by Webb, Peggy
“No. I live there.”
“You live there?” Tess looked at Mick, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t even seem surprised.
“It’s not so bad, really.” Casey led them into the woods until they came upon a large cardboard box. Several black garbage bags covered the outside of the box, but some of the lettering showed through. It was a refrigerator box. “Of course, when it rains, my house gets soggy, then I have to go out and find a new one.”
He disappeared into the box. Tess and Flannigan could hear him inside, singing softly to himself.
“In the sweet by and by. We will meet on that beautiful shore. In the sweet by and byyy...”
“Tess.” Mick tipped up her face. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up about this old man.”
“I only want to help him.”
“We will. We’ll do what we can.”
“Thank you for staying, Mick.”
“I don’t have an adoring public waiting for me where I’m going, Tess.”
“Where are you going?”
“I was thinking of Texas. Remember how we used to talk about Texas?”
“You were going to fly, and I was going to wait for you in a field of bluebonnets, singing to our babies.” Tess’s eyes were misty.
“It was a good dream once.”
“It still would be... if we were in love.”
“Yes... if we were in love.”
During the course of their conversation they had stepped back some distance from the box, and Mick had unconsciously moved so close to Tess, they were joined shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. He separated himself from her.
“I think what we should do,” he said, “is find a place to sleep tonight, and then bright and early tomorrow morning take Casey to the Welfare Department so those people can take care of him.”
“You said you’d help.” Tess looked at him with accusing eyes.
“I’m going to.” He waved his hand toward the refrigerator box. “Look at that, Tess. He lives in a cardboard box. He wears threadbare clothes. The Welfare Department will feed and clothe him and find him decent housing.”
“What about his son?”
“How do you know he even has a son?”
“When did you get to be so cynical, Mick Flannigan? He told me so.”
“Tess...”
Flannigan reached for her, but she flung herself away from him, waving her arms dramatically.
“Just go on and leave us alone. We don’t need your help. I’ll find Casey’s son all by myself.”
“Dammit, Tess. You’re being stubborn.”
“You’re being heartless.”
“Wanting to give the old man clothes and food and a place to live is not heartless.”
What he should do, he thought, was get into his Skyhawk and fly off and never look back. Tess Jones was nothing but a passel of trouble. She was hard to handle besides.
They glared at each other in the waning light of day. Inside the refrigerator box, the singing had stopped.
“Look, Tess. I only stayed to keep you out of trouble—”
“Keep me out of trouble!” She jutted out her chin and glared at him. Everything about her sparked with anger, her eyes, her hair, her body. “The only trouble I ever had was with you.”
His hot blood roared in his ears, and he turned his back to her and stalked off.
“Good. Leave!” she yelled. “You always did leave when the going got tough!”
“Hell.” He stalked back to her, then caught her and dragged her close, tipping up her chin with his hand. “Do you want me to help look for a man who probably doesn’t exist?”
“No. You go to Texas or Timbuktu or wherever your wandering feet take you, and I’ll look for Casey’s son.”
“Tess...” He could never stay mad at her, especially when he was touching her. “Ahhh, Tess, my girl.” He folded her next to his heart and pressed his face into her fragrant hair. “For you. I’ll chase Casey’s rainbow.”
With her face against his shoulder she smiled. “I knew you would all along. You’re nothing but a big old soft-hearted teddy bear.”
“Humph,” he muttered, but he was pleased all the same. He’d missed being somebody’s teddy bear.
He released her, then stepped back and lit a cigar. It gave him something to do with his hands. Then he said, “I’ll go with you on this wild-goose chase, but only for a little while, only until you can see the truth.”
“We’ll see.” She smiled her satisfied Mona Lisa smile. It was the one she always smiled when she knew she’d won a battle with Flannigan.
He clamped his teeth down hard on his cigar. He’d never stopped loving her, that much was true. But at the moment he was very close to being smitten by her all over again. Being in love and knowing he had to be noble was one thing. But being smitten was something else entirely. Being smitten caused a man to do impulsive things, foolish things.
He blew smoke rings into the night and watched them disintegrate. The search for Casey’s mythical son could possibly be the most dangerous journey of Flannigan’s life.
Joy bubbled in his soul and spilled over. His laughter startled a rabbit nearby.
“What’s so funny, Mick?”
“Remember the last trip we took together, Tess?”
“How could I forget? That old hearse broke down on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and we ended up in one of those barns with a hex sign painted on the side.”
“Remember the look on that old lady’s face when she saw the hearse? She thought we had come to take her husband.”
“But he ain’t dead yet,” Tess said, imitating their long-ago hostess, ‘‘he’s just drunk.”
She reached for his hand, and he took it. “That was a long time ago, Mick.”
“Yes. A long time ago.”
“Well, here I am.” Casey emerged from his box.
He was carrying a small bundle tied with an old blue bandanna and a walking cane with a tarnished gold head. He smiled at both of them, showing two rows of very white teeth, a little too large for his mouth.
“I feel like Dorothy setting off to the Land of Oz.”
“I’m afraid there won’t be any magic this trip, Casey.” Mick took his bundle and his arm, and led him toward the car.
