Dark River Road (37 page)

But he didn’t know what to say to Cinda about that, about how he’d always thought she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, all pale like a porcelain doll, wearing bows in her hair and shiny shoes, almost too fragile looking to be real. And always out of his reach, like so many other things he’d wanted for so long. So he just stood looking down at her helplessly while all these thoughts and feelings churned inside him.

After a moment her lower lip quivered slightly, then she nodded. “Okay. I understand. I just wanted to tell you that
 . . .
that no matter what the truth is, I still think you’re the bravest boy in Cane Creek.”

He managed a rueful smile. “That’s not saying much. Cane Creek isn’t that big.”

“All of Miss’ippi, then.”

“That’s better. Thanks.” He hesitated, and when she still looked up at him with the glow of the deck lights gleaming in her eyes, he said abruptly, “Tansy’s my friend. She’s always been my friend. I’d be proud to be with her like everyone thinks. But we were just friends, that’s all.”

It wasn’t all, but not like most of Cane Creek thought, either. There was something between him and Tansy that he couldn’t even explain, a bond, sort of like what he felt for Shadow only much more intense. Shared dreams, maybe. A connection. Something they felt but couldn’t say.

Or at least, he couldn’t. Tansy had never had much of a problem saying what she felt, even if it was in one of her songs.

Cinda nodded. “Then I’m sorry for what I said that night, Chantry. Out there when Chris brought me to see you. I
 . . .
I thought maybe you were sick, and I made him bring me in his truck even when he didn’t want to. He was already so mad about something, and had been in a bad mood all night. Maybe he and Mariah had a fight. She said they didn’t, but he didn’t take her to the dance, either. He showed up with Brad and Adam, and they were so mean—but none of that matters. I was wrong. And I’m sorry for it. Sorry for what I said and for what I thought. Forgive me?”

“Sure.” Maybe he should tell her that he hadn’t wanted not to be with her, but somehow it didn’t seem the right time. Then he’d have to tell her what her mother had said, and that Chris was probably so mad because Tansy had shown up at the dance with Leon.

She laughed. “Ever the man of many words. So. Want to try again?”

“Try—?”

“This.” She rose to her toes and took his face between her hands and kissed him, her lips parting and her tongue slipping into his mouth so that he forgot they were on the deck where just anyone could see, forgot the past year of hard feelings, forgot everything but how sweet she tasted and how good she felt against him. Every girl he’d been with in the past year had never felt so right. Good, maybe, but not right. Not like this. Not like he felt now holding Cinda. It was like none of it had ever happened.

After a minute, she stepped back, and he set down the beer he’d been holding. When she took his hand in hers and pulled him with her, he didn’t even ask where they were going. It didn’t matter.

“This is the gazebo,” Cinda said in a whisper, like the closest people weren’t all the way up at the house and they weren’t all the way back in a corner close to a high wood fence where no one could hear them anyway. “It’s empty this time of year. Maryann’s mama likes to store stuff in it during the winter. There’s cushions, things like that.”

It was a wooden structure built from cedar, with a shake shingle roof and screened sides, and in the high-pitched ceiling beams, hung a fan that would turn in the summer heat to cool it off. Right now, the built-in benches along the sides were covered in some kind of cloths, and cushions from lawn furniture were stacked along with small wooden tables. Cinda found a glass jar that held a candle and pulled it out.

“Got a match?”

He lit it for her, turning the jar to one side to hold his lighter in it until the dusty wick caught. A spider scurried out just in time, skimming his hand to drop somewhere on the floor. He set the candle on the low table and looked over at Cinda. In the wavering light, she looked cool and mysterious, a lot older than the last time he’d been with her. He wondered if she felt as old as he did sometimes. Just the last year had seemed like five to him.

Cinda perched on one of the green and white striped cushions, and patted a place beside her. He sat down awkwardly, suddenly feeling big, clumsy, and strangely shy. This was the first time he’d ever been all alone with her.

