The First Law of Love

by Abbie Williams

  “You’ve met a bunch of people around here this week,” Marsh said to me, sipping his beer.

  “And you’ve made quite an impression,” Clark added, joining us, though he remained standing. He said, “I mean that in the most complimentary way, you realize.”

  “I do,” I assured Clark, flattered that he thought so; Case was still looking at me as though concerned, but when my eyes flashed to his, he looked instantly away, out towards the horizon.

  “This guy won’t get our land, will he, Dad?” asked Wy.

  “Not while I can still draw breath,” Clark said.

  “And not yours either?” Wy asked Case.

  “Hell, no,” Case said, and Gus nodded vigorous agreement. Case said, “There’s that info session next week at the courthouse, and I’m hoping to talk sense into some people, Hank Ryan included.”

  “Next Tuesday, right?” I asked, my fingertips twitching for my notebook and pencil. “Al wants me there, too. And who is Mr. Ryan?”

  “Hank Ryan is a councilman, former rancher,” Case explained. “He chairs the council now. He’s been considering selling, I’ve heard.”

  “I’ve heard the same,” Clark affirmed. “Damn, that would be a real score for Yancy.”

  “Why here?” I asked again, not yet having found a satisfying explanation, even in theory. “Why Jalesville in particular?”

  “We’re ripe for the picking, that’s why,” Case said. “Power plant goes belly-up, everyone out of work. It’s almost too good to be true from Yancy’s standpoint. And I still don’t get the sense that they’re here in Montana just to buy vacation property.” He was turning the soda can in slow circles between his strong, long-fingered hands, the hands I had watched for hours last night, as he played and played.

  I took a long drink of my gin and tonic.

  “Enough business talk,” Sean insisted, from the glider a few feet away. “Ease up, you-all. I’m trying to get a little drunk right now.”

  I laughed a little at this and said, “Sorry, I have trouble relaxing.”

  “We’re here! The party can start!” Garth suddenly called from inside the house, as he and his wife Becky, along with their son Tommy, arrived. They came spilling out onto the porch, and I stood at once to go and hug both of them, congratulate them on the newest addition to their family.

  “You look so grown up,” Becky told me, gathering me for another hug. She was angel-faced, blond and blue-eyed, a little more plump than I remembered from three years ago, but she’d just had a baby in the last year. Little Tommy was adorable, already claimed by Sean’s girlfriend, who was cuddling him to her breasts.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.

  “Don’t work too hard while you’re here,” Becky told me, booting Wy from his chair so she could sit near me. I’d gotten to know her fairly well the summer they’d all come to Minnesota. She went on, “I wish I could offer to take you out on the town, but I have my hands so full these days.”

  “You playing later?” I heard Garth ask Case, settling near him with a beer. So far I hadn’t observed Case have so much as one drink; he’d stuck to cola or water, last night too.

  “Not tonight,” Case said.

  “Maybe we can get to the fair next week, though,” Becky was saying, and I refocused on her.

  “The fair?” I repeated.

  “The county fair and the music fest. It’s a good time,” she said. To Wy, she smiled charmingly and said, “Be a honey and go get me a beer, will you?”

  Dinner was incredible; I was becoming far too accustomed to being spoiled in this fashion. I hadn’t yet really tried to cook in my little apartment and dreaded the thought, as I despised housekeeping. We ate on the deck as we had the past few nights that I had been a guest, at an enormous picnic table, Case at the far end, and I tucked away all hints that I minded being displaced from him; though when it was apparent he was planning to leave, no more than a few minutes after dinner had ended, it became a little more difficult to suppress the flutterings of disappointment that seemed to have taken wing inside my body. But of course I didn’t let any of that show.

  He and Gus had a conversation about Case bringing Buck with him, so that Gus could ride home to his and Lacy’s apartment with her, and then Case bid everyone farewell; his eyes scarcely passed over me and then I was watching his shoulders, his back, as he descended the steps leading up to the deck, clearly planning to walk around the house to the barn, to collect his horses.

  Wait.

