"Yeah. But this ain't over. Not for you. There's no way in paradise Sam won't hear of it. It's all over Sweetwater now."
"And Billy—what's he so mad at me about?"
"Aw, that's hurt pride and worry talkin'. He stuck up for you fast enough when Davis put his big mouth in, didn't he?" T-Tommy patted Shiloh's arm awkwardly. "Come on. Let's go see the judge. Then I think you and Billy Walker better face the music. Tell your daddy, the both of you. An' I'll see you get real nice cemetery plots, side by side."
T-Tommy's humor, thought Shiloh, left a lot to be desired. And she was so tired, too tired to find anything funny.
"Where's Judge Sewell?" T-Tommy demanded the second he and Shiloh reentered the jail office.
Davis and J.C. looked up from the card game they were playing at a big desk.
"Well, now, it's the strangest sight I ever saw," J.C.
drawled, pulling a stubby pencil from behind his ear to mark a score, then leaning backward in the chair, balancing it precariously on its two back legs. "He's decided he needs to speak to Billy."
Shiloh stared. Had she heard this lawyer correctly?
"Say what?" T-Tommy sounded as incredulous as she.
"Yep. He's in there." Davis nodded toward the next room. The door had been firmly shut between the office and the cells. "He's been in there for—what? fifteen minutes? Just him and Billy Bob."
J.C. came lazily to his feet, his tie hanging limply, the loosened knot near his fourth shirt button. "Nothin' like a father-and-son talk. And Sewell got around to doin' it before his kid hit thirty. Ain't parenthood wonderful?" He swung his suit coat from the back of his chair. "Something tells me that Billy's not in need of a lawyer anymore. Wonder how Michael is fixed in that line?"
T-Tommy looked again toward the doors. "I hope—I hope Sewell's being decent to Billy. What in the world could they be talkin' about?"
"Whatever Billy wants, I figure. He's got this one beat. Davis, here's where the game ends, and you owe me eighty-three cents." J.C. gathered up the cards from under the deputy's nose.
Shiloh was vaguely aware of the conversation between the two of them. Her thoughts were on other things: on the mess Michael was making of his life; on the enmity this was going to cause between her and the Sewells; on Billy's irrational behavior this morning; on the incredible idea that for the first time in his life, his father had come to talk to him.
The thought might have been a catalyst: the second she paused to wonder why Sewell was here, the door between the rooms opened and he emerged. His face was ravaged with anger and worry, and his clothes were unnaturally rumpled. No suit coat, his tie crooked, even some sort of stain on his pocket. It was almost like looking at one of those what's-wrong-with-this-picture scenes, Shiloh thought, surprised.
The judge glared at her, then ignored her presence.
"I worked most of the night on my campaign plans. I've had little or no sleep in forty-eight hours. But on my way home from my meeting, Mrs. Sewell called me on my car phone, Farley, nearly distraught. What did you say to her?"
"I imagine she told you."
"Some wild-eyed story about my son. She says this . . . this man in here"—Sewell's head jerked backward, in the direction of Billy's cell—"could well be the guilty party."
"He's got an alibi."
"If it's some lowlife from that honky-tonk—"
"I'm his alibi." Shiloh couldn't bear the contempt in Sewell's voice. How dare a man like him speak of Billy in that tone? "He was with me."
His body jerked a little in a quickly contained reaction. "At one o'clock in the morning?" he ground out, twisting to confront her.
"And at two."
Exactly what she was confessing turned his face into a red mask of fury. "You little slut. You cheap little tramp. From my Michael, who would've given you anything, to that—that—" he stalled for words.
The words hurt, even coming from him under these circumstances.
"That'll be about all I want to hear of that," T-Tommy said sharply.
"Michael's not guilty of what you're accusing him of. Isn't that what you need to hear? I'm telling you."
"He'll have to stand right here and tell me himself. I mean it, Judge."
Judge Sewell stiffened before he finally said, "For God's sake, Farley, this is an outrage!"
