"Sounds like he's waitin' for things to be perfect," Willie commented.
"That's the way he likes everything. Daughters, too." Shiloh's voice was quiet.
Willie shot a look at Billy, who'd gotten still and quiet. "He's gonna live a mighty lonely life, if that's the case. Nothing's ever completely the way we want it," the old man offered.
"He is. Lonely, I mean." Shiloh poked at her bacon and eggs.
"People are people. You're gonna hate some and love some, and some are gonna look up to you and some are gonna try to pull you down. But it's still better to get out and live with them, and put up with their faults and your mistakes, than to live completely alone." Willie rose heavily as he finished speaking to go to the sink.
Billy ran a hand around the back of his neck and took another sip from his coffee cup, eyeing his mother over the rim.
"I reckon Grandpa's lecturing Sam Pennington this time, Mama, not you," he said gently.
"I'm livin' my life the way I want to live it," Ellen told her father.
"So is Sam," Shiloh said, with a trace of darkness in her voice. "But I'd like to go to church with you, unless Billy needs me for something."
He shot her a sideways, wicked look from his long eyes, then buried his nose in the coffee cup to drain it.
"Nothing I can think of, right at this minute," he said meekly. "Maybe later," he added suggestively. This time his fingers raked along the angle of his jaw, fresh shaven from an episode not long after dawn when he'd locked himself in the bathroom with her while she showered. She remembered clearly—very clearly—how his shave and her shower had culminated.
Under the table, she stepped on his foot in a scandalized warning.
"They'll look you over good, honey," Billy drawled. "First off because of who you are, and second, just to make sure I hadn't damaged you in any way." Laughter lurked behind his eyes.
"Now, Billy," admonished Ellen. "Don't scare her. They're good people. I'll be ready at nine thirty, Shiloh. And it pleases me that you'll visit this Sunday."
When she had gone, Billy leaned close to Shiloh, his blond head nearly touching hers, whispering conspiratorially, "Jimmy Mabrey's mama and daddy go there. Wayne Mabrey's a deacon. By now, they know what we were doing in the greenhouse yesterday. There's probably a commandment against it."
Under the table, his hand suddenly slid up under the loose shirt of his that she wore, and his fingers raked her stomach. She jumped, reddening, glancing frantically across the kitchen to where his grandfather stood looking out the window.
"There ought to be a law against you, Billy," she muttered, "and those wandering hands. They're everywhere, even on Sunday."
"Nope. They're just on you."
♦ ♦ ♦
Billy and his grandfather worked in a companionable silence for a while in the fruit stand, cleaning, restocking.
"Been a real good summer so far," said Willie, just before the white car came over the horizon. He watched it approach as he spoke to his grandson, who was down on his hands and knees with the watermelons.
"Hope you've been keeping the girl close," the old man told him.
"What?"
"You may need another alibi. Here comes T-Tommy." Billy twisted, rising to his feet as the sheriff pulled up in front of the stand. "Mornin'."
Neither responded to T-Tommy's greeting. He threw up both hands in surrender.
"Okay. I'll just come out and tell you. I'm bringin' bad news. Where's Shiloh?"
"Gone to church with Mama," Billy answered slowly. "This has got something to do with her old man, right?"
"Have you still got that Cadillac of his?"
"It's sitting at the barn. Nobody's been driving it. I meant to bring it back into town and just hadn't done it. Maybe this afternoon. Shiloh doesn't want it."
"Don't you touch it, Billy. That old bastard's gone and filed a report with the highway patrol, chimin' it's been stolen. If a trooper catches you with it, you'll be in hot water all over again."
"Stolen! He knows better than that! His own daughter was driving it." Billy slammed his fist into the big pole that held up one corner of the porch.
"Well, you know how that goes. He's hurt, and he's madder'n hell. He's after anybody he can get, and he hopes it's you, even if it just stirs up trouble for a little while."
"You let him file that report?" Willie asked T-Tommy grievously.
