Who Loves Ya, Baby?

by Gemma Bruce

  Everywhere people were chasing chickens as the noise level rose amid plucks and yelps, and squawks and laughter.

  Marian put her arm around Isabel, who had started to cry.

  A group of teenage boys began chasing the bantam rooster who suddenly turned on them and attacked. They leapt out of his path. One of them fell against the refreshment table; sandwiches and brownies flew into the air. The punch bowl wobbled, then turned over. Red punch and melting sherbet ran off the table and onto the floor. The boy’s feet flew out from under him. He went down, taking three other people with him.

  Cas and Terrence burst into the crowd, pushing people out of the way and ordering them toward the back of the room.

  “Dan Pliney’s gone to get crates,” Cas told several men, who had overturned tables to make holding pens and were throwing chickens inside.

  After her initial shock, Julie tossed her heels aside and pitched in, scooping up hens and dropping them into the makeshift pens. She kept one eye out for Ernestine, but with no luck.

  As she was attempting to capture a speckled hen, Julie noticed an open panel at the base of the stage. She hiked up her dress and knelt down to take a look. The space underneath was occupied by a ladder and pieces of scenery. A path had been cleared through them and Julie could see light on the other side. Someone had herded the chickens under the stage and into the room.

  She crawled inside to make sure there were no chickens lurking among the cardboard palm trees. The smell was overwhelming; nothing like a few hysterical hens to really stink up a place. She backed out on all fours and stood up.

  Dan and his sons were carrying stacks of mesh crates into the room. Cas and Terrence and a few other men were loading them up with chickens.

  Isabelle’s red cape lay on the stage, its train flowing off the edge and onto the floor. Julie picked it up and carefully folded it before depositing it on a folding chair at the edge of the stage. There was no sign of Isabelle or Marian or Charles Reynolds.

  Poor Isabelle, thought Julie, she’ll never be able to forget this night. What should have been her moment of glory had turned into a fiasco, and Julie’s heart went out to her. She knew how that felt. And she wouldn’t wish the feeling on her worst enemy. Well, maybe on Marian and Reynolds. No, not even them, she realized. They couldn’t hurt her anymore.

  Maude stood with her feet apart, supervising the crating of the fowl. Her crimson chiffon was torn by hundreds of chicken scratches. A white downy feather floated on her hair.

  “You haven’t seen Ernestine by any chance?” asked Julie.

  “No,” said Maude, “But she might turn up.”

  “Damn,” said Elton Dinwiddie as he carried a crate filled with chickens toward the back door. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that Wes Excelsior was up to his old tricks.” He stopped, looked at Julie, then shook his head and walked away.

  “He doesn’t think I did it, does he?” asked Julie, alarmed.

  “Nah. He’s just talking off the top of his head. Why don’t you go home? I’ll hitch a ride when we get finished here.”

  “I’ll just take another quick look around for Ernestine, then I’ll go,” said Julie, and looked up to see several of the townspeople looking at her. A sickening jolt of insecurity zapped through her. Why were they staring? Surely they didn’t think she was responsible for disruption of the dance.

  Pretending to ignore them, she rechecked each makeshift pen and finally had to accept the fact that Ernestine had not been returned. And if she wasn’t with the others, it must mean that she hadn’t been stolen, but had run away or become lost and was dead.

  Julie swallowed the lump that rose to her throat. Stupid to get upset over a chicken, but she couldn’t help it. Maude was right. Ernestine was like family.

  She began searching for her shoes, stepping over chicken droppings and trampled foodstuffs. She remembered tossing them under a chair near the stage, but they weren’t there now. She finally found one shoved into a far corner beneath a paper tablecloth. The other was as lost as Ernestine.

  To hell with it. Someone would find it during cleanup. The car wasn’t so far away; she’d just have to hoof it.

  She was buttoning her coat when Cas came through the door, carrying a crate of chickens. She stepped back and he passed by without seeing her.

  Lucky him, she thought unsympathetically. His chicken problem was solved.

