He rubbed and massaged her body to a sluglike existence. Her mind drifted through pictures of summer days and autumn evenings, of cold creek water sliding over sand and pebbles, of a golden-haired baby eating daisy petals. And Bryce's face, his eyes twinkling with humor, passion, and gentleness.
"Did ya love her much?" she asked, mumbling into the bedcovers.
"Who?" he asked, his fingers hesitating only a moment.
"Liddy Evans," she said, marginally aware of what she was saying. When he made no immediate comment, she was relieved, thinking that she'd merely thought the question and not really asked it.
"For a while I thought I loved her. I wanted to love her," he said finally, causing a sinking feeling inside her. "But there's a difference between lovin' somebody 'cuz of who they are and lovin' somebody 'cuz they need ya."
It registered in her mind that he had stopped massaging her, but her blissfully numb nerve endings hardly noticed. He stretched out beside her on the bed, his head on a level with hers. He laid flat on his back looking at the ceiling, she remained belly down with her face toward him, refusing to open her eyes.
"It was a lesson I needed to learn about myself. ... I just wish it hadn't been at Liddy's expense," he said, as if he weren't talking to Ellis, but to himself.
She grimaced, pinching her eyes to keep them shut. She wasn't at all sure she wanted to hear this. She wasn't sure she wanted to get involved in his life, and yet the thought of him with another woman made her unaccountably sad and angry at once.
"I was taken with her 'cuz I thought she needed me," he went on. "And at first she was taken with me for the same reason. There was never anything . . . physical between us. . . . Well, we slept together, of course, but there wasn't any . . . 'lectricity, no sparks, you know? Not like ..." she heard his head move on the pillow and felt his gaze on her, ". . . not like there should be. And she's got these kids, they're great kids—and I thought they needed me too."
He sighed and went silent for a moment. "I always felt bad 'cuz no one ever seemed to need me as much as I needed them. Growin' up, I mean. It was always Buck and Mama makin' the sacrifices for me . . . and me just . . . growin' up." Again he paused. "They had this plan, Mama and Buck. Buck's smart, see, and he loved school and got good grades. He wanted to go off to college and make somethin' more of himself than just bein' a mill worker. Well, when my daddy died, they hatched this plan to use the insurance money and all their savings to send Buck to college, and then when it came my time to go, he would send me. They had it all worked out. Buck even lied about his age on the papers and got Lenny Watts to go along with him, so he could work a full shift at the mill after school when he was just fifteen. Even my sister donated to the cause. . . ."
"I didn't know ya had a sister," she muttered, her eyes wide open, her heart hanging on every word he uttered. Something in the soft, low tones of his voice had compelled her to look at him and to listen to his story. Pain, sadness, and regret vibrated in the sound of his words, connecting with like emotions inside Ellis, identifying a bond between them, establishing a similarity and closeness between them.
He turned on his side, bringing his nose to within inches of hers, saying, "Brie's her name, it's short for Brigitte. She's a couple years younger than Buck. She and her husband live in Covington."
"What happened?" she asked, surprising herself with her interest, afraid to admit how avid an interest it was. "Why does Buck still work at the mill?"
"Mama died," he said simply, glancing away briefly. "In a car accident. Buck was off at college. Brie'd just gotten married and moved away. I was eleven."
She waited for him to continue. She could tell from the tension in his features that it was difficult for him. She wanted to touch him, to somehow ease his anguish, but she wasn't sure how.
"Buck came home to take care of me. He gave up everything for me."
"And he's been makin' ya pay ever since." How could she have thought that she liked Buck LaSalle, she fumed inside, making an instant reevaluation of his character.
Bryce laughed. "Not Buck. He never said a word. Never treated me any different than before. Never did nothin' but care for me and show me the best way to grow up. He never even got mad when his wife left him 'cuz of me."
"Anne is his second wife?"