  Before I had even concocted a good excuse, I rose to my feet and threaded through the chaos on the deck, ducking inside and scurrying across the living room and entryway, just beating Case to the front yard. I startled him as I opened the screen door, I could tell, though he buried that away at once. He was again nearly expressionless as he paused and regarded me silently. He’d donned his cowboy hat since dinner, leaving his eyes in partial shadow beneath.

  “I just…” I said, slightly out of breath, holding the screen open against my forearm. Jesus Christ, Tish. And then, even though I hadn’t planned to, I said what I’d been longing to all evening, “I just loved hearing you play last night.”

  He continued to watch me for a long moment, in which I felt increasingly foolish, but then he said quietly, “Thanks.”

  I was suddenly less than five paces away from him, though I didn’t recall moving. I wanted to reach and take the hat from his head so I could see his eyes without the shadow over them. I said, “You’re very talented.”

  His face remained unreadable, though I saw his chest rise as though with an indrawn breath. Again he said, “Thank you.”

  “Well…good-night,” I said then, suddenly self-conscious as hell, having so obviously chased him out front.

  “You want to meet Buck?” he surprised me by asking. “I have to saddle up Cider, so I have a minute.” So casually, as though it didn’t truly matter to him one way or the other.

  I felt a smile beam over my face before I could stop it, but he was already heading for the corral, resettling his hat as he walked. I followed in his wake, catching up with him at the gate.

  “On second thought, those shoes won’t protect your feet enough,” he said, nodding at my sandals. “You better stay on this side of the fence.”

  I nodded acceptance of this and again climbed up one rung so that I could lean over the top beam. The air was chilly now that the sun had faded and indigo shadows were gathering. Case disappeared into the barn, reemerging a few seconds later leading the two horses. He walked them right up to where I waited on the fence, not meeting my eyes until he drew near.

  “This is Buck,” he said, tilting his hat brim towards the larger of the two, a gorgeous animal with a creamy hide and a thick black mane and tail. He patted the horse’s thick neck.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said formally, leaning to stroke Buck between the eyes. Case was close enough to me that I could have reached and done the same thing to him. I heard myself say, “I always felt like these bangs tickled their faces,” and indicated the clump of hair that hung down between Buck’s ears, almost to his eyes.

  Case laughed a little at my words, a warm, deep sound. He said, “That’s the forelock. It doesn’t seem to bother them much, as far as I can tell.”

  “How would they scratch it, even if it did itch?” I persisted. I scratched Buck there, saying to him, “There you go, boy. How’s that?”

  “They rub their faces against each other, sometimes,” he said. “Or on the fence. But I’m sure he likes that best by far.”

  Cider made a whooshing noise and nudged Case’s side with her head. He laughed again, cupping her big square jaws and planting a kiss on her nose, right on the little white spot I had noticed earlier. He asked her, “Are you a little starved for affection, huh, girl?”

  I almost responded, Yes, very much so, before wisely biting back these words. I continued to scratch Buck’s nose and Case went on, “Here, I’ll be right back. I have to grab her saddle
from the barn.”

  He came back out carrying it against his waist; his arms were taut with muscle, which I observed from the corner of my eye. He drew Cider to the side and efficiently settled the saddle atop her, next draping the stirrup over her back and bending to adjust a strap beneath her belly. He was facing away from me and I studied him openly, the way his very wide shoulders shifted as he made motions I was certain he had made hundreds of times before. But by the time he straightened and turned back to me, my attention was completely focused on Buck.

  Now there seemed to be nothing to say and we studied each other in the growing dusk. I could hardly make out his eyes beneath the hat brim. At last he asked, again so casually, “You have a jacket? It gets cold out here at night.”

  “In the car, I do,” I said, embarrassed by the breathlessness in my voice.

  He nodded and ran a hand along Cider’s flank, as though unconsciously. She shifted and nosed his side again, seeming to bring him back to reality. He said, “Well, this girl wants her stall. I better head out. I’ll see you around.”

  Not quite a statement or a question, instead somewhere in between. I nodded and my breath caught as he moved towards me, but I realized he was just gathering Buck’s reins. He climbed on Cider with effortless grace and adjusted his hips in the saddle. My chin was tipped up to continue looking at him. Silhouetted against the darkening sky, he looked right back at me.