  She stepped out into the night and the pavement shot searing cold up through her feet to her calves. She sprinted past a group of teenagers who were loitering in the parking lot.

  Melanie stepped away from them as she passed by. “Where are your shoes?”

  Julie held up her one shoe. “L-lost the other. G-goodnight.” She broke into a trot and got a whiff of chicken. God, they must all smell like chickens, she knew she did. But she’d been carrying chickens for the last half hour, and she hadn’t seen Melanie since before the crowning of the Queen began. She hesitated, then dismissing the thought, climbed into the Volkswagen.

  She turned the heat to high, then sat, thinking, while the car warmed up. What kind of person would go to such trouble for a prank? Wes would, but they couldn’t blame him for this night’s work. Someone stole the chickens, hid them, fed them for weeks just to release them at the high point of the Candy Apple Dance.

  That was a lot of work for a few minutes of fun. Or was there a more sinister intent? Was someone out to make Cas appear incompetent? Bo and Henley were the only ones who seemed to hold a grudge against him and they weren’t smart enough to pull this off. They would be more likely to use their fists, like they had at the Roadhouse, and like they used to do in school.

  There might be a few people in town who would like to see Marian and Charles Reynolds brought down a peg, but there had to be better ways than this.

  One of the other Candy Apple Queen hopefuls might be jealous of Isabelle, but none of those girls looked like they’d ever seen a chicken outside a fast food container.

  Not your problem, she reminded herself. Not your job. Everyone had their chickens back but her, and that was her problem. Hers alone.

  She shoved the car into gear and backed out of her parking place. As she left the parking lot, she glanced in her rear view mirror and saw Melanie, standing apart from the group, her hands shoved in her pockets, watching Julie drive away.

  “And a good time was had by all,” Julie told Smitty when he met her at the door. “And everyone got their chickens back but us.” She yanked up the skirt of her dress and pulled off her panty hose, dirty and torn beyond hope. She’d lost her shoe and her feet were freezing. Some great time.

  She threw her coat into the closet and ran up the stairs, Smitty loping after her. She went straight into the bathroom, turned on the tub, and stripped out of her clothes. She climbed in and grimaced as hot water rushed over her feet and set them on fire.

  When they began to warm, she cautiously lowered herself into the water and turned on the Jacuzzi jets. She stretched out and rested her head against the side of the long tub.

  So much for staking her place in the community. The night had been ridiculous from start to finish.

  It was past midnight when Cas parked his truck in Tilda’s driveway on First Street and handed her his keys.

  “Going for a midnight hike?” she asked, grinning.

  “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” said Terrence from the living room over the laughter of a late night talk show. “I’ll cover for you tomorrow. Sleep late.” Terrence rumbled down to silence.

  “I’ll call Edith and tell her to transfer any calls here,” said Tilda. “Sweet dreams.”

  “Thanks,” said Cas.

  Tilda closed the door; Cas buttoned up his sheepskin jacket and pulled up the collar. The air smelled and felt like snow. Winter was setting in early this year, and it was time to think about leaving and taking Julie with him. If he could convince her to go.

  He walked up the driveway to the back of the house, wishing he had a
hat. He’d spent a good hour returning chickens and listening to complaints. Wasn’t it enough that they had the damn things back, without demanding he find out who stole them in the first place?

  As soon as he could, he’d sped back to his cottage to shower and change into clean clothes, anxious to find Julie, to feel her warmth, just to feel her and know there was a place for him in the world.

  Now, trekking up the hill, he wondered if there was a place for him, and if Julie would want to live in that place with him. The lights in the houses on Second Street were out and he passed quietly between the houses and across the street. If someone saw him, he would just say he was following a lead. One that led right to Julie Excelsior and a chance at happiness.

  He was just passing the Neville’s backyard, when a dog barked and lurched against the fence. Floodlights popped on, bathing Cas in their light, and Ken Neville appeared at the back door.