“You never know,” Casey said.
o0o
They ended up that night in two rooms at a small motel outside Tupelo—Tess in one room and Casey and Flannigan in the other. Johnny had insisted they stay with him, but they hadn’t wanted to impose. They had collected Tess’s cat and her clothes; then Johnny had driven them to a car-rental agency. The sturdy Ford Mick had rented stood outside the door of unit four.
Lights glowed in the windows of units three and four, and then shortly after midnight the lights in unit four went out. Mick lay in the dark with his feet hanging off the end of the bed. Motel beds were always too short for him.
He listened for sounds from the other room. Through the thin walls he heard the television click on. A short time later it clicked off. The plumbing between the walls rattled. Tess was showering.
He rolled himself in his sheet and shut his eyes. He didn’t want to think about Tess with water beading her skin.
Now she was singing. He raised himself on his elbow, listening. The words sounded true and clear through the partition that separated them. Tess was singing the hauntingly beautiful love song from Carousel, If I Loved You.
Tears squeezed under his eyelids, and he was not ashamed. One of the good things Uncle Arthur had taught him was that it was okay for boys to cry. Men too.
“Think of me my darling,” he said. Then he lay back on his pillow and drifted asleep, lulled by the sound of Tess’s voice.
o0o
Tess huddled under her covers, gravitating naturally toward the warmest spot in the bed. The spot was not only warm, it was also big and bulky and solid. She hugged her arms around it and snuggled close, blissful, even in her sleep.
The warm spot moved, a
nd she followed it, hooking her legs around it this time so it would remain steady. When it moved again, she came out of her slumber.
She sat up in bed, one strap of her nightgown sliding down her shoulder. When her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw why her warm spot had kept moving.
“Mick Flannigan, what are you doing in my bed?”
“Lie back down and go to sleep, Tess.”
He rolled over, taking half the covers with him, and presented her with his broad, naked back.
“And you without a stitch of clothes on, I’ll bet.” She ran her hands under the covers to check out her theory.
“It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie,” he grunted, moving out of her reach. He yawned hugely, stretching his arms over his head. Then he crossed them on his chest and shut his eyes.
“You look like something freshly laid out in a casket. Get up from there, Flannigan.”
He sat up and propped himself against the headboard.
“Here I am, and here I’ll stay. I’d planned on getting a good night’s sleep, but if you want to chatter, I’m awake now, and I’ll listen for about two minutes.”
“What are you doing in my room?”
“Casey snores.”
“So do you. Since when has a little snoring bothered you?”
“Since it sounds like a freight train.”
Tess flopped against the headboard beside him, pulling up the strap of her gown.
“I don’t suppose I need even bother to ask how you got in.”
“I’m the one who taught you to pick locks, remember?”
“It was one of the more useful things you taught me.”
Now that she was wide awake and her eyes had adjusted to the dark, she glanced around her room. Mick’s clothes lay in a heap on top of her sequined shoes. One toe was peeking out from under his jeans, winking at her.
The sight of their clothes tangled together made her nostalgic.
“Flannigan, what am I going to do with you?”
He swiveled his head so he could see her better. Her hair shone in the dark, and her gown was a soft rosy sheen that beckoned to him. Desire smote him so hard he had to clamp his jaws together to keep from groaning.
Silently he cursed the impulse that had driven him to her bed. What was he doing? Sure, Casey had been snoring. But that wasn’t the reason he had slipped through the darkness and picked Tess’s lock and climbed in beside her sleek, warm body.
The reason was insanity. Plain and simple. Tess Jones was driving him insane. It had started when she’d sauntered up the walk at Johnny’s house, and every day it had got worse. Every song she sang drove him closer to the edge. Every time she laughed, he felt pieces of himself flying off and landing at her feet. Every time she touched him, a big chunk of his heart broke off and became hers forever.
Now, he was broken into a million pieces, and only Tess could put him back together again. Honor and nobility be damned. He was in her bed because he wanted her. Selfish, that’s what he was. The question was not what she was going to do, but what he was going to do.
“What you’re going to do, Tess, my girl, is lie back down on that side of the bed and get a good night’s sleep.” He reached for her with the intention of tucking her in. His plan was to be matter of fact and nonchalant so she wouldn’t see how much he wanted her. He was also going to stuff plenty of covers between them so he wouldn’t be tempted to change his mind.
When he touched her, she trembled. Tucking her in wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought.
“We used to kiss, Flannigan,” she whispered, her eyes huge and shining. “We used to kiss until one of us got sleepy.”
“I remember.” God, he remembered only too well. He scooted closer so he could handle her better—tucking her in—and she smiled at him. He felt as if a jagged blade had pierced his heart.
“If we got started now, we might not stop.”
“Speak for yourself, Flannigan.” She reached up and curled her hands in his hair. “I can stop with you anytime I want to.”
He called on all the saints he knew to protect him from his own folly. He should never have come to her bed.
“That’s good, Tess. You’ve learned some restraint in your old age.”
