Burn It Up

by Cara McKenna

  “Heya,” he offered, and headed for the fridge, after a beer.

  “Hey.” She had a mixer in one hand and a big bowl of steaming, boiled potato chunks before her on the counter. The baby was in her rocker beside the table, those wide blue eyes gazing up at a menagerie of colorful, dangling animals.

  “My mom put you to work?”

  “Sort of. She seemed stressed-out, so I told her I could make dinner. Well, I mean, she’d already had the meat all seasoned and ready to go. I just put it in the oven and peeled some potatoes.”

  She’d done more than that. There was gravy simmering on the range, and when he peeked in the oven there was a pan of vegetables roasting on the shelf above the beef.

  “Smells like heaven,” he told her.

  “I hope so. Should be ready in about twenty minutes.” She glanced at the oven clock. “I hope Casey’s back in time.”

  “Oh right, he’s at his mom’s place, huh?” Miah twisted his bottle open and took a long drink. Goddamn, beer never tasted so good as when you were ready to collapse.

  “Yeah,” Abilene said, her voice almost too casual, somehow. “And some other errands, I think.”

  “You been feeling okay, on your own?”

  She nodded. “I’m not worried about James anymore. If I was on my own all night, I might be anxious, but not for any good reason, you know?”

  “Wish I could say I did know.” Miah took a seat. “But this bull with whoever’s been sneaking around has me pretty keyed up myself. One of our hands had to go and stay with her folks until it’s resolved. The whole thing’s got her real uneasy.”

  Abilene frowned, dropping chunks of butter in with the potatoes. “I could see that. I mean, the guy was creeping around the bunks, right? And with a camera? Gross.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Pardon me,” she said. “I’m gonna be noisy for a minute.”

  Miah scooted down to the end of the bench, watching the fidgeting baby and sipping his beer while Abilene whipped the potatoes. Man, did this kid have tiny feet. And fingers. And fingernails. Everything, miniature. He wondered how long it’d be before he found himself with a daughter or son of his own. A few years, at least, but he was starting to believe it would still happen, sooner or later. He was over his ex, finally. When he’d still been mired in that heartache, meeting someone new, someone he could love enough to start a family with . . . It had seemed all but impossible.

  But time healed all wounds, they said, and he felt ready to move on. Best way to get over one girl is to get on top of another, Vince had told him. That wasn’t Miah’s style. Simply to have a crush on somebody would be a welcome change to his daily life. If only that somebody would turn up. Fortuity didn’t exactly draw the bachelorettes in with its promises of gainful employment and exotic nightlife. He might just be grateful for the casino after all, if that was what it took to bring some new blood to town.

  His mom walked in just as Abilene finished with the mixer, followed shortly by his dad. No Casey, but around here dinner waited for no man.

  Miah told his folks about Kat’s departure, and about the property scout. The former was sad news all around, and inconvenient to boot, but the latter . . . With a beer cooling his blood and good food in his belly, the whole thing struck him as a touch funny, in retrospect.

  “That much?” His mom gaped when he passed her the card with the figure on it. “That’s even more than the first guy’s offer. What’s he know about this place that we don’t?”

  “Sure he knows something,” her husband said bitterly. “Probably has some tip about whatever new highway’s bound to be coming through or some horse crap like that.”

  “Even if that was true,” Miah said, “it’s not like anybody’s going to make us rich—not with whatever compensation a road would bring. Not enough to justify that number.”

  “Maybe somebody’s found gold in the creek,” Abilene joked.

  “They’re about a hundred and twenty years past the trend,” Don said, dismissing the idea with his fork. “All we’re rich in here is land. Land that we haven’t wrecked, unlike some of the so-called modern cattle operations I’ve seen.”

  He was getting het up, and his wife shot him a look. “Don.”

