Carnal Innocence (20 page)

“It is to me.” Thoughtfully, she took the violin from its case, as she had too many times to count. The weight, the shape, the texture, all so familiar. How much she loved it. And how much she hated it. “Have you ever held one?”

Jim swallowed hard. “Well, old Rupert—that’s Deputy Johnson’s grandpappy—he showed me a couple of tunes on his fiddle. It ain’t nearly as pretty as yours. Don’t make music the same neither.”

She doubted old Rupert owned a Stradivarius. She had an impulse that surprised her. Then she reminded herself that blocking her impulses was what had landed her in that hospital in Toronto. Freeing them had brought her to Innocence, for better or worse.

“Why don’t you show me what you can do?” She offered the violin, and Jim immediately put both hands behind his back.

“No’m, I couldn’t. Wouldn’t be right.”

“It’s right if I ask you, isn’t it?”

She watched the boy’s eyes latch on to the violin, saw the war in his face between desire and what he considered propriety. His hands came out slowly to take it.

“Holy crow,” he whispered. “It do shine, don’t it?”

Silently, she took out the bow, rosined it. “I wasn’t very much older than you the first time I played this violin.” She thought back, so far back to the night her parents had given it to her. In her dressing room at the Academy of Music in Philadelphia, before her first major solo. She’d been sixteen, and had just finished retching—as quietly and discreetly as possible—in the adjoining bath.

Then her parents had come in, her father so full of beaming pride, her mother so full of desperate ambition, that the sickness hadn’t had a chance against them.

She’d never been sure if the violin had been a gift or a bribe or a threat. But she hadn’t been able to resist it.

What had she played that first time, Caroline wondered, there in the dressing room heavy with the scent of flowers and greasepaint?

Mozart, she remembered, and smiled a little.

“Show me,” she said simply, and handed him the bow.

Jim cast his mind around for what might be best. Settling the violin on his shoulder, he eased the bow over
the strings in a few testing sweeps, then launched into “Salty Dog.”

By the time he’d finished, the dazed look had left his eyes and a grin was splitting his face. He knew he’d never sounded better, and caught up in the music he flowed into “Casey Jones.”

Caroline sat on the arm of the chair and watched. Oh, there were a few wrong notes, and his technique could use a little polishing. But she was impressed, not only with his playing, which was clever and bright, but with the look in his eye, the look that told her he was playing for pleasure.

That was something that had been denied her—and that she had denied herself—for nearly twenty-five years.

Jim came back to himself and cleared his throat. The music was still dancing and swaying inside his head, and his fingers vibrated with it. But he was afraid he was pushing his luck.

“That’s just some stuff old Rupert showed me. It’s nothing like what you played. That was … holy, I guess.”

She had to smile. “I think we can make a bargain, Jim.”

“ma’am?”

“You show me how to play what old Rupert showed you—”

His eyes bulged out of his head. “You want me to show you how to play those tunes?”

“That’s right, and in return I’ll show you how to play others.”

“Like what you was playing yesterday?”

“Yes, like that.”

He knew his hands were sweating and made himself give her back the violin before he smudged it and ruined everything. “I’d have to ask my daddy.”

“I’ll ask him.” Caroline tilted her head. “If you’d like to.”

“I’d like it just fine.”

“Then come over here and watch.” She remained
sitting so he could have a good view of her fingers. “This is called the Minute Waltz. It’s by Frederic Chopin.”

“Chopin,” Jim repeated reverently.

“We won’t play it in a minute just yet. It’s not a race, it’s just for—”

“Fun?”

“Yes.” She tucked the violin under her chin, relishing that three-letter word. “For fun.”

They were well into their first lesson when Deputy Carl Johnson drove by to tell her that Austin Hatinger had escaped.

Caroline made up her mind about two things after Carl Johnson had driven off to pass the word at Sweetwater. First, she was going to renew her target practice. And she was going to get herself a dog. Her initial instinct to pack and run had faded almost before it had begun. What had replaced it was an emotion much stronger and deeper. This was her home now, and she intended to protect it.

Following Jim’s advice and directions, she headed down Hog Maw Road toward the Fullers’. Jim had told her that Happy Fuller’s bitch Princess had had a litter some two months before.