  “It’s Cas Reynolds,” Cas called out. “Just following a lead.”

  Ken laughed. “Good for you, boy.” He whistled for his dog and closed the door. The lights popped off again, leaving Cas in darkness. He wasn’t fooling anybody. Not that he wanted to. He just wanted to spend a whole night with Julie without his family going berserk.

  He was shivering from the cold by the time he climbed up to Hillcrest and crossed to Wes’s driveway. And it occurred to him that Julie might already be asleep, that she wouldn’t hear him knock. Or worse, she wouldn’t let him stay. And then he’d have to climb down again, like the fool he was.

  He stumbled, barely catching himself before he hit the ground. The damn driveway was filled with as many potholes as the street. The town was dying inch by inch, taking its inhabitants with it. He could feel it himself, wringing the life out of him, even though he’d only been here for a few months. What it was doing to the others, he could only guess.

  And he refused to let himself care. His only goal was Julie. He’d resign as sheriff. He should never have let Wes bully him into taking the job in the first place. But at least he now understood why. Wes must have known that death was close and that Julie would come back, so he’d found a way to keep Cas in Ex Falls. And to hedge his odds, he’d handed him that damn riddle. My legacy to you, he’d said, and thrust it into Cas’s hand.

  It was such a Wes tactic that Cas was about to call him on it, when he realized that Wes’s hand had really gone limp. That his eyes wouldn’t be opening again, that he would never again hear him say, “Gotcha!” Because true to form, Wes had died with a joke on his lips.

  If it was a joke, thought Cas, starting up again and walking faster now that he was almost there. Almost there. A thrill of anticipation rushed through him. Almost there. He could see the lights on in Julie’s room.

  They could have a whole night together of making love and ... talking. They hadn’t had much of a chance to get to know each other, except physically. Julie kept running off or someone would interrupt them. But not tonight. He crossed his fingers and began to hum.

  Julie fluffed the pink pillows behind her back and turned the page of Wes’s notebook. Even bundled up in Wes’s old paisley bathrobe with the comforter pulled tightly around her, she still felt cold, which made her wonder if Cas was in bed or if he was still out returning chickens.

  She turned past the chicken notes to a section with Wes’s various ramblings, and began to read them for the umpteenth time. There had to be a clue she was missing, because even with Cas’s half, she was no closer to finding the treasure. No closer than she was to ever belonging in Ex Falls.

  Well, it didn’t matter. She’d held up her head, kept her spine straight and looked the town in the eye. For all the good it did. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to belong here. She certainly didn’t want to take up the feud and spend her life fighting with Charles Reynolds. She would miss her chickens, but there was no future in chickens. So best to get it over with before she became any more attached to the house or the chickens—or to Cas.

  She closed the notebook as tendrils of anxiety wrapped around her. But where would she go? Did she have the energy to start over again? Without an income, unless she found Wes’s money, she wouldn’t be able to start over. Should she return to the city and ask for her job back? Face the colleagues she hadn’t been able to face just two weeks ago? Look them in the eye and say, I won’t be run off again? This is my beat, and you’ll have to drag me away before I leave again.

  Or was it too late? Would they always look at her, remembering, wondering. Even if there were no truth in it, there would always be that stigma, Julie Excelsior, mill town trash.

  “Whoa,” she said out loud. “My colleagues don’t know a thing about Ex Falls.” It was in her mind, not theirs. “Shit, Wes. Is it me? Am I perpetuating my own insecurity?” She pushed herself into the pillows. She never asked herself questions like that, and she wasn’t ready to start asking them now.

  She reached over to turn off the bedside lamp. Smitty jumped from the bed, nosed the door open and ran down the stairs, barking. Julie reached for her Glock and heard the knock on the door. She hadn’t heard a car drive up, but she’d been lost in thought. Maude must have found her shoe and had come to return it. Or maybe she’d found Ernestine after all.

