The Tramp (The Bound Chronicles #1) (17 page)

“Is that clogging?” asked Sam.

“Buck dancing.”

A large woman in the center of the clearing was directing people to stand in formation, and others to move back. She assumed her own place next to a man in a cowboy hat who clapped in time, standing alone in the configuration. “Two, three, four.” The whole group of dancers sprang into motion, keeping time with the band and passing partners between themselves, spinning and whirling.

“Square dance.” Sam said. “I don’t believe it. They all just started square dancing.”

Candy shifted around to look at him, bemused. “Well, yeah. You act like you’ve never been to an Old-time Musical Festival.”

He grinned. “I haven’t.”

“Want to dance?”

Sam’s smile disappeared and his eyes flicked to the dance floor. “I’ve taken the odd square dance class in gym…”

Candy winked, taunting him.

“I can’t square dance, sorry,” he admitted.

“Well, I can,” Candy said, raising an eyebrow in challenge to his earlier boast.

Sam looked towards the group of well-acquainted dancers looping arms and swinging each other around at an increasingly rapid pace, obviously willing to try it rather than back down.

“I’m not serious, Sam!” She broke into a fit of laughter at the very thought. He buried his face in her hair and she felt him shaking with mirth against her back. “I’m not really in the club either,” she said, when the giggles finally subsided. “I can buck dance, though. Used to take lessons with my cousin when I was little. Want to see?”

He released her and leaned back on their tree limb to watch. “Definitely,” he said, his voice still uneven and his eyes still alight.

She stood up and waved her hands around to make sure she had elbowroom in their snug clearing. “Have you ever done any clogging at all? That’s where it comes from.”

Sam shook his head and smiled in anticipation.

“Well, you start with a rock step, like this. Step, step, rock step. Step, step, rock step.” She watched her feet, each clomping down next to the other, then one stepping back, like a swing step. She was a little rusty, but she warmed up as she gained the rhythm. “And you can add a scuff, like you’re trying to get gum off the bottom of your shoe,” she said, kicking her foot forward in a low slide and pulling it back hard.

“I like it.”

“Let’s see. You can do a knee lift like this.” She raised her knee up level with her hips on one shove-and-pull. “Or a dip,” and she clicked her heels, bringing her knees in together for quick bop to each side.

“Never with a partner?”

“Well, people can dance off of each other, but it’s pretty much a solo dance. Of course, it gets harder when you speed it up to the music.”

She quickened her pace in time with the band playing in the clearing. Picking up the quick banjo and lilting fiddle, her feet got away from her and she spun around out of control. Unable to help herself, she bobbed her head and clapped her hands, laughing with glee, and grinning up at Sam. He grabbed her arm on her next spin and pulled her in for a kiss, but she was too electrified and spun back out again, cackling. By the end of the jam, though, she was out of breath and was ready to collapse against him for relief.

“I love it,” said Sam, her breath blowing his hair in wisps.

She clamped her mouth shut, remembering that cucumber mint sauce. “Whew! I forgot what a workout that is.”

Feedback from the stage made them both wince, then the emcee announced, “Alright, y’all. Next up is the buck dance competition.”

Candy and Sam burst out laughing. “Hey, you should have entered.”

“Me? Oh no, I’m not very good,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed one of the dancers waiting by the stage. “Oh my god, that’s my cousin Reagan up there. She was who I took lessons with when I was little. You’ll see the difference—she’s incredible. Way better than me.”

“Such a talented family.”

“I wish I had gotten some of that talent. Or, maybe I just haven’t found mine yet.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sam regarded her, confused. “What about all the painting?”

“I’m okay,” she allowed. “Not as good as you.”

He frowned at her like she was crazy.

“I’m not trying to be modest—trust me. I mean…” How could she explain? “Don’t you ever feel like there’s something just around the corner? Something you’re waiting for. Like, that you’re
really
meant for?”

Sam’s face changed. Darkened. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes shifting away from hers.

Candy had the feeling they were talking about two different things entirely. “But, when me and Reagan used to dance together…” She began prattling away about her childhood lessons, desperate to take the coldness out of Sam’s eyes. She snuggled back under his arm and he hugged her in closer, asking polite questions to move her story along, content to keep moving away from whatever had spoiled his mood. The band resumed playing, gradually rolling into a discernible melody. A tune close to “Oh Susanna” emerged and one of the waiting contestants, with a nod to the emcee, climbed the rickety stairs to take center stage. The dancer picked up the rhythm in a more methodical way than the impromptu audience members had, stamping his shoes loudly. The boisterous audience clapped along, cheering the contestants. Candy joined in atop a tree stump with hoots and catcalls when Reagan took the spotlight. The girl recognized her and made a bee-line for their hideout as soon as she was finished with her performance.