"But maybe he can't come in. Maybe he was hurt in a wreck and he's in a clinic just this side of Memphis. Maybe he didn't get out of this scot-free."
The judge sucked in his breath; his face paled. Then he choked out, "It was a one-car accident. Sheer coincidence that it should happen at the same time as this Arkansas man's. Why do you suppose I wouldn't let Michael talk to anybody here? He hit a ... a telephone pole, but he was able to drive the car to a Memphis service station. He collapsed there. Some people called an ambulance."
"And he was admitted to a clinic, for all the world to hear about. It's a good thing those people came along," T-Tommy said ironically. "I'm gonna want to see that car, too, and those medical records."
"If there's the least attempt to accuse him, or publicize this, you'll regret it, Farley. It was a simple collision, and he had a simple injury. We both know that Walker is your man, no matter what she says." Sewell motioned furiously toward Shiloh. "She hates Michael. She'd do anything to break him."
"Davis, you take Shiloh back there and y'all open that cell. Billy's free to go," T-Tommy said calmly, but his eyes glittered as he focused on Sewell. "And take your time. I got a few things to say to the judge."
♦ ♦ ♦
Billy was lying deathly still on the narrow cot as Shiloh approached the cell; he had a pillow crumpled under his head, and his hand was under that.
Nothing unusual at all about the way he lay.
So why did it seem too quiet here? As though a stupendous explosion had occurred and left behind destruction and a deadly, frozen silence?
A statue might have been on that bed instead of a flesh-and-blood man, but the stiffness didn't come from sleep. His eyes were wide and blue as he stared up at the ceiling. Maybe he hadn't even heard their approach.
Davis felt the blanketing quiet; he was subdued as he unlocked the cell door and barely audible as he spoke. "C'mon, Billy. You can go. Sheriff says so."
Billy made no movement at all; not even his eyes blinked.
"Did you hear me?"
Shiloh stepped through the doors, stopping just inside. "Billy, let's go. It's all right."
He turned his head at her words, the blue, unwavering brilliance focusing on her. "You're still here." The observation was blank.
"Because you are. But we don't have to stay anymore. Come on, Billy. I don't like it in here."
He considered that for a minute, his eyes the only thing about him alive as he scanned her from head to toe. "Maybe I do. Maybe I don't want to go out there."
What was wrong with him?
"They know you didn't do it. They know it was Michael."
He turned his face away to stare at the wall beside him.
Finally alarmed, Shiloh glanced first at the baffled deputy, then stepped closer to look down on him, on the sprawled long legs, on the half-opened shirt, on the taut line of his throat. Billy.
The unspoken word was full of a sudden longing, of a wild, sweet mixture of compassion and passion; she reached out without thought to touch the heavy rumpled hair and brushed his cheek instead.
"It's Judge Sewell, isn't it?" she asked quietly. "What did—"
But the man under her fingertips exploded into life, as if her fingers had detonated a violent charge inside him. He sat up in a rush and pushed himself off the cot to stand. Shiloh pulled away, hurt by his rejection but unable to say anything in front of the deputy.
"I want my personal things back," Billy said to Davis.
"Okay. They're outside."
"And I can just walk out?"
"Sheriff says so."
"All of a sudden, everybody believes me."
"She's spent most of th
e day makin' sure they do," Davis retorted, nodding toward Shiloh.
Billy contemplated Shiloh a long moment. Then he bent to scoop up his cap from the bed before going out the open door of the cell. Shiloh moved at last to follow him.
He was acting like a spoiled brat, she thought in a flash of resentment. Hurt pride, as T-Tommy had said?
At the entrance to the office area, Billy stopped cold, blocking the way. Over his shoulder, he shot Shiloh a startled look of warning that was at least an improvement over the blankness of his face up until that moment.
"Are you sure," he asked her ironically, "that you really want to be my knight in shining armor, Shiloh?" 'What?"
