Billy Bob Walker Got Married (37 page)

Billy spent most of his time out on the tractor; he had another lot of trees to get ready for delivery in a week. Shiloh helped Ellen in the mornings; she'd discovered she liked hanging out clothes in the summer sun. Must be the Irish coming out in her, she thought ruefully.

And after lunch, she went out to the fields with Billy until it got so sweltering hot that they had to quit. Then like as not, they'd drive out to their hidden little rock at Angel Lake for a fast swim and a not-so-fast lovemaking session.

Ellen got used to their not coming home in time for supper. Usually they fell asleep out on the moss under the shady, dappling trees and didn't wake until after the sun had set.

It was as comfortable, Billy said, as trying to sleep in her bed, which was too short for his six-foot-three frame, and he swore that as soon as he got these trees sold, he was going to take a day to move his own bed into her room.

It was an idyllic existence; Shiloh felt sheltered from the whole world, yet more people came to Walker Farms than she'd ever seen at home. They drifted in without announcement or fanfare, staying for a cool drink of tea or a slice of watermelon: two or three ladies from the church; a crony of Willie's; and the most vocal of all, friends of Billy. The big one they called Toy was nearly comic. He came mostly to convince himself that his buddy had really bitten the dust and gotten married.

But it was a neighbor, Harold Bell, who strolled into the first serious fight between the bride and groom late one afternoon after a little more than three weeks of wedded bliss.

"Don't you think you could take just a little time and teach me how to drive this truck?" Shiloh asked, her voice coaxing.

"Ah, honey, what for? I'm tired. Let's just go for a swim like always." Billy was already tossing two large towels that he'd vandalized off the clothesline onto the seat of the truck.

"Because I might need to drive this truck someday, that's why. Everybody else can—you, Ellen, even your grandpa if he has to." Shiloh's voice was stubborn as she followed him around to the driver's side.

"So if that many people can, there'll always be somebody here to take you where you want to go." He spoke as if that settled it and climbed into the truck.

But Shiloh caught the door as he tried to pull it shut. "I mean to learn to drive this thing, Billy. If you don't teach me, I'll come out here and do it myself."

He sighed, pushing his cap back on his head, running one hand down his face. "Why?"

"Why do I want to learn? Because I've never been someplace where I—I couldn't go where I wanted. It feels like I'm trapped here."

He straightened his wide shoulders a little, his face stiffening as he looked at her.

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded." Her words were quiet; she looked down at her own fingers, intertwining her hands together. "Cars and trucks are just the way people go these days. I don't like knowing I can't operate the only one you've got."

"Where you planning on going, Shiloh?" He propped his right elbow up on the steering wheel and waited for her answer. Too quiet. "Out of this trap?"

She stepped up into him, her hands reaching for his blue-jeaned knees, her eyes searching his. "Don't be silly, Billy Bob. If I wanted out, or away, there are other ways. I'd pick up a phone."

"And call Sam?"

"No.
I don't want out and I don't want Sam. I want to be with you, you stubborn man. But it's a human right that people get to drive themselves around sometimes, isn't it? I want to know how to drive a straight shift—
this
one.
Yours."
She pushed him in the chest with her hand for emphasis once or twice, her eyes sparkling with temper and daring.

She knew exactly what she was doing, getting this close to him, he thought in resignation. Especially wearing the denim shorts he liked and the cool little top that revealed entirely too much skin from his angle right above her.

And the truth was, he'd feel the same way if he were taken somewhere without transportation. He wasn't trying to keep her a prisoner; he wanted her to be happy, to come and go as she pleased.

The problem was he hated to see her drive his truck. It was seven years old, had nearly ninety thousand miles on it, and he'd used it hard, for farm work. It was going to hurt to see her with it instead of one of those expensive numbers she had once tooled around in.

He'd rather teach her to ride Chase. At least they were worthy of each other, a beautiful animal and a beautiful woman. But she was a little afraid of the big stallion. Billy could sense that, and he guessed Chase wasn't a real practical alternative for travel.

