I shivered as he cupped one hand between my legs and began stroking gently, in the best possible spot. I trembled harder and whispered, teasing him, as I was already nearly there, “I don’t know…can you?”
“We’ll see,” he teased right back, deepening his touch, sliding his tongue into my mouth, tasting me, and I moaned against his lips. Outside the barn, thunder absolutely roared and rain began pelting the roof, but neither of us noticed.
Later, flushed and sweating atop the quilt, I whispered fiercely, “I love you. I love you with all my heart. I can’t be without you.”
Case tucked me closer to him; I was already in the crook of his arm, my face on his chest this time, my limbs weak from clutching him so tightly as we made love. Outside the rain was still falling, but gently now, the scent of it upon the dusty ground rising up to the haymow. He smoothed hair from my temple so he could kiss me there and whispered back, “We’ll never be without each other again, sweetheart.”
By that night we had made a good dent in the closet space in our bedroom, even though I lost focus again after having found a bundle of letters in one of the trunks, the same bunch that Case’s mother said was tucked in with the old Spicer family fiddle. Henry’s fiddle, I was certain. I placed them carefully onto the dresser, between a pile of guitar picks and a pile of my earrings, smoothing my fingertips over the soft old paper, excited to unfold the letters and read, in the near future. And then I joined my man, who was singing his heart out in the shower.
***
Case made us breakfast in the mornings before I drove to work (he didn’t usually start his work day as early as I did mine), and I nearly skipped to his music shop to have lunch with him every noon hour. In the evenings I flew home to find him making supper, as he usually beat me to the trailer, and we’d make love on the table, occasionally the bed (if we managed to make it that far), or at the kitchen counter, sometimes remembering to eat what he’d made. In the late evenings we rode Cider and Buck, usually out to the wizard rock.
“Do you think we’ll ever know what happened out here?” I asked him one night.
“I don’t know, sweetheart, but we’ll keep trying,” he said.
***
The next evening Case was making supper when I got home, as usual. I could smell it the moment I jumped out of the car and hurried inside to his waiting arms. He growled against my neck, squeezing me extra tight and planting a soft kiss flush on my lips.
I set aside the file folder I’d brought home so I could get my arms locked around his neck. I smiled at him and said, “It smells amazing in here.”
He kissed my earlobe and whispered, “Now it does. C’mon, baby, I made steak with fried mushrooms.”
He was wearing his faded gray SPICER t-shirt and much-used jeans, a towel slung over his left shoulder. His hair had gotten longer this summer and I stroked it with both hands. I could not even begin to describe how much love swelled within my heart for him, near to bursting it apart; but I had learned that love worth having is one part pain, even in its moments of purest joy.
“I’m going to change quick,” I said, and he kissed me once more before releasing me and turning back to the stovetop. The sun decorated the interior of our place with a soft golden hue, the quiet sounds of the evening, of Buck and Cider in the corral, coming through the open windows.
I stripped from my work clothes and slipped a pair of his boxers (which I absolutely loved wearing) over my panties and a soft, threadbare white tank top over my head, bending at the waist to shake out my hair, which had been tightly pinned up all day. I could still smell conditioner in my hair, as the underside was yet damp, as I hurried back to the kitchen.
Case looked over at me as I came from the bedroom, just as he was moving the pan from the burner, and proceeded to torch the side of his hand on the stove. He said, “Ouch! Damn.”
“Are you all right?” I hurried to his side to inspect his hand, gathering it close against me and making a show of kissing the injured spot.
“Holy shit, woman, you don’t have any idea how you look, do you?” he said, low and with a half-teasing, half-dead serious voice. He wrapped his other arm around my waist.
I smiled up at him and cupped his burned hand over my left breast, which was bare beneath the tank top. His eyelids lowered and he drew my hips closer to him. I said, “I thought this might make it feel better.”
“Much, much better,” he agreed, his deep voice throaty and soft. He gently stroked my nipple and I bit his bottom lip. He laughed a little, sliding his other hand down to cup my ass, saying, “Baby, you coming into the kitchen like that, so fucking beautiful, all half-naked and wearing my underwear…”
“You like?” I teased, hooking my right thigh around his hip, kind-of forgetting that my period had started.