“Hey, you,” Reagan bellowed, grabbing Candy in a fierce bear hug. “I wondered where you went, after
the waltz
.”

“Oh yeah, you saw us dancing?” Candy stuttered, looking to Sam. He had regained full composure and was smiling serenely. “This is Sam. Sam, Reagan.”

Reagan’s eye went wide, and Candy knew exactly what she was thinking.
Please don’t say boyfriend or anything, please, please.
Sam would be her first. If he even was her boyfriend.

“So nice to meet you, Sam. You’re quite the dancer, aren’t you?” Reagan insisted on hugging him like he was already family.

Sam’s voice was muffled by the embrace, “Pretty good yourself.”

“Should be, after twelve years of lessons every weekend. Too bad Candy dropped out. Spoil sport.”

“Oh come on, it was just a kid thing,” Candy muttered.
Please don’t embarrass me, Reagan.

“Yeah, and you’re a bad girl,” Reagan said, her eyes narrowing. A hand darted out to tickle her cousin’s ribs and Candy jerked away with a sour chuckle.

Here it comes…

“Sam, you should give your girlfriend a spanking.”

chapter twenty-one

After a few minutes of small talk and promises to reconnect later with more of the McBride clan, Sam decided to let the two girls catch up and left them gossiping about the day’s juried events. He wandered back down the broad lane of booths and tents, meandering through the crafts for sale and munching a pulled pork sandwich. Candy was right, of course; the barbeque wasn’t the best—sort of like dry meat soaked in ketchup. A flash of light caught his eye and he looked toward it; there was a tent larger than most, shadowy inside, with bright flecks glinting off of what seemed to be gems hanging from the roof. He trashed the rest of his mediocre meal and went inside.

The space was more of an environment than a simple craft tent, like the others. He smelled Nag Champa incense burning and heard ambient music tickling his eardrums. Sam smirked in response; he’d met more than a few earth children in his travels across the States. The gems he had seen were actually glass beads, sparkling with iridescent spiraling wisps within, and there were many more hanging about in a myriad shapes and sizes. Larger, more intricate glass sculptures stood on pedestals draped in velvet around the space, each piece enhanced by individual track lights. Mesmerized by the atmosphere, so quiet and cool, with most of the festival attendees gathered for the show on the dance floor, Sam jumped when a woman’s voice broke the spell.

“You must be Sam.” She was holding out her hand to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He let out his breath in a chuckle, “That’s okay.”

“I’m Rachel.”

Sam shook her hand, his eyebrows knitted in question. “Hello.”

“I saw you dancing with Candy earlier.”

“News travels fast?” asked Sam, still not understanding how the strange woman knew his name.

“She hasn’t mentioned me? She’s told me a lot about you…your build particularly.” She walked around him to appraise all sides, boldly sizing up his physique. “But she never mentioned those cheekbones. Who needs a diamond wheel for cutting when you’ve got those? Black hair and olive skin—Russian descent?” Sam’s eyes followed her as she came back around to face him. “Candy has shown me your work. It’s fascinating, Sam. I’d love to talk with you about a particular drawing. Such passion,” she hissed, holding his gaze.

Sam let the silence stretch between them. She was attractive, though much older, and her frankness was refreshing in a small town full of guarded looks and whispers behind hands.

“I know too much about you for your comfort, don’t I?” she finally asked, though Sam was sure she already knew the answer. “And you know nothing at all of me. I have an apprentice position open that your friend Candy thought you might be interested in.”

Oh.
He relaxed his shoulders, no longer wary. “A glass apprentice? I was actually admiring your sculptures, before you came in.”

She waved a dismissive hand at the sculptures. “Bongs.”

Sam took a closer look at the nearest; a green glass smoke chamber, encrusted with a golden patina, twisted up into an inhale hole at the top, with a delicate stem jutting out at the bottom. The bowl was a tiny, pink flower bud.
Huh. Sure as shit are.

“They’re a lot of damn work, and I’m tired of doing it.” Rachel threw her arms overhead and whirled around, motioning to the jewels hanging around their heads. “Honestly, this stuff is my bread and butter, though. Anyone loves pretty beads and tabacco bongs, especially at a festival like this—my real work would never sell here. I’ve got to churn this stuff out, and Rudolfo quit on me last week. I need to get back to my
work
, Sam. Are you interested?”

“In…the apprentice position?”