He nodded. "He was younger than I am now the first time he got married. Twenty, twenty-one. She never did seem happy 'bout nothing. She complained about the farm bein' too far from town and the house too old. Buck worked too many late hours. . . . She was bored. She was always complainin' about somethin', it seemed, but her favorite and loudest complaint was havin' to put up with me. I was thirteen or fourteen by then. She just up and left one day," he said, looking past her shoulder as if watching a replay of the incident on the wall behind her. "Buck always said it was good riddance, but I always thought that they mighta had a better chance of workin' things out if I hadn't been under foot all the time."
"Sounds like good riddance to me," Ellis said, hating the woman and putting Buck back in her good graces.
"Well," he said, reaching out to play with the uneven ends of her thick yellow hair. "Maybe. But my whole life it seemed like someone was givin' up somethin' 'cuz of me. I ... It bothered me a lot. And I never could find anything to give in return—until Liddy."
Ellis frowned. "What'd she have to do with it?"
"That's just it. She didn't," he said. When she lingered in confusion, he closed his eyes, concentrating on the best way to explain it. "When Reuben first left her, Liddy was a jackpot of need. She was depressed and broke, she had three kids needin' her, and they were lost and confused."
"Lost and confused?" she repeated, knowing a familiar pain in her chest.
"Sure. They didn't know what was happenin'," he said. "But it wasn't Liddy who appealed to me, or the kids. It was them bein' so needy. She was my best shot at givin' back some of what I'd gotten from others. I wanted her and the kids to need me.
"And they did in the beginnin'," he said, mindlessly smoothing her hair from crown to tips, his hand passing onto her back, stroking gently. "I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. I was makin' all sorts of sacrifices, doin' this and that for 'em. I was makin' a real martyr outta myself, 'cuz I knew I didn't love her. The kids are great, and I'm real fond of 'em, but ya gotta love the mother to make a family work . . . and I just didn't. And Liddy . , . well, Liddy wasn't as weak and helpless as she first seemed. She's tough. She just needed time to get herself together."
"What happened?"
"Nothin' really," he said. "We were sittin' across the supper table one night, lookin' at each other, wonderin' what we were doin' together when she didn't need me and we weren't crazy in love or nothin'. So she just said, thanks for the help, and I left." He shrugged.
"But you're still seein' her, still friends. I . . . I heard ya the other night."
He nodded once. "Reuben is . . ." He frowned, searching for a word that wouldn't offend her ears.
"Low-down?"
"He could wear a top hat and walk under a snake's belly," he said in agreement. "He never was nothin' much, but walkin' out and leavin' Liddy, leavin' his kids like he did ... It oughta be a hangin' offense."
A hangin' offense. Mental protectors slid into place to protect Ellis's heart.
"Liddy's above his touch, and I think the best thing I ever did for her was to convince her of it, though that wasn't too hard once she was over the shock of his leavin’ her in the first place. I gave her money and went with her to the lawyer's office when she filed for divorce, and I drove her back again when she got the restrainin' order to keep Reuben away from her and the kids.”
"That's why he's lookin' to hang your hide on the fence?"
"That and me livin' with his wife for six months."
The hand on her back was pacifying to her emotions, lulling her into a state of drowsiness.”You best stay in a crowd after dark," she mumbled, her eyelids closing slowly.
"You ain't worried about me g
ettin' hurt, now are ya?"
She gave him a disinterested snort. Of course, she was worried about him. In her book, Reuben Evans was a sorry excuse for a human being, the tail end of bad luck, and Bryce was—she felt his light, caring touch on her back—Bryce was the kindest, gentlest, most caring man she'd ever met.
"I hate to tell ya this, Miss Prickly," he said softly. "But ya stink to high heaven."
"So do you," she thought, too beat to speak, obscurely aware of the faint odor of turpentine that filled the air.
"Are ya dreamin', sweet Ellis?" she heard him whisper from afar. She had a one-way ticket to enchantment, traveling in a state of safety and contentment unlike any she'd ever known. "You say ya don't have dreams, only plans. But I'll bet my soul that's as phony as your gun. I'm guessin' that you got plenty of dreams. Mighty sweet dreams." Were those his fingertips on her cheek? So tender and loving? "Look at ya. You're just a sweet dreamin' baby, and that's a fact."
