Wild Flower (23 page)

I whispered again, “I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, not just then.”

Justin studied me with his dark eyes direct and serious. He said, low and passionately, “I know what she said hurt you. I do, sweetheart, and I'm so sorry.” He covered my right hand, which was still cupping his jaw, and kissed my palm. His voice was soft as he continued, “I wish I could make you understand how little her words even mean. I was in such a bad place back then. I was so fucking angry and bitter, and then terrified that when she left I would be alone forever in the dark, scarred up, looking like a monster. Of course I begged her not to leave me with that feeling. But her leaving was a blessing, and I know you know that.”

“I do,” I whispered, my throat choked. I clung to him.

“Jillian, I can't even begin to explain what you mean to me, how I feel to know that you love me, that you're mine. I walked on that dark path for years, for so long it was familiar to me, the darkness. Oh God, it was so horrible. And then one day, not long after we talked on the dock that night after Aubrey left, I started to see a light. Pretty soon it was almost blinding me, telling me how stupid I had been not to let myself acknowledge the truth.” His words came flooding even more swiftly, “Oh God, Jilly, back in high school I remember thinking you were like this beautiful little wildflower, I had that exact thought. So sweet and sexy, and you were always laughing. I understand now how jealous I was of Chris. Oh God, that night at your wedding. When I danced with you, held you in my hands in your wedding dress, I knew I had made the worst mistake of my life by marrying someone else, and I was so close to telling you so. I would have ruined your wedding, but I couldn't do that to you.” He smoothed his thumb over my bottom lip, tenderly, as he said, “Oh God, baby, after that I forced myself to believe I was wrong and that I had to forget those thoughts. And if I'm totally honest, knowing that you loved Chris so much still rips my heart up.”

“Justin,” I whispered, aching at his words, loving him so much it was close to physical pain.

“No, let me finish,” he said intently, kissing my hand again. “Please, let me tell you. I don't say that to hurt you. I mean that I understand jealousy.” His voice dropped even lower with emotion as he said, “When I look in your eyes, your beautiful blue eyes, and see how much you love me, I can't describe how my heart feels. I could try, but it wouldn't do justice. With you, I'm just me. You look at my face and see me, not all the scars. With you I feel whole. I don't have to hide anything, even the darkest parts of me. I know that I have everything in this world that I could ever need. Jillian, you are my light and my wildflower and my heart. I can't bear to see you hurting.”

“Justin,” I moaned, tears hot on my face, and he made a sound in his throat as he collected me instantly closer, cupping the back of my head with one hand. He tipped his face against my hair. I pressed my mouth to his neck and held him as hard as I could. I said passionately, “Oh God, I love you. I did love Chris once, but I was born to be yours. You are the love of my life, Justin. I didn't mean it when I told you to let go of me.”

He tipped up my chin to kiss my lips, sweetly and softly. He said, “I know it to the very bottom of my heart, baby. I do. And I never plan to let go of you, just so you know.” He stroked the tears from my face and whispered, “Do you see why I couldn't let some asshole talk to you that way? You don't want me to get into a fight, but you have to know that I would do whatever it took to protect you. And I am still really angry about the things he said.”

“I know,” I whispered around the lump in my throat. “But I still hate the thought of you fighting for any reason.”

He kissed my temple and then shifted us gently so that we were lying down, holding me close. He said, “I know. But I would, if necessary.”

“I know you would,” I acknowledged. I snuggled closer to him and then asked, “Was your sister upset?”

Justin said wryly, “Yeah, just a little. Did you talk to Clint about everything? What did he say?”

“He said he was sorry, that they hardly ever do that stuff. I believe him,” I said. “And then he told me that he can see,” and my throat choked up yet again and I lifted to one elbow to see my husband's eyes. I traced my fingers along the side of his face as tears clouded my vision and said, “Clint told me that he can see how much you love me. And that he has never told you how grateful he is for that.”

I could tell there was a lump in his throat too, as he said softly, “I love that kid so much. I've told him, but I hope he really knows it. I think…I really believe that Chris would approve of him calling me ‘Dad.' The first time he said that, Jills, I just about broke down weeping. It was so…it just struck me right across the heart.”

