The Husband Quest

by Lori Handeland

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jilly hid her smile.

  Addie was a wonder. She’d taught Jilly more in a week than she’d learned in a lifetime. Not only about mountain medicine, but about people, animals and friendship. Addie was the first, and best, friend Jilly had ever had.

  She’d also taught Jilly how to cook many of the “gifts” they’d been given as payment for their services. Jilly hadn’t had to go grocery shopping since she’d come to South Fork, which allowed her to use the stash from selling her rings for repairs alone.

  At least her improved culinary skills meant that Naomi and Ruth had stopped bringing Evan dinner, lunch and dessert. They hadn’t stopped coming over, but Jilly no longer felt inadequate whenever they did.

  In truth, she rarely felt inadequate at all anymore. She could soothe a rash, lance a boil, brew a tonic of bitters and she could cook. That ought to get her a husband. Around here.

  Jilly frowned and glanced at her bare and calloused feet. She could run all the way into town and back without a wince. Her fingernails were short and stained with berry juice. Her hair was tangled; her clothes older than her last marriage certificate. And it was only when she tried really hard to care that she did.

  Her husband quest seemed less and less important with every passing day.

  Not that she’d given up on it, of course. She was taking a break, a little vacation. She was entitled. Sooner or later she’d have to go back to her world. Once there, she didn’t have much choice but to marry again. The skills she’d learned in South Fork were far from marketable.

  Jilly finished with the child and sent her on her way. The yard was empty of new patients. Not a pig or a dog to be seen.

  “So, tell me.” Addie tossed a bit of this and a handful of that into a pot on the stove. “How’s Evan in the sack?”

  Jilly choked. “I didn’t— We haven’t— What?”

  “He’s a right handsome fellow. No wonder you can’t sleep. Try sex first. Much better for the constitution than a tonic.”

  “Does everyone in South Fork think we’re…intimate?”

  “Not intimate.”

  Jilly breathed easier.

  “Just havin’ sex.”

  “Why would everyone think that?” she demanded, unreasonably embarrassed, even though she had wanted to sleep with Evan the first time she’d set eyes on him. But she hadn’t known the folks in this town then, hadn’t healed their ills and listened to their troubles. She didn’t want them thinking…that.

  “Why?” Addie repeated. “Why not? Two young, single people, alone at the inn. What’s the matter with ye?”

  “Not me,” she muttered.

  “Him?” Addie’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s interestin’.”

  “He wants love,” Jilly found herself explaining. “And love is something I can’t give him.”

  “He seems pretty lovable to me.” Addie waggled her eyebrows.

  “He is,” Jilly blurted before she could stop herself.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Why had she said that? Evan was sweet, sexy, adorable. She enjoyed every minute she spent in his company. When she was away she looked forward to seeing him again. But that wasn’t love, was it?

  “Love isn’t real,” she said. “It doesn’t last.”

  “Which is it? Not real or not lasting? Can’t be both.”

  Jilly frowned. The woman had a point.

  “People think they’re in love, but they aren’t. If love was real, it would last forever.”

  “What do you think my man is hangin’ around the inn for?”

  “Got me.”

  “Because love does last. Forever. He’s waitin’ on me.”

  “Why did you sell the place?”

  “I couldn’t stand to see him and know I couldn’t be with him yet.”

  “You actually see him?”

  “Of course. He’s there, ain’t he?”

  Jilly kept her opinion on that to herself as Addie set a cover on the kettle, then brushed off her hands. “Where’d you get the idea love isn’t real?”

  “My mother.”

  Addie snorted. “I don’t like to say nothin’ agin folks’ mamas, but yours is plumb crazy. Love is the only thing worth livin’ for. Doesn’t she love you?”

  “Family love is different than romantic love.”

  “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t ya?”

  Genevieve had. Whenever Jilly had brought up the notion of a love for all time, her mother had shot it down with her cool tone and a logical explanation.

  “Love isn’t necessary,” Jilly said. “You can live without it. A marriage works the best when based on friendship and mutual respect.”

