The Tramp (The Bound Chronicles #1) (11 page)

“That’s exactly the way I felt,” he said.

Candy nodded, speechless, the faces were so realistic it was like she had an audience. Gilded paintings hung across the wall: a parade of Collins dignitaries. She looked from one intelligent face to the next and their eyes following her as she moved past.

“Those must be the oldest, by the way they’re dressed,” she whispered, pointing to the other side of the hall. She walked over to inspect them up close. The first few in line seemed to have been painted during a much earlier time; though there weren’t dates on most of them. They were more refined—richer than what one would expect from painting in early Colonial America. “Shipped over from Europe? I don’t know who could’ve painted them here.”

“Probably.”

After those few gauzy, pastel likenesses, there was a much more crudely painted portrait. Candy strolled over to stand in front of an image of a bearded man with generic features. He was wearing a leather jerkin with some kind of animal skin draped over one knee and a rifle resting on his lap.

“The legend, himself. Fredrick Jessup Collins. I remember him from History class,” she laughed. “In my freshman year. He founded the first settlement here.”

“He could be Daniel Boone. You think these Collins people might have been trying to prove something?”

Candy smiled and let out a steadying breath. What had she been so scared about? The paintings revealed the truth of the present: the people that had founded the town were once powerful but had faded into history. She thought Ms. Collins and her brother were probably the last of the line; neither of them ever married, and neither produced heirs.

Another painting that was quite different from the rest caught her eye. “Look. A Sendalee woman, right next to Daniel Boone. She looks important, like a princess or something. What was that thing about the ‘Beloved Woman’?” She tapped her finger against her lips, searching her memory. “They were almost like female chiefs or princesses or something.”

Sam looked from Candy’s eyes to those of the Native American woman in the portrait; his face went slack with revelation. “You have the same eyes,” he blurted.

“Huh?”

Sam pointed at the face in the portrait, “You got any Indian blood? I always wondered about your eyes.”

She cocked her head to consider the painted woman’s face more closely, and the hair stood up on the back of her neck.

“Eyes so dark in someone so fair. Almost black,” said Sam. “Fathomless.”

Candy chortled. She had always heard people say that her eyes were unnerving. “Those aren’t my eyes. It’s just a painting. How exact could the likeness of that woman really be…to me?”

“You can’t see it?” asked Sam, incredulous.

“Not really.”

But she could.

Candy stood in front of the painting and took it in. The Indian woman’s portrait lovingly captured the unique and intimate details of a real woman’s face and person—it was in no way a caricature, like the Danielle Boone painting. Her shiny black hair was parted in the middle and flowed like silk over squared shoulders. Her face was angular, but soft at the edges, and she wore a simple feather headdress with an elaborate brocade gown. Wisps of gossamer undergarments both covered and revealed her breasts. The hem of her gown stopped just above jeweled wooden sandals, and her ringed fingers rested demurely in her lap. The woman’s smile was alluring but her posture was erect; the combination lent an air of agression, and challenge, mixed with seduction. Her eyes twinkled with wit and private speculation, one eyebrow half-cocked, not with a need to please. A tiny plaque underneath read, “Ahnaanvwodi.” No date.

“Turbulent waters,” Sam mumbled. “I know that look.”

“What?”

He looked at her pointedly and smiled.

“Me?”
That woman in the painting reminds him of me? How? She’s gorgeous.

He moved away from the painting, towards the vast marble staircase, holding out his hand to her. “Join me.”

“What’s upstairs?” Candy asked, ready to change the subject. She knew she had a temper on her and Sam hadn’t seen anything yet. He knew nothing about turbulent waters. “We can explore?”

He looked back, his dark hair falling over his eyes so that she could only see his lips, one corner raised in a smile. “I think you’ll like the upstairs.”

Halfway up, she stopped, sniffing the air suspiciously and crumpling her nose. Ode de bar: stale cigarette smoke and the strange, sweet sourness of old liquor spillage. With realization dawning, Candy’s face split into a wide grin. “Really?”

“Really.”

When they reached the top of the stairs, Sam strutted over towards an expansive oak and brass bar with an astonishing array of liquor twinkling behind it.

“This is illegal in so many ways,” Candy said, thrilled.