“Are you kidding?” he said. “Insanely love. If my fifteen-year-old self could see you…shit, my almost thirty-year-old self can hardly believe it.”
“You have a pretty impressive hard-on for someone so old,” I teased, caressing him firmly through his jeans, and he growled again, this time lifting me up onto the counter. He was so incredibly sexy and imposing in his desire and I trembled as he kissed me, his hands on my thighs and sliding swiftly higher. It took everything I had to refocus enough to say, “Honey, I started my period today…”
Case continued kissing my neck, his hands not straying from their current course. He lightly bit my earlobe and said, “We’ll shower…after…”
“It means we won’t be parents in May,” I said softly, struck again by this truth, smoothing my hands over his hair. He heard the notes of sadness in my voice; I had been a little stunned at the depth of my disappointment today in the employee bathroom at the office, to see this evidence of no pregnancy. He drew back enough to see my eyes, and his own were soft with tenderness; he tamped down the heat, with effort. He knew I needed that right now, despite the way my body was clearly begging him for sex.
“Sweetheart,” he said, taking my hips in his big hands, holding me. He kissed my forehead, the end of my nose, before saying, “Our baby will come when it’s time. I promise. It’s just not time quite yet. I was thinking a lot about that too, imagining what it would be like next spring. It’s so precious to think about our baby that it hurts a little. But she’ll come when she’s ready.”
He always knew what to say, and my throat was choked. I cupped my palms around his jaws and smoothed my thumbs over the rough texture of his unshaven stubble. I whispered, “Does this mean you want us to try? Not to use any sort of birth control?”
He smiled at me, catching my right hand with his left, turning his face to kiss my palm. He said, “First, let me marry you properly. And then I’ll start building our cabin so our baby has a room, what do you say? We’ll haul this shitty old trailer out of here —”
I was shaking my head, effectively interrupting him. I protested, “But this is where we made love for the first time. I love this old trailer.”
“I love it because you’re in it with me, and that’s the only good thing about this piece of shit trailer,” he said. “Baby, I’ll build us a beautiful home. We’ll spend the winter planning it and we’ll start building once it’s spring thaw, what do you say?”
I nodded, reassured by him, as always. He was so strong and capable, and I trusted him with all my heart. I said, “That sounds perfect. I don’t mean to be sad about getting my period. Shit. But somewhere in my thoughts for the past two weeks I’ve been cradling the idea of our baby.” I smiled a little and said, “Pun intended.”
“Me too, my beautiful woman, my sweet Patricia. I don’t know if there’s much more incredible than the thought of my baby growing inside of you. I want you to carry our baby there, beneath your heart, and she’ll hear its beating every moment, your sweet, strong heart. And I’ll hold you close,” and he did, whispering in my ear, “and know that I’ve never loved anyone more in a thousand lifetimes.”
I cried then, at the intense sincerity of his w
ords. I cried and he held me, and it wasn’t until later that we had dinner, as the sky grew dark and Case lit three candles, mismatched, which he positioned on the table. In their soft light, we ate; Case finished before me and grabbed one of my notebooks and a pencil, sketching out our ideas for the cabin.
We were working on a wish list (such as master bath and patio with a hot tub), and I was flipping half-heartedly through the file I’d brought home, not really wanting to work on it right now, but feeling mildly guilty because I had been a little bit of a slacker at work this last week. Al and I had been running through ideas about how Highland Power might be able to reopen its doors, and I was looking through the file that included petitions that Al had drafted last year. The little red bull caught my eye again, the Redd Co. logo, and all at once something chimed in my memory.
“Case,” I said intently.
He looked up at once, eyebrows raised.
“A bull,” I said, knowing I wasn’t making sense. My mind was clicking along like a bicycle down a steep hill, gaining momentum. “It’s Turnbull.”
“Tell me,” he said. “I’m not following yet.”