I cupped Justin's jaw, leaning to kiss his chin, his cheek, letting my lips linger on his right temple, where his skin was roughly textured from the scars. I whispered, “He loves you so much. And he knows you love him. Thank you for being such a good dad to him. I knew you would be. Oh God, that night we sat on the dock at the café and you told me you wished you had a couple of kids.” I kissed his right eyebrow and his hands curved around my hips. I whispered, “I wanted to tell you right then that I would be happy to have your babies. I was sitting there thinking that very thing.”

“I sensed that,” he whispered back, warm teasing in his voice as his hands busied themselves on my lower body. “I really did. I should have kissed you right then, but I was too chicken.”

I moved swiftly atop him, pressing close. I kissed his mouth, playing my lips over his, tasting him with the tip of my tongue. A strand of my hair got in the way and Justin tucked it behind my ear, before shifting me to the side and claiming my mouth with his deep, stroking kisses. I spread around him, cradling his big, strong body against mine as we joined together in a sweet, flowing motion. Justin briefly closed his eyes and uttered a deep, throaty sound of contentment, not breaking our kiss, though he lifted his mouth just a fraction to whisper, “I love you so.”

“I love you too,” I said in response, my hands in his hair. “Through all my life, I have loved you.”

And then we were lost to the rest of the world.

“Hop on in,” Clark invited, and Mathias and I climbed into the backseat of his two-ton pickup, a beast of a truck with duallys and a diesel engine. I scooted to sit on Mathias's lap right away and he held me close with both arms; Case clambered in with us and between the two of them in the cramped backseat, it smelled like brewery.

“This is so exciting,” Case said, and he was indeed grinning like a little boy. “I love mysteries.”

Our things were waiting patiently in the campsite that we'd set up before walking over to The Spoke just a few hours before. The men would not let me lift a finger to help, tearing down the tent and loading everything into our truck within minutes.

“I'll head back to the house,” Clark told us. “Case can ride with you two and show you the way.”

After he drove away Mathias, Case and I stood looking up at the wide, starry sky, pausing a moment. Our truck was running; I had told Mathias I would drive us to the Rawleys', as he'd had so much to drink.

“I don't know why I'm just so happy,” Case said then, his words a little distorted from both alcohol and the angle of his throat, tipped back as he studied the heavens. He looked over at us and said, “Like we're all complete now. Isn't that crazy as shit?”

Mathias went over to him and hooked an arm about his neck, and this gesture chimed against a memory, a remembrance…something in my mind acknowledged recognition. He said to Case, “Nah, it's not crazy. I feel the same way.”

“C'mere, Camille, you too,” Case said, and I went and wrapped my arms around Mathias's waist. Case reached and ruffled my hair with his left hand. He said, “It's crazy. I get that. But I feel like you guys know everything about me and that's how it should be.”

He was pretty damn drunk, but I understood he was being sincere.

Mathias said again, “It's not crazy.”

“Fireflies,” Case mumbled then. “I can see a whole field of them.”

I giggled at this and Mathias said, “We best get going.”

Back in the truck, Mathias slid in beside me and scooted to the middle, while Case took the passenger seat and directed us through the countryside to the Rawleys' homestead, no more than a few miles from The Spoke.

“It's a hobby farm these days,” Case explained, sitting with his forearms on his thighs. “Used to ranch sheep in the old days. Clark's family has owned this acreage since the 1800s.”

“Wow,” I marveled, leaning over the steering wheel to peer at the rambling stone house, the two enormous barns, one constructed of wood with a steeply-pitched roof, the other a steel-pole and much newer and sleeker, connected to a huge expanse of split-rail corral.

“Horses,” Mathias breathed with excitement in his tone, sounding like a little boy. “A whole lot of them.”

“Park over there, hon,” Case told me, pointing towards a gravel lot to the left of the older barn. In the distance the outlines of long, low foothills lent the horizon a majestic and mysterious appearance, ancient and unchanging. It appeared that every light in the house was burning, and two dogs galloped out to meet us, barking in furious excitement. Behind the barn, in a stone fire pit the size of Iowa, a bonfire was steadily growing. A bunch of people, all male, came running to help us unload. I had to laugh, feeling a little like the character Millie from the musical
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
, which I had watched numerous times as a kid, when she first arrives on her new husband's farm and is confronted by the reality of all six of his ill-mannered, backwoodsman brothers.

“Hi, ma'am,” they all seemed to be saying, shoving each other around to be the first to shake hands with Mathias and me.

“Jesus, give them some space!” Garth ordered. “Guys, these are my little brothers. Marshall you know, and that there is Quinn, there's Sean and little Wy over there, and then this is Case's brother Gus.”