Maybe so, but in all her life she'd never had a dream quite as sweet as Bryce.
Seven
"Howdy, stranger."
"Lord in Heaven!" Ellis complained, her hand over her startled heart, her feet settling on the floor after jumping six feet. "You scared me close to death, Bryce. What are ya doin' here?"
"Well, for two weeks now, we ain't done nothin' but swap howdies at the house. I thought I'd come see how ya were doin'," he said, leaning limply against the storeroom door, unperturbed that she'd turned her back on him and resumed her sweeping.
"I'm doin' fine," she said, her words a bit clipped due to a sudden irregularity in her breathing. She felt as if she'd been running for miles, uphill. Oh, why did he have to make her feel this way, she wondered in quiet misery. Simply hearing his voice made her giddy with happiness; looking at him excited her beyond reason. And yet she dreaded both like a plague from hell.
It had been two weeks since she'd come awake in Bryce's bed, alone and remembering. Every word he'd spoken to her was pressed between the folds of her memory. Some were like wildflowers in a book, unforgettable, treasured, and hauntingly sweet. Some were too painful to be recalled.
She'd slept the afternoon and night away, rising before the sun, her body revived, her mind as muddled as if she hadn't slept at all.
Bryce was a complication she hadn't planned for when she'd left Stony Hollow to make her fortune; he was a complication she hadn't planned for in her future—ever. She'd had no idea that men like Bryce LaSalle even existed, let alone how to react to him. He confused and delighted her. He distracted her, attracted her like a summer bug to a porch light. He was a row of bad stumps she couldn't afford to tangle with if she wanted to get back to Stony Hollow. And she needed to get back, soon.
He stood quietly at the door watching her, and she did her best to ignore him. Seconds passed. Watching and ignoring came together like invisible waves of hot and cold air, charging the atmosphere with electricity, with lightning and thunder.
"So?" she asked, turning on him when she couldn't stand the tension any longer. "Was there somethin' else ya wanted? I got work to do here."
"I ain't stoppin' ya."
"Well, I can't do nothin'. with you standin' there watchin' me."
"Why not?" he asked, a smug look on his face. "Do I make ya nervous?"
“Yes." Why lie? she decided.
"Why do you suppose that is, huh, Ellis?" He tilted his head to one side and looked thoughtful. “You reckon it's the same thing that's kept you skirtin' around me these past weeks?"
"I been busy."
“Too busy to talk to a friend?"
A friend? She'd always been more comfortable with squirrels and raccoons, but the idea of a friend wasn't foreign to her. She'd often wished for a special person to talk to, to laugh with the way she'd seen other people doing. She liked telling Bryce about her plans for the future. She'd felt special when he'd told her about his relationship with Liddy Evans. He could make her laugh when he wasn't trying so hard to make her angry, and he had an understanding in him that was deeper and kinder than any she had experienced before. As friends went, she suspected Bryce could be as good as any, and the idea tempted her. Still, she wanted to be honest with him ...
"I wouldn't know what to do with a friend if I had one," she muttered self-consciously as she bent to sweep dirt and dust into a pan. When he remained silent, she hid behind her pride and turned to face him squarely, saying, "I ain't never had a friend before."
"You got one now," he stated.
His grin was warm and good-natured. In his eyes there was a sincerity and openness that made her want to trust him.
"I never did know what to do with you," she said. "Callin' ya friend ain't goin' to change that."
"May not," he said. "But at least ya won't have to worry that I'll leave ya be when ya tell me to. I ain't ever goin’ to leave ya be, Ellis. Friends just don't do that."
She recognized the humor in his expression and responded in kind. "Ya mean they keep comin' around and makin' pests of themselves?"
He grinned. 'Yep. That's pretty much it. Good friends can be a real nuisance."
She considered him briefly with narrowed eyes, and in a moment of sheer, unadulterated impulse she decided to do something crazy, to do something she'd always wanted to do—tell a friend a secret.
“Today's my birthday."