"Not me. I just found out what he'd done last night. It's a good thing Billy didn't get caught driving it."
"He gave them Billy's name?"
"Nope. He didn't go that far. Just an auto theft report. He wants it back, I think, just so he can make life that much rougher for her. 'Cause you see, he figures she needs it, and deep down inside, he wants her to come crawling home because the two of them"— he nodded at Billy—"can't make it."
"She's not coming back. Tell him that," Billy said to T-Tommy fiercely.
"Not me. But I'm gonna pull this Cadillac into town behind my car, right up to his door. Wiped clean of every print on it. Say it's at the barn?"
"Hey, what happened to Juliard and Sewell?" Willie called after T-Tommy.
"Oh, them. Well, it appears Juliard thinks he made a mistake. After Sewell's people got hold of him, that is. Now he can't remember who hit him. It's all hushed up in the media, too. And I heard that Pennington was picking up Juliard's tab at the hospital. Wonder how much else went into some sweet little bank account for the guy, back home in Magnolia?"
T-Tommy shook his head cynically. "I tell you, Willie, I'm thinkin' real hard these last four or five days about retiring."
After the sheriff s car had nosed off toward the barn, Willie said to Billy Bob, "I told you Pennington was a mean son of a bitch. He wants the girl back, just like T-Tommy said. But you can't tell her about this deal with the car. Let her believe we took it into town, or had it taken."
"It would kill her to know what he's done," Billy said somberly. "She loves him."
"There's more than that to this here situation. You're gonna sound mean and jealous, too, if you ride Pennington too much. Best thing to do is just stay clear of him when you talk. We sent the car back—-it's nothing much. Okay? No mention of him."
"I'm not going to let him take her away. She won't go," Billy vowed angrily, then strode off toward the pecan groves, swearing viciously to himself.
That night he made love to her with hard, possessive hands that allowed her little or no room to move, and it wasn't until she protested that he relaxed his hold on her.
Afterward the fan blew across them, cooling their skin and calming their heartbeats.
"We took the Cadillac back to town. T-Tommy came and helped us."
Billy spoke the words in the moonlit darkness of the room, breaking the silence between them.
She shifted her head on his shoulder to look at him. "Did you? I hadn't noticed."
There was such a long silence that he finally relaxed. She hadn't cared enough to ask.
But just as he ran his hand down her arm, she rolled on her side to face him.
"Did you take it to—to Sam?"
"No. Reckon T-Tommy meant to."
"Oh." "You miss him." His words were slow and accusing. "I'm not going to lie and pretend I don't, Billy. He and Laura were my whole family." "They were. Now I am."
"I've proved that, haven't I? I just wish Sam would understand that I can love you and still love him, too."
"A husband always takes a man's daughter away, even if it's only a little. Most men just get smart enough to understand and let it happen because they can't stop it. It's natural, Shiloh."
"I know. Why can't Sam see that? I just hate that he's disappointed and alone." Her voice caught, as if she were crying.
"It's his own fault," Billy returned, his voice hard.
"I know he doesn't want to see me hurt. If he'd just give in, and understand that I love you, he'd gain so much that he doesn't have now. His daughter back, and a son—"
Billy snorted. "Fo
rget that, baby."
"And someday, he'd be a grandfather, wouldn't he?" she asked wistfully.
Billy raised up on one elbow to look down on her as she lay beside him in a tangle of sheets. "Do you love me, girl?"
"You know the answer."
"I want to hear it, anyway."
"I love you, Billy."
"Enough to last even when Pennington never comes around, and when he refuses even to look at those babies you're talking about?"
"I think he will someday, Billy."
"But if he doesn't?"
"Then yes, I love you enough even for that."
"I hope you mean it, because it's a man's right to expect his wife to stick by him, even over her own family. I'm not in the wrong here, Shiloh, and I swear, I won't back down, even for you. And I damn sure won't for your daddy."