  “Mark my words—this is no dude ranch they want to put in. It’s either some slimy insider deal, some highway scheme with a load of slot parlors and service stations and strip joints, or else it’s some industrial outfit, after our range. MacPherson’s, maybe. I’ve been hearing rumors that they want to go large-scale grass-fed for years now—”

  Miah’s mom butted in. “Don, not only is this all beside the point; it’s incredibly boring for Abilene to listen to.”

  Abilene shrugged, seeming amused by the whole thing. “She’s right, though. If you’re never going to sell, who cares what they’re after?”

  “True enough,” Don said sagely. “True enough. If we ever sell, it’ll be from a natural disaster. A complete dry-up or a massive outbreak. A true catastrophe, not just because some sweaty shit from God knows where shows up, waving his boss’s wallet around.” Too late, he realized he’d sworn, and apologized to their guest.

  “I’d love to know what the deal is, though,” Miah said, and speared a wedge of carrot. “Can’t say I’m not curious, the way they’ve come on so strong these past couple weeks.”

  “The casino’s starting to look like it’ll actually go through,” his mom offered. “Have you driven by the foothills lately? The heavy equipment’s all come back, plus we got a notice in the mail with a blasting schedule from the Silver State people.”

  Miah smiled dryly. “I’ll hand it to the new contractors—they’re more courteous than Virgin River ever was.”

  His mom nodded. “Or gun-shy, anyhow. And either way—whether they’re ethical or just trying to cover their butts—you won’t catch me complaining. If there’s got to be a casino, this is looking like a vast improvement, so far. No one can argue that.”

  Miah smiled grimly. “No, I guess not. Though it sure would be nice to wake up and realize the whole damn project was just an awful dream.”

  • • •

  Once dinner was over, Christine ushered Abilene from the kitchen, telling her she’d done plenty for one night and to go take it easy while the rest of them dealt with the dishes.

  She was only too happy to comply. Mercy had been suspiciously calm all evening, and was now due to boil over at any minute. Sure enough, she went into a fit no sooner than Abilene had started up the steps to the guest wing. It took a good hour to meet all her needs and settle her back down, but at long last she seemed to have wailed herself into exhaustion. Maybe she’d even make it two for two, and sleep through the night again.

  Abilene got settled in bed, though she wouldn’t sleep herself, yet, not until Casey was back. A glance at the clock beside the reading lamp told her it was ten of ten. If he didn’t show by eleven, she’d text him. She didn’t want to appear too needy, but at a certain point, worry would kick in. Worry for him, and worry at the prospect of facing a night without him nearby, in case there was another prowler incident.

  For now she’d read and try to not fret too much about what could be keeping him out for so long, when all he’d said was that he needed to take a phone call and check on his mother—

  She turned at a soft rap on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Casey’s voice. “It’s only me.”

  Only. Only the person she wanted to see most in the entire world. “Come in.”

  She sat up straight, flinging the magazine she’d been browsing under the bed. It was an old copy of Glamour that she’d “borrowed” from the pediatrician’s office more than a month ago. She’d bring it back next time Mercy had a checkup, but for now, it felt like a lifeline to the outside world. Or actually, no—to the past. To simpler times. She’d had subscriptions to about five of those dumb magazines when she’d been fourteen, fifteen—sent to her grandma’s house, since her dad would never have a
pproved of all that makeup and such short skirts. She’d pored over them the way she once had her Picture Bible, fantasizing that someday she’d be skinny and fashionable and have a cell phone and kiss boys.

  Casey closed the door softly behind him and walked to the crib to peek over the edge. “Hello, beautiful.”

  “Little Miss Beautiful had a huge meltdown, so now she’s out cold. You don’t need to whisper.”

  “You about to steal some sleep yourself?”

  She tried to read his expression. There was intensity there, but not lust, she didn’t think. “I don’t have to.”

  “Cool if I hang out?”

  “Of course.” If Abilene had her way, his sleeping in her bed would be the default.

  “I heard I missed your home cooking tonight.”

  “No big deal.”