Happy, changed from her funeral dress to her gardening clothes, greeted her with pleasure. Not only was she pleased to be rid of the single remaining pup, she wanted a new ear to listen to all the excitement.

“I’ve never been more terrified,” Happy was saying as she led Caroline around to the backyard, past a gaggle of ceramic geese and a bed of impatiens. “I was standing aways apart, by my mama’s grave. She passed in eighty-five from cancer of the ovaries. Wouldn’t see the doctor, Mama wouldn’t, so it ran through her like Grant took Richmond. Me, I go into Doc Shays and have a pap smear every six months like clockwork.”

“I’m sure that’s wise.”

“Makes no sense to hide from problems.” Happy paused in front of a whirligig of a man sawing wood. The
air hung so heavy and still, the little man was getting plenty of rest.

“Anyhow,” Happy continued, bending to tug out a weed that had dared intrude on her zinnias, “I’m standing by Mama and I hear all this commotion. Shouting and screaming and what all. Turned around just in time to see that deputy from Greenville go tumbling with Mavis into Edda Lou’s grave. Then Austin, he takes a vicious swipe at the other deputy— hardly more than a boy that one—and knocks him clean out with his own pistol. I’m thinking to myself, Holy God in heaven, he’s going to open up with that gun. But what does he do? He snatches Birdie ‘round the throat and orders that deputy—the one down in the grave—to throw out the key for the leg shackles. Now you could hear Mavis wailing and screaming fit to wake the dead. Lordy, there’s plenty to wake there in Blessed Peace. And there’s poor Birdie, white as a sheet with a gun right to her head. I thought my heart was going to stop on me. Birdie’s a dear friend of mine.”

“Yes, I know.” Caroline had already heard all this from Carl Johnson, but resigned herself that she would hear it again. And again.

“When Austin let loose with a shot, I’m not ashamed to say I dove behind my mama’s headstone. It’s a good-sized one, though I had to fight with my brother Dick over the price of it. Dick always was a skinflint. Why, he’ll squeeze a penny till Lincoln shouts uncle. Then Vernon—who’s just as shifty-eyed as his daddy ever was—unlocked those shackles. Next thing you knew, Austin was shoving poor Birdie into that hole right on top of the deputy from Greenville and poor Mavis. All hell broke loose then, let me tell you. Birdie was screeching. Mavis wailing, and that deputy was cussing like a drunk sailor on a two-day leave.”

Happy’s lips twitched, and she would have bitten back the smile if she hadn’t seen answering amusement in Caroline’s eyes.

They stared at each other for a moment, struggling for sobriety. Caroline lost first, with a quick snorting
laugh she tried to turn into a cough. Then they were laughing, standing in the bright afternoon sun and howling until Happy had to dig for her hankie and wipe her eyes.

“I tell you, Caroline, it was a sight I’ll not forget if I live to a hundred. After Austin took off in Birdie’s Buick, I ran over. There they were, all tangled in a heap of arms and legs on top of the coffin. And the first thing I thought—God forgive me—was that it all looked like one of those unnatural sex doings you might see on an X-rated video.” Her eyes twinkled. “Not that I’ve ever seen one, mind you.”

“No,” Caroline said weakly. “Of course not.”

“Birdie’s skirts were hiked up nearly to her waist. She’s a bit on the heavy side, is Birdie, and I do believe she’d knocked the wind right out of that deputy when she landed on him. His face was red as a raddish. And Mavis, why she was hanging on to his legs and shouting about the hand of God.”

“Awful,” Caroline managed to say, then dissolved into laughter again. “Oh, it’s awful.”

Happy honked into her hankie and fought back a fresh spray of giggles. “Then that young deputy woke up, while those of us left at the cemetery were trying to haul Birdie and the rest of them out. Poor boy was stumbling around, and by Jesus, if Cy hadn’t caught hold of him, he’d’ve tumbled right in with them. It was better than watching I
Love Lucy.”

Caroline had a picture of Ricky Ricardo doing a headfirst dive into a grave.
Luuu-cy, I’m home!
She sat down on the little stone wall by the impatiens and hugged her sides.