They had days of peace after that, when on the surface things lapped smoothly along.
Billy spent most of his time out on the tractor; he had another lot of trees to get ready for delivery in a week. Shiloh helped Ellen in the mornings; she'd discovered she liked hanging out clothes in the summer sun. Must be the Irish coming out in her, she thought ruefully.
And after lunch, she went out to the fields with Billy until it got so sweltering hot that they had to quit. Then like as not, they'd drive out to their hidden little rock at Angel Lake for a fast swim and a not-so-fast lovemaking session.
Ellen got used to their not coming home in time for supper. Usually they fell asleep out on the moss under the shady, dappling trees and didn't wake until after the sun had set.
It was as comfortable, Billy said, as trying to sleep in her bed, which was too short for his six-foot-three frame, and he swore that as soon as he got these trees sold, he was going to take a day to move his own bed into her room.
It was an idyllic existence; Shiloh felt sheltered from the whole world, yet more people came to Walker Farms than she'd ever seen at home. They drifted in without announcement or fanfare, staying for a cool drink of tea or a slice of watermelon: two or three ladies from the church; a crony of Willie's; and the most vocal of all, friends of Billy. The big one they called Toy was nearly comic. He came mostly to convince himself that his buddy had really bitten the dust and gotten married.
But it was a neighbor, Harold Bell, who strolled into the first serious fight between the bride and groom late one afternoon after a little more than three weeks of wedded bliss.
"Don't you think you could take just a little time and teach me how to drive this truck?" Shiloh asked, her voice coaxing.
"Ah, honey, what for? I'm tired. Let's just go for a swim like always." Billy was already tossing two large towels that he'd vandalized off the clothesline onto the seat of the truck.
"Because I might need to drive this truck someday, that's why. Everybody else can—you, Ellen, even your grandpa if he has to." Shiloh's voice was stubborn as she followed him around to the driver's side.
"So if that many people can, there'll always be somebody here to take you where you want to go." He spoke as if that settled it and climbed into the truck.
But Shiloh caught the door as he tried to pull it shut. "I mean to learn to drive this thing, Billy. If you don't teach me, I'll come out here and do it myself."
He sighed, pushing his cap back on his head, running one hand down his face. "Why?"
"Why do I want to learn? Because I've never been someplace where I—I couldn't go where I wanted. It feels like I'm trapped here."
He straightened his wide shoulders a little, his face stiffening as he looked at her.
"I didn't mean that the way it sounded." Her words were quiet; she looked down at her own fingers, intertwining her hands together. "Cars and trucks are just the way people go these days. I don't like knowing I can't operate the only one you've got."
"Where you planning on going, Shiloh?" He propped his right elbow up on the steering wheel and waited for her answer. Too quiet. "Out of this trap?"
She stepped up into him, her hands reaching for his blue-jeaned knees, her eyes searching his. "Don't be silly, Billy Bob. If I wanted out, or away, there are other ways. I'd pick up a phone."
"And call Sam?"
"No. I don't want out and I don't want Sam. I want to be with you, you stubborn man. But it's a human right that people get to drive themselves around sometimes, isn't it? I want to know how to drive a straight shift—this one. Yours." She pushed him in the chest with her hand for emphasis once or twice, her eyes sparkling with temper and daring.
She knew exactly what she was doing, getting this close to him, he thought in resignation. Especially wearing the denim shorts he liked and the cool little top that revealed entirely too much skin from his angle right above her.
And the truth was, he'd feel the same way if he were taken somewhere without transportation. He wasn't trying to keep her a prisoner; he wanted her to be happy, to come and go as she pleased.
The problem was he hated to see her drive his truck. It was seven years old, had nearly ninety thousand miles on it, and he'd used it hard, for farm work. It was going to hurt to see her with it instead of one of those expensive numbers she had once tooled around in.
He'd rather teach her to ride Chase. At least they were worthy of each other, a beautiful animal and a beautiful woman. But she was a little afraid of the big stallion. Billy could sense that, and he guessed Chase wasn't a real practical alternative for travel.