I slapped the file folder on the table and said, “Oh my God. I just remembered where I saw that logo before. Way back, after my first year of school, working at Turnbull and Hinckley in the summer. It was on a letterhead I saw there. Oh God. It was something I was never supposed to see, something was going to be shredded, but the girl doing the shredding left that afternoon.” I put both hands to my forehead. “I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in it, but I did. Oh God, and I just remembered now. Redd Co. is a Turnbull company. And that’s who bought out the power plant last December. Fucked everyone here over for a profit. Ron knew about that. He had to, his little sub-company arranged the deal. But he has to call the shots. Oh my God.”
‘Fairly despicable’ indeed.
“So Turnbull buys the power plant, knowing it will put enough people out of work around here so that his buddy Yancy can sweep in and purchase. Destroying our homes for a profit,” Case understood. He studied me intently. “When I thought of you going back to Chicago and working for that man, of you being alone there without me to protect you, it nearly killed me.”
“He had me fooled,” I said, sliding my hand into Case’s, holding tightly to him. “He used me. He knew I would come out here and…God, he must think far less of me than I could ever imagine. He probably figured Derrick would seduce me over to his side, all without me knowing that Turnbull was responsible in the first place. And that bastard tried. Oh my God, Case…”
“Hey,” he said, curling his fingers more securely around mine. “Tish. You’re way too smart to fall for that. Look at what you’ve done here this summer. You’ve done the opposite of what Turnbull wanted, proven him wrong.”
I was working myself into a slow-burn kind of rage. I said, “I’m calling my dad. And Al. And Robbie. I want this to be the equivalent of front-page news.” Then I realized, “It won’t matter to Turnbull. That fucker is untouchable.”
Still, I found my phone and tried Robbie. I told him everything I had learned before I tried Dad. But Dad was probably still on vacation. At last, when it was apparent I could do nothing more this evening, Case suggested that I let it rest for now, take a bath and relax. And so I did.
***
An hour after that I was soaking in the tub, determined to forget about Turnbull, at least for the evening. The water was just shy of scalding and Case was out in the kitchen, singing softly as he washed about a week’s worth of dishes. My heart smiled at the sound of his beautiful voice and I reached to brush a strand of hair from my eyes, soapy water dripping down my forearm. I loved how he sang so often – while showering, while shaving, doing little chores around the house. He was writing me a new song he called “My Blue-Eyed Patricia,” of which he would sing snippets to tease me, telling me I could hear the whole thing in its entirety once it was finished.
This is happiness, I marveled.
You finally know.
Tears brimmed in my eyes and I sat up a little, sloshing water, intending to call out to Case, to tell him that I needed to see him at this very second, but he came into the bathroom right then as though he had known anyway, his eyes so warm and full of love that my tears overflowed.
“Sweetheart,” he said tenderly, sitting on the edge of the tub and leaning to kiss my lips. “The sight of you in here almost does me in. My woman, the woman of my dreams, all sweet and naked in the bath.”
I curled my wet fingers into his and kissed the back of his hand. I studied his eyes and said around the lump in my throat, “I’m just so happy. I’m so happy to be planning our home with you.”
“Me too. I could die happy right now,” he whispered, gently tucking damp hair behind my right ear.
“Don’t say that,” I reprimanded softly. I hated when he talked about dying.
“You’re so beautiful. I want to get right in there with you,” he said.
I smiled at that, at the thought of his big, strong body fitting in this cramped little tub, along with mine. He kissed my lips again, lingering, and my hand had just curved behind his head when there was a sharp rapping on edge of the screen door, out in the kitchen.
I startled and Case straightened; the dogs were barking now, frantically. He said, “I didn’t hear a car…”
He rose to go and see who was here; I had just wrapped a towel around my damp body, suddenly and oddly frightened, as I heard Case ask someone, “Can I help you?”
His tone clearly indicated that he didn’t know the person at the door. And then, to my greatest of stun, I heard my father, Jackson Gordon of Rockford, Gordon and Bunnickle, Attorneys-at-Law, say crisply, “I’m looking for my daughter, Patricia.”