  “I would’ve liked to have been there. You Texas girls can cook.”

  “The trick is to never drain the fat out of anything,” she teased. “Did any of the deputies down the road give you grief on your way back here?”

  “I got stopped, but they just checked my ID and called Don, got the go-ahead. Small price to pay for a little peace of mind.”

  That gave Abilene pause, and she hoped she wouldn’t find herself in a similar position. She had no clue if her fake license was good enough to fool an actual cop, and to boot it didn’t match the name on her registration. She’d have little choice but to show them her real one, and that name wouldn’t ring any bells if they called Don. Allison Beeman? Never heard of her.

  “Did you have that call you’d mentioned?” She asked it casually, though Casey had implied that whatever the conversation was about, it was miles from trivial.

  “Yeah.” He joined her on the bed, sitting beside her with his back to the headboard and spreading his legs. He patted the space between them. “C’mere.”

  She relocated, smiling broadly and glad he couldn’t see how goofy she must look. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and his chest warmed her back through their T-shirts.

  “So what happened?”

  He wrapped his arms around her middle, linking his fingers at her belly. A few days ago, such a thing would’ve made her self-conscious, but he liked her body, just as it was. She trusted that much.

  “This’ll be between you and me,” he said. “A few people know, but not many.”

  She laughed, nervous now. “You’d better tell me before I start jumping to wild conclusions.”

  After a deep breath, he did. “When I was about twenty, my mom started going crazy.”

  “Okay.” She knew the gist of the situation, but not much. She covered his hands with hers, rubbing his knuckles. “Is this to do with her? Like a diagnosis or something?”

  “Not exactly. But the backstory is she has some kind of early-onset dementia. She was just starting to get spacey and forgetful around the time I moved away. Now she’s pretty much checked out of reality, twenty-four-seven. Spends all her waking hours watching TV.”

  “That happened to my great-grandma, but not until she was almost ninety. I’m sorry. I know how sad it is.”

  “Yeah, it is . . . But so a few years ago, I started getting these funny spells myself. I thought they were seizures. Maybe they are; I’m not sure. Anyway. I was worried maybe those episodes were the first sign that I was going to lose my mind, like my mom did.”

  In a breath, Abilene was worried. Terrified. She held his hands tight, bracing herself.

  “She started declining when she was in her early forties,” he went on. “The, um . . . One of the reasons I told you I didn’t think you and I could be anything serious is because I didn’t know if that was happening to me, too. My mom has spells—not as violent as mine, but similar. It seemed likely it was related to her other issues. I was afraid to know for sure what it was all about, because me going crazy seemed like the most obvious explanation. And if I was, it didn’t seem fair to get into something with you. Like I’d be making a promise I might not be able to keep, if things ever turned serious.”

  Jesus, she’d never have guessed his hesitation was down to something so intense. “So what was the phone call about?”

  Another deep breath. “I sent DNA samples to a company that does genetic analysis. Mine and my mom’s and Vince’s. They can look at your genes and tell you if you have the markers for a load of diseases and mental disorders.”

  She nodded. “I’ve seen the ads on TV.” She’d always thought it sounded like a terrible idea—she worried enough as it was, without knowing what latent illnesses might be scribbled all over her DNA. But in Casey’s situation, she could appreciate needing answers.

  “The call I had was with an analyst from there,” he said.

  “And?”

  “And my mom has the markers for dementia. No shock.”

  “And you?”

  A long, ragged, quaking sigh, and his arms trembled around her waist. Her heart broke in an instant.

  “Oh, Casey.” She wrapped her hands around his wrists and held on tight, as though that could fix it somehow. “I’m so sorry.” For him, and for herself. This was nothing like the theories she’d cooked up, for why he was being cautious about the two of them. So much worse. So much more—

  “No,” he said through a hitching breath. “No, honey, I’m all right. I don’t have what she does.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not going to lose my mind.”

  “You’re not? You’re sure?”