“Well, what other positions should we be talking about?”

Oh, you’re a handful, aren’t you?
Sam watched the aging hippie with mirth.

“It’s hard, sweaty work, Sam. I’m not going to lie to you,” she said, gripping his shoulders. Her face was close enough for him to smell her Patchouli cologne. “You have to want it. There could be blood. Do you want it?”

Sam had absolutely no idea what a glass apprentice position entailed, but this Rachel creature was already easier to take than Larry.

“You’ll be my slave at first, until you can handle the torch. But, you’ll be learning every minute, and you will never be bored. Grinding, blasting, painting, firing, and at last…the flames—molten glass over two-thousand degrees. What do you think, Sam?”

She had started pacing around patting her pockets, looking for something important. She found her object of desire, and breathed a sigh of relief. She lit her cigarette with a monogrammed butane lighter and inhaled deeply. Superficially calmed, with her arms crossed over her chest, she awaited his response

“When—”

“I know you’re still in school, I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your studies,” she waved the unasked question away with a flutter and tapped the slender fingers of her other hand against an elbow, watching him intently.

“When can I start?”

“Marvelous,” Rachel intoned from deep within her chest.

§

Candy sidled past Mr. Norman’s tent on the far side of the alley. She could see Erica through the throng, demonstrating how to hold a dulcimer to some tourists. She caught Candy’s eye and waved, then turned her hand into a secret thumbs-up before moving it behind her ear to adjust her glasses. Candy smiled back and nodded, then continued on her way. There was an amazing array of tents, much more varied than she remembered from the previous year. She moseyed along, the summer sun beating down on her back, stopping to investigate the more interesting vendors and keeping an eye out for Sam.

“Tell your fortune, pretty girl?” an oily voice asked, close to her ear. She spun toward the offender and saw a slight man, standing at least ten feet from her.

Whoa, that was weird. It was like he was so close he was inside my head.
She walked closer and he offered her a business card between two fingers. “Tarot Cards?” Candy pocketed the card and read the hand-sewn sign hanging over the man’s head. She had always been curious about tarot reading. “How much?”

“For you, pretty girl? Ten dollars,” he said, grasping an edge of the tent flap with one hand and holding out the other for her to take.

“What do I get for ten dollars?”

“Your complete reading, as you like it. Three card spread, five card horseshoe, Celtic cross. As you like it.”

Candy had no idea what he was talking about, and she had a feeling he knew that. “Okay. Do I pay you?”

“Please,” the man shook his head, as if money were an impropriety. He motioned her inside, tucking his hand behind his back when Candy refused to take it. After the blazing summer sun of the avenue, the darkness inside the tent was almost complete. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the gloom.

“Hello, my dear.” A woman was seated behind a table draped in shimmery fabric. When Candy inched forward, her eyes more accustomed to the light, she saw the cloth was midnight blue velvet sprinkled with silvery thread. Like moonlight. A round orb glowed next to the woman’s face. Candy had seen the same light at Ikea, but the way it lit up the seer’s features in the gloom was disarming. Not quite a crystal ball, but close. “Sit, pl—”

Candy walked closer to the chair that the woman had indicated, but halted when her expression changed from solicitous to guarded. “Should I sit here?”

“Yes…” the woman said, with less authority.

Candy lowered herself into what she could tell was a folding chair under the same glittery fabric, then settled her hands in her lap. She had no idea of what to expect from a tarot reading. The woman was shuffling a deck of cards, watching her with eyes rimmed in charcoal black. The shuffling went on. Candy cleared her throat and looked around, beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“My dear, I cannot read your cards,” the woman finally said. Her voice had changed. Candy could no longer detect the Eastern European accent she had heard only minutes before.

“Oh. Why not?”

The woman smiled. She looked down at her hands, finally still. She folded them on top of the deck of cards. “It’s not often that I meet such a one.”

What the heck is that supposed to mean?
“Such a one…like me?”

A throaty chuckle.

“I have the money. I tried to give it to the guy outside but he wouldn’t take it.” Candy stood to dig in the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a few bills and rifled through them. “Here.”

“Darling, sit. Please.”

Candy crumpled the money in her hands, feeling like an idiot.

The woman watched her for a beat, but then seemed to make a decision. “Have you ever brought a strong magnet too close to a television? To a speaker? No, that’s not right. You have satellite radio?”

“My dad does, in his car.”

“And sometimes the connection is lost? Something blocks the signal.”

“Well, yeah I guess. The reception isn’t that great in Shirley.”

“Oh, there is nothing wrong with my reception, my dear.” Her eyes were intense and reproachful.