  Addie wrinkled her nose. “I ain’t nuzzlin’ up to someone I respect. And livin’ without love ain’t no way to live.”

  The vehemence in her friend’s voice made Jilly pause, then blurt, “There’s something you don’t know about me, Addie.”

  The old woman shrugged. “I know all I need to. You’re good with sick folks, kids and critters. In my book, that makes you special.”

  Jilly was struck dumb. She couldn’t recall anyone ever calling her special before.

  “I’ve been married four times.”

  “Aw. I’m sorry.”

  “On purpose. I marry old men for their money. It’s kind of…my job.”

  Addie raised a shoulder. “Nice work if ye can get it.”

  “Do you hear what I’m saying? I’m a gold digger. A trophy wife. A…a—” She couldn’t think of any of the other terms she’d heard in reference to herself.

  “If you don’t like what you’re doing, quit doing it.”

  How simple. And impossible. Jilly had no other choice if she wanted to eat. Sadly, she’d become quite fond of the process.

  Addie put a hand on her arm. “There is love, Jilly, and it does last forever. Just like there’s magic in this world and ghosts from the next. You only have to believe.”

  “THIS HAS TO STOP,” Evan muttered as his head pounded in time with Barry’s hammer.

  The sun blazed unmercifully. He probably should have spent the day inside, with the windows covered, but there was a leak in the roof, and Barry’s bum knee predicted rain.

  Evan had taken to going to the Seitz brothers’ cabin whenever he couldn’t sleep and partaking of their home brew. The liquid tasted like turpentine, scoured his throat and stomach like it, too. But the concoction was strong, and he was able to sleep. Usually on their couch or even the floor.

  He could sleep and not dream of Jilly.

  “What’s gotta stop?”

  Barry stood next to Evan on the roof, hammer dangling from his arthritic fingers. Today was the first time Evan had let him touch a tool. So far, Barry hadn’t broken anything, not even himself.

  “The drinking. The sleeping at your house.” Evan climbed down the ladder. “I’m twenty-nine years old.”

  “Hell, I’m seventy-nine.” Barry joined him on the ground. “I think it’s fun.”

  The old man could pack away moonshine like a mule, and he was rarely the worse for it. Neither were Larry or Jerry. According to them, their mama had dosed them with moonshine to cure every ailment under the sun. They had built up an immunity in the cradle.

  “Speaking of mules…” Evan began.

  “Were we?”

  Evan tried to remember, but the alcohol had killed a few too many brain cells. Conversations were becoming muddled in his mind. “Never mind. Where’s Lightning?”

  “There.” Barry pointed behind Evan. Unfortunately, he used the hand holding the hammer. When his decrepit fingers reached belly level, they gave out and the hammer fell.

  Evan foolishly made a grab for the tool. So did Barry. With a hand holding a carpet knife. Pain sliced through Evan’s forearm. The hammer landed squarely on his toe.

  While he was jumping around cursing, a soft, wet nose nuzzled the back of his neck.

  “Hey!” he shouted, then scooted away.
<
br />   Lightning neighed and stomped his hoof. The old horse thought it was hysterical to creep up on him and nibble at his neck.

  “Everyone’s a comedian,” Evan muttered. “Stop that!”

  Lightning wasn’t chastised. He shoved Evan in the shoulder with his head, then clopped away.

  “You’re bleedin’.”

  “What?” Evan glanced down.

  Blood dripped off his fingertips in a steady stream. There was already a good-size puddle next to his foot.

  Dizziness washed over him. He’d never been comfortable with blood. Especially his own.

  “Hey, you’re as white as Matthew Tolliver’s ghost.”

  Barry grabbed Evan by the shoulders and gave him a little shake. The motion only served to make Evan’s headache worse and caused the world to spin faster. Little black spots danced in front of his eyes.

  “Larry!” Barry shouted in Evan’s face. “Get your butt out here now!”

  The spots crashed together, making a black curtain in Evan’s mind.