"Nothing, except I think we've just met another dragon." With that cryptic remark, Billy twisted sideways in the door and motioned her through. Glancing up at his set jaw, Shiloh didn't see Sam Pennington standing in the office until Billy nodded toward him.
Stopping as sharply as if she'd hit a glass wall, Shiloh had only time to register one thought: her father's expression looked like Billy's.
"You didn't show up at the awards ceremony at three," Sam said tonelessly. The dark red plaid of his cotton sport shirt and its matching solid tie made a hot, vivid splash of color as he stood in the dingy office, like a gash of blood in the tans and browns of the other men. "So I called home, and Laura tells me some things I don't know. Some things that the whole town's talking about."
Nobody moved.
"I want to know"—his voice gained power—-"how is it that my only daughter can take up with Billy Walker, and nobody ever breathe a word of it to me? Not one damn word."
"We meant to tell you today."
Sam stared at Shiloh as she spoke, then laughed, an ugly, disbelieving sound. "Well, there's something I had to look forward to and didn't even know it. Big fool that I am, I thought you were gettin' over Michael, that that was why you'd been so quiet. But not you. Laura says you've been runnin' with him for weeks. That he came to the house like a sneakin' thief while I was gone."
"That was my fault. I was too afraid to tell you. Billy wanted to. It was wrong."
Sam swallowed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "What are you doin' with him? I said it four years ago. He's not the man for you. And I'm not even going to try to talk about it. You've ruined yourself with Walker today. They're sayin' you were with him most of last night . . . God." He pulled at his collar, then moved abruptly. "Get whatever you've got here. We're leavin'. I don't like airin' my dirty laundry in public." He glared at J.C. and Davis.
Shiloh didn't know whether or not Billy wanted her at this minute, but she did know one thing: if she didn't come through now, she'd never have another chance. Once before, her father had commanded and she'd followed. It had taken four long years and these last few weeks of agony to get back to this point again, but here it was—a second chance.
Billy wasn't speaking or touching or even breathing, it seemed. But she felt it anyway, the dark wave of tension that emanated from him.
This was the moment of truth.
"I'm not going with you."
The clear words dropped into the thickness of the room, as certain as death. Sam froze. "What?"
She took a step backward from his furious, stunned glare, until her shoulder brushed the front of Billy's shirt as he stood sideways behind her. But Billy didn't reach for her; this was her fight.
"I'm staying with Billy."
"You either come with me or I swear before God, you'll stop being my daughter. I'll cut you off like I never knew you."
"Please, Papa—" The words clung to her throat; it was hard to speak past the tears and despair that waited in her heart, ready to strike as soon as she stopped fighting them off.
Sam held out his hand; four years fell away. Shiloh loved her father. And she loved Billy with all the passion of a first love, just as she had then, but now she knew the cost of Sam's outstretched palm. No halfways, no compromises.
"It's either him or me," Billy had said all those long days ago.
She blinked back the tears and let her body rest against Billy's, against the heavy thud of his heart, and she shook her head.
Sam's face blanched white, his eyes blazed; he let his hand drop slowly away.
"You don't know what you're doin', Shiloh. I'll cut you off without a dime. Without a home. You'll have no place to go. You don't think you'll live with him, do you?"
She didn't know; she hadn't thought that far.
But Billy's hand was there suddenly, wrapping her waist, pulling her into him a little; she looked up into his eyes, pleading silently with him for help, and she knew what to say.
"Why can't I live with him?" she answered steadily. "He's my husband."
A hard shudder went through him at her words as she gazed steadfastly up at him, into the sudden blaze of promise in his face.
The three men opposite them didn't move. Shiloh thought she'd remember forever the way the lawyer's coat hung from his limp hand. Davis's toothpick dropped from his suddenly slack jaw.
Sam choked out, "What?"
"We got married in Memphis more than a month ago."
Her father's face flooded with a tide of red blood. "All this time, you've been in my house, I've been beggin' you, thinkin' you might reconsider Michael, and you've been married to Billy Bob Walker?"