Candy sat, twiddling her fingers. She shoved her bills back into her pocket, unsure of how to proceed. “So, what’s wrong with me?”

The woman watched her across the table, covetous. “There is nothing wrong with you. I would give anything to be as you are.”

“Okay… well, if you don’t want to read my cards…” Feeling partly alarmed, partly embarrassed, but most of all irritated, Candy made to get up. A hand shot out to stop her.

“You want me to read your cards?” The woman flipped one over. “Judgement. Ruled by fire. Big surprise.” She laughed, but it sounded more like a crow squawking. “Here’s another. The Magician—Mercury, the fiery planet. And you haven’t even touched the deck. Oh look, the Ace of Cups. Summer. Heat.”

Candy felt less fiery than she ever had, the slithery coolness of trepidation seeping over her skin. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

The seer leaned back in her chair and pulled her black wig off of her head. “Neither do I, sweetheart.”

She produced a cigarette from a hidden pocket and lit it. Candy watched her inhale deeply, closing her eyes as if calming herself.

Was she supposed to pay her after that? She hadn’t really done a reading. “Fine. I guess I’ll just go.” She rose from her seat and moved toward the bright line of sunshine that marked the tent’s exit. A last glance at the woman showed her apparently deep in thought.
Meditating? Bizarre. Should I tell that guy outside she’s on a break?

“You’re mother’s the same?” the croaking voice asked, just as she reached the edge of the tent. “So full of fire?”

Candy turned back. “My mother?”

“The gift is usually passed down, mother to daughter.”

“Full of fire”—my bad temper?
Candy was completely confused. How was being prone to explosive outbursts a gift? Everyone her whole life had chastised her about her temper.
Like I’m a freak.

“She never talks about it?”

“My mother killed herself when I was seven,” Candy spat.
None of your damn business.

The seer’s face registered neither surprise nor sympathy. “You better be careful with it, then.”

Candy wanted to slap her. “Well, thanks for nothing.” She ducked through the flapping curtains, dazed by the blinding sunlight, and pushed past the little man outside. He had been listening; his features were wary and he moved aside, his eyes cast away from her.

“Nice scam,” she said over her shoulder, stalking down the alley. For once, she was happy to blend in with the tourists—she didn’t feel the prickles on her neck subside until the “Tarot Cards” sign was out of view behind the bend.

“What a load of horse shit,” she muttered as she walked. What had she been expecting? Everyone knew fortune telling was a hoax. She felt ridiculous for going in that tent, but at least she hadn’t let them take her money.
Definitely won’t mention that to Sam. He would laugh his butt off, I bet.

Where was Sam? Candy resolved to find her boyfriend (if he was her boyfriend) and put the seer’s cryptic remarks out of her mind. She roamed through the tents with more purpose until she finally saw his distinctive outline; he was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his weight resting on one foot, with the posture of listening intently to—“Rachel!” Sam glanced back and smiled as Candy approached. “There you are. Good, you guys have met.” She pushed her sunglasses onto her head and entered Rachel’s quiet tent, bringing carnival smells and sounds with her.

“Candy, my dear,” Rachel growled, accepting a hug and giving her an air kiss. “I must thank you for the lead, Sam is exactly what I need.”

“Oh, cool,” Candy said, inspecting the displays. “I thought it might be a good match up.” She walked along the perimeter, appraising the pedestaled sculptures and trying to keep her grin from spreading. She knew Sam would make a good apprentice at Rachel’s glass studio.

“I’m holding a workshop soon, my dear.”

“In Shirley?” Candy chirped, surprised. “Love the new iridescent stuff.”

“Oh, honey. I’ll show you what it’s really capable of. You can’t imagine. I’m still playing with it in these, but I’m perfecting a technique that is simply fabulous.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” Candy moved closer to Sam and grabbed his hand.

Thank you,
he mouthed.

He had accepted the job, then. Maybe he could work more regular hours with Rachel, instead of being at that creep Larry’s beck and call. That was Candy’s plan anyway. She was always welcome at Rachel’s place, too, and her mind exploded with the possibilities of better Sam access.

“Wonderful. I need to get back to the studio. I’m ready to start packing up for the day—Sam, come with me.” Rachel disappeared through velvet drapery, her muffled commands continuing through the fabric. Candy looked at Sam, who was clearly taken aback, and she stifled the humor bubbling up inside. Though she loved her, Rachel was a caricature of the nutty, eccentric artist. Did she really expect him to start working immediately? When she realized Sam was not following, Rachel popped her head back into the showroom. “Well, come on, do you want the job or not?”