Wild Flower (21 page)

“Now, you said you're Camille. What's your fellow's name?” he asked, nodding up at Mathias, who was holding the mic perpendicular to his lips, singing like nobody's business.

“Mathias,” I told Clark, lifting my eyes to watch him onstage, and his eyes sought me out at once, smiling even as he sang. “His name is Mathias Carter.”

“Carter, you say?” Clark said. “Of Minnesota, you said?”

“Yes, near Bemidji.”

“Will you two be in town long?”

“We planned to head to Bozeman tomorrow,” I explained. “We're here to see Mathias's relatives.”

“Well I'm right glad I showed up this evening,” Clark said. “My wife, my Faye, passed a few years back, and the boys are always caterwauling that I get out of the house more. I surely am delighted that I found the time tonight.”

We danced to one more before Mathias, amidst roaring cheers and whistles, passed the mic to Garth, who cupped his shoulder, grinning. They spoke for a moment, and then Garth said into the mic, “I'm taking over on this one, folks, so grab your lover and get busy.
Dancing,
that is. Shit!”

Mathias hopped from the stage and came through the crowd with his indigo eyes on me; everyone seemed to want his attention, to compliment him, but he was a man on a mission. He caught me close and I wrapped my arms around him instantly, kissing his stubbly jaw.

“You were wonderful,” I said proudly, drawing back to see his face. He was hot as a log in the fire, his eyes glinting with excitement.

“That was a rush, holy shit,” he said, and then remembered his manners, extending a hand to Clark. “Mathias Carter. Garth said you're his dad.”

“That's right, son. Clark Rawley. Good to know you. Thanks for letting me steal your fiancé for a few dances,” Clark said. “You are a lucky man.”

“I couldn't agree more,” Mathias said softly, holding me around the waist, smiling tenderly at me as the guys started up “Amazed” by Lonestar.

I slipped my arms about Mathias's neck, stroking the curls that formed there in the humidity. As Clark headed back to the table, I said, “You're amazing. I don't know how to explain it, but you seem to belong there, singing. I swear I had the strangest sensation while you were up there.”

“How do you mean?” he asked softly, his arms tightening protectively around me.

“No, it was a good sensation,” I assured him. “There was joy in it, a sense of belonging. I can't explain exactly…” My eyes moved up and to the left, as they did instinctively when trying to visualize past events. I said softly, “We – all of us, I mean, you and me, and those three – were sitting around a campfire. We were singing.”

“Kindred spirits,” he said again, holding me close. “I feel like we're supposed to be here too, like we were led here almost.”

“Me, too,” I whispered back, as we continued dancing slowly, remaining in an embrace rather than a more traditional stance. I added, “And you're a natural up there. Holy shit, honey, you should see yourself.”

“I thought I was about to puke before we started,” he admitted.

“I could see that,” I said. “I was really worried for a sec there. But I should've known better.”

“You know what could make this evening even better?” he asked. Before I could respond, he grinned and answered his own question, “You up on stage for the next set.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “No way. I sing for you at home, nowhere else!”

“And you're really good. I need your Dolly to my Burt,” he said, grinning. “Or better yet, your June to my Johnny. We could sing ‘Jackson,' Garth said he had the lyrics.”

“Thias, I can't, I'd die,” I said, eyeing the crowd of revelers.

“I would never let that happen,” he assured me. “Please, honey? My sweet, sweet honey?”

“Maybe,” I hedged, caving a little, his favorite nickname for me pouring warmly over my skin, just like it sounded. “Maybe just one.” And then, a devil hopping on my shoulder for the second time today, making itself comfortable, I teased, “Only if I can be your sweet, sweet
, sticky
honey, you know, the kind you really have to lick off the spoon…”

His eyelids lowered and his dimple was deep enough for me to dive into, the gold in his eyes catching fire. He said in his throatiest voice, “Forget singing, let's get out of here right now. This minute, I mean. Damn, I'm already hard.”