With a sigh, Happy sat beside her. “Oh, my, I’m glad I got that out. Birdie’d never forgive me for laughing.”

“It’s terrible. Gruesome.”

That added another five minutes to their fight for composure.

“Well now.” Breath hitching a bit, Happy put away her hankie. “Let me call that damn dog. While you’re
looking him over, I’ll go get us something cold. Princess! Princess, you get on over here and bring that mutt with you. Only got the one left,” Happy said conversationally, “and you’re welcome to him. Can’t tell you nothing about the father, as Princess ain’t too particular. Going to have her spayed this time. Meant to before.”

Caroline saw a big, yellow-haired dog, thick-bodied, weary-faced, come ambling across the yard. Running circles around her was a good-sized puppy of the same color. Every few seconds he made a dash under her for one of the floppy tits. Princess, who had obviously had enough of motherhood, would shift cagily away.

“Here now.” Happy clapped her hands. At the sound, the pup gave up his quest for mother’s milk and cheerfully gamboled over. “You’re a useless little cuss, aren’t you?”

The pup yipped in agreement, wagging his tail so fast and hard his hind end nearly met his nose.

“I’ll leave you to get acquainted.” Happy rose. “I’ll fetch us some iced tea.”

Caroline eyed the pup with a good deal of doubt. Certainly he was cute, and it was sweet the way he plopped his big front paws on her knees. But she was after a guard dog, not a pet. It certainly wouldn’t do for her to develop a fondness for an animal she would have to give away in a few months.

And though he was already good-sized, he was hardly fierce-looking with his dopey long ears and lolling tongue. His mother stood nearly as tall as Caroline’s waist, but she wondered how long it would take for the son to grow that high.

It was a mistake, she decided. She should have asked for the nearest pound and gone in to liberate some fang-dripping Doberman she could keep chained near the back door.

But the pup’s fur was soft and warm. While she frowned over him, he licked her hand and swiped his tail so hard, he tumbled off his perch, then set to chasing it.

Once he’d gotten a good bite of it, he yelped, then
raced back to her, his big brown eyes full of wonder and doggy chagrin.

“Dummy,” she muttered, and picked him up to cuddle. Ah, hell, she thought as he slobbered all over her cheek and throat.

When Happy came out with the iced tea, Caroline had already named him Useless. She decided he’d look very dapper in a red collar.

She bought him one at Larsson’s, and added a ten-pound bag of puppy food, a leash, a plastic dish with two bowls, and a flowered cushion which would serve as a dog bed.

He howled in her car the entire time she was in the store. She looked out once to see he’d propped his feet up on the dash and was staring at her with accusation and terror in his big brown eyes. The minute she got back in the car he scrambled into her lap.

After a short battle of wills, Caroline left him curled there for the drive home.

“You’re not going to do me a damn bit of good,” she said as the pup let out a shuddering sigh of contentment. “I can see that already. I know what the problem is. I always wanted a puppy when I was a little girl. We couldn’t have one. Dog hairs in the parlor and piddles on the rug. Then, by the time I was eight, I was already traveling on and off during the summer. So, of course, a pet was out of the question.”

She stroked him as she drove, enjoying the warm lump of him on her lap. “The thing is, I’m not going to be here for more than another month or two, so it’s not really fair for us to develop a close relationship. Not that we can’t be friends,” she continued when Useless propped his head in the crook of her elbow and looked up soulfully. “I mean, it’s certainly all right to have a little affection, some respect, even some mutual enjoyment for as long as it lasts. Just as long as we both know …” He cuddled against her breast and licked her chin.

“Shit.”

By the time she turned in her drive, she was already in love and berating herself for it.

It didn’t help to see Tucker sitting on her front porch steps with a bottle of wine beside him and a spray of yellow roses across his lap.

“D
on’t you ever work?” Caroline asked as she struggled to gather up the wiggling puppy, her purse, and some of her purchases.

“Only if they catch me.” Tucker set the roses aside, then lazily unfolded himself. “Whatcha got there, Caro?”

“I call it a dog.”

