The First Law of Love (40 page)

I squeaked and elbowed Case in the ribs, teasing, “You should
be
so lucky.”

“Don't I know,” he said whole-heartedly. “Believe me, I'm counting every last blessing today.”

It was a short ride to Clark's, though I appreciated every second of it, the feeling of Case behind me on Buck, the utterly perfect summer evening that spread out all around us. The air was completely still, warm and deliciously perfumed with sagebrush and sweetgrass, as though the foothills were breathing the scent all around us. The sun cast its long, intoxicating beams over the landscape, casting it in almost otherworldly light; it was so stunningly beautiful that tears wet my eyes for the countless time. I felt as though I'd never experienced an emotion before living here. When the Rawleys' house came into view, I sighed a little, with disappointment that we'd arrived so quickly.

The front door flew open as Case was lifting me down from Buck, and Wy came barreling out, hugging the both of us the moment he reached our sides. Buck snorted and tossed his head as Wy all but hollered, “Goddamn, it's about time!”

I giggled, hugging him back, and in short order we were surrounded by everyone, Clark, Marshall, Gus and Sean and Quinn, who echoed Wy's heartfelt words.

“You two, I just wanted to crack your heads together,” Sean said, roughing up my hair.

“I'm so happy for you two,” Gus said. “I couldn't be happier.”

“So, when's the wedding? There's always lots of hot girls at a wedding,” Marshall teased us.

“Soon,” I said, getting my arms back around Case, tucking myself to his side. He gripped my waist and kissed my hair.

“I can't tell you how happy I am at this,” Clark said for the third time. “It's what was meant to be, that I know.”

We ate dinner outside, under a setting sun as richly gold and gorgeous pink as anything I had ever seen. I kept smiling, unable to help myself, thinking that this place was my home, and would be my home from now forth. Jalesville, Montana, the little town I was trying to save. My man, my Charles Spicer, musician cowboy who I could not live without, sitting just to my left and angling me a soft smile, surely knowing what I was thinking. Beneath the table, I slipped my hand over his right thigh and patted him twice. I was going to move all of my things into his trailer this week; we had planned it half the evening.

Later, we all lingered outside to stargaze a little. I sat on Case's lap, his arms around my waist and my head against his left shoulder, cradled to him.

“It's about time, that's all I can say,” Marshall told us again, sitting just to our right, sipping his third beer. “I was getting worried. You scared me for a little while, Tish. I thought I might have to take drastic measures to get you two together.”

“It's all okay now,” I said, snuggling more deeply into Case's arms. I repeated Case's words from earlier, saying, “Everything's as it should be, now.”

“Not quite yet,” Marsh said then, almost inaudibly, the tone of his voice sounding very un-Marshall-like. Case and I both looked questioningly at him, but he only took a long drink from his beer and wouldn't elaborate.

A blissful two weeks passed.

I moved from Stone Creek into the trailer and it was crowded as hell with all of our belongings, but neither of us cared. Peaches was welcomed with varying degrees of warmth by the dogs and Carrot, and tended to retreat to Case's lap when Mutt and Tiny were too much in her space, of which he was rather smug.

“It's the first place I want to be, too,” I told him. “So I can understand her rationale.”

I talked to my mother, who was delighted for me, and my sisters, my Aunt Jilly, Clinty and Grandma and Aunt Ellen, all of them thrilled at this turn of events. I left Dad a voicemail message on their home answering machine, wondering why he didn't call me back all the next day, before recalling that he and Lanny were vacationing this last part of summer in the Bahamas. Robbie, who stopped in at the law office the moment he heard the news that I had declined the job at Turnbull and Hinckley, was shocked at me.

“Gordon, you'll regret this,” he said.

“Not ever,” I told him softly. “Oh God, not ever.”

He left, muttering about insanity.

Case and I spent the first Sunday afternoon going through the trailer and determining what could be relegated to the barn, as the closet space in the bedrooms was ridiculous. It took much longer than we imagined, because we kept getting interrupted by the need to make love, sometimes slow and sweet, with lots of kissing, other times fast and urgent, Case gripping my hips from behind as I bent over the nearest convenient surface.

The sun was sinking into a hazy, melon-tinted sky, thunder grumbling in the distance, and Case and I were sprawled together in the haymow. I turned my head and sneezed for the second time, giggling as bits of chaff fluffed into the air like a dandelion gone to seed.

“Bless you,” he mumbled, his face against my breasts. We were lying on an old patchwork quilt we'd pulled from a trunk, one that Case said was from his grandmother Dalton's childhood.

“Are you sure your grandma won't mind us using her quilt this way?” I whispered, stroking my fingers through his hair. I couldn't get enough of touching him.

Case lifted lazily to one elbow and regarded me as I lay flat on my back, half-naked and with bits of hay decorating my hair. My sundress was slipped down over my shoulders and bunched up to my hips, as though I was wearing a tube top around my belly. He too was without a shirt, his jeans tugged back over his hips but still unbuttoned and unzipped. I smiled radiantly at the sight of him, my heart throbbing with love.