I shivered even as I giggled, pressing a little closer to him.

The song was ending. He murmured against my lips, “Please?”

I teased, “Please let's leave, or please sing with you?”

“Sing first, make love all night later,” he promised. “I will lick every last drop of that honey, honey. You can count on it, but you have to sing with me first.”

His promise literally made my knees weak, and I heard myself say, “I will.”

He grinned and kissed me again, taking my hand as he led me through the crowd. Garth caught sight of us making our way back to the stage and said, “Give it up for Mathias Carter! Looks like he sweet-talked his woman into singing with him, so let's also give Camille the
warmest welcome you have!
”

I could hardly breathe as Mathias led me atop the stage and I stared out over the crowd from this unfamiliar vantage point; I had never so much as been in a play in my life. There seemed to be ten thousand pairs of eyes. Someone wolf-whistled shrilly, and Mathias laughed delightedly, catching me around the waist with one arm as Garth passed him back the mic. Garth, Case and Marshall were all drenched in sweat, grinning, Marshall twirling one of his drumsticks. Mathias announced, “Camille agreed to sing with me, and I just want all of you to know that this woman makes me happier than I've ever been in my life.” There was a collective, rippling wave of
awwwwws
. Mathias curled his palm over the top of the mic and asked Garth, “You got those lyrics you mentioned?”

“Case, you got ‘Jackson?'” Garth asked.

“Here, hon, I got those right here,” Case said to me, sidestepping cords to get over to us, pulling a tattered half-sheet out of his pocket. My hand was shaking so much that I couldn't grab the paper, but Mathias held it for us and he was so clearly elated that I was up here with him (I was too, beneath the terror), that I felt a little of it drain away, especially when he handed me the mic and then curled his big warm hand over mine, steadying it. Marshall tapped out the count with his drumsticks and it was now or never.

Mathias and I sang this song to each other all the time, to entertain Millie Jo at the breakfast table, or harmonizing in the shower either before or after we took care of other more pressing matters there (and my face flushed hotly at that thought), and so as a result I knew it well. I had just never sung in front of anyone else, other than my daughter and my little sisters. “Jackson” was also the song my own dad had been named for, once upon a time. I thought my heart might explode as our cue neared, and my voice wobbled just a little before I lifted my chin and gave it my all. Dammit, how often would I have a chance like this again?

Mathias grinned as he recognized that I was all right, his voice rich and sweet, mine on pitch (mostly), and people were screaming for us, actually screaming, whistling and cheering, waving beer bottles. I could hardly believe the reaction and for that moment felt like a superstar. I didn't even need the lyrics.

This is so crazy
, I told him with my eyes, even as we sang.

It's crazy as shit
, he agreed.

When we finished the song, I was hyper with laughter. Mathias was trying to say something to me, but I couldn't hear him over the screeching crowd. He gave up trying to speak and kissed me.

“How about one more?” Garth leaned near to ask. “Shit, you two are good luck. Netta told me people are calling their friends to get their asses here. I don't think I've ever seen the place so packed. Pretty much all of Jalesville is here.”

We ended up singing for the next hour. Afterwards the crowd begged for an encore and the guys obliged, playing two more before begging off for good. We all but collapsed at the table where Clark Rawley was still waiting, grinning and delighted, rising to kiss my hand.

“Lovely, my dear, just lovely,” he said. “You two are naturals.”

“Shit, tell me you'll consider moving here,” Garth said to us, laughing and shaking his head before he downed a beer in about two gulps.

“What did we do without you two?” Case wondered aloud. “Jason is officially out!”

“Jason, who?” Garth agreed. “Carter, what'll it take to get you to stay through the weekend? We'll pay you. We have two more shows.”

Mathias, who had also just finished a beer in record time, as he was sweating akin to having just intensely worked out, said, “I would love to, if we had the time.”

“You gotta get back to a job?” Case figured.

“That, and our daughter,” Mathias explained, and I felt a burst of warm happiness that he would refer to Millie as such, without getting into the specifics. “She's staying with Camille's mom while we're away.”