He chuckled and wandered over to where she’d managed to squeeze her car next to the boat-sized Oldsmobile. “Cute little fella.” He ruffled the pup’s fur, then peeked in the back of the BMW. “Need some help?”

She blew her hair out of her eyes. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re glad to see me.” He took advantage of her loaded arms and kissed her. “And you wish you weren’t. Go on and take a load off. I’ll haul the rest of this out for you.”

She did, mainly to see if he could do anything with his hands other than raise a woman’s blood pressure. After she’d sat on the steps, Caroline worked on fastening the new collar around the squirming puppy’s neck.

“Looks like you got all the essentials,” Tucker commented. He pulled out a bag, tossed the sack of puppy food over his shoulder. There was a faint and interesting ripple of muscle, Caroline noticed. Then he gathered up the bright-flowered cushion. “What’s this?”

“He’s got to sleep on something.”

Your bed, Tucker figured with a grin. The pup didn’t look backward. “So …” He dumped everything on the porch, then sat next to her. “That one of the Fuller pups?”

“Yes.” The pup deserted her to sniff at Tucker’s hand. Caroline could smell the roses and determined not to be charmed by them, not to ask about them, not even to look at them.

“Hey, boy.” Tucker scratched the pup in a spot that had Useless grinning and slapping a hind foot rhythmically on the step. “That’s a good dog, yeah. That’s a pretty good dog. So what’s his name?”

“Useless,” Caroline muttered as the puppy—her puppy, she reminded herself—stretched himself adoringly over Tucker’s lap. “I’ve already figured out he would be, as a guard dog.”

Tucker’s brows drew together briefly. “Guard dog, huh?” He tickled the puppy into turning over. “Hey, boy, let me see those teeth.” Useless obligingly chewed on Tucker’s knuckle. “Well, they’ll grow soon enough. Just like the rest of him. Couple of months he’ll start to grow into his feet.”

“In a couple of months I—I’ll be in Europe,” she finished. “Actually, I may be leaving sooner than that. There’s an engagement I might have to take—in September—that would require me to go to D.C. in August to prepare.”

“Have to take?”

She hadn’t meant to put it that way. “There’s an engagement,” she said, dismissing the rest. “But I imagine I’ll be able to find a good home for the puppy before I leave.”

Tucker looked up at her, golden eyes calm and just a little hard. He had a way of looking now and again, she thought, that stripped away all the nonsense and carved
down to truth. “I expect you could take a dog along if you wanted to.” His voice was quiet, hardly more than a ripple on the hot, still air. “You’re a pretty big deal in what you do, aren’t you?”

She hated the fact that she had to look away, had to before he saw through to things she was still hiding from herself. “Touring’s complicated,” she said, and left it at that.

But he didn’t.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s part of what I do.” She started to make a grab for the puppy, when he scrambled off Tucker’s lap to go exploring. “He could wander off.”

“He’s just sniffing the place out. You didn’t answer me, Caroline. Do you like it?”

“It’s not a matter of like or dislike. When you’re performing, you travel.” Airport to airport, she thought, city to city, hotel to hotel, rehearsal to rehearsal. She felt the tightening in her stomach, the little pull of a knot being tied. It warned her to ease off unless she wanted to extend an invitation to her old friend Mr. Ulcer.

When a man was rarely tense himself, he recognized the symptoms. Casually, he put a hand to the back of her neck and rubbed. “I never could understand why somebody’d make a habit of doing something they didn’t care for.”

“I didn’t say—”

“Sure you did. You didn’t say, Oh my gracious, Tuck, there’s nothing like it. Flying off to London, scooting on to Paris, cruising over to Vienna or Venice. Now, I’ve always wanted to see some of those places myself. But you don’t sound like you’ve piled up a load of fun by doing it.”

See?
she thought. What did you really see between interviews, rehearsals, performances, and packing? “There are people in this world who don’t consider fun their life’s ambition.” She heard her own voice, recognized it as prim, and pouted in disgust.

“Now, that’s a shame.” He settled back to light a cigarette. “See that pup there? He’s sniffing ’round there, happy as a frog with a belly full of flies. He’ll
water your grass, chase his tail if it appeals to him, then settle down and take a nice nap. I always figured dogs had the best idea for getting through.”

