Keep You (20 page)

             
“Tam thinks he’s going back to bed,” Randy said with a snort. “If I’ve gotta be awake in this godforsaken Cinderella’s castle, then I need some company.”

             
Jordan glanced up and grinned at Tam, one of those sideways
get a load of my dad
grins all the Walker children had perfected long ago. “I’m assuming you’ll be playing the part of Cinderella,” he told Randy, and earned another snort.

             
“Whoever heard of getting married in a castle?” he grumbled to himself. “Mikey’ll be wanting us to call him ‘your majesty’ next. You boys just watch.”

             
Beth released a long-suffering sigh, her round shoulders deflating. “Lots of people get married here,” she told her husband, “not just kings and queens.”

             
“Not people like us!”

             
“I thought we talked about not acting like angry hillbillies while we were here.”

             
The food was thick and greasy, nothing like the low-calorie, low-flavor fare of cafes back home, and it was beginning to take the raw, angry edges off Tam’s hunger. He took a more measured bite of potatoes, actually chewing this time, sounds of good-natured arguing between a husband and wife both a reminder of the home he’d never had, and a comfort, something that grounded him. He was a bit of a balloon whose string had been cut here – he didn’t go on vacation, he didn’t shirk work and Mom and go off on adventures – and he was glad to have the Walkers tethering him.

             
“I’m going shooting today,” Randy said as he and Beth pushed back their chairs and got to their feet. “They’ve got archery. You boys come join me when you’re done.”

             
Tam saluted a “yes” with his fork as they left. Mike had gone through an archery phase as a freshman in high school. Like all his phases, it had been short lived and initiated because he wanted to be enfolded into some social group or other. But they’d all goofed around with the compound bow he’d gotten for Christmas that year. Tam was no Robin Hood, but he could hit a target.

             
When the adults were gone, Jordan started in on him like some kind of camp counselor, and maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised.

             
“I think you and Jo need to talk,” he said matter-of-factly, popping a bite of toast that crunched into his mouth.

             
Tam’s appetite shriveled. “Really?” He twitched his brows as he laid his fork down. “Whatever happened to the bro code?”

             
Jordan gave him a flat look. “Bros before hos doesn’t apply when it comes to my little sister and my best friend.”

             
For some reason, his use of “best friend” was like a flat palm that pushed against Tam’s sternum, pressing him back in his chair. It was a title he and Mike had always tossed around where it concerned each other, but it wasn’t something he’d ever heard from Jordan. When he thought about it, there was a fair amount of truth to the statement.

             
“You’re like family,” Jordan continued, and it was the verbal equivalent of a hug, “and it’s a serious pain in the ass when family’s pissed at each other.”

             
“I’m not pissed at her.”

             
“Ah, yes, but
she’s
pissed at
you
.”

             
How could a person still be angry after four years? He knew the answer – it was the same reason he was still cracked and broken after four years: love. Real, honest, deeply-rooted love that didn’t have any place to go. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.” He glanced down at this plate, where now-cold, melted butter from his potatoes was sweeping across the white china like a yellow tide, colliding with the river of sausage grease that trickled between the remnants of the eggs. He pushed it away, disgusted.

             
“Look, just…” Jordan scratched at his hair, face screwing up. “I’m not trying to be Dr. Phil or anything, but you’re both being stupid.”

             
“Wow. That sounded just like Dr. Phil.”

             
“Bite me. I’m trying to help you.”

             
First Jessica, now this one. Tam sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the effort, but it was too little too late, and they couldn’t undo what their oldest brother had done. “Why would you do that?”

             
Jordan scowled. “’Cause I’m tired of watching you both mope. And because I really don’t want to have to call that douchebag Ryan my brother-in-law.”

             
Tam bristled at that. His brain refused to allow for a future in which Jo was with someone like Atkins.

             
“Dude,” Jordan said, “she came with him just to screw with you.”

             
“That doesn’t sound like Jo.”

             
His brows lifted, expression indicating that Tam had missed the obvious somewhere along the line. “I know. That’s my point.”

             
If Jo, the champion of the fair cause, the one honest to a fault, even when it painted her in a bad light, was employing feminine war tactics, then “pissed” wasn’t a descriptive enough word. She was furious, vengeful. “She’s trying to make me jealous?” he asked, brows leaping in shock.

             
“Is it working?”

             
“Maybe.”

             
“Then you know what that means.”

             
Tam grinned. He still had a chance.

**

              A fleet of hotel staff in gray waistcoats and crisp white shirts laid out tea and trays of little finger sandwiches in the shade of a gazebo on the other side of the moat. They flitted among the round, linen-covered tables, never tripping on the great sweeps of fabric the lake breeze blew away from the tables and across the slate pavers. The structure was stone and iron, with a slate roof, its square footage rivaling the dining room in the castle. Ivy had been planted at the base of each of the heavy support timbers and its delicate tendrils crept all the way up to the ceiling, the breeze ruffling the variegated leaves. The slap of the waves against the rocks was just loud enough to drown most of the bridesmaid chatter. Jo leaned back in her chair, hunger not sated by her watercress sandwich that had all the nutritional value of a communion wafer, and watched the lake sparkle like indigo glass.