  “Good-night,” he said then, quietly, and nudged Cider with his heels. She responded to this at once, tossing her head and heading out of the corral, Buck trailing them.

  “’Night,” I responded just as quietly, and he tipped his hat brim, like someone in a movie. Without another word, he set Cider into a faster pace, and then was disappearing down the road.

  Back inside, I rejoined the activity and poured myself a second gin and tonic. Gus and Sean, along with their girlfriends, were headed out, calling farewells.

  Probably to go somewhere and have hot, hot sex, I reflected.

  Not that I was jealous or anything.

  I added another glug of gin to my glass.

  “Tish, you wanna play a little cards?” Marshall asked. Everyone other than Clark was settling around the dining room table, inside now, the lights warm and welcoming. Baby Tommy was snoozing in a playpen, and Becky and Quinn’s girlfriend Ellie were mixing up a pitcher of margaritas.

  “Maybe in a bit, thanks,” I said, wanting to sit outside a little longer.

  “Tish, there’s a couple old sweatshirts just inside the door there, on the coat rack,” Clark said as I joined him. “You’ll freeze otherwise.”

  It was growing rapidly chillier, and so I thanked him and retrieved a sweatshirt, shrugging into it gratefully. Back on the deck, I settled close to Clark and said, “Thank you for dinner. I really appreciate it.”

  “Well you’re most welcome,” he said, and then nodded towards the horizon. “Would you look at that?”

  I shivered with delight at the sight of the western sky, flaring now with stars, a thin band of saffron-yellow afterglow behind the mountains. I agreed, “It’s beautiful.” And then I amended, “But it’s more than just beautiful. It’s…majestic somehow. I can’t explain it exactly. Everything out here just feels grander in scale.”

  “I know just what you mean,” Clark said. “It’s all the open sky. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, though I’ve loved visiting the lakeshore in Landon.”

  “I miss it there,” I said softly. Though in the starlight, the mountains in the distance appeared more mysterious and romantic than almost anything I had ever seen, and I found my gaze roving back to the chair that Case had vacated only a little while ago. Was he still riding home just now? How long did it take to ride the distance between here and his place? Was he looking up at the sky at this moment, too?

  Clark and I sat in companionable silence for a time; the gin had warmed my stomach and blurred the edges of my tension, at least a little. But then everything within me sprang to awareness at Clark’s unexpected next words.

  “It’s Case I’m worried about,” Clark said, and my heart lurched, especially given that I had just been thinking about him.

  “Worried?” I asked cautiously. “Why’s that?”

  “He told you pretty plain how he felt for you, back when,” Clark said, without preamble. “It’s been years now, and he’s not the same person he was, I’ll be the first to admit. But I’ve seen him in the past month, ever since Mathias told us that you were headed this way for the summer, and he’s been hoping again.”

  Even though I was far from stupid, I still heard myself whispering, “What do you mean?”

  “He won’t come out and admit it, not now, but I’ve known the boy since he was born. He’s stubborn as hell. And he’s hoping again, I can see it the way you’d see lightning on the horizon at night.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. At last I said quietly, “Clark, with all due respect, I think you’re reading too much into it. I really do.”

  Clark resettled himself into his seat and said, “Let me tell you about Case, honey, because he’s not like other men. And he won’t talk about his past, not ever. Don’t let on that you know anything, promise me?”

  “I promise,” I whispered, trembling a little; I wished I was wearing jeans and not this stupid dress. The laughter and rowdy noise in the house seemed far removed from us, at present.

  “Case’s mother was named Melinda,” Clark said, in a storyteller voice that reminded me at once of Dodge, back home. “She was the one who gave the boys that golden-red hair. And she gave Case her talent for song. Melinda sang in the church choir, and in the choir at school until her father stopped that, thinking she was getting too social. Her father, Case’s grandpa on the Dalton side, was a preacher, and not a kindly one who spends the week quietly working on his Sunday sermon. He was the type on the lookout for sin morning and night. And when you’re looking for trouble that hard, it doesn’t take much to find it. Old Edwin was a widower. Melinda was his only child, and what do you know, she got pregnant just out of high school, without even a boyfriend to blame.”