Her lips twitched. “Just let me know if you have an urge to water my grass.”

But Tucker didn’t smile back. He studied the glowing tip of his cigarette a moment, then shot her that calm, scapel-honed look. “I asked Doc Shays about those pills you gave me. The Percodan? He said they were potent. It caused me to wonder why you’d need them.”

She toughened up. The way she drew in reminded him of a porcupine curling up and showing spines to anything curious enough to take a poke. “That’s none of your business.”

He put a hand on her cheek. “Caroline, I care about you.”

She was very aware—they both were—that he’d said that before, to dozens of women. And they were both aware, uncomfortably, that this time it was different.

“I get headaches,” she said, hating the fact that her voice was waspish and defensive.

“Regular?”

“What is this? A test? A lot of people get headaches, especially if they do more than sit in a porch rocker all day.”

“I prefer a good rope hammock myself,” he said equably. “But we were talking about you.”

Her eyes went flat and cold. “Back off, Tucker.”

Normally he would have. He wasn’t one to poke and prod where his hand could get snapped off. “It doesn’t sit well with me, thinking about you hurting.”

“I’m not hurting.” But a headache was coming on as relentlessly as a highballing freight train.

“Or worrying.”

“Worrying.” She repeated the word twice, then dropped her head in her lap and laughed. There was a tint of hysteria in the sound that had the puppy bellying over to whine at her feet. “Oh, what’s to worry about? Just because some maniac’s out carving up women and
leaving them floating in my pond. Why should I worry that Austin Hatinger’s on the loose again, and may decide to come back and blow out my windows? I certainly shouldn’t lose any sleep over the fact that he’s sure to try to put a few holes in you.”

“I’m not looking for more holes than I’ve already got.” He ran a soothing hand up and down her spine. “We Longstreets have a knack for coming out on top.”

“Oh, I can see that. With your eye blackened and your head bashed in.”

Tucker frowned a little. He’d been thinking his eye was looking a lot better. “By next week the bruises’ll go and Austin’s likely to be back in jail. Longstreet luck works that way, darlin’. Take Cousin Jeremiah.”

Caroline groaned, but he ignored her.

“Now, he was a good friend of Davy Crockett’s. A Kentucky boy, you know?” His voice settled naturally into a story-telling mode. “They’d fought together during the War for Independence. ’Course, Jeremiah’d been no more’n a boy then, but he sure did like to fight. After the war he knocked around here and there, not quite sure what the hell to do with himself. Never settled down. It was like he couldn’t find himself a purpose. Anyhow, he heard about this ruckus going on in Texas, and figured he’d mosey on over and see his old friend Davy. Maybe shoot a few Mexicans. He was still this side of Louisiana when his horse stepped down in a rabbit hole. Tossed Jeremiah off. Horse broke a leg, so did Jeremiah. Had to shoot the horse, which pained Jeremiah some, as they’d been together the best part of eight years.

“Now, it so happened this farmer came along, hauled Jeremiah back to his place in his wagon. The farmer had a daughter, as any decent farmer should, and between them they set the leg—it was a bad break and nearly did Jeremiah in, but after a couple a weeks he was able to hobble around on a crutch.”

“And he fell in love with the farmer’s daughter, had a handsome brood of children who got rich planting cotton or whatever they plant in Louisiana.”

“That’s true enough, but not my point exactly. The
point is Jeremiah lost his horse and walked with a limp the rest of his days. But he never did get out there to join Davy in Texas. At the Alamo.”

She’d turned her head to rest her cheek on her knees so that she could watch him as he finished the story which was probably a lie. The odd thing was her headache had receded along with those warning jags in her stomach.

“So the point is,” she said, “a Longstreet’s lucky enough to break a leg to avoid something more fatal.”

“There you go. Now, honey, why don’t you gather up your dog and whatever you think you need and come on down and stay at Sweetwater for a while?” The instant wariness in her eyes made him smile. “We’ve got a dozen bedrooms or more, so you don’t have to stay in mine.” He flicked a finger down her nose. “Unless you’re ready to admit you’re going to end up there sooner or later anyway.”