“Your beautiful eyes,” he said then, low and soft, cupping my face with his free hand. “They're the truest blue I've ever seen. I swear you see right into my soul.”

I giggled a little at his heartfelt words, catching his hand and kissing his palm. I said, “Yes, I like to think I have superpowers like that.”

“I mean it,” he said, leaning to kiss the corner of my lips, just lightly; he knew I loved to be teased, one little kiss at a time. He pressed a soft kiss to each of my eyes in turn, closing them briefly, telling me softly, “If you'd have gone back to Chicago, your eyes would have haunted me the rest of my life.”

“You wouldn't have let me go,” I understood.

He traced his fingertips gently over my lips before bending to kiss my breasts, both in turn. He lifted his face and studied my eyes, and I clung to him. He whispered, “I was ready to chase you to Chicago and throw you over my shoulder, if that's what it came down to. But I was so afraid the city was what you wanted and I had to force myself not to stand in the way of that.”

I whispered, “Not without you.”

He slid both warm, strong hands down my ribs and brought his mouth to within a breath of mine; already my hips lifted towards him in invitation, despite the fact that he had only just left my body a few minutes earlier. Maybe someday, decades from now, we would no longer crave one another in this urgent fashion, but I couldn't imagine that at present. Case lightly bit my bottom lip. Ever the gentleman, he whispered as though to ask permission, “Can I make you come again, sweetheart?”

I shivered as he cupped one hand between my legs and began stroking gently, in the best possible spot. I trembled harder and whispered, teasing him, as I was already nearly there, “I don't know…can you?”

“We'll see,” he teased right back, deepening his touch, sliding his tongue into my mouth, tasting me, and I moaned against his lips. Outside the barn, thunder absolutely roared and rain began pelting the roof, but neither of us noticed.

Later, flushed and sweating atop the quilt, I whispered fiercely, “I love you. I love you with all my heart. I can't be without you.”

Case tucked me closer to him; I was already in the crook of his arm, my face on his chest this time, my limbs weak from clutching him so tightly as we made love. Outside the rain was still falling, but gently now, the scent of it upon the dusty ground rising up to the haymow. He smoothed hair from my temple so he could kiss me there and whispered back, “We'll never be without each other again, sweetheart.”

By that night we had made a good dent in the closet space in our bedroom, even though I lost focus again after having found a bundle of letters in one of the trunks, the same bunch that Case's mother said was tucked in with the old Spicer family fiddle. Henry's fiddle, I was certain. I placed them carefully onto the dresser, between a pile of guitar picks and a pile of my earrings, smoothing my fingertips over the soft old paper, excited to unfold the letters and read, in the near future. And then I joined my man, who was singing his heart out in the shower.

***

Case made us breakfast in
the mornings before I drove to work (he didn't usually start his work day as early as I did mine), and I nearly skipped to his music shop to have lunch with him every noon hour. In the evenings I flew home to find him making supper, as he usually beat me to the trailer, and we'd make love on the table, occasionally the bed (if we managed to make it that far), or at the kitchen counter, sometimes remembering to eat what he'd made. In the late evenings we rode Cider and Buck, usually out to the wizard rock.

“Do you think we'll ever know what happened out here?” I asked him one night.

“I don't know, sweetheart, but we'll keep trying,” he said.

***

The next evening Case was
making supper when I got home, as usual. I could smell it the moment I jumped out of the car and hurried inside to his waiting arms. He growled against my neck, squeezing me extra tight and planting a soft kiss flush on my lips.

I set aside the file folder I'd brought home so I could get my arms locked around his neck. I smiled at him and said, “It smells amazing in here.”

He kissed my earlobe and whispered, “Now it does. C'mon, baby, I made steak with fried mushrooms.”

He was wearing his faded gray SPICER t-shirt and much-used jeans, a towel slung over his left shoulder. His hair had gotten longer this summer and I stroked it with both hands. I could not even begin to describe how much love swelled within my heart for him, near to bursting it apart; but I had learned that love worth having is one part pain, even in its moments of purest joy.

“I'm going to change quick,” I said, and he kissed me once more before releasing me and turning back to the stovetop. The sun decorated the interior of our place with a soft golden hue, the quiet sounds of the evening, of Buck and Cider in the corral, coming through the open windows.

I stripped from my work clothes and slipped a pair of his boxers (which I absolutely loved wearing) over my panties and a soft, threadbare white tank top over my head, bending at the waist to shake out my hair, which had been tightly pinned up all day. I could still smell conditioner in my hair, as the underside was yet damp, as I hurried back to the kitchen.

Case looked over at me as I came from the bedroom, just as he was moving the pan from the burner, and proceeded to torch the side of his hand on the stove. He said, “Ouch! Damn.”

“Are you all right?” I hurried to his side to inspect his hand, gathering it close against me and making a show of kissing the injured spot.

“Holy shit, woman, you don't have any idea how you look, do you?” he said, low and with a half-teasing, half-dead serious voice. He wrapped his other arm around my waist.