"I mean to buy you a car, Shiloh," he said tightly. "It may not be a Cadillac, but I'm looking. I ought to be—we ought to be able to afford something after this next sale."
"Okay," she agreed. "But I still want to learn about this one. Just in case. Please, Billy." She dropped a row of light kisses across one side of his face. "Teach me, okay?" Another row on the other side.
"I can think of plenty to teach you," he retorted, but he slid over in the truck seat, lifting first one long leg and then the other over the gear shift. "Come on. I might as well die young."
She flashed him a dazzling smile before she slid in the seat he'd just vacated.
"What do I do first?" she asked breathlessly.
"That's the clutch. And these are the gears, see? Here in the middle is neutral."
The lesson was not a success.
She ground the gears; she couldn't seem to make things shift smoothly, so they jerked up the gravel road to the barn, the engine dying every third jerk; and when she wound up with the truck finally out at the barn, it was turned sideways, its bed on a downhill slant toward the row of shrubs beside the fence. Every time she let up on the clutch to shift the gear from reverse to first, the truck slid a tiny bit farther downhill, toward the shrubs and the little pond where Billy's horse stood, drinking and watching.
"Okay. Easy—easy—try to keep a foot on the clutch and the brake, then touch the gas with your other foot," he instructed warily, one hand grasping the open window, the other the back of the seat.
It was stifling hot on this muggy afternoon; his face was wet with sweat.
"What do you mean, my other foot?" she demanded, panic stricken. "I've only got two. That's three pedals you're talking about."
"I know, I know," he said soothingly. "Just turn your foot over there sideways, try to press the clutch and the brake with the one foot—no—no, Shiloh!"
They slipped another foot backward; his head slammed the rear window when she stood on the brake.
Then the tailgate brushed Billy's prize shrubs and the back of the truck tilted even more downhill. The pond beckoned, the horse snorted derisively.
"Okay." Billy said it with finality, shutting his eyes to rub the back of his head. "That's enough. Lord, Shiloh, how hard can this be?"
She rubbed the shirt against her skin where rivulets of sweat ran between her breasts. "It's impossible, that's what. How can a normal person get off a hill when they have to mash three pedals at once? You just tell me that, Billy Walker."
"Normal people don't get in this situation," he inform
ed her, opening his door.
"Where are you going? You think I can't drive this, don't you?"
"I know you can't get out of this mess," he returned, smugly. "I'm coming around to the wheel. Let me get us off this hill. I don't think I can stand any more driving lessons today."
"I can drive this. I will," she shot at his back, then peered at the floor to see what to do. Without warning, her foot slipped off the clutch, and the truck gave a quick, long slide backward, hitting some object as it did.
She screamed, then rode the brakes again, and the truck died completely, shuddering into quietness. It was too quiet, in fact.
"Billy!"
She looked around frantically. Where was he? Fumbling with the gear shift, she slid it into first, then pulled on the emergency brake.
"Billy!"
Shiloh's feet met the ground just in time to see Billy Bob picking himself up out of the mud near the pond. What was he doing down there? She hadn't hit him, had she? Looking like a thundercloud, he glared up the hill at her, shaking leaves and grass and mud off of himself. Then he advanced back up toward her, his movements deliberate and threatening.
"What happened?" Her voice shook a little.
"What happened? I'll tell you what—I was stupid enough to leave you in the truck while I went behind it to see if we were stuck on this hill or not," he said furiously. "Next thing I knew, the thing was about to roll over me. You ran through the fence, and I tore down two good shrubs and damn near broke my neck running to get away from you. Are you crazy?"
She ran after him as he stomped up to the open door and shoved himself under the wheel.
"It was an accident. My foot slipped off the clutch. I didn't know you were behind me—"
"Get in," he bellowed, then forced himself to calm down for a quieter explanation. "I've got to turn this thing around."
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