“You got a baby girl?” Case asked, growing all mushy and doe-eyed. “Aw, I love little kids. I want a bunch of 'em but I haven't found the right woman yet. Someday though.”

“What's her name?” Garth asked.

“Here, I've got a picture,” I said, fishing my wallet out of my purse; Clark had been kind enough to keep an eye on it while I was onstage. I noticed the green light on my phone blinking, indicating a message, and resolved to text my sisters in just a minute, to tell them about our incredible evening. Shit, and I better include Tina, Glenna and Elaine too. They would flip out when they heard. I found the most recent photo I had, in which Tish and Ruthie were posing with Rae and Millie Jo on the dock, just at sunset, all of them grinning and adorable.

“Dang, you two have a lot of kids,” Garth teased, taking the picture from my hand. Case and Marshall crowded closer to look.

“Millie Jo is ours,” I told him, smiling, indicating her. “She's two.”

“Holy shit, who's the girl with the gorgeous eyes?” Case asked reverently, tracing a finger just above Tish's face.

I regarded him with a smile, then looked once more at the image of my sister. Tish really was beautiful; I just hadn't looked at her through someone else's eyes in a long time. In the picture she was smiling her exuberant, effortless smile, her eyes almost sparkling right off the photo. She had Aunt Jilly's eyes all the way, true-blue and decorated with thick black lashes. Her long, curly dark hair was hanging over one shoulder, perfectly gilded by the setting sun, and she was wearing a white bikini top, halter-style. She would die if she knew good-looking guys were checking out her picture right now. I could just hear her.

“Those are my little sisters,” I explained. “Tish and Ruthann.”

“Wait, what's her name?” Case demanded, snatching the picture from Garth.

“Patricia,” I explained. “Tish is her nickname.”

“Is she eighteen?” Garth asked me, clearly picking on Case, driving a shoulder against his friend's side.

“I'll wait, if not,” Case said with drunken determination, and we all laughed at his earnest face. He begged me, “Can I keep this?” And then, again with reverence, repeated, “
Patricia
.”

“Yes, she's eighteen, and no, you can't keep it! My sisters would kill me,” I told him, still laughing.

“Where you kids sleeping tonight?” Clark asked.

“Over at Green Springs,” Mathias said, naming the campground. “We walked over here to have supper.”

“Well, I'd be obliged if you'd consider staying the night with us instead,” Clark invited. “We'll help you collect your gear and you can follow us out to the homestead.” When he saw our surprise at this invitation, he added, “I wouldn't normally ask two strangers to my home, you'll understand, but there's something I would like to show you. It's ancient. I hadn't thought of it in years, if you want to know the truth.”

All around us The Spoke was slowly emptying of revelers, the evening winding down. The women named Lee, Pam and Netta were behind the bar, cleaning. A few last customers lingered there at the smooth wooden length, laughing and rehashing the show.

Clark Rawley smoothed a finger and thumb over his mustache in a gesture seemingly to collect this thoughts, and elaborated, “When I heard your name, son, I had a remembrance. It's not that ‘Carter' is so unusual, but it reminds me of something from way back, when I was just a kid. My granddad had an old freighter trunk packed full of things from his own granddad, who fought in the Civil War. My brothers and me used to root in there like three pigs at a trough. There was a telegram, an old Western Union, from a man named Carter. Rung my bell when I heard the name.”

I froze. Mathias leaned on his forearms and asked intently, “Malcolm? Was the man named Malcolm Carter?”

“See, now that's what I mean,” Clark said, and Garth and Marshall were studying Mathias now, too; Case was still mooning over Tish, oblivious to the rest of us. Clark went on, “How in the world could you know that?”

Mathias said quietly, “We can be ready in just a few minutes.”

