Springwater Wedding

by Linda Lael Miller

  Reluctantly he passed over steamy dramas and romantic comedies and finally selected an old western. He and Maggie had seen the movie together once, on a date at the Maple Creek Bijoux, when they were still in high school. He smiled, wondering if she’d remember.

  He paid the rental fee and was leaving the supermarket when he ran into Daphne’s husband, Ben Evanston. They’d met briefly in the post office a week before, with Purvis making the introductions.

  Evanston greeted him with a nod. “Hello, J.T.,” he said. “I was sorry to hear about your barn.”

  “Thanks,” J.T. answered, in a hurry to collect the pizza and get over to Maggie’s place. It wasn’t 7 o’clock yet, but he could always pretend he’d forgotten what time he was supposed to show up. “I suppose the thing would have fallen over if it hadn’t burned.”

  It was a joke, but Ben didn’t laugh, or even smile. “My wife tells me there might be copper on your place,” he said.

  J.T. recalled the papers Maggie had given him at the ball field; they were at home, on the desk in his study. He hadn’t given them another thought since he’d tossed them there earlier, impatient to get back to town. Back to Maggie. “I doubt it,” he said. It made sense that Evanston would be interested, he supposed. After all, the man ran the Jupiter and Zeus. “Old Scully was a businessman first and a rancher second. If he’d had a few tons of copper ore lying around the place, he’d have taken advantage of the opportunity.”

  Ben finally smiled. Apparently he was a stop or two behind the train. Probably had a lot on his mind. “Well,” he said, “it was good to see you.”

  “Yeah,” J.T. agreed, a bit hastily. “Take care.”

  He felt Evanston’s eyes on his back as he walked away, and wondered about it, but not for long. His mind was on pizza, old cowboy movies, and McCaffrey, though not in that order, of course.

  Purvis was waiting when Nelly came out of the library. She smiled and slipped into the passenger seat of his mother’s Escort. For a moment, he thought she was going to lean over and kiss him right on the mouth, but in the end she only blushed a little and turned to fasten her seat belt.

  Purvis turned the Ford around and headed toward his mother’s house. It was Tillie’s birthday, and he was about to introduce the two women in his life for the first time.

  “Do you think she’ll like me?” Nelly asked, gnawing at her lower lip.

  Purvis reached over, stilled the motion by pressing the tip of an index finger to her mouth. “Mom? Sure she’ll like you. Could be you’ll be the one who wants to head for the tall timber.”

  She relaxed a little, settled back in the seat. “Why?”

  “My mother’s been waiting thirty years for a daughter-in-law and a batch of grandchildren. She’s liable to produce a justice-ofthe-peace’s license and try to marry us herself.”

  Nelly’s laugh was rich and soft.

  “Oh, yes,” Purvis went on, knowing he was on a roll. “And once she gets a look at that gold necklace you helped me pick out for her birthday present, well, who knows what will happen?” He’d been partial to a bracelet with a charm that read “#1 Mom,’’ but Nelly had lobbied for a simple heart locket on a chain, and Purvis had deferred to her judgment.

  A few minutes later Purvis drew the car to a stop in front of the small and completely ordinary house where he’d lived from birth until Uncle Sam called him up back in 1969. The lights were glowing in the living room, and Tillie Digg was out on the porch, wearing her church dress and watering the red geraniums in the hanging basket by the steps. Her blue-rinsed hair was freshly done, and even at that distance, Purvis could see that she was wearing her good pearl brooch, the one she’d inherited from his grandmother.

  Purvis smiled to himself. Tillie had been on the lookout for them, unless she’d taken to watering plants in her best duds.

  The motor of the Escort rattled for a few moments after he’d pulled the key from the ignition. He turned off the headlights, got out, and waved to his mother as he rounded the car to open Nelly’s door.

  “Evening, Mom,” he called. “You’re looking mighty fancy tonight. Must be your birthday or something.”

  The sound of Tillie’s laughter reminded Purvis of the music the bell choir made, whenever they came over from Maple Creek Methodist to serenade the congregation at Springwater’s one small church. “Purvis Digg, you mind your manners and bring that young lady of yours up here right now, so I can get a good look at her.”

  Nelly, overhearing, glanced up at him nervously.

  “Relax,” he told her, in a quiet voice. “Mom’s not dangerous unless she misses one of her soap operas. Then, look out.”

  Nelly giggled.

  Tillie was beaming when they reached the base of the porch steps and paused there to look up at her.

  “Mom,” Purvis said, with grave good manners, “this is Miss Nelly Underwood. Nelly, my mother.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Digg,” Nelly said, putting out her hand even before she mounted the three steps to face Tillie eye-to-eye.

  “Call me Tillie,” said Purvis’s mom, with brisk kindness. “Now come inside, both of you. I want to show you all the lovely cards I got this year. There were seven from members of my quilting club alone.”

  “They miss you, Mom,” Purvis said, remembering a conversation with Kathleen McCaffrey, when she’d said exactly that.

  “I’ve got to get back to my stitching, now that I’m feeling better,” Tillie said. “Finish up my Drunkard’s Path.” She paused for effect. “Might need it for a wedding gift. You never know.”

  Purvis sighed as he followed Nelly and his mother into the house. The living room floor was shiny with fresh wax, and the crocheted coverlets on the couch and the back of Tillie’s recliner were arranged neatly. The familