thick neck.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said formally, leaning to stroke Buck between the eyes. Case was close enough to me that I could have reached and done the same thing to him. I heard myself say, “I always felt like these bangs tickled their faces,” and indicated the clump of hair that hung down between Buck’s ears, almost to his eyes.
Case laughed a little at my words, a warm, deep sound. He said, “That’s the forelock. It doesn’t seem to bother them much, as far as I can tell.”
“How would they scratch it, even if it did itch?” I persisted. I scratched Buck there, saying to him, “There you go, boy. How’s that?”
“They rub their faces against each other, sometimes,” he said. “Or on the fence. But I’m sure he likes that best by far.”
Cider made a whooshing noise and nudged Case’s side with her head. He laughed again, cupping her big square jaws and planting a kiss on her nose, right on the little white spot I had noticed earlier. He asked her, “Are you a little starved for affection, huh, girl?”
I almost responded, Yes, very much so, before wisely biting back these words. I continued to scratch Buck’s nose and Case went on, “Here, I’ll be right back. I have to grab her saddle from the barn.”
He came back out carrying it against his waist; his arms were taut with muscle, which I observed from the corner of my eye. He drew Cider to the side and efficiently settled the saddle atop her, next draping the stirrup over her back and bending to adjust a strap beneath her belly. He was facing away from me and I studied him openly, the way his very wide shoulders shifted as he made motions I was certain he had made hundreds of times before. But by the time he straightened and turned back to me, my attention was completely focused on Buck.
Now there seemed to be nothing to say and we studied each other in the growing dusk. I could hardly make out his eyes beneath the hat brim. At last he asked, again so casually, “You have a jacket? It gets cold out here at night.”
“In the car, I do,” I said, embarrassed by the breathlessness in my voice.
He nodded and ran a hand along Cider’s flank, as though unconsciously. She shifted and nosed his side again, seeming to bring him back to reality. He said, “Well, this girl wants her stall. I better head out. I’ll see you around.”
Not quite a statement or a question, instead somewhere in between. I nodded and my breath caught as he moved towards me, but I realized he was just gathering Buck’s reins. He climbed on Cider with effortless grace and adjusted his hips in the saddle. My chin was tipped up to continue looking at him. Silhouetted against the darkening sky, he looked right back at me.
“Good-night,” he said then, quietly, and nudged Cider with his heels. She responded to this at once, tossing her head and heading out of the corral, Buck trailing them.
“’Night,” I responded just as quietly, and he tipped his hat brim, like someone in a movie. Without another word, he set Cider into a faster pace, and then was disappearing down the road.
Back inside, I rejoined the activity and poured myself a second gin and tonic. Gus and Sean, along with their girlfriends, were headed out, calling farewells.
Probably to go somewhere and have hot, hot sex, I reflected.
Not that I was jealous or anything.
I added another glug of gin to my glass.
“Tish, you wanna play a little cards?” Marshall asked. Everyone other than Clark was settling around the dining room table, inside now, the lights warm and welcoming. Baby Tommy was snoozing in a playpen, and Becky and Quinn’s girlfriend Ellie were mixing up a pitcher of margaritas.
“Maybe in a bit, thanks,” I said, wanting to sit outside a little longer.
“Tish, there’s a couple old sweatshirts just inside the door there, on the coat rack,” Clark said as I joined him. “You’ll freeze otherwise.”
It was growing rapidly chillier, and so I thanked him and retrieved a sweatshirt, shrugging into it gratefully. Back on the deck, I settled close to Clark and said, “Thank you for dinner. I really appreciate it.”
“Well you’re most welcome,” he said, and then nodded towards the horizon. “Would you look at that?”
I shivered with delight at the sight of the western sky, flaring now with stars, a thin band of saffron-yellow afterglow behind the mountains. I agreed, “It’s beautiful.” And then I amended, “But it’s more than just beautiful. It’s…majestic somehow. I can’t explain it exactly. Everything out here just feels grander in scale.”
“I know just what you mean,” Clark said. “It’s all the open sky. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, though I’ve loved visiting the lakeshore in Landon.”
“I miss it there,” I said softly. Though in the starlight, the mountains in the distance appeared more mysterious and romantic than almost anything I had ever seen, and I found my gaze roving back to the chair that Case had vacated only a little while ago. Was he still riding home just now? How long did it take to ride the distance between here and his place? Was he looking up at the sky at this moment, too?
Clark and I sat in companionable silence for a time; the gin had warmed my stomach and blurred the edges of my tension, at least a little. But then everything within me sprang to awareness at Clark’s unexpected next words.
“It’s Case I’m worried about,” Clark said, and my heart lurched, especially given that I had just been thinking about him.
“Worried?” I asked cautiously. “Why’s that?”
“He told you pretty plain how he felt for you, back when,” Clark said, without preamble. “It’s been years now, and he’s not the same person he was, I’ll be the first to admit. But I’ve seen him in the past month, ever since Mathias told us that you were headed this way for the summer, and he’s been hoping again.”
Even though I was far from stupid, I still heard myself whispering, “What do you mean?”
“He won’t come out and admit it, not now, but I’ve known the boy since he was born. He’s stubborn as hell. And he’s hoping again, I can see it the way you’d see lightning on the horizon at night.”
I didn’t know how to respond. At last I said quietly, “Clark, with all due respect, I think you’re reading too much into it. I really do.”
Clark resettled himself into his seat and said, “Let me tell you about Case, honey, because he’s not like other men. And he won’t talk about his past, not ever. Don’t let on that you know anything, promise me?”
“I promise,” I whispered, trembling a little; I wished I was wearing jeans and not this stupid dress. The laughter and rowdy noise in the house seemed far removed from us, at present.
“Case’s mother was named Melinda,” Clark said, in a storyteller voice that reminded me at once of Dodge, back home. “She was the one who gave the boys that golden-red hair. And she gave Case her talent for song. Melinda sang in the church choir, and in the choir at school until her father stopped that, thinking she was getting too social. Her father, Case’s grandpa on the Dalton side, was a preacher, and not a kindly one who spends the week quietly working on his Sunday sermon. He was the type on the lookout for sin morning and night. And when you’re looking for trouble that hard, it doesn’t take much to find it. Old Edwin was a widower. Melinda was his only child, and what do you know, she got pregnant just out of high school, without even a boyfriend to blame.”
“With Case?” I whispered. I was hugging myself around the middle, and loosed my hold just a fraction.
“Yes, indeed. Her father locked her away until she confessed the truth, and no one could quite believe that Owen Spicer, who was a good ten years older than Melinda, was the father. Even then he drank far too much, gambled a great deal, lived in a trailer out on the old Spicer property. And here, beautiful little Melinda Dalton was going to have his baby. Go figure.”
“She must have loved him a great deal,” I said, at once submerged in the romance of this notion, very unlike me; I was the least romantic woman I knew. My sisters were the romantics.
“I wish I could tell you that was true,” Clark said, and I looked his way sharply. He went on, his gaze trained on the far horizon, “Owen married her, very nearly at gunpoint insistence from old Edwin. And she moved out to live on the Spicer homestead, just a mile and a half from here, out on Ridge Road. The Spicers were hit hard in the 1930s, see, and never quite recovered. Reputations for being drunks and laggards, I hate to say. Case and Gus broke that mold. They’re good men, the both of them, and I’d like to believe I’ve had a hand in that. The big house burned down back in 1971. Owen’s pa hauled a trailer out there, in which they’ve lived ever since. It’s rundown. Case keeps the barn like it was his home, instead. He cares more about his horses than just about anything.”
I thought of Cider and Buck, how I’d been able to touch them, to put my hands on something that mattered to Case more than just about anything.
I gulped a little.
Clark continued, “I knew Owen, of course, though we were never good friends. It was through my Faye that I got to know Melinda, as she and Faye became fast friends. Melinda brought Case over here to play with Garth and Marshall, when they were just little sprouts. I would never have guessed anything was wrong, truly. I was too busy ranching at the time, as we still had sheep in those days. But my Faye knew something wasn’t right, knew that Owen was abusive to his wife. I wish now, God I wish now, that I would have done something more about it. A part of me felt as though I was imposing, that it wasn’t my business. And I regret that very deeply. That’s a part of why I tried so hard to care for those boys once Melinda passed.”
“How did she die? She was sick, wasn’t she?” I asked quietly, holding myself tightly around the middle again. I had set my drink aside. From the corner of my eye, I saw Clark nod.