I smiled up at him and cupped his burned hand over my left breast, which was bare beneath the tank top. His eyelids lowered and he drew my hips closer to him. I said, “I thought this might make it feel better.”

“Much, much better,” he agreed, his deep voice throaty and soft. He gently stroked my nipple and I bit his bottom lip. He laughed a little, sliding his other hand down to cup my ass, saying, “Baby, you coming into the kitchen like that, so fucking beautiful, all half-naked and wearing my underwear…”

“You like?” I teased, hooking my right thigh around his hip, kind-of forgetting that my period had started.

“Are you kidding?” he said. “Insanely love. If my fifteen-year-old self could see you…shit, my almost thirty-year-old self can hardly believe it.”

“You have a pretty impressive hard-on for someone so old,” I teased, caressing him firmly through his jeans, and he growled again, this time lifting me up onto the counter. He was so incredibly sexy and imposing in his desire and I trembled as he kissed me, his hands on my thighs and sliding swiftly higher. It took everything I had to refocus enough to say, “Honey, I started my period today…”

Case continued kissing my neck, his hands not straying from their current course. He lightly bit my earlobe and said, “We'll shower…after…”

“It means we won't be parents in May,” I said softly, struck again by this truth, smoothing my hands over his hair. He heard the notes of sadness in my voice; I had been a little stunned at the depth of my disappointment today in the employee bathroom at the office, to see this evidence of no pregnancy. He drew back enough to see my eyes, and his own were soft with tenderness; he tamped down the heat, with effort. He knew I needed that right now, despite the way my body was clearly begging him for sex.

“Sweetheart,” he said, taking my hips in his big hands, holding me. He kissed my forehead, the end of my nose, before saying, “Our baby will come when it's time. I promise. It's just not time quite yet. I was thinking a lot about that too, imagining what it would be like next spring. It's so precious to think about our baby that it hurts a little. But she'll come when she's ready.”

He always knew what to say, and my throat was choked. I cupped my palms around his jaws and smoothed my thumbs over the rough texture of his unshaven stubble. I whispered, “Does this mean you want us to try? Not to use any sort of birth control?”

He smiled at me, catching my right hand with his left, turning his face to kiss my palm. He said, “First, let me marry you properly. And then I'll start building our cabin so our baby has a room, what do you say? We'll haul this shitty old trailer out of here —”

I was shaking my head, effectively interrupting him. I protested, “But this is where we made love for the first time. I love this old trailer.”

“I love it because you're in it with me, and that's the only good thing about this piece of shit trailer,” he said. “Baby, I'll build us a beautiful home. We'll spend the winter planning it and we'll start building once it's spring thaw, what do you say?”

I nodded, reassured by him, as always. He was so strong and capable, and I trusted him with all my heart. I said, “That sounds perfect. I don't mean to be sad about getting my period. Shit. But somewhere in my thoughts for the past two weeks I've been cradling the idea of our baby.” I smiled a little and said, “Pun intended.”

“Me too, my beautiful woman, my sweet Patricia. I don't know if there's much more incredible than the thought of my baby growing inside of you. I want you to carry our baby there, beneath your heart, and she'll hear its beating every moment, your sweet, strong heart. And I'll hold you close,” and he did, whispering in my ear, “and know that I've never loved anyone more in a thousand lifetimes.”

I cried then, at the intense sincerity of his words. I cried and he held me, and it wasn't until later that we had dinner, as the sky grew dark and Case lit three candles, mismatched, which he positioned on the table. In their soft light, we ate; Case finished before me and grabbed one of my notebooks and a pencil, sketching out our ideas for the cabin.

We were working on a wish list (such as master bath and patio with a hot tub), and I was flipping half-heartedly through the file I'd brought home, not really wanting to work on it right now, but feeling mildly guilty because I had been a little bit of a slacker at work this last week. Al and I had been running through ideas about how Highland Power might be able to reopen its doors, and I was looking through the file that included petitions that Al had drafted last year. The little red bull caught my eye again, the Redd Co. logo, and all at once something chimed in my memory.

“Case,” I said intently.

He looked up at once, eyebrows raised.

“A bull,” I said, knowing I wasn't making sense. My mind was clicking along like a bicycle down a steep hill, gaining momentum. “It's Turnbull.”

“Tell me,” he said. “I'm not following yet.”

I slapped the file folder on the table and said, “Oh my God. I just remembered where I saw that logo before. Way back, after my first year of school, working at Turnbull and Hinckley in the summer. It was on a letterhead I saw there. Oh God. It was something I was never supposed to see, something was going to be shredded, but the girl doing the shredding left that afternoon.” I put both hands to my forehead. “I shouldn't have stuck my nose in it, but I did. Oh God, and I just remembered now. Redd Co. is a Turnbull company. And that's who bought out the power plant last December. Fucked everyone here over for a profit. Ron knew about that. He had to, his little sub-company arranged the deal. But he has to call the shots. Oh my God.”