Dark River Road (42 page)

Chantry caught her arm. “You’re wrong. I’m interested, all right. Just not interested in letting everyone here see how much.” When she looked back at him, he said in a low voice, “And I don’t intend to let anyone say things about you, either. So stop touching me like that in front of everyone or I’ll end up in a fight.”

After a couple of seconds went by, she nodded. “Okay. You’re right. It’s just hard for me to know what you’re thinking sometimes. Maybe I just wanted
 . . .
wanted to see how you really feel about me.”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re all I’ve thought about for longer than I can remember. I don’t remember ever
not
thinking about you.”

“Good. That’s all I wanted to know.” She smiled.

He flopped back on the blanket and closed his eyes. “Jesus. I’ll never understand girls.”

“Probably not. But that’s okay. Just understand that this one girl is happy to be with you and I’ll be satisfied.”

“Got it.” And he thought maybe he did. Maybe girls weren’t so different in that way, just needing to know someone liked them best.

They lay out on the warm sand for hours, until the noon sun turned Cinda’s skin pink and his darker brown. “Let’s drive around for a little while,” she said, and he agreed. He’d had enough of lying in the hot sun. Getting sweaty in the sun was too much like work.

The walk across the sand was quick since they didn’t put their shoes back on, and by the time they reached Cinda’s Firebird, they were hopping and laughing. She’d parked in the shade, but it had moved with the arc of the sun so that the leather seats were scorching hot to the touch. Chantry put a towel over her seat since she wore her bathing suit, and he put his shirt back on.

Away from the glare of the sunlight on water, it got cooler, especially up under the pines on a road that looked out over the reservoir. Cinda stopped the car in the shade on a high bluff built of red earth and white rock, and they sat for a minute just staring at the expanse of water and blue sky. It was quiet. A few birds made singing sounds in the trees, and in the distance the muted drone of a boat motor drifted back across the lake, but that was all. The heat, beer, and silence made him drowsy, and when Cinda reached for his hand he curved his fingers through hers and held her, thumb rubbing idly across her palm.

He must have slept. He woke suddenly and she was gone. It was still quiet, but shadows had lengthened across the lake and hills. Crickets and katydids hummed loudly. He sat up, looked around but didn’t see Cinda anywhere. She’d left the keys, so probably wasn’t far.

Reaching over, he pulled the keys from the ignition and stuck them in his pocket, then went to find her. A narrow path led across the top of the bluff, back into the pines and downward. He found Cinda’s blanket and beach bag near a small cove banked with pines and white stones. At first he didn’t see her, then he heard splashing and turned to find her smiling at him from the water.

“Come on in, sleepyhead,” she said, laughing. “It’s a little cold yet but you get used to it.”

Instead, he walked over to kneel close, watching her, thinking how beautiful she was with her blonde hair all dark and wet, slicked back from her face. The sun had turned her face pink and made her eyes glow like jewels.

It was shadowed here, and isolated, like they were the only people around, tucked back into a corner and forgotten. Cinda splashed a little, then turned to float on her back, staring up at the sky with a dreamy expression.

“I love it here,” she said softly. “It has hills and isn’t all flat like around Cane Creek. Sometimes I think I’d like to live in the mountains. Maybe I just want to live anywhere but Cane Creek.”

Because he felt the same way, he just listened, let her talk about her dreams of travel, of going to faraway places with names he didn’t recognize but she said as if she knew them well. She hadn’t been yet, but she’d go one day. Maybe before she went to college.

He looked down at the sandy ground studded with clumps of grass. He thought of Mama, and how she’d wanted him to go to college, then thought of how she’d lied to him all his life. It’d all been a lie, everything he knew, everything he’d thought was right. He didn’t know what to think anymore, didn’t want to be mad at Mama but couldn’t help it. He’d never understand why she hadn’t trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t care that she hadn’t married his father. Why she’d let him believe a lie. Why she’d rather live a lie indebted to Quinton than let the truth set them all free to live without Rainey.

And then, because the hurt he kept at bay started to worm its way back, he stood up and looked at Cinda floating on her back in the water, and unsnapped his jeans. He stripped off all his clothes and waded into the water, just looking at her when she put her feet down on the sandy bottom and stood up.

A smile curved her mouth. “About time you got rid of all those feathers.”

It was too easy to believe. He let her coax him from the water onto the blanket, sunlight warming them where it came through the pine branches overhead, gilding her hair and eyes as she drew him down with her. He kept kissing her, until soon he forgot everything but what felt good, the damp heat of her, the urgency that drove him. If Cinda meant to stop before it was too late, she didn’t. All his good intentions burned quickly to ash.

Only afterward, when he lay atop her still breathing too fast, did he realize just what he’d done. No protection. Oh God. He lifted to his elbows and looked into her face. She had her eyes closed, her mouth drawn tight. He’d hurt her, he remembered, and she’d whimpered when he had so that he’d muttered that it’d be okay. He’d lied.

“God
 . . .
Cinda
 . . .
I didn’t
 . . .
we
 . . .
oh, damn.”

She slid her arms around his neck again and pulled his head down to kiss him lightly on the lips. “It’s okay. Really. I knew it’d hurt the first time. It won’t the next.”