If she felt awkward she didn’t show it. Instead she nestled close to him until he put his arm around her, and then she turned into him, one hand on his chest, her face tilted up to his. It was the most natural thing in the world to kiss her. Her lips parted, and before he knew it, they were both doing the tongue thing and breathing heavy in that way people did when things got really serious between them.

“Chantry,” she moaned when he finally pulled back, and he had to remind himself that this was Cinda and he couldn’t do what his body wanted. What he wanted.

She had her arms around his neck, holding on, and he tried to focus on something else for a minute until he could think right. It wasn’t easy. Her breasts pressed against him, round and firm beneath the white silk blouse she wore, and her short pink skirt had hiked up to nearly her waist while they were kissing. All that bare skin provided a dangerous distraction, and he looked away.

“God, Cinda, you gotta stop,” he muttered when she undid two of the buttons on his shirt and slipped her hand inside. “If you don’t—”

“If I don’t,
what?
” she whispered when he didn’t finish, and slid her hand lower across his chest and down to let her fingers graze his bare belly. His muscles contracted. He went to grab her hand and got her breast instead, silk-covered, the nipple tight against his palm. Rational thought went out the door.

He hadn’t meant to, but before he knew it he had her blouse undone, her bra unsnapped, and his mouth on her soft white skin. It was crazy and dangerous and stupid, but it all seemed right somehow, too. All his good intentions evaporated. All he could think was that this was Cinda and he’d wanted to be with her forever, and now she was here with him, kissing him and rubbing him, and making those whimpering little noises in the back of her throat that girls made when they got all excited. It may be cool outside, but here in the gazebo on the cushions, heat rose up so high and hot they got rid of most of their clothes and never felt a chill.

Cinda wore just her panties, those thin bikini things made of white lace, and while he kept his pants on because he knew if he took them off it’d be too late, they were unzipped and partly down. He lay on top of her, his knee between her thighs, his hand sliding beneath the edge of her panties to touch her. He couldn’t stand much more. He had to stop. It just felt so good, her hand on him, stroking him, and her all soft and damp and hot against his fingers.

“Please,” she moaned against his mouth when he took his hand away, “please, Chantry
 . . .
”

“I can’t.” He didn’t know how he got that much out. The breath was so tight in his lungs he could hardly breathe. “We can’t.”

“I want to.” She arched up into him, hips pushing hard against him until he thought he’d explode. He tried to think but all he could do was feel, her hand searching and finding him again, fingers tightening. Finally he grabbed her wrist and held it still.

“Have you
 . . .
Cinda, have you ever done it before?” It was the craziest thing. He wanted her to say yes, and at the same time he wanted her to say no.

“You mean go all the way?”

He felt stupid for even asking. It wasn’t any of his business, but on the other hand, maybe it was. “Yeah.”

“No. I want you to be my first.”

He was disappointed and elated at the same time. She’d waited. He should feel really good about that, but all he could feel at the moment was the driving urgency of his body to finish what had been started. He’d have to get this under control fast if he wanted to do the right thing. And with Cinda, it had to be right.

He kissed her, but not like before. This time he just held her face between his hands and kissed the corners of her mouth, then lightly on the lips before he let go.

“If you want me to be your first, we have to do it right. Not like this. Not out here where just anybody might come up and find us.”

“I locked the screen door.”

“That should slow ’em down for about five seconds. Not tonight. Not here.”

She sat up, and in the candle light he saw the incredulous expression on her face followed by something else. Disappointment? Anger?

“You’re turning me down?”

“Not because I want to. Believe me. I’ve wanted to be with you like this for longer than you know. I just
 . . .
I don’t have any protection with me. And I don’t want your first time to be out here. Okay?”

“So, if we were in the back seat of Cathy Chandler’s car, that’d be okay?”

He looked away. Past sins were catching up pretty fast. He’d known she had to hear about it, but now he wished she hadn’t. When he didn’t say anything, she grabbed for her blouse.

“Dammit, Chantry, I never thought you’d be such a jerk.”