“Restraint!” She lunged at him. He caught her, and they both tumbled back to the mattress. She battered at his chest, her eyes blazing as brightly as her hair. “You let go of me, Mick Flannigan. I don’t need you to tell me how to behave.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’ve never needed you. Never!”
He was astonished. And alarmed. He sat up and straddled her, pinning her to the bed. Her fists kept flailing his chest. He ignored them.
“Easy girl. Calm down.”
“I don’t want to calm down.” Her fists battered at him. “All my life people have been trying to remake me. Don’t you start with me, Flannigan.”
He caught her flying fists, then rolled over, wrapping her tightly in his arms.
“Who has tried to remake you, my darling?” She struggled against him. “Who?”
“Everybody.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “Nobody,” she said, stronger this time. “Let me go, Flannigan.”
“Ahhh, Tess.” He began to stroke her hair. “Tess, my love.” Strands of her hair clung to his hands, curled possessively around his fingers. “You’ve always been perfect in my eyes. Always.”
“Do you mean it, Flannigan?”
“I mean it.” His hands moved lower, stroking her back.
“Then why did you leave?”
“It had nothing to do with you.” She grew stiff and silent. Even his caresses couldn’t rouse her to life again. “My Lord. What have I done to you?”
He eased away from her so he could see her face. She looked like a china doll, beautiful and perfect and lifeless.
“Tess, my love, my darling.”
His mouth covered hers. She remained stiff and unyielding. He wrapped her close, molding her against his body, rocking back and forth on the bed as he continued to kiss her.
“My love, my sweet.” He felt the first flutter of response, and his heart soared. He leaned back again to see her face. Color was flowing into her skin again. “Saints be praised,” he whispered as his mouth claimed hers once more.
She curled her hands in his hair. “Flannigan... Flannigan.”
They spiraled backward in time. She was his and he was hers, and she was calling his name, over and over. He slid his hands down the back of her gown, and she arched against him. The thin layer of silk between them seemed to disintegrate.
His hands began to move, down her back and around her hips and over her legs.
“Mmmm,” she said, closing her eyes and purring like a kitten under his touch.
“Do you still like that, Tess?”
“I never stopped liking it.”
He slid his hand up her thigh. “Your legs are beautiful.” His hand inched higher. “Silky.” And higher. “Warm.”
“Flannigan... Flannigan.”
With his hand resting high on her thigh, he kissed her arm, her shoulder, her ear. Her skin felt just the way he remembered, cool and fragrant, with the pulse in her neck fluttering like fragile butterfly wings.
“You are mine,” he murmured. “Always were, always will be.”
He nudged aside her straps and moved his lips over her throat and shoulders, reclaiming what was his. “Here,” he murmured, “and here... and here. It’s all mine... all mine.” Reckless with greed and hunger, he staked his claim all over her body. She grew wild under him, hot and wild, writhing at his touch, urging him on with her voice of music.
He tore her gown aside. The silk whispered in the darkness as it ripped, and then it lay on either side of her body, and she was offered up to him like an exotic flower. He explored her soft curves, delved into her warm hollows, and drank deeply of her sweetness.
She clung to him, singing his name. The music penetrated his heart, seeped into his soul.
“Tess, my love, my
darling. Do you want me?”
“Flannigan, oh yes. Yes. Yes.”
He came home then, slid into the deep, silky recesses of her body and found his way home. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, and they rejoiced together, moving in perfect harmony, dancing in perfect rhythm. At last, at long, long last, they both knew heaven.
They soared together, up among the stars with a heavenly chorus ringing in their ears. But the chorus was not angels: It was the combined voices of Tess and Flannigan, giving vent to the music of their hearts.
“I’ve dreamed of you like this.” He eased to a slow, languorous rhythm, gazing down at her face. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of this?”
“Two?” Her hips danced with his, and she smiled with sheer joy.
His laughter rang out richly in the darkness.
“I lied to you, my love. It took me more than two days to get over you.”
Her fingernails dug into his back, and her face became fierce.
“Are you over me, Flannigan?” For a moment they were still, straining toward each other, pulsing with tension. “Are you?” she whispered.
Her question pierced his heart and seared his soul. Looking down at her, with her hair spread across the pillows like flame and her eyes shining up at him, he knew he could not lie. Not now.
“Never. I’ll never be over you.” He caught her fiercely to him, pressing his face in her hair and inhaling her fragrance.
They stayed that way, their bodies joined, their hearts thundering against each other.
“Never,” he whispered once more as he began to move once more. “Never.”
Suddenly they were caught up in a wild rollercoaster ride, thundering over the tracks, dipping and swaying and tilting. The exhilaration of the ride rose high in their throats, until they were both crying out their pleasure.
They careened over the tracks, going the same place and arriving at the same time. The ride came to a thundering, crashing stop.
“Ahh, Tess, my girl.”
He pressed his face to against her hair, his arms circled around her. Then he tipped them over so they lay, facing each other, across the bed. “On stormy nights I used to lie in my bed—wherever I happened to be—and listen to wind blow and thunder crash and dream I held you in my arms. Remember how thunderstorms used to bring out the primitive in us, Tess?”