“I should have stopped.” He rolled to one side, pulled her against him with his arm over her to hold her tightly. “I’m sorry. I just
 . . .
didn’t.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Not for being with you. Just for being stupid. I’d never mean to hurt you. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s okay. I love you.”

The world reeled. He held his breath in case he hadn’t heard her right, looked at her. She looked back at him. He didn’t know what to say, how to say what he felt, that he’d loved her for years and would stay with her forever. Because that’s what she’d want to hear. But he couldn’t promise forever. In the end, he said what he could, what was true.

“I love you, too.”

It’d have to be enough for now.

By the time they started back
to Cinda’s car it was late. Afternoon shadows had deepened to dusk. Chantry had the blanket slung over his shoulder and one arm around Cinda, hugging her close to his side. He didn’t want to think about tomorrow, just relish today and the way she made him feel, the way she eased all the emptiness inside him, made it bearable somehow.

Nothing had changed, yet everything had changed.

Another car had parked beside Cinda’s, and the first thrum of alarm tightened his belly so that he slowed down but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey,” he began, but she kept talking, telling him about a place called Katmandu that was somewhere she’d read about and wanted to go, and it wasn’t until he stopped at the edge of the bluff that she realized he wasn’t listening. She turned to look at him.

“Chantry—?”

He jerked his head toward her car and the vehicle parked beside it. It was a white Jeep with a green Park Ranger’s insignia on the side, and a man in a brown uniform leaned against it like he was waiting for them. He flicked on a flashlight as they approached, shone it in their eyes. Then, pushing away from the Jeep, he said, “This car belong to you?”

Chantry answered, “Why?”

“Just answer my question, son.”

“Is it parked in the wrong place or something?”

“That depends.” The ranger sounded impatient. “Are you Cinda Sheridan, little lady?”

“Yes. How did you know that?”

“Because your daddy’s got the entire park out looking for you. Seems like you’re late getting back home.”

Cinda made an annoyed sound. “Well, he knew I was coming here, for heaven’s sake. I’m just fine.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” The ranger’s eyes shifted to Chantry, then back to Cinda’s car. He leaned inside to the rear seat, and flipped open the cooler. “This here’s a dry county. Even if you were legal drinking age—which you’re not—you’d be breaking the law.”

“You can’t look in my car unless I give you permission,” Cinda said sharply, and the ranger swerved his light back to her.

“Don’t need your permission. This car’s in your daddy’s name and he gave me all the go-ahead I needed.”

Chantry knew what was coming next even if Cinda didn’t, and said before she could say anything else that’d get her in more trouble, “It’s my beer. She didn’t even know it was there.”

The light nearly blinded him, shining directly in his eyes now. “That right, boy? Who are you?”

“Chantry Callahan.”

From the way the ranger kept his light on him, he got the feeling he’d already heard that name even before he said, “Violating probation can get you in a peck of trouble, son.”

Oh yeah. He was pretty sure it could. And would.

Chantry would have spent the night
in the Tate County juvenile detention center if not for Cinda. He’d never thought a girl who looked as substantial as cotton candy could be so hard-ass, but she bullied her father about getting him released into his temporary custody. Being a mayor had its perks even in Tate County, it seemed. Being the mayor’s daughter and the granddaughter of Bert Quinton probably had a lot to do with her expectations of fair treatment, but he could have educated her on that if he chose. As it was, he kept quiet and let her be the one to raise hell.

“Chantry didn’t even want to skip today,” she said angrily, “but I talked him into it. And that beer? It’s not his. It’s mine. He just said that to keep me from getting arrested. The least you can do is keep him from going to jail.”

Mayor Sheridan flicked a glance at Chantry but surrendered easily. “Very well, Cinda. I’ll do what I can.”

Chantry wasn’t fooled. He’d seen a glitter in Sheridan’s eye that guaranteed disaster. He’d do what he had to do to calm Cinda, then the minute she was out of ear-shot, Chantry would find himself in that peck of trouble the park ranger had promised.

Mrs. Sheridan stood rigidly in a corner of the room with her arms folded over her chest. If looks could kill, he’d be laid out on the floor already. After a few minutes of listening to Cinda, she walked over to Chantry where he sat cuffed to a chair, and stared down at him with disdain in her pale eyes.

“You chose not to take my advice after all, I see,” she said quietly. “That’s very unwise of you. Things can become much more unpleasant for you than they are now.”

He just looked at her. How much worse did she think they could get? It’d be funny if it wasn’t so discouraging. Maybe he should tell her that he really didn’t give a damn what she did and see if that made her happy.

Mrs. Sheridan was studying him, eyes narrowed, then she glanced over at Cinda again. In a moment, she looked back at him, and this time pure fury sparked in her eyes.

“Did you touch my daughter?” It was a bare whisper of sound, more like a hiss. When he didn’t answer, she slapped him across the face, hard, the rings on her fingers cutting his mouth. His head snapped to the side, and the sharp crack silenced Cinda and her father’s argument.

Cinda recovered first. “What are you doing? Mother, stop it. You stop that this minute.”