Billy pulled her a little tighter against him; he hadn't said a word until now, but his movement and his still, calm face as he looked Sam dead in the eye spoke it all.
"That's right," he said. "She's my wife, just like I meant for her to be four years ago." For his life, he couldn't keep the tiny touch of triumph out of his voice.
"And you were waitin' for her all this time, weren't you? Like a damned vulture. I could feel it, the way you were watching for her to come home. I should'a run you out of town years ago, Walker."
"It wouldn't have changed the way things have worked out," Shiloh said pleadingly. "Can't you give him—us—a chance?"
Sam pulled himself into order. "You've made your bed, like your mother did. But there's one difference. I wouldn't let Caroline come back the last time. She finally tried to, but you didn't know that, did you? You've lied to me, stuck a knife in my back just like she did. But I raised you. A parent can forgive a lot. The day that you get through with Walker, you come back home. I might forgive you, and we might patch up the mess you've made of your life. Until then, I don't have a daughter."
He had to push J.C. aside to get out the door. His back was straight, his head high, his steps sure. He would live after all, Shiloh thought in misery.
Sam Pennington was tougher than nails.
And she had Billy. She didn't want him to see her cry, so she twisted into his arms, pressing her face against his chest, clutching his waist tightly.
His embrace was hard as he squeezed her against him.
Maybe he wouldn't notice the wetness of her face if she stood here for a minute, wondering if here, in his arms, was really where she belonged.
Sweetwater had been waiting all afternoon to hear what was going on in that jail.
Billy and Sewell and the Pennington girl and Sam himself—it was going to be good, the story that explained this day. The parade had dulled long ago in light of these events.
Luscious tendrils of gossip had already seeped out: Pennington's daughter and Billy Bob had been caught. Or maybe she'd told. Caught doing what? some nitwit wanted to know.
Now rumors floated that it was Michael and not Billy whom the driver in the wreck had identified. There was a terrible irony in that, one which Sweetwater savored on the street corner and the courthouse steps.
But the most shocking piece of news was yet to come.
Cotton was the first to wring anything from Davis as the deputy emerged from the jail in the late, late afternoon, and the news he brought back to the courthouse after that encounter sent an already dizzy Sweetwater reeling again.
"I swear it on a stack of Bibles," Cotton recounted fervently to his listeners.
"That girl's gone and married Billy Walker!"
15
"Like I said, you're free to go," T-Tommy finally told Billy, his voice uneasy.
Shiloh waited for him at the door while Davis returned his personal belongings. Billy shoved the knife and the wallet back into his pocket, then looked at the ring an instant before he slid it on his finger. When he faced Shiloh, he seemed almost confused.
"You need me to drive you home? Since you don't have your truck here?" the sheriff offered tentatively, looking from him to the girl.
Billy hesitated, then he, too, glanced at Shiloh. "He can ride with me," she offered, and after a moment's pause, Billy nodded.
T-Tommy followed them out to the car and after Billy docilely climbed into the passenger seat, the sheriff caught the door before it closed.
"I'm sorry about this mess, Billy Bob. And you and Shiloh sure knocked me flat with your news. But I want you to know that I wish you well. You be good to her, you hear me?"
Billy answered without looking at the other man. "Yeah. I will."
T-Tommy watched him a minute, then spoke to Shiloh as she buckled herself into the driver seat.
"And you, Shiloh, you take care of him. If you need anything—"
"We'll be fine." Billy's words cut off T-Tommy's admonitions. Neither his face nor his conversation held much emotion.
The sheriff nodded, then reluctantly closed the door.
Shiloh pulled out of town silently, going south, mostly because neither of them had any family in that direction. She'd stood all the family she could today.
They had nowhere to go.
The truth was both painful and embarrassing, but she might have handled it better if Billy Bob had been acting differently. He couldn't seem to shake the dark stillness, the silence, that she'd felt in him when she walked in the cell.
Billy Bob Walker Got Married Page 23