Oh Jesus, oh sweet Jesus.
This can’t be happening.
There was a moment of horrible, tense silence before Case obviously gathered himself together and said politely, “Please, come in. She’s here.”
Oh God…
Oh God. I don’t even have clothes in here.
Frantically I dried myself, imagining Case and my father silently regarding each other in our kitchen. Leaving my hair in a messy bun, I slipped into Case’s dark blue terrycloth bathrobe; there was no chance in hell of trying to pretend otherwise, that I hadn’t just made love with this man in his trailer, in too many ways to count. Our trailer, but I decided that news could wait for the moment.
I squared my shoulders as I came into the kitchen, tightening the belt on the robe and meeting my father’s eyes without shame. Dad was just inside the door, wearing jeans and a dress shirt, and I had never seen him look quite so thoroughly speechless. Case and I moved instantly to one another; Case put his right arm around my shoulders, protectively, as though Dad had come with the intent of dragging me out of here by the ear. Though, given my father’s expression, I didn’t think that was far off track from what he wanted to do.
“Tish,” Dad said weakly.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, keeping my voice level. I was shocked to the roots of my hair to see him here, in Montana and in Case’s home, to boot, but I kept all of that from my face.
“Case, this is my father,” I said. “Jackson Gordon…”
“Sir,” Case said, leaving my side only to shake Dad’s hand.
The gesture was too deeply ingrained; Dad shook with Case, and my father looked pale and sickly.
“Charles Spicer,” Case said, by way of introduction. “And I love your daughter, I think you should know that right now. I apologize for meeting you in circumstances like these, but here we are. I love Tish with all my heart. I am going to marry her.”
My own heart sang and swelled at hearing him speak this aloud. Case came back to my side and his eyes were tender with love as he said softly to me, “Isn’t that right?”
I nodded, telling my father, “This is the man I am going to marry, Dad. I love him. I’m happy here, and I am never going to leave this place.”
It was too
much for Dad; his face lost its incoherent look and he snapped, “I’ve heard more than enough. Get your things together this moment. You are leaving with me and I will never hear another word of this, do you understand?”
Dad had never spoken to me this way, even when I was a child; he had always indulged me and let Mom do all the disciplining. To hear him use this tone only created a swirl of buzzing anger in my chest.
“How dare you talk to me that way?” I asked him; Case saw the fury gathering in my eyes and rubbed a hand gently over my back, as though to encourage me to chill out.
Dad licked his lips and then let loose, further stunning me as he shouted, “How dare I? You have got to be joking. When we got home and I heard your message, I thought I must have misunderstood. But then I called Ron to confirm and he told me that you’d declined his offer and I realized that I must be going crazy. I told him that you’d never do such a thing, not without contacting me first.”
“You’re not crazy,” I told him, keeping my voice controlled, reminding myself that I was hardly in a position to take a tone with my father, bare naked and damp beneath my lover’s bathrobe. I added, “I declined that offer because I would die going back to Chicago. I would wither up and die. I found myself here, in more ways than one. I will never go back there. And Dad, you’ll never believe what I found out tonight —”
“I will not hear another word of this insanity,” Dad said, cutting me off, a vein bulging in his temple. His eyes moved between Case and me, incredulously. He fired his words at Case then, snapping, “If you love her, as you claim, then surely you can see how her staying here will destroy her career. Everything she’s worked for since she was a teenager. She doesn’t belong here.”
Case’s jaw tightened but he said calmly, meeting Dad’s gaze without flinching, “Tish belongs here more than anywhere else in the world. If you think I’m just going to roll over and agree with you, then you have another thing coming.”
Dad’s eyebrows lowered ominously and I had a sudden vision of him from ten years ago, summer in Landon, the night everyone found out about Mom and Blythe’s relationship. Dad had punched Blythe in the face that night, and gotten his own ass kicked for the trouble. Dad was wearing a similar expression now, and I moved towards him at once, placing myself (I hoped discreetly) between him and Case.
The First Law of Love Page 37