“I thank you for the graciousness of your offer, but I’ll have to decline.”

The faintest shadow of impatience flickered in his eyes. “Caroline, you’ve got plenty of chaperones and a good solid lock on every bedroom door if you’re thinking I’ll try to sneak under your sheets.”

“I’m sure you would,” she said, but with a laugh. “And don’t flatter yourself by thinking I’m afraid I can’t handle you. I have to stay here.”

“I’m not proposing you move in permanently.” But it surprised him that the idea didn’t give him the shivers. “Just for a visit, till Austin’s where he belongs.”

“I have to stay here,” she said again. “Tucker, up until the last couple months I’ve never taken a stand on anything. My whole life I’ve done what I was told, gone where I was pointed, and acted as I was expected to act.”

“Tell me.”

“No, not now.” She let out a long sigh. “Maybe some other time. But this is my home, my place, and I’m sticking. My grandmother lived here her entire adult life. My mother was born here, though she’d prefer you didn’t mention it. I’d like to think there was enough McNair in me to last one summer.” She shook off the
mood and smiled. “Are you going to give me those flowers or let them wilt on the step?”

He considered several valid arguments, then let it go. When people weren’t allowed to go their own way, they were more likely to break than bend. “These?” All innocence, he held up the roses. The little plastic nipple of water each stem was tucked in kept them fresh. “Did you want them?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t want them to go to waste.”

“Me neither, since I had to drive all the way over to Rosedale to get them—and that wine there. Had to borrow Della’s car to do it,” he added, taking an indulgent sniff of the blooms. “And with Della, nothing comes free. You should’ve seen the list of chores she gave me. Dry cleaning and marketing, and since she’d gotten herself a flyer about a dollar sale at Woolworth’s, I had to fetch all that stuff, too. I drew the line at picking out a negligee for her sister Sarah’s girl, who’s engaged to be married and having a wedding shower next week. A man’s got to have his standards, and I don’t buy fancy underwear for women unless I’m intimately acquainted with them.”

“You’re a man of substance, Tucker.”

“It’s a matter of principle.” He laid the roses over her lap, where the slender cupped blossoms glowed like little points of sunlight. “I thought yellow ones suited you best.”

“They’re beautiful.” She inhaled the perfume, sweet and strong. “I suppose I’ll have to thank you for them, and for all the trouble you went through to get them for me.”

“You could kiss me instead. I’d rather you did.” He smiled when her brow creased, then tipped up his chin with a fingertip. “Don’t think about it, Caroline, just do it. It’s better than any pill for curing headaches.”

So with the roses glowing between them, she leaned over and touched her lips to his. The taste was as sweet and as strong as the fragrance that floated over to her. And, she discovered, as comforting. A little dreamy-eyed, she started to draw back, but he cupped a hand around the back of her neck.

“You Yankees,” he murmured. “Always in a hurry.” He nudged her mouth back to his.

He was savoring. She understood that even as her mind began to mist over with emotion. She was aware of how slow, how deep a kiss could be if you just let yourself fall into it. With a little sigh she did just that.

Even when she felt his fingers tense on her skin, she didn’t worry. Under the palm she’d pressed to his chest, his heart was beating fast and hard. But the rhythm brought her pleasure rather than taut nerves.

And all the while his lips cruised over hers so that the kiss was like slipping into a cool blue lake dappled with sunlight.

It was he who drew back now. He hadn’t touched her, but for those fingers that had grown strong at the back of her neck, he hadn’t touched her. Hadn’t dared. For he knew once he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Something here wasn’t playing the tune he was used to. Difficult though it was to stop, Tucker knew he’d better think this through.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to ask me in.”

“No,” she said, and let out a long breath. “Not yet.”

“I’d better be getting back, then.” After a quick internal tug-of-war between stay and go, he rose. “I promised Cousin Lulu a game of Parcheesi. She cheats.” He grinned. “But so do I, and I’m quicker.”

“Thanks for the flowers. And the wine.”

Tucker stepped over the pup, who was snoring at the base of the stairs. Since there was only three inches between Della’s Olds and the BMW, he had to get in through the passenger side and slide over. After he’d started the engine, he rolled down the window.