Justin and Rae got home about an hour after I finished supper with Jo; I had promised we'd meet her and Blythe back at Shore Leave around nine. I had spent the hour cleaning the kitchen almost floor to ceiling. The dishwasher and the dryer were both issuing muted rumbling, the air scented lightly with lemony bleach, when Rae came bounding up the porch steps and into the house.

“Hi, Mama!” she chirped. “Me and Daddy had supper with Grampa!”

“Hi, love,” I said, holding her close and kissing her forehead. Justin followed a little more slowly, his dark eyes somber upon me as he entered, and then surprise lifted his eyebrows just a fraction as he observed the squeaky-clean state of our kitchen and dining room.

“Mama, I gotta potty!” Rae informed me, and scampered back towards the bathroom. I watched her go and then turned back to face my husband, who was standing behind my chair at the table, one hand curled over the top of it.

“You all right?” he asked softly, and I saw the concern in his eyes. He was still wearing his black work t-shirt and faded jeans, his feet in worn socks, as he'd stepped out of his work boots at the door. His dark hair was still wild and appeared to have been roughed up numerous times since this afternoon. Absolute need to be in his arms and held close nearly took me to my knees, but I was still angry. And torn. My eyes flickered towards the counter, where my panties had been laid out this afternoon, and my heart twisted up. But I hadn't the wherewithal to mention this, not yet.

You're probably making something out of nothing anyway,
I thought. Probably Rae was just playing around.

I nodded in response to his question and sensed his intense desire to come and wrap me into his arms. He remained stubbornly unmoving, though his big, strong hand gently caressed the back of my chair. I swallowed at the sight of this and then said, “Jo and Bly want to go to Eddie's tonight, if that's all right with you.”

He said, “Oh yeah, Norm Olson's band is in town, aren't they?”

I nodded again. I asked, “You want to go?”

“Sure,” he said quietly. “Let me clean up first.”

We walked Rae over to Mom's about a half hour later; normally we would have held hands, kept our fingers tightly linked, but tonight we walked with an icky little distance between us, and I hated this. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry, that I was being so stupid, but the words kept sticking in my throat like chewed-up crackers. Like cotton wads. Rae, oblivious to any strain between her father and me, danced ahead, clutching her elephant and yelling back to us to hurry up.

Justin looked damn good, and I had tried pretty hard myself, changing into my prettiest maternity sundress, a lovely robin's-egg blue, which also highlighted a deep glimpse of cleavage. While Justin had been in the shower, I spent a few minutes accenting my eyes and brushing out my hair, which now fell soft and golden over my shoulders. Justin had been unable to keep the smoldering heat from his dark eyes when he'd emerged from the bathroom and into our bedroom, all damp and fucking sexy as hell, his hips wrapped loosely in a towel just to torture me. He knew well how incredible he looked with his powerful muscles on display; more often than not when he came into our room fresh from the shower, I yanked that same towel from his body and demanded his immediate and absolute attention.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he said quietly, holding my eyes as I watched him in the mirror.

“Thank you,” I whispered, but neither of us had moved to the other. Instead I watched in heated silence as he dressed with quiet efficiency, donning his favorite jeans and a fresh black t-shirt, this time one with sleeves, shaking through his hair with both hands in a manly gesture I knew well. Damp, it hung in messy waves almost to his shoulders.

Now, in the intoxicating evening air, we came upon Shore Leave to see Joelle and Blythe waiting for us; Bly called over, “Hurry up, you guys! It's gonna be busy already!”

“You can ride with us,” Jo invited, and minutes later Blythe parked his truck about two blocks from Eddie's, which was already hopping a good half hour before the music even started.

“You weren't kidding,” Justin said to Blythe.

Inside, the small bar was packed to the brim, full as a fish belly, as Gran used to say. We settled at one of the few remaining high tops in the back corner, Jo and I claiming seats while Justin and Bly fought the crowd to go buy drinks for us.