“She was, for a long spell before she passed. Case would have been about eight, Gus just a few months. Owen was a rotten son of a bitch, he truly was, though I wouldn’t say as such to the boys, even now. He was their father. Even worse than old Edwin, though, in his own way. He was meaner than a snake to them when he drank.
“When Melinda died, Case rode out into the foothills on his horse and didn’t come back for three days, until I saddled up and went after him. I rode out the moment I heard he was missing. Owen, damn him, didn’t tell anyone at first, probably didn’t even notice for a day or so. I was worried as hell. I love the boy, he and Gus both, like my own kin. I found him huddled in a cave where the boys all played once upon a time. Took my best talking to get him to come with me. Little fella was so weak from hunger he could hardly even stand up. His horse had already long since hightailed it for home. Case said he wanted to die so that he could go to heaven and find his ma.”
My heart had constricted into a tight, painful fist.
“I could hear exactly what old Edwin Dalton, Case’s grandpa, would have said. He would have told the boy not to set his heart too much on earthly things, that’s what, but that’s always been Case’s way, for better or worse. I told him how much we’d all regret it if he went to heaven so young. I told him that his little brother needed him. And sure enough, Case has cared for Gus like a father all these years. Fed him, clothed him, made sure his homework was done, all the while taking the brunt of Owen’s tempers. He tried to hide it, Case I mean, when Owen would beat on him. I’ll never forget the night I found out the truth. Owen had made Case shoot a dog earlier that day, a dog that he didn’t want any more, one that wouldn’t run off, and he made his son do it. Case was only ten years old, couldn’t quite handle a pistol, but Owen called him a pussy and told him to do it or he’d whip him. So Case did it, shot the critter, and cried his eyes out. Owen gave him a beating anyway, for crying.”
I listened with the knuckles of one hand pressed hard to my lips. In law school I had been presented with all manner of depositions, statements, testimonies, all for the purpose of study and speculation, the building of imaginary cases. I had been privy to information that would make anyone curl up with horror. And yet nothing had ever affected me this way, as though I’d been slammed in the gut with a baseball bat.
“I could have kicked myself in the head for not acting sooner. I rode over to their place and made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that if Owen ever laid a hand on the boys again, I would shoot him.”
“You did?” I whispered, suddenly hard-pressed to recall that this was 2013, well into the twenty-first century. People didn’t behave this way any longer. Yet here sat proof that they did, indeed.
“I did. And I don’t regret it a minute. Long story short, Owen cleaned up a little after that. Never heard about him beating on the boys again, but I would imagine he still did. Case is a great one for keeping secrets. He and Gus very nearly lived here most of their teenage years. Faye adored them. My boys and them may as well be actual brothers.” He looked my way and said, “I don’t tell you any of this lightly, honey. I just want you to have a little insight. See, Case won’t admit to anything anymore, won’t admit that he feels a thing for you. But I know him well enough to see the hope in him, now that you’re here for the summer. Making excuses to be near you. Thinking it might be different this time.”
“What about his ex-wife?” I asked, and my throat belied my unwitting emotion, as it was raspy and hoarse.
“Lynnette,” Clark affirmed. “They wed in 2009. Lynnette claimed to be pregnant, that’s what sparked the whole thing, ironically, just like Melinda back when. But Case is nothing like his pa. He did right by Lynn and married her without a word of protest. Then she claimed a miscarriage a month or so later. I don’t know. Never felt right to me. They fought a great deal. She hated that he worked late nights, performing. They split about a year and a half ago.”
“He was married that summer you came to visit Landon?” I asked. When Clark told Marshall he’d break bones if any of them tried anything with me.
“That’s the only reason he didn’t join us,” Clark said. “He wanted to come, something fierce, but Lynn said no sir.”
“Where is she now?” I asked, I hoped casually.
“Remarried, actually, and living in Idaho, last I heard,” Clark said, and my shoulders relaxed a little; I hadn’t even realized they were hunched with tension.
“Clark, I don’t know what to say,” I admitted then. A furtive emptiness had been stalking me and I shivered as it seemed to pounce.
“Honey, you don’t have to say a thing,” Clark said, kindly. “I just worry about my boys. Be his friend, if you want, but that’s where it has to end. He can’t have false hope, I can’t watch him go through that.”
I said softly, “I think he’s beyond all of that, I do. It’s been a long time, and we’re older now. And I’ll be so busy while I’m here, we probably won’t see much of each other at all.”
