Billy Bob Walker Got Married (46 page)

He'd been trying again, tonight, when he came here.

He'd beaten up Michael Sewell, for her. Maybe that was a little primitive, basic, masculine, but that was exactly what she wanted. He was a man. Not a boy. Will. He was Will. Ellen's name for him was the right one.

She scooted down him, pulling his mouth up to her fiercely, spiraling this slow lovemaking into a hot, fast motion. He caught fire instantly, rolling her over onto the damp grass, cupping her shoulders with his hands, his arms under her back, his body covering hers, pushing away clothes frantically. The rhythm came without volition, the natural give and take of two who knew each other, who loved each other.

And when she hit the top of the night sky, high above the pine trees, holding on to him because he was the only reality, a cool wind swept across their heated, clinging bodies, carrying away her quiet, choking sobs.

"I love you, Shiloh." He got the words out in short, sharp stabs of sound against her throat.

"I love you, Bil—no, Will. I love you, Will Walker," she returned, her voice sweet in his ear.

Not too far away, a whippoorwill called across the dark Mississippi sky.

The stars looked close enough to touch, but the moon was too high, a distant buttery slice in the midnight blue canopy above them when they finally moved.

"So this is what you do on a golf course," he said in mock seriousness as he zipped up her dress.

"It's usually more boring," she returned, teasingly, twisting to find his shirt on the ground.

He slid his arms in it as she held it up for him, hunching his shoulders forward. "I surely do appreciate the lesson." He grinned at her. "If Id'a known this was what you were dragging me out here for, I'd have run, not walked. And I wouldn't have been half as mad about those keys."

"Oh, those." She looked guilty, even in the moonlight. "They're still in your pocket."

He gave a pleased shout of laughter. "You really did trick me out here just to have your way with me, didn't you?"

"I wasn't original. The golf pro used to use the pine grove all the time for his lady friends. So you see, you're just as proper as the rest of the crowd here. But civilized? I don't think I want you civilized, Will Walker." Her head drooped against his arm. "I want to go home."

He thought about the name Will, and he liked it on her lips. And he thought about the way she said "home."

"To the farm?" He wanted her to say that, too.

"To our room—off the porch—at the farm. There's this bird there that's expecting us . . ." Her voice trailed off in a yawn.

"You're asleep," he said tenderly, as he finished buttoning most of the buttons on the shirt. Then he bent, lifting her up against him, and her face rested on the rich little folds in the cloth, stained with grass now.

"This is very, very nice," she murmured, lips against his throat as he carried her across the green. The club had long since emptied. Only Billy's truck remained in the black parking lot.

Shiloh reached down and opened the door, and he slid her in on the seat where the black coat lay.

Going home, with him, forever.

But just as he circled the truck to get in himself, a tall, thin shadow detached himself from one of the columns that held up the wide balcony of the club.

"Mr. Walker."

Billy, trying to find the ignition key, looked up, surprised. Inside the truck, Shiloh came awake.

"Yeah?" Billy's voice was cautious.

"I've been waiting for you. I got a tip you were here tonight. Looks like you've been having a real good time," the voice said, amused and knowing. "My name's Paul Jansen. I write for the
Memphis Commercial Appeal."
The man stopped to pull a package of cigarettes from his pocket, tapping one out and lipping it into his mouth.

"So?"

"So I've heard that you've got close ties to Robert Sewell. Very close ties." In the flame of the lighter that Jansen held to the end of the cigarette, he was hazel eyed, brown haired. "And that you might want to talk about Sewell to an interested party."

"Like you?"

"That's right. Like me."

Inside the truck, Shiloh didn't move.

Outside it, Billy wondered what would have happened if this man had approached him a year ago.

"I reckon you've wasted your time. What time is it, anyway? Too late for me," Billy said easily, raking his hand back through his tousled hair. "Somebody sent you on a wild goose chase. My wife's father is a friend of the judge's. But me, I'm not."

Jansen blew smoke and straightened. "I heard you were Sewell's bastard son." His voice was sharp, laced with disappointment.

Billy sat down in the truck, and on the seat between them, Shiloh's hand grasped his, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Who, me?" Billy laughed a little. "My name's Will Walker. And I never knew my father."

He shut the truck door decisively, its loud slam echoing across the still lot. "Come on, baby," he said, smiling at her. "Let's go home."