             
“Dylan and I were going to let this be the honeymoon we never had,” Jessica said as she picked up another half-dollar sized sandwich and wrinkled her nose at it. “I didn’t know this was my eighth grade trip to the Etowah Indian mounds all over again.”

             
Jo sighed a tired laugh. “We can’t eat when we want, wear what we want.”

             
“Spend time with who we want.” Jess glanced sideways at her. “No offense, sis, but it’s terribly difficult to have any romance in your life when you have a two-year-old. I need some husband and wife time.”

             
“No worries. I get it.”

             
“And you need some guy/girl time too.”

             
Jo lifted her brows in mild surprise. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to sleep with Ryan.”

             
Jessica reached for the tiny tea pot that rested between them, its delicate white surface hand painted with roses. She topped off her matched, rose-painted cup and made a
tsk
-ing sound against the inside of her cheek. “I’m not talking about Ryan, silly.”

             
“Okaaay.”

             
“Of course I mean Tam.”

             
Jo had just taken a sip of tea and fought not to send it squirting out of her nose. She pressed a hand over her mouth while she choked it down, eyes watering, and felt Jess thump her on the back, which didn’t help. “What?” she gasped when she could, wiping her mouth with her delicate lace napkin. They were alone at their table and thankfully, none of the other girls seemed to have noticed her sudden distress.

             
“Oh, don’t be dramatic. You and I both know you’re still hung up on him.”

             
Jo shook her head, and was glad her hair slipped loose from behind her ears and hid her face, because her blush had to be furious. “This is Mike’s wedding,” she said in a lame attempt at courtesy, “and I’m not gonna drag my old bullshit out for - ”

             
A laugh, a thunderous punch of explosive sound that was the vocal equivalent of a shotgun blast touched her ears as it echoed through the sparse forest around them. Jo glanced at Jess and their eyes met.

             
“Dad,” they said in unison, and then grinned.

             
“Go,” Jess waved her off. “Go see what the boys are up to. I’ll tell Genghis Bride you weren’t feeling well.”

             
“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you alone with them.” But Jo was already halfway out of her chair.

             
“You owe me. When we get home, I expect a night of free babysitting.”

             
“Done.” And she flitted away from the table and out from beneath the pavilion before she could be spotted leaving.

             
The woods she slipped into were not authentic; the trees were real, their roots sunk deep in the soil, the shade of their limbs all-encompassing. But the forest was slim, carefully laid stepping stones guiding her way as if this were the happy, laughing home of enchanted woodland creatures in a children’s book. She caught snatches of sunlight and color through the limbs ahead: a group of people, their voices a tumble of overlapping sounds, low and rhythmic like the lake washing against the shoreline.

             
She knew what was happening the moment she left the trees and started across the lush, emerald carpet of grass. Big, round targets with concentric circles of red, yellow, and blue were propped back against hay bales. A handful of men stood back from them twenty paces, bows in their hands, their backs to her. Quivers lay on the ground. A thickset man with a windswept cowlick of silver hair stood off to the side, hands hooked into the belt loops of his fatigues, one booted foot propped to the side, a critical frown pulling at his wide, sunburned face.

             
Archery.

             
“Both eyes open!” the instructor barked in a brogue as thick as Irish Cream.

             
Jo recognized her father, standing back with huge hands on his hips, and that guy Johnson, whose first name no one seemed to know. Jordan, Mike, Tam and Ryan were at the firing line, ready to draw, leather, fingerless gloves on their hands. Ryan kept fidgeting, rolling his shoulders. He looked like he’d never done this before and thought psyching himself up would be of benefit. The other three, though, her brothers and her – there had been a time when she’d allowed herself the fantasy of calling him “her man” in her head, but that was gone – Tam, were still as granite, the wind touching their hair and clothes, eyes riveted down range on the targets.

             
There had been a year in which Mike had decided he wanted to join the archery club at school. There had been four members and it had disbanded due to lack of interest, but he’d gotten a bow for Christmas, and he and the guys had spent hours firing arrows into a bag of mulch in the back yard. None of them were marksmen, but they were pretty good.

             
So was she.

             
“Well hey, sweetheart!” her dad noticed her first and called to her in a voice that was human thunder.

             
The others turned. Jordan wore the tiniest of encouraging smiles. Mike frowned. Ryan lit up like a plastic Christmas tree. The light hit Tam’s blue eyes in a way she didn’t want to think about.

             
“Aren’t you supposed to be with Delta?” Mike asked, disapproval etching his features.

             
She ignored him and addressed the instructor. “Would it be possible to have a turn? I promise I’m not one of those squealy girls who can’t draw by herself.”

             
Her gaze slid over her brothers and landed on Tam. His grin was approving, and it turned her knees to Jell-o.

**

             
In his mind’s eye, Tam saw a twelve-year-old Jo standing with her feet apart, her little fingers plucking the string of her brother’s bow, her elbow cocked back, a fierce look of concentration pulling her brows low over her eyes as she prepared to loose. Her hair had been a wild mess around her shoulders, her jeans and sneakers covered in grass stains. The only thing that had existed for her in that moment was the letter U on the bag of mulch they’d been using for target practice. She’d felt like his sister then. She felt like the worst mistake he’d made in his life now.