“Dad! You and Tish still out here?” Wy yodeled from the house. I looked over my shoulder to see him silhouetted in the open door.
“We are,” Clark called back, teasing his youngest. “You can see us, can’t you, fool boy?”
“It’s late,” I noted. “Thank you for supper, and for telling me everything.”
Clark rose as I did, cupping my upper arm for a moment, before holding out a polite hand, allowing me to walk first. He said, “I’d like it very much indeed if you’d come back on Fridays as a matter of habit. And any other night you’d like.”
“I’d like that too,” I said.
In my car, heading home a minute later, I felt as tiny as an ant crawling along on the ground, and just as significant. All of the information I’d just absorbed was swirling around my brain, certain words and images standing out from others. I pictured Case as he’d looked last night on stage, and as he’d looked tonight, grinning as he’d stroked his horse’s neck, introducing me to her. I thought of him as a vulnerable little boy, shooting a dog, hiding out in a cave and nearly starving to death. Marrying a woman he believed carried his child.
He’s a passionate man.
That’s abundantly clear.
And if Clark’s right, you can’t encourage any sort of attention.
Even if you want his attention, really badly.
Something caught my eye right then, a road meandering to the left, and I braked fast enough that my car squealed and fishtailed in the gravel. I told myself this was why I was a little shaky, clutching the wheel, holding down the brake, as I read the words on the road sign again. Ridge Road. The Spicer place was just down this road, Clark had said.
What are you doing?
Are you a fucking moron?
It’s late. He’s in bed.
I just want to see his place, that’s all. Just see it.
I turned left, driving slowly and carefully along this new gravel road.
You thought it was bad Google-searching him on Monday! What is this?
Are you a stalker now?
Tish. Seriously.
There was nothing but empty land for a mile or so, stretching to the mountains on the horizon. Dark as hell, nothing to illuminate the black except for my headlights. Then I saw a structure looming on the left side of the road and slowed down just a fraction. A barn, huge and imposing. And then, my heart feeling like someone with a heavy boot had stepped down upon it, I spied a trailer, tucked into the side of a small ridge, south of the barn. White and green, shitty-looking, spared total desolation by two strings of red chili-pepper lights glinting a warm scarlet welcome, stretched above the door.
As though to highlight the fact that I was indeed staring at Case’s house, my headlights picked out a mailbox just to the right, silver and faded, the word Spicer stenciled in black upon it; somehow I knew, I knew, that Melinda Spicer had been the one to put that word there, long ago. I wasn’t considering how conspicuous I was, in a car out here on what was clearly not a well-traveled road, and my heart went shooting right through my ribcage as a light towards the back of the trailer, perhaps a bedside lamp, clicked out.
Shit! Go! I felt low and despicable and criminal, and didn’t exactly stomp on the accelerator, but came pretty damn close. The barn and the chili-pepper lights and the stenciled mailbox were receding before I could think twice.
Now you’re going to get lost! I thought frantically. You have to turn around. You have to go back that way or you’ll never find your way to town.
Shit, shit, shit.
Perhaps a half-mile from his front yard, I stopped the car, though I was unable to likewise stop my frantically-pounding heart. I pulled to the side of the road, killed the headlights but left the engine running, and climbed out. I felt amped up like I couldn’t believe and paced a little, as the dark Montana night engulfed me in a way that was exactly what my soul needed, whether I could articulate this to myself at present or not. After a few minutes I was calm enough to lean against the warm hood of my car, tipping my chin to the stars.
God, it’s beautiful out here. Like Landon, but wilder somehow. The air smells wild, if that makes sense. It could be any year right now, hundreds of years ago. Montana doesn’t realize or care what year it actually is, I get that now.
I cupped both hands around my temples and studied the sky, the way I used to as a little girl when we’d just visited Landon in the summers, before we’d moved there for good. Shutting out the world this way for a moment, I could pretend that I was able to lift from earth and fly up to the stars. This sensation was both heady and slightly terrifying.
What if you can’t fly back to earth?
What then?