  The next thing he knew someone was patting his face and calling his name. The hands were callused, but softer than his own. He caught the scent of jasmine. The voice was familiar, bringing with it delicious thoughts of kissing under the stars and making love at midnight.

  “Jilly?”

  “Open your eyes.”

  A circle of faces surrounded him. Behind their heads, the sun shone in a bright blue Arkansas summer sky.

  “What happened?”

  “You took a nosedive. Luckily, Barry caught you, or that pretty nose would be broken.” Jilly smiled and tweaked it.

  “I fainted?”

  He tried to sit up. She pushed him right back.

  “Stay there. You’ll just get blood all over everything.”

  Suddenly he remembered what had happened. Right up to the time the little dots had gone boom and the lights went out.

  “Where did you come from?” he asked.

  “Jerry ran down to get me.”

  “Jerry? Ran?”

  He glanced at the old man, who didn’t seem to know what was going on any more than Evan did.

  “I heard you calling for Larry.” Evan turned his gaze to Barry.

  “I did. Callin’ Jerry wouldn’t do no good, since he’s out of batteries for his hearin’ thingee. But then Jerry had to run to Addie’s, ’cause Larry’d only run into a tree.”

  “Well, thanks,” he managed to say, his head spinning with the explanation and the blood loss.

  “You ever fainted before?” Jilly asked.

  “Once.”

  “Sight of blood bother you?”

  “I’ll never make a doctor.”

  Addie appeared with a bucket of water and set it next to Jilly. She squinted at Evan’s arm. “That’s gonna need stitchin’.”

  “Hell.” Evan tried to sit up.

  For the second time, Jilly shoved him back. “You’re still too pale.”

  “All my blood’s running into the grass. Pretty soon there’ll be zombies walking around with the ghosts.”

  Jilly made a horrified face. Addie made the sign of the cross, then followed it with the odd finger-twisting motion he’d seen folks make to ward off evil. Or the devil. He wasn’t sure which. Maybe both.

  “You shut your mouth, Evan Luchetti,” Addie admonished. “Sometimes you git what you ask fer.”

  “I was joking. I read somewhere that blood on a grave will raise the dead.”

  “What have you been reading?” Jilly asked. “The Ghoul’s Guide to Life and Death?”

  Evan shrugged. He couldn’t remember where he’d read that little tidbit, or why he’d brought it up now. He must have lost more blood than he’d thought.

  “That’s not a matter for funnin’. Blood on a grave will raise the dead, if’n you have the right blood and the right person doin’ the lettin’,” Addie muttered.

  Jilly rolled her eyes so only Evan could see.

  “I need to get to a hospital.” He cursed. “I hope I have enough cash to cover this.”

  “You don’t have insurance?” Jilly asked.

  “Do you?”

  She frowned. “Not for very much longer.”

  “I’m a self-employed laborer. I can’t afford common luxuries like health insurance.” A fact that never ceased to annoy him. “Me and about forty-three million other people in the U.S.”

  “Never mind that now,” Addie snapped. “Wash your hands, girl, then wash him. I’ve put a pot on to boil the thread and the needle.”

  “You’re going to sew up his arm?”

  “No.” The old woman headed for the inn. “You are.”

  Jilly’s mouth opened, then closed. “I—uh, don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Addie paused on the porch. “Stitches ain’t brain surgery. I’ve put in a thousand of ’em.”

  “Then you do it.”

  “You need the practice. I don’t.” She disappeared inside.

  Jilly bit her lip. “I’d rather not practice on you.”

  “And I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “That’s settled then.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Here we go.” Addie was back.

  “Evan and I decided you should stitch him up.”

  “You don’t get to decide.”

  “Excuse me? It’s my arm,” Evan protested.

  Addie gave an aggrieved sigh and knelt, slowly, next to Jilly in the grass. Her joints popped and she grunted. “Look here.”

  She held her gnarled hands out in front of her. They shook like maple leaves in a high wind. “Any questions?”

  Addie handed over the needle and thread. Jilly glanced from the implements to Evan. “I’ll drive you to town if you want me to.”