  “With Case?” I whispered. I was hugging myself around the middle, and loosed my hold just a fraction.

  “Yes, indeed. Her father locked her away until she confessed the truth, and no one could quite believe that Owen Spicer, who was a good ten years older than Melinda, was the father. Even then he drank far too much, gambled a great deal, lived in a trailer out on the old Spicer property. And here, beautiful little Melinda Dalton was going to have his baby. Go figure.”

  “She must have loved him a great deal,” I said, at once submerged in the romance of this notion, very unlike me; I was the least romantic woman I knew. My sisters were the romantics.

  “I wish I could tell you that was true,” Clark said, and I looked his way sharply. He went on, his gaze trained on the far horizon, “Owen married her, very nearly at gunpoint insistence from old Edwin. And she moved out to live on the Spicer homestead, just a mile and a half from here, out on Ridge Road. The Spicers were hit hard in the 1930s, see, and never quite recovered. Reputations for being drunks and laggards, I hate to say. Case and Gus broke that mold. They’re good men, the both of them, and I’d like to believe I’ve had a hand in that. The big house burned down back in 1971. Owen’s pa hauled a trailer out there, in which they’ve lived ever since. It’s rundown. Case keeps the barn like it was his home, instead. He cares more about his horses than just about anything.”

  I thought of Cider and Buck, how I’d been able to touch them, to put my hands on something that mattered to Case more than just about anything.

  I gulped a little.

  Clark continued, “I knew Owen, of course, though we were never good friends. It was through my Faye that I got to know Melinda, as she and Faye became fast friends. Melinda brought Case over here to play with Garth and Marshall, when they were just little sprouts. I would never have guessed anything was wrong, truly. I was too busy ranching at t
he time, as we still had sheep in those days. But my Faye knew something wasn’t right, knew that Owen was abusive to his wife. I wish now, God I wish now, that I would have done something more about it. A part of me felt as though I was imposing, that it wasn’t my business. And I regret that very deeply. That’s a part of why I tried so hard to care for those boys once Melinda passed.”

  “How did she die? She was sick, wasn’t she?” I asked quietly, holding myself tightly around the middle again. I had set my drink aside. From the corner of my eye, I saw Clark nod.

  “She was, for a long spell before she passed. Case would have been about eight, Gus just a few months. Owen was a rotten son of a bitch, he truly was, though I wouldn’t say as such to the boys, even now. He was their father. Even worse than old Edwin, though, in his own way. He was meaner than a snake to them when he drank.

  “When Melinda died, Case rode out into the foothills on his horse and didn’t come back for three days, until I saddled up and went after him. I rode out the moment I heard he was missing. Owen, damn him, didn’t tell anyone at first, probably didn’t even notice for a day or so. I was worried as hell. I love the boy, he and Gus both, like my own kin. I found him huddled in a cave where the boys all played once upon a time. Took my best talking to get him to come with me. Little fella was so weak from hunger he could hardly even stand up. His horse had already long since hightailed it for home. Case said he wanted to die so that he could go to heaven and find his ma.”

  My heart had constricted into a tight, painful fist.

  “I could hear exactly what old Edwin Dalton, Case’s grandpa, would have said. He would have told the boy not to set his heart too much on earthly things, that’s what, but that’s always been Case’s way, for better or worse. I told him how much we’d all regret it if he went to heaven so young. I told him that his little brother needed him. And sure enough, Case has cared for Gus like a father all these years. Fed him, clothed him, made sure his homework was done, all the while taking the brunt of Owen’s tempers. He tried to hide it, Case I mean, when Owen would beat on him. I’ll never forget the night I found out the truth. Owen had made Case shoot a dog earlier that day, a dog that he didn’t want any more, one that wouldn’t run off, and he made his son do it. Case was only ten years old, couldn’t quite handle a pistol, but Owen called him a pussy and told him to do it or he’d whip him. So Case did it, shot the critter, and cried his eyes out. Owen gave him a beating anyway, for crying.”