I could hear the sounds of the night all about me, most unrecognizable, though that was surely a hawk somewhere in the foothills. The scrub brush on the edge of the road appeared wizened, pagan and enchanting and wholly mysterious. There was a particular rock formation to the east, visible and magnificent even in the darkness, shaped distinctly like an uppercase T. It reminded me of a wizard with arms outstretched, casting. I let this feeling overtake my senses and would have remained here all night, leaning against my car and staring at the landscape if not for the hordes of mosquitoes I could hear beginning to gather near me, as though for a feast.
I breathed deeply and at last admitted defeat; I turned to reenter my car when something hooked my senses. A flicker of a voice, the sounds of passage, somewhere out there in the foothills. Without questioning my actions, I leaned and instantly killed the engine. Motionless, nearly silent darkness encased me as thoroughly as a cloak, almost as tangible. I crouched near my car and peered towards the faint hint of distant activity; I wasn’t sure if I was still on Case’s family’s acreage or not, and these sounds were drifting to my ears from the opposite direction in any case. I slapped at a mosquito, their insistent whine growing ever more threatening, but I remained still and silent, watching the distance.
What in the hell?
What are you doing? Are you insane?
Something’s happening out there. Out by the wizard rock. I know it.
I watched and waited, the bugs attacking my legs through my stupid, thin sundress. At least Clark had let me keep the sweatshirt, which kept me from outright freezing (it was cold as shit out here at night) and prevented my arms from being entirely devoured.
Men, I discerned after a moment, straining to listen.
Voices carried fairly well out here in the open, much like they did across the lake, back home. Though not quite enough for me to make out actual words.
At least two, I decided.
Hunters, maybe?
Why else would a couple of men be out here at this time of night?
I’ll have to ask Case –
I cut myself short, realizing abruptly that I could do no such thing. What would I say? Would I openly admit to having been skulking about his property like a stalker? Looking for trouble? Hadn’t Clark just told me a cautionary tale involving that very notion? Looking for trouble only led you to it that much faster.
But there’s something not right about what’s going on out there, I can tell.
I felt this strongly. I longed for Aunt Jilly, whose extrasensory perception was strong, who could maybe get a read on the men in the distance. I jumped a little, startled at the sound of a vehicle firing to life about two football fields from where I currently crouched, on a road not visible to me from this vantage point. It was pointed in the exact opposite direction as my car, back towards Case’s house.
Follow them!
I leaped into my car, turning the key and leaving the headlights out. There wasn’t another moving vehicle for miles anyway, I was sure. A tiny, immature part of me thrilled at what appeared to be a real-life mystery, the kind Camille and I longed for as kids, when we’d been into Scooby Doo.
Hurry!
I cranked my car around and drove forward, not so much following as driving parallel to their vehicle. The car jounced beneath me and I drove as best I could, keeping one eye on the road and the other on them. Case’s yard appeared on the right, the chili-pepper lights still glowing, all other lights extinguished.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to find out, I told him silently as I drove past.
Case.
Charles Shea Spicer.
For whatever reason, I liked the sound of his full name.
My window was down and the scent of sagebrush strong in my nose. The car to my left was moving fairly slowly, surely passing over tougher ground than I was at present. I watched them, again like a spider in a web, observing from a distance and not about to let them get away. They reached the main road, the one that led into Jalesville, not five miles away. I stepped on it a little and turned after them, keeping my distance.
Shit, you better turn on the headlights.
Not yet.
You’ll get a ticket! Worse, you could hurt someone.
I clicked the button on the dash and immediately the vehicle I was following braked. They were a good deal ahead of me, but I interpreted this action as their suspicion. I braked too, instantly, letting the distance between us increase. It was only when there was a chance that they were about to disappear over the horizon that I dared to speed up, pursuing their taillights.
They drove into Jalesville ahead of me; there wasn’t a hint of additional traffic on the road, which made the stoplight seem completely unnecessary. But it was my luck, as I pulled directly behind them, much like I’d pulled up behind Case’s truck, and I studied every detail of the 4x4 in front of my bumper.
Black GMC, Colorado plates. Interesting. The windows had a light tint so I couldn’t exactly tell how many bodies were inside. I mentally jotted down the license plate, though, and realized I could not tail them any longer; it would be as obvious as a noisy fart in a classroom full of students taking a test. I giggled at my thought, way more than a little overtired.
Probably none of this means a damn thing anyway, I thought.
The light changed to green and the GMC pulled forward. I turned left, back towards my apartment, deciding that I needed a good night’s sleep more than anything else.