“They won't be able to make it back here until the band starts,” Jo predicted, fanning her flushed cheeks. Her long hair was loose over her bare shoulders. She was wearing a rose-colored tank top and gold hoop earrings, a light sheen of sweat decorating her skin. Eddie's had no air conditioning, which wasn't an issue when the crowd consisted of the ten or so regulars; tonight, with a full house, it was humid as a sweat lodge. Jo looked admiringly at me and said, “You look gorgeous, Jilly Bean.”

I rolled my eyes but still said, “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” Joelle insisted. “That dress makes your eyes look bluer than the lake. And I think you're putting Dolly Parton to shame.”

I giggled, my gaze dropping self-consciously to my breasts. I said, “In my defense, it's about all I have going right now.”

Jo laughed too, rolling her eyes back at me. She said, “You have never been anything but beautiful, and you know it. You should see the way Justin stares at you. You're the crystal-clear water to his dying of thirst in the deepest desert.” She directed her gaze sharply over my shoulder then, lowering her voice to add, “And not just Justin. Shit, that guy over there is totally checking you out. I don't recognize him.” Her eyebrows lifted as she said, “Oh my God, now he's coming over here.”

I turned just in time to see Zack Dixon headed our way, clutching a drink and smiling with just about all of his shark teeth showing. My stomach plummeted to the floor.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit. You can't confront him here.

But what if he was in your house today? What if he touched your underwear?

What does it mean, if he did do such a fucking creepy thing?

My insides curled over on themselves in discomfort as he reached us. He said, “Hey there, Jillian,” and then actually hooked his free hand over my left shoulder. Jo's eyes widened and I shrugged irritably and immediately away. Unfazed, he instead curled his hand over the back of my chair. Jo sent me a look that clearly asked,
Who the hell is this guy?

“Jo, this is—” I felt compelled to say, but he interrupted me.

“You must be Joelle,” he said to my sister, with far too much familiarity. I could distinctly smell whiskey on his breath. “Zackary Dixon. I've met most of the other ladies in your family, but not you.”

“He's from the college in Moorhead,” I explained to Joelle, sending her a message in return,
Discourage any conversation!

“You look
in
credible, Jillian,” he said then, with unpleasant emphasis, and rubbed his palm over the back of my neck.

“Don't,” I said through clenched teeth, angling my chair away from him, with some difficulty, as he stepped immediately closer.

“Did you get my note?” he asked. “I left you one today.”

For a horrible second I thought he was actually admitting to being in my house and placing my panties on the counter, but then I recalled that he'd handwritten a message on a napkin at lunch. I was speechless only for a second. But then I heard myself say tightly, “Please get the fuck out of here.”

“You're even sexier when you're mad,” he said, possibly believing that he was being funny. Before I could move, he reached and drew a line straight down my cleavage with an extended index finger, concluding, “Fuck, you're soft.”

Jo's lips dropped open, her shock nearly as tangible as mine as he let his fingertip linger between my breasts. I shoved his hand away from me viciously, ready to outright kill him; a split second later my husband appeared through the noisy crowd. Just the expression in Justin's eyes was enough that Zack took an immediate and large step backwards. Furious as I was, I almost smiled at this.

Setting our drinks on the table and subsequently freeing his hands, Justin moved into the space Zack had just vacated and asked as though conversationally, “How much do you value your life, buddy?”

Zack said, “Chill out, guy. Are you the father, or what?”

Justin rubbed the knuckles of his right hand against his jaw and asked through his teeth, though still with relative calm, “You have a death wish,
or what?
”

I jumped in at this point, addressing Zack as I said, “This is my
husband
, you moron. And he will wipe the fucking floor with you if you don't get out of here.”

Blythe was back from the bar now too, his eyebrows drawn together. Zack, though clearly buzzed, seemed to finally perceive the intensive threat to his wellbeing and lifted both hands in surrender, still clutching his drink. He said, “Jesus, you people are uptight,” and then turned to thread his way back into the boisterous crowd.

Justin drew a deep breath through his nose, bracing both hands on the table. His eyes were as black as flint chips as he said, “Shit, my blood pressure is off the charts. Who was that? I'd like to know his name before I go kill him.”

I put my hands atop his, which were curled into hard-knuckled fists, and hastily explained, “That was the guy I was telling you about a few weeks back, remember?”

“That's the guy from lunch, isn't it?” Bly asked, staring after Zack. “You didn't want to take his order.”

“The one you said you had a bad feeling about?” Justin said, his eyebrows knitted together. “He's been back to Shore Leave? You should have told me.”

“I know, I've been meaning to,” I said lamely.

“He touched you,” Justin said with grit in his voice. His wide shoulders and arms were taut, his powerful biceps tense and bulging. He would make good on his threat about killing Zack if I said anything else right now, I could see plainly.

“I'm all right,” I assured him, not about to let him get into a fight. “I'm just fine. Don't let him spoil the night.”

Blythe set their beers on the table and stepped nearer to Jo, catching her hair into one of his hands, caressing her neck. He said to me, “Jills, I would have kicked him out today.”

Jo leaned into Bly's touch, saying, “Wait, I'm missing something here. Who is this guy? I can't believe he touched you, Jilly Bean.”

A muscle ticked in Justin's cheek, and again I said firmly, “It's all right. It's done now.”

Justin finally claimed his seat, and I released the tense breath I had been holding. He drew my chair immediately closer to his and lined his arm possessively along the back of it.

“Jills, is this the same guy that Camille mentioned?” Jo asked. “What's the story?”

I curled one hand around Justin's left knee, which was closest to me, and said, backtracking, “That first morning he stopped out, I had the thought that there was something wrong with his eyes. Something just slightly off. He asked me to walk him to his car and I said, ‘Are you fucking kidding me?' and then he seemed embarrassed, so I actually felt bad for snapping at him.”

“He wanted you to walk him to his car?” Justin repeated in disbelief. “What the hell?”

“I know, that's what I was thinking,” I said. “And then he's stopped out for lunch a few times. Camille's had to wait on him.”

“He's the one she said was being an asshole to her,” Jo said. “She just mentioned that before they left.”

“And then he was at the counter today,” I said. “Before I stopped out to the station…”

Justin's eyes were dark and concerned upon me. As I trailed off, he understood clearly and concluded quietly, “And then you didn't think of it again.” He shifted position, looking through the crowd in the direction that Zack had disappeared, before his eyes came back to me. He asked, “What else has he said?” He was too good at reading my face. He insisted softly, “Jilly, I know there's more.”

“He's been out of line,” I replied, which was the wrong thing, as Justin's eyes grew even darker with repressed anger.

“Tell me,” he said tightly.

“He told me that I was sexy…and asked me if you told me that enough,” I admitted, my voice trembling over the words. I explained, “That's when I had Blythe take the order for me.”

They all spoke at once.

“This was just
today
? Why didn't you tell me?” Jo demanded.

“I would have put him out on his ass,” Blythe said. “Jeez, Jills.”

Justin's eyes were outright dangerous and he said, with deceptive calm, “I'll be right fucking back,” and pushed away from the table. I caught his arm in both hands and I could feel the fury flowing from him, in waves. Despite my restraining grip, he stood and cracked the knuckles on his punching hand. He'd always been known for his right hook.

“You guys,” I said desperately. “It's fine. I think he's just an asshole, like Camille said. He's the type that likes to make people uncomfortable.”

Justin curved his left hand around behind my neck and his voice was low and pained as he said, “You've been going through all of this on top of everything else. You should have told me.”

“I didn't want you getting upset over nothing,” I said.

“It's not nothing,” Justin insisted. “I'm going to go and have a little conversation with him right now.”

“J,” I said breathlessly. “No. Please, no. I won't have you getting into a fight.”

Justin looked deeply into my eyes and said, “Baby, I'm not going to get in a fight. I'm just going to talk to him about what's appropriate and what's not.” I knew he was doing what he thought was right, that he was utterly sincere, but I keenly imagined all of the ways that this plan could go south, very quickly and terribly.