  “As sure as science can make me. And Vince is fine, too.”

  “Jesus,” she huffed, short of breath, heart racing. She craned her neck to meet his blue eyes and found tears glossing them, a sight she’d never seen before. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I thought you were upset.”

  “No, no. I’m just . . . I’m rattled. Relieved, but a little messed up. I’ve been operating either out of denial, or under the assumption that I was going to go crazy for so long . . . I think I’m in shock.”

  “It’s good news, though. It’s all good news, right?”

  He nodded—she felt the gesture and heard his relief in the next exhalation he let go. “It’s the best fucking news ever.”

  “I wish you’d told me before, what it was all about.”

  “No, you don’t. You’ve had enough to worry about.”

  That was probably fair. But what did all of this mean for them?

  “How long have you been worrying about this?”

  “For a few years, now—that’s when the episodes started. But I blocked it out for most of that time. I can be real good at denial, when it serves me.”

  Can’t we all?

  “It was after I came home and saw how bad my mom had gotten . . . Then I was fucking scared to death. Too scared to get the testing done, even. It seemed better to just live in the moment and ignore what might be coming.”

  “Why’d you change your mind?”

  “Partly Duncan. He suggested the testing, last fall. And once we’d gone into business together, it started weighing on me more. I mean, before, my future was nobody’s concern except mine. But now I have him counting on me. And my brother, since I’ve started pitching in, helping with our mom. And . . . and you. You and the baby. You depend on me.”

  “Well, yeah, I have. But you shouldn’t feel like—”

  “No. No, I like that you do. Maybe a year ago, the thought of it would’ve sent me running for the hills, but now, here, actually being that for the two of you . . .” He unlaced his fingers and turned his hands around to take hers. He balled them into fists and squeezed them. “I meant what I said in the car. I like how it feels. Being useful. Or needed.”

  A hopeful and possibly naive thought occurred to her. “Do you think this is going to change things for you? I mean, do you think that whatever it is you used to do—the shady stuff—do you think maybe you chose that because you figured you had nothing to lose? No future ahead of you, so fewer worries about doing s
omething to mess that future up?”

  “No doubt. I’ve always operated thinking, well, if I’m fucked no matter what I do, I may as well make a load of easy money and enjoy it while I can.”

  “And this changes that philosophy?” She wanted to hear him say yes. Without knowing what he’d done and how bad it might have been, there was no telling if she’d change her mind about being with him. But hearing him say he’d do things differently now, that his priorities were changing . . . She’d be a liar if she said that wouldn’t weaken her hold on her feelings for this man.

  “Course it does,” Casey said. “The things I’ve done . . . Well, let’s just say that the threat of a life sentence is a lot more scary when you know your lucid years could go on for another five decades.”

  “Life sentence?” she echoed, all at once unnerved. She turned around to face him.

  He smiled and smoothed her hair. “I promise you it wasn’t anything violent.”

  “That’s something . . .” That was a whole heck of a lot, but . . . “But that’s still scary.”

  “Never scarier than now that I have a real life ahead of me. Trust me. I’m changing.”

  What about your feelings for me? Does this change them at all? She’d grown bolder these past few days, more demanding, but she didn’t yet dare ask that question aloud.

  She wanted to cling to him in the wake of this talk, in any way she could manage. Sex seemed the context least likely to give away exactly how darn attached she’d grown.

  “You said you like feeling needed by me,” she said.

  “More than I’d ever expected I would.”

  “I’m glad. And I do need you. In more ways than you know.” As she stroked her hand down his chest, his eyes widened and his lips parted. She felt a rush at those changes, excitement to watch him transform, the relief on his face tensing to something darker. “It’s meant a lot to me, being with you this week. I’ve gotten back a part of myself I’d almost forgotten about; it’s been so long since I’ve felt these things. Been this way.”

  He swallowed, looking hazy. “You have no idea how goddamn good that makes me feel, honey.”