  “Nearest hospital is in Little Rock,” Addie interjected.

  “Doctor?”

  “Forty miles.”

  Evan sighed. He didn’t like blood. He wasn’t crazy about pain. But he liked paying for medical services, with cash he didn’t have, even less.

  He peered a brow at Jilly. “Can you do it?”

  “Of course she kin,” Addie interrupted. “Ye think I’d hand her a needle if she couldn’t do the job?”

  Jilly’s shoulders straightened. Her lips tightened. “I can do this.”

  “Get to it then.” Evan turned his head away so he wouldn’t have to watch.

  “We’re leavin’,” Barry said. “Sorry about cuttin’ ye, boy.”

  He and his brothers were gone before Evan could say, “Accidents happen.”

  The cleaning of the wound wasn’t bad. The first prick of the needle wasn’t good. Evan caught his breath and Jilly hesitated.

  “Just do it, girl. No time for foolishness from either one of ye.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jilly pricked him again. The thread tugged at his skin. Evan didn’t like the sensation, but at least he didn’t feel as if he was going to pass out or throw up.

  “Make a stitch, then a knot t’ make sure it don’t come loose.”

  Jilly gave a tiny tug and Evan winced.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “I’m okay.” He already felt like the world’s biggest sissy for fainting. He wasn’t going to cry while he got the stitches.

  “What happened the last time you passed out?” Jilly asked.

  “I hit the ground hard.”

  She snorted, then pricked him again with the needle. “I meant why did you faint?”

  “Oh.” He was having a hard time concentrating while anticipating the next bite of pain. “I was crossing a field and got caught crawling under some barbed wire. There’s a scar on my back. Fifteen stitches worth.”

  Plus a tetanus booster and a lecture from his father. Kids had died running into barbed wire—usually riding a horse or an ATV. Get a strand of barbed wire rammed into your throat going twenty or thirty miles an hour and your life expectancy dropped to zero.

  “I didn’t see any scar.”

  She’
d noticed his back. The thought made him forget the pain. But he wasn’t dumb enough to glance in her direction. Blood he didn’t want to see.

  “The scar’s low, probably below the waistline of my jeans.”

  She made a noncommittal murmur. He wanted to see if she was blushing. When she blushed her skin took on a rosy hue that made him think of strawberry milkshakes. When she blushed he wanted to lick her freckles and maybe her toes.

  “Yer doin’ fine, Jilly. I’m gonna make a poultice fer when yer finished.”

  Evan listened to the slow tread of Addie’s feet as she retreated.

  “How did you run into barbed wire?” Jilly continued.

  “Nighttime.”

  “You don’t know where the wire is on your farm?”

  “Wasn’t my farm.”

  “Ah. Girlfriend?”

  He shrugged with his good side. He’d only had one girlfriend—Ashley—and she’d considered him nothing more than an amusement. The memory still stung.

  “How old were you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Sixteen and creeping out at night for…ice cream?”

  “I’ve never heard it called that before.”

  She cleared her throat. “Where were your parents?”

  “At home asleep. Didn’t you ever sneak out?”

  “Where would I have gone?”

  “With your friends. Car ride. Walk in the woods. Beer party. Bonfire. Slap and tickle with the new boy.”

  She laughed. “My life was nothing like that.”

  “What was it like?”

  Her laughter faded. He turned his head, stared at the sky, then slid his gaze in her direction. “Talk to me so I forget what you’re doing.”

  She glanced at her hands and sighed. “My father left us. We lived on the streets awhile. My mom couldn’t get a job. She—” Jilly broke off.

  “She what?”

  He figured her mother had turned tricks when times got tough. His brother Aaron worked with runaways in Las Vegas. His wife had been one of them, once upon a time, until she’d started stripping—a step up from hooking, but a step nevertheless. Shit happened, as Dean would say. You did what you had to do.

  “She got married,” Jilly finished.

  “Huh?”

  “My mother was—is—beautiful. She married for money. Several times. Now she’s the Countess…something-ski.”

  “Ski?”

  “Polish count.”