"I mean to buy you a car, Shiloh," he said tightly. "It may not be a Cadillac, but I'm looking. I ought to be—
we
ought to be able to afford something after this next sale."

"Okay," she agreed. "But I still want to learn about this one. Just in case. Please, Billy." She dropped a row of light kisses across one side of his face. "Teach me, okay?" Another row on the other side.

"I can think of plenty to teach you," he retorted, but he slid over in the truck seat, lifting first one long leg and then the other over the gear shift. "Come on. I might as well die young."

She flashed him a dazzling smile before she slid in the seat he'd just vacated.

"What do I do first?" she asked breathlessly.

"That's the clutch. And these are the gears, see? Here in the middle is neutral."

The lesson was not a success.

She ground the gears; she couldn't seem to make things shift smoothly, so they jerked up the gravel road to the barn, the engine dying every third jerk; and when she wound up with the truck finally out at the barn, it was turned sideways, its bed on a downhill slant toward the row of shrubs beside the fence. Every time she let up on the clutch to shift the gear from reverse to first, the truck slid a tiny bit farther downhill, toward the shrubs and the little pond where Billy's horse stood, drinking and watching.

"Okay. Easy—easy—try to keep a foot on the clutch and the brake, then touch the gas with your other foot," he instructed warily, one hand grasping the open window, the other the back of the seat.

It was stifling hot on this muggy afternoon; his face was wet with sweat.

"What do you mean, my other foot?" she demanded, panic stricken. "I've only got two. That's three pedals you're talking about."

"I know, I know," he said soothingly. "Just turn your foot over there sideways, try to press the clutch and the brake with the one foot—no—no, Shiloh!"

They slipped another foot backward; his head slammed the rear window when she stood on the brake.

Then the tailgate brushed Billy's prize shrubs and the back of the truck tilted even more downhill. The pond beckoned, the horse snorted derisively.

"Okay." Billy said it with finality, shutting his eyes to rub the back of his head. "That's enough. Lord, Shiloh, how hard can this be?"

She rubbed the shirt against her skin where rivulets of sweat ran between her breasts. "It's impossible, that's what. How can a normal person get off a hill when they have to mash three pedals at once? You just tell me that, Billy Walker."

"Normal people don't get in this situation," he informed her, opening his door.

"Where are you going? You think I can't drive this, don't you?"

"I
know
you can't get out of this mess," he returned, smugly. "I'm coming around to the wheel. Let me get us off this hill. I don't think I can stand any more driving lessons today."

"I
can
drive this. I
will,"
she shot at his back, then peered at the floor to see what to do. Without warning, her foot slipped off the clutch, and the truck gave a quick, long slide backward, hitting some object as it did.

She screamed, then rode the brakes again, and the truck died completely, shuddering into quietness. It was too quiet, in fact.

"Billy!"

She looked around frantically. Where was he? Fumbling with the gear shift, she slid it into first, then pulled on the emergency brake.

"Billy!"

Shiloh's feet met the ground just in time to see Billy Bob picking himself up out of the mud near the pond. What was he doing down there? She hadn't hit him, had she? Looking like a thundercloud, he glared up the hill at her, shaking leaves and grass and mud off of himself. Then he advanced back up toward her, his movements deliberate and threatening.

"What happened?" Her voice shook a little.

"What happened? I'll tell you what—I was stupid enough to leave you in the truck while I went behind it to see if we were stuck on this hill or not," he said furiously. "Next thing I knew, the thing was about to roll over me. You ran through the fence, and I tore down two good shrubs and damn near broke my neck running to get away from you. Are you
crazy?"

She ran after him as he stomped up to the open door and shoved himself under the wheel.

"It was an accident. My foot slipped off the clutch. I didn't know you were behind me—"

"Get in," he bellowed, then forced himself to calm down for a quieter explanation. "I've got to turn this thing around."