He reached up to the nearest hanging stained glass lamp. Feeling along the chain, to find the wire twisted within, he rolled his thumb along a power switch. A warm glow lit the countertop and bounced off the mirrored wall behind endless bottles of booze. “Trust me, no one ever sets foot in this place until after noon. What’s your poison?”

“How, without them catching on?”

“They’ll never know.” He walked behind the bar, stretching his arms wide in illustration of the mass quantity of alcohol lining the shelves behind him. “They never do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rickie’s been nipping the stock for years. Sample randomly, only half a shot from this one, half from that one. Gets lost in the shuffle.”

“Yeah, I guess it would.” Candy read some of the labels aloud. “Maker’s Mark, Jameson, Jack Daniels, in the whiskey department. Absolut, Chopin, Grey Goose vodkas; Bacardi, Meyers, Captain Morgan rums.” There was even more of the cheap stuff; the bottles went on and on in a rainbow of colors and a surprising variety of shapes, many of them not even labeled. Moonshine. “How do they get all this booze in a dry county?”

Sam shrugged.

“The unmarked boxes we brought—Larry’s in tight with the Wattses, huh?” She had to ask.

Sam shook his head, his smile saying something about girls’ big mouths. “How about Bacardi Limón?”

“Mm-hm, one of the boys, I get it. Girls talk too much?”

His eyes twinkled, but he kept silent on that score. Candy dismissed the unanswered question and swiveled around on her stool. “Limón sounds great, I’ve never tried it.”

“Have you tried many rums, Candy?”

She shrugged, watching him pour. She could be tight-lipped, too, if that was the game.

“I guess not much would surprise me, coming from you.”

“Really? Well, lemme show ya.” She threw the drink back in one gulp and slammed the shot glass down on the counter with a defiant look, then wiped her mouth to cover her cough. She laughed, caught in her lie. She had actually never tasted rum.

His eyes gleamed, never leaving hers for a second. “Dimples.”

“Mine? You like ‘em?”

“Yes.”

Goodness.
She was trying to be flirty, but Sam was always so serious. “Well anyway, everyone’s parents have liquor cabinets, right?” She kicked her feet against her chair as she swiveled back and forth. “Though, my dad is more of a Scotch man. I think his grandma’s name was Mac-something.”

“Family lines galore,” Sam said. “I’ll try the Scotch then, in your dad’s honor.”

He regarded the amber liquid in his glass, tinkling the ice thoughtfully. Candy suddenly realized that she had been talking about her family tree all afternoon, and the only family Sam had ever mentioned was his mother. And sometimes one of her boyfriends gave him a bloody lip. “Don’t be jealous of family ties, they tie you down.”

He shot her a piercing gaze that she couldn’t read for anything in the world. Two more bottles came down from the shelves for sampling, plunked on the counter in front of her. Candy couldn’t help but think of it as a challenge. She watched Sam saunter around to her side of the bar with a hooded gaze. He sat down on the stool next to her and swiveled her way with a smile. The alcohol was already buzzing through her brain and melting her knees. Hers were pressed against his like so much soft wax.

“So, have you ever heard old-time mountain music?” he asked.

“Have
I
heard old-time? Uh, yeah…,” she giggled.
Bacardi Limón sure gets things rolling.

“I mean, I haven’t. Sorry. There’s a concert at the campgrounds, is what I meant to ask. This weekend.”

“Ask? Are you asking me out on a date?” She shoved his thigh away playfully, scooting her butt closer to his at the same time. “Yeah, I love that show. I’d love to go with you.”

“Ricky offered us a ride. His brothers are all going, too.”

“Oh—” She halted mid-squeeze and pulled her hand off of his thigh. “Like, a group thing.”

He looked down at his boots. “Candy, I’m not gonna lie to you.”

“What?” Her pulse raced. What was he about to tell her? Another girl?
I was so stupid to think—hope—we were exclusive. Neither one of us said so.

“I don’t think we could make it there on my bike.” His face split into a grin. “Or even yours.”

“Oh.” She let out her breath and her shoulders fell in relief. “Right.”

Sam smiled and fingered the ends of her tank-top, leaning closer.

Crap, I don’t want to ride with a bunch of guys.
Candy wanted Sam to herself. She had a thought. “Well, the campgrounds are right at the edge of my Uncle Ray’s property. We could take the horses. If it’s just you and me…”

“Horses? Are you kidding me?”