  Julie returned the Glock to the drawer, hiked up Wes’s robe and ran downstairs. She could see someone standing on the other side of the stained glass windows. Too tall for Maude. She only hesitated for a second, then opened the door.

  It was Cas, looking tired and cold. He’d changed from his uniform to jeans and a suede coat with a sheepskin collar. His hair was wet and slicked back from his forehead. And Julie was suddenly warmer than she’d been all night.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Found your shoe.” He lifted his hand. A single strapped high heel swung from his finger.

  She stepped aside so he could come in, then looked past him into an empty yard. “Where’s your car?”

  “Down at Tilda’s. I walked up the hill.” He pushed off his shoes and left them by the door.

  “Afraid you might get caught?”

  “Didn’t want to be interrupted.”

  “Oh. You want coffee, a beer?”

  Cas shook his head. “Just you.”

  Julie closed the door and leaned against the knob. “I think that can be arranged.” She looked at Cas and thought about him climbing the hill in the dark and her lying in her pink, frilly bed, and thought, here we go again. We’ll call it sheriff and saloon girl. She wasn’t sure she liked her part. It was a little too close to mill town trash.

  “What?” asked Cas, eyeing her warily.

  “Nothing.”

  Cas raised his eyebrows.

  “Just thinking about ...” She sighed. “Cowboys and Indians.”

  Cowboys and Indians. Damn, thought Cas. Julie was still determined to play games. He hadn’t been kidding when he told her he wanted to play Julie and Cas. He wanted them to be Julie and Cas.

  She was going to run again. He could feel it in the air between them. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her as if he could keep her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, looking up at him. Her hair tumbled around her face, and he released one hand long enough to smooth it away. He ran his thumb down her cheek, her skin so clear, soft as silk. And wondered where that had come from. It wasn’t like him to be poetic, especially when his dick was saying, “Just fuck her.” But it was soft as silk and his hand lingered on her face as he looked down into the deep pools of her eyes.

  “Cas?”

  “Don’t run from me,” he said, though he could hardly form the words. He wanted her so much, not just for tonight—

  She pulled away. “What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere. This is my house.”

  He pulled her head back to his chest and lay his cheek against her hair. It tickled his nose, and he was content for a moment with her nearness, while he silently willed her to trust him, when he knew he’d never done anything to deserve her trust.<
br />
  It was time they talked. Got out what had happened all those years ago, so they could go forward. He would try to explain, try to make her see his side and get her to forgive him.

  Because without that, they had no chance of being anything but casual bedmates. And, Cas, at least, was too far gone for that. “We need to talk.”

  “Ah, jeez,” said Julie, pulling away again. He could feel her trembling beneath his fingers. Then she smiled up at him with enormous eyes and laughed flirtatiously. “No, we don’t. We just need to have fun.”

  “No.” He wanted her so badly, he had to fight both her and himself, but it was time. It was past time. “Why did you leave Ex Falls?”

  And why did you walk away from me and then pretend like you didn’t know me. You were my best friend. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  She sighed heavily, like she was bored with the question. But she didn’t stop trembling. “Wes sent me away. He told me to forget Ex Falls. My dad drove me to my aunt in Yonkers. He left me there. I never saw him again. I never saw Wes again. So now you know.”

  “He left you?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Why does anything happen? It’s old news. Do you want to stay?”

  I want to know everything about you. “Sure,” he said and followed her up the stairs.

  Chapter 17

  Okay, thought Cas. Sex first, then we’ll talk. You won’t escape me tonight, my pretty. He stumbled on the step and Julie looked around with a frown.

  “Missed the step,” said Cas.

  “Then keep your eyes on your feet and not on my ass.”

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Julie slipped in between him and her bedroom door. “There’s something I should warn you about,” she said.

  Cas’s eyes narrowed. Now what. “Okay,” he said slowly, thinking, Please don’t let this be some earth-shattering confession. His dick was already hard against his zipper and he didn’t think he could hold out much longer. He wanted to know all about her, but he had all night and he was having a hard time not grabbing her and taking her against the door.