She blurted her announcement so abruptly that Bryce wasn't sure what she'd said at first and asked her to repeat it.
“Well," he said, knocked off center a bit. "Happy Birthday. We'll celebrate. Yeah," he exclaimed, finally recognizing the information as an opportunity he should jump on, like a duck on a June bug. "We'll celebrate. Let's see, this makes you twenty-one, right? Lord, you're legal! Now that really calls for a celebration. Tug loves it when someone comes of drinkin' age. Goes all out. Come on, we ..."
He had her hand and was trying to pull her out of the storeroom when he looked back at her and realized that she'd taken root to the floor.
"Whatsa matter?" he asked.
"We can't tell nobody else."
"Why the hell not? You only turn twenty-one once, Ellis." He took a superior stance. "As your friend, I'm tellin' ya, ya gotta celebrate."
"Maybe next year." He frowned at her. "When I turn twenty-one."
"You're only . . ." His mouth grew lax and his words dwindled as the full significance of her words penetrated his mind.
In the state of Kentucky one had to be twenty to serve hard liquor to the public. They both knew she'd been serving hard liquor for weeks and that Tug Hogan, prizing his liquor license as his livelihood, would see red if he heard of the risk she'd, taken at his expense.
It hadn't been the date of her birth that Ellis had given him. She'd just handed him everything he wanted from her. Her faith and her trust. She was as aware as he was that Tug would fire her on the spot if he found out that she'd lied to him.
A smile started someplace deep in his heart and came slowly to his lips.
"Shame on you, Ellis." His grin grew broader when it once again occurred to him that he'd never heard her last name. "Hell, I never had a friend I knew less about than you. What the hell is your last name?"
"I use Johnson," she said, feeling incredibly free spirited, sensing that Bryce would keep all her secrets.
She set the broom she'd been gripping against the wall and started for the door. It was time she got back to work. She had two jobs and a friend. What more could a girl ask for on her twentieth birthday? she wondered even as a part of her ached for what she'd left in Stony Hollow.
"You use Johnson?" Bryce was asking, thinking her phraseology a bit strange, even for a hillbilly.
She walked ahead of him into the short hall that passed the cooler door and led to the bar. "I never had no proper name till I married Mr. Johnson, and even then I wasn't even too sure it was legal, 'cuz him and the preacher were both drunk at the time."
Still in the storeroom, Bryce stood dazed and looking as if he'd swallowed a rotten pick
le. The thought did wiggle across his mind that he'd taken more on his plate than he'd meant to in becoming interested in Ellis, but it was far too late to put any of it back. He liked her too well, wanted her too much, cared about her too fiercely to back away from her now.
"Hey, wait a second," he called, stepping quickly to catch up with her. She had her hand on the door to the bar when he took her arm and turned her toward him. "How come you didn't tell me you were married?"
"It wasn't none—"
"Of my concern. I know. I know," he said, painfully aware that her husband was certainly a concern to him now. "Where is your husband? Does he know where you are?"
She studied him, hesitating to speak.
"Can friends say what's on their mind, even though it ain't the nicest thing to say, and still be friends?" she asked, wanting this new freedom as well.
"Course. That's the whole idea. Friends know everything about each other," he said, wondering if he'd regret his words later. In the ten minutes they'd officially been friends she'd disclosed a criminal act and a marriage.
She smiled. "In that case, I hope Mr. Johnson is toasting in hell." She paused in amazement. "I shouldn't have said that. It ain't right to speak ill of the dead. . . . But it surely did feel good."
"He's dead?" He felt as if a mountain had been lifted from his chest.
"Devil take him," she said, liking the way it felt to speak her mind and not to encounter a backlash. “Bones rottin’ in the dirt.”
Watching her, Bryce chuckled. "You didn't care much for Mr. Johnson."
"Not a tiny bit." She pulled the door open and what had been a muffled noise on the other side became the roar of a boisterous Saturday night crowd.
"How long were you married to him?" he asked, following her. He was on a roll and wanted to know all there was to know about her, afraid she'd clam up on him again.
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