“Do I look like I’m joking? Well, I probably do,” she laughed, trying to work the grin out of her cheeks.

He brushed his thumbs back and forth under her shirt, tickling her belly. “Only in Shirley County…”

“Have you ever ridden a horse, city boy?” She goosed his inner leg and he jerked in reflex. “I love to ride.”

“Oh, yeah?” He grabbed her arm before she could pull it back and wrapped it around his waist, but she squirmed away.

Forget it, pal. Group thing my ass.
Candy decided she did want to be asked out on a date. Officially. She slid off her barstool and wandered around. “So…the Buffalo Lodge…”

The bar was almost an island in the large ballroom, the room circling around it in clusters of squatty leather armchairs and baize-topped card tables, with brass floor lamps and cigarette urns sprinkled throughout. Walls were decked with flat screen televisions, dartboards and chalky scoreboards, or racks of cues for the half-dozen pool tables that lay just outside the inner seating area. Towards the rear of the building, Candy was surprised to find a small dance floor with a shining grand piano at the far end.

“Wow, look at this.” She waved him over and skipped behind the piano to sit. “Who woulda thunk it—in here? I wonder if it’s in tune.” Picking out “Ode to Joy,” she looked up, her face bright, “I think it is.”

Sam followed her halfway across the dance floor and stopped to watch, with his hands in his pockets.

“Come play with me. Do you know how long it’s been since I played a piano? Grandma Catherine got rid of hers.” She carefully began the duet that any child of a large family with a piano would know, “Heart & Soul,” and once re-familiarized with the keys, she bounded through the chords with confidence. “Come on, it’s a duet. Don’t you know this one?”

“Sorry.” Sam held up his hands, fingers still taped for moving heavy merchandise. “Still gotta work later.”

“Oh, come on.” He was so weird about his hands, she had noticed. Fastidious. He watched her bang away, joyfully humming the tune in harmony as she played. She felt like she was glowing she was so happy. “I love it!”

“Beautiful,” he agreed. “The piano, too.”

Whoa, okay.
She tried to stymie her surprise. Sam thinks I’m beautiful. “I’ll just play both parts then, Mr. No.”

He shrugged, then stuffed his hands back into his pockets and began to wander the other way, toward the pool tables. Candy jumped up from the piano bench to join him, plucking a cue from the wall on her way over. She tossed it from one hand to another, challenging.

“You play pool, Sam?”

“Do
I
play pool?” He crossed his arms over his chest, flexing the knuckles of one hand. “You don’t want to know.”

“Oh, but I do. I’d love to know more about you, Sam Castle.”

He leaned against the table behind him and followed her with his eyes as she flitted around the room looking for chalk. He was so intense, fixing her like a predator. Candy swallowed hard, chalking the tip of her cue. “You’ve got to play something with me, Sam. Afraid of a girl beating you?”

“No.” He grinned, those green, beast of prey eyes lighting as he moved through the maze of tables to get closer to her.

“My dad has a pool table in the basement. I warn you, I’m pretty good.” She rapped the cue against her palm and changed direction to put another table squarely between them. Her foot got caught up in a fallen magazine and she glanced down to catch herself. When she looked up, he had already stalked her around the other side.

“I bet you are.”

Placating me.
But she loved when he looked at her like that. “You might be surprised,” she sang, leaning across the table to gather the balls together for a game.

“Nothing would surprise me about you.”

“You never know…”

She made to feint once again, but his hands shot out and grabbed her hips. He spun her around and pinned her against the table, his grip as hard as iron. His body engulfed hers, measured breaths blowing against the back of her neck.

“Got ya,” he whispered, barely audible. His lips brushed behind her ear in a gentle kiss.

Candy tried to slow her own breathing, but it was only speeding up, the heat of him bleeding into her. He was holding back, unsure.
Oh, come on.
She reached behind and hooked her fingers into his belt loops, pulling his hips against her and pushing back into him. Sam buried his face against her shoulder with a groan. She felt a boot shoved between her sneakers and one knee rammed between her thighs. Sam pressed her forward over the table, his breath rasping, as she dug between them to fumble his belt buckle loose.