“I care too much about you to do things wrong again,” he said without looking at her, and heard the silk of her blouse swish as she pulled it on.

After a minute she said, “This is embarrassing.”

He looked at her. “Don’t be embarrassed. You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s me. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I don’t want you to be on that list again.”

He’d thought he’d ruined it all, but to his surprise she smiled at him. Leaning forward, she put her hands up to his face and held him between her palms, then kissed him very lightly and with such sweetness he thought he’d never be able to move.

“I’ve never,” she whispered, “met anyone like you.”

“Is that good?”

“Oh yes. That’s the best.”

Some of the awkwardness eased, and by the time they got dressed and blew out the candle they were laughing. Cinda’s hair had come down into a tangle, and she’d lost the glittery thing that held it up. Her makeup was smeared, and he did his best to help repair it with his shirttail.

“How’s that?” she asked finally, and he looked at her and shook his head.

“You still look like a raccoon. What the hell is that stuff you girls wear?”

“Mascara and eye shadow, and don’t complain. We do it for boys. Well, if anyone says anything, you can just give them one of your dangerous looks and they’ll shut up. Come on.”

He wasn’t at all sure about the “dangerous look” part, but didn’t want anyone saying anything bad to or about her, either. He shook his head.

“Look, why don’t you go back to the house by yourself and put some more of that goop on your face. That way, no one will know we were out here together. You know what I mean.”

She smiled, dimples cutting deep on each side of her mouth. “Find me inside.”

He watched her walk back across the yard, short skirt swinging against her bare legs, and thought he must have lost his mind completely. Only an idiot would have stopped like he had.

He stood with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, wondering if he’d screwed up, when a voice behind jerked him around.

“So, you finally got her, huh.” Chris Quinton stood in the shadows, hair a pale blur barely visible in the light that came from the house. He took a few steps forward, then stopped. “Don’t worry about me saying anything. You’ve kept my secret, I’ll keep yours.”

Chantry’s mouth went flat. “Nothing happened.”

“Right. That’s why Cinda looks like she’s been mud-wrestling. Like I said, I won’t tell.”

He thought about what Rainey had said about Chris’s grandfather, how he sat like a toad waiting for careless flies to happen by. Chris was a chip off the old man’s pecker, it looked like, collecting his own set of secrets.

“We didn’t do anything but mess around a little.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard how you mess around
a little
.” Chris shrugged. “Just be careful. If she gets knocked up, you’ll be turtle food. Granddad gets serious about things like family honor. Trust me on that. I should know.”

Chris turned around and walked off before he could think of anything to say, and Chantry blew out a heavy breath. This could get really out of control. He didn’t trust Chris Quinton for one minute. Not with anyone else’s secrets.

He slept late the next morning.
When he woke, Mama and Mikey had gone to church and he was alone in the bedroom except for Shadow. The dog laid his head on the edge of the bed to stare at him with those light, clear eyes, intense and conveying the message that he wanted to go outside. He got up and put on his pants, and went barefoot through the kitchen to open the door. It was a pretty day, warm already, sunshine lying on the fields already tilled and planted.

Mama had given up trying to get him back to church after she had a conversation with Reverend Hale. He could only imagine how that had gone, but the result satisfied him. No more counseling, no more Hale-fire. Mama had seemed perplexed, but said that God worked in mysterious ways. It was certainly true in this case.

Shadow sniffed around the yard, then lifted his head, staring off into the distance at some unseen prey. He had his head up to catch the wind and scent, his body going rigid. Then he let out a deep bay and took off on three legs with his hurt leg held up, moving faster than Chantry had ever thought possible. Startled, he took off after him, bare feet churning through freshly-plowed furrows, trying to whistle the dog back before he got too far.

But Shadow had the scent now, and nothing would deter him. He cleared the field and the road, flew past Dempsey’s house and down the field road that led into the woods and all the way to the river. If he got that far, Chantry may never catch him, not in bare feet. He hollered for him again.