Without a word, she raced in front of the truck and plunged in, and with a lot of wheel spinning and gear-shifting, Billy swung the vehicle out into the road, pointing in the right direction, back toward the farmhouse.

She gave a nervous huff of laughter. "You've got grass in your hair."

His face angry, his eyes a furious blue, he raked the green leaves out of his thick blond scalp. She didn't dare ask where his cap had gone; she thought it was floating on the pond. Maybe the horse had eaten it.

"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "I didn't mean to run over you."

He let the truck slide into motion.

"I really do have a good reason for wanting to learn to drive this," Shiloh told him hurriedly, angling another look over at his thundercloud face. "I want to look for a job."

That got his attention. "A
what?"

"A job. I want to work, to make money, to help."

"You can work here all you want. I don't want you off at a bank all day."

"I don't know what to do here. Mostly I follow you, or Ellen, around. If I had a real job, I could earn a paycheck. It doesn't have to be in a bank."

"If that's all that's worrying you, I'll give you a paycheck. I've left money on your dresser both of these past Mondays, haven't I?"

"I know. I appreciate it, Billy. But I don't think I earned it. And sometimes, it feels like I just sit around."

"I can give you a job. Tell me what you want to learn to do around here. I'll teach you. Or my accounts—you can keep the books if you want. Unless"— his voice rose in pure temper—"you're saying you just can't stand me and the farm anymore. So if that's what the hell this is all about, say so."

"Don't yell at me! And none of that is the reason I wanted a job."

They'd reached the house, where Billy killed the engine without even pausing in the argument.

"Then you tell me what's wrong? What's all this talk about traps, and going places? You just got here." He slammed out of the truck, the motion reverberating the entire cab.

She did the same on the other side, her slam nearly as hard, coming around to him. "I was trying to help, Billy. I thought, I'm not much good at farm things. I don't know what to do. So if I go do something I am good at and make extra money I'll be helping my husband."

She was crying now, and she reached out suddenly to give him a rough push with both of her hands against his flat, hard stomach. "But you don't deserve it, you—you— big jerk!"

He watched in silence as she ran up the old sidewalk to the front porch. Blinded by tears, she didn't see the man who stood on the shady steps and so banged into him full Hit.

He caught and steadied her. "Here now, you're gonna get hurt."

She shook herself free, and the last the two men saw of her was her long brown legs as the screen door slammed shut behind her. Then there was silence.

"Huh." The big man strolled down toward Billy, who leaned disconsolately on the truck. "Hello, Billy Bob."

"Mr. Bell." Concentrating on the other man wasn't easy, not when he really wanted to peel himself off the truck, run Shiloh down, and force her body to soften under his, and her mouth to open for his tongue. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"I hear you've been busy, boy." Bell had a swarthy look about him, sort of a modern Pancho Villa appearance, helped along by the big Besistol cowboy hats he wore. Nearer sixty than fifty, he still had an eye for the ladies; he'd divorced three of them, in fact. But his consuming passion was anything horsey, and he had enough money to indulge himself.

"Who, me?"

"That's right. I heard you got married."

"You just met her. She was the one crying," Billy said ruefully.

"Mighty fine-looking woman. I tell you, I didn't believe it when some of the boys said you'd got yourself a wife, but that was some fight. Yep, you two sure look married to me."

Hot, bruised, and mad, Billy Bob had no intentions of listening to Bell's opinions about marital bliss. He was all too aware that this was mostly his fault, that he'd jumped Shiloh over nothing because he was scared stupid Pennington was somehow going to drag her away.

"Did you need to see me about something?"

"Well, first off, there's the same old thing. I still want that horse awful bad. I went down to the bam while I was waiting for you, to take a look at him, but he must have been out in the pasture."

Billy liked Bell, but he resented the way the man made up to Chase, as if the horse still belonged to him. More than once Bell had come to see Billy and he'd found the older man out at the barn, coaxing the stallion, bribing him into trust with apples and caresses.