“Hi, everyone,” I said, knowing there was no way I could attach names to faces. The Rawley boys all resembled each other too much to make distinctions between one another, at least for now, and Case's brother was also a freckled redhead with merry eyes.

“Boys, help carry their things inside,” Clark instructed, settling his hat over his hair and regarding the pack of children with a half-smile lifting his mustache. He said to us, “Come on inside and make yourselves at home.”

I caught Mathias's hand in mine as we followed Clark into his house. Though I was no expert, it was surely designed with the local countryside in mind. The ceilings were constructed of gleaming logs, the light fixtures were antlers, the fireplace almost certainly built of a native stone. The furniture was substantial and bulky, predominantly dark red and walnut-brown leather.

“This is like our cabin on steroids,” I whispered to Mathias, who squeezed my fingers in response. Just thinking of our cabin jabbed a little splinter of homesickness into my heart. I pictured my little porch there, back in the north woods of Minnesota, the hammock that Mathias had hung for me between two oaks, our plans to make it fully our home.

The boys all piled in behind us, toting our luggage up a sweeping staircase to the second floor. Clark led us to the kitchen and offered us seats at the dining table. Centered upon it was a long rectangular flower pot, overflowing with a plant bearing small, sharp-edged pink blossoms.

“What kind of flower is that?” I asked Clark.

“Bitterroot,” he explained. “State wildflower and I'm fond of it, I admit.”

I sensed Mathias looking speculatively at me; he could tell that my thoughts were whirling. I had dreamed of this plant just last night.

I'll tell you later,
I promised him.

“Would you two like to sit around the fire a spell? I need to dig out that telegram,” Clark said. “You say that Malcolm Carter is your relation?”

“He was the younger brother of my great-something grandpa,” Mathias explained. “Boyd Carter built my family's original homestead back in Minnesota, just after the Civil War.”

“Our kin built this place near the same time,” Clark said. “If you'd like to have a drink, relax a bit at the fire, I'll find that telegram directly.”

I traced my fingertips over the petals of the bitterroot, admiring the gentle pink tint of the flowers. I said, “That sounds good. I just need to change first.”

“You two are in the guest room, third door on the right,” Clark directed me.

This room, when I found it minutes later, was decorated with black bears. I giggled at the twin bed (we had little enough space in our full-size back home) decked in a bright-red quilt with a bear's head centered upon it; the sheets revealed more black bears, walking in diagonal lines. Our bags were set neatly at the foot of the bed, and I rooted in mine until I found my jeans, a pair of socks, and one of Mathias's sweatshirts, since I loved the feeling of being wrapped in something that he had already worn, something that carried the scent of him, which I craved.

I shook out my hair and then jogged back downstairs to find Mathias drinking a beer at the table, grinning and amused as he watched Case, who was holding the picture of Tish cupped in his palm; all of the boys with the exception of Garth were crowded behind him, listening respectfully as Case explained with awe in his tone, “This is my future wife, guys, see here. Her name is Patricia. She lives back east. Isn't she just so beautiful? Look at her eyes. They're like sapphires.”

Oh how I wished my sister could see and hear this. She would flip out all over the place, steal the picture back from Case, thump him over the head and give him a piece of her mind. Poor guy had no idea what he would be getting into with my outspoken tomboy of a sister, and then I giggled. It wasn't as though they were ever likely to meet anyway.

“Hi honey,” Mathias said as I approached.

“You got any more sisters?” asked one of the Rawley brothers. They ranged in age from about eighteen to twelve, with the littlest Rawley brother being the youngest. He was probably only nine or ten.

“Yes, that's my other sister Ruthie,” I explained, nodding at the picture. I stood behind Mathias and rested my hands on his shoulders. He lifted his left shoulder and kissed my knuckles.

“Any others, I mean. Marshall already got dibs on her,” the boy said matter-of-factly, and I raised my eyebrows at Mathias, who hid a smile behind a sip of beer.

“You guys are animals,” Garth teased them, coming from around the corner carrying two six-packs of beer, one in each hand. “Those are ladies. Ladies wouldn't give you bums the time of day!”

“Dad said you guys have a new singer,” one of the boys said to Garth.

“We wish,” Garth said, nodding at Mathias. “But these two have to be back in Minnesota. They can't stay here.”

“Shucks,” said the boy.

“Shucks is right,” Case mourned. “Maybe y'all can move out here one of these days. What's your sister do back home? Is she still in high school?”

“C'mon, let's go sit at the fire,” Garth invited, and there was a thundering of bodies towards the door. I stepped closer to Mathias to avoid getting trampled in the crush of boys.

Outside the stars were wild, riotous even with the overshadowing power of the moon. I thought of last night, camping at Makoshika and making love while the sky had seemed to explode with fiery brilliance. Mathias tucked me to his side, surely thinking the same thing, as he slipped one palm over my belly and kissed my temple.

“Aw, let's stop for a sec,” he said with hushed reverence as we passed the corral. The boys had descended on the fire but Mathias wanted to see the horses. I did too, and seconds later we leaned over the top beam. The horses smelled pleasant, familiar somehow; there were three of them in sight and surely more in the barn, as I could hear muffled whirs and sighs, the occasional stomping of hooves.

Mathias whistled low, reaching out a hand, palm up, and was rewarded for this as one of the animals clomped our way and blew out a big heaving breath. I laughed, delighted, as the horse nosed over the fence and regarded us with somber eyes.

“Hi, Clover,” I teased, stroking along her neck. In the moonlight I could not tell exactly what color she was (or if she was even female), though she was two distinctly different colors, light patches on a darker base color. She was warm and her hair bristly beneath my fingers. At my touch she nickered a little and I smiled, climbing up the bottom rung so I could be closer to her face.

“Hi, pretty girl,” Mathias said, rubbing his hands over her neck too. He grinned, his black hair gilded by the moonlight. “What a pretty girl.”

“Oh here comes another one,” I said excitedly. The second animal, all one color, perhaps dark brown, joined us at the fence, nudging a nose into the first horse's side to displace her from our attention.

“They're kind-of like big dogs,” Mathias said, laughing as the second horse bumped it nose lightly against his chest, as though searching for an apple. He scratched along its neck and addressed the animal with the tone of voice routinely used for toddlers and puppies, saying, “You want a belly rub, huh? You want a nice belly rub?”

“Yes, please,” I teased, sliding a little closer to him.

He drew my mouth to his, kissing me sweetly, when Case called from the fire, “You two coming, or what?”

The fire pit was ringed with gorgeous round stones, roughly the size of snowballs we would roll for the base of a snowman, back home. There were frayed lawn chairs placed all around and Mathias and I claimed two of these. In the leaping flames, the tribe of boys reminded me of the kid from
Where the Wild Things Are
, or maybe Peter Pan's Lost Boys. They all looked a little ragged and in need of a mother. I recalled that Clark had said his wife had passed away, and felt a sharp pang of sympathy. I thought of how Grandma and Aunt Ellen would start packing them up in preparation to haul them all home to Landon, where they would be summarily spoiled within an inch of their lives.

“So, is your sister in school still, or what?” Case asked from across the fire. He looked so eager that I giggled again.

“She graduated this spring,” I said. “She's going to school in Minneapolis this fall, to start pre-law.”

“She's smart,” he said admiringly, and then with a mournful note, “Smart and beautiful. She would never see anything in me.”

Everyone laughed at this pronouncement.

“You guys up for a few songs?” Garth asked. He had carried his guitar over to the fire and plucked out a minor chord, a slightly mournful note, and a shiver darted up my spine.

“Are you cold, honey?” Mathias asked, opening his arms. “Come here.”

I moved into his embrace at once, snuggling close. The lawn chair creaked in protest beneath our combined weight.

“Let's hear some old-timey stuff,” Case requested, slurring a little. He was halfway into his countless beer of the night.

Garth responded accordingly; though I didn't at first recognize the melody, it was certainly something that had not been written in this century. After a second Mathias began to sing, low and sweet, and then I realized I knew the song too. We'd sung it back in elementary school. The boys all joined in on the chorus, and “O Susanna” was lifted up into the Montana sky by our voices. Tears were in my eyes as we sang, but I didn't let them spill over. I was just so happy to be here, singing. I looked around at the faces of people I had not known before this afternoon and again felt a sense of belonging, a knowing. As though Mathias and I were meant to be here, on this night.

“That's such a sad song, I always forget,” Mathias murmured when it was over.

Case had his own guitar at his feet, and drunk as he was, he still managed to maneuver it onto his lap and strummed with no hesitation. His eyes half-closed, he ordered, “I want all of you to sing again. I liked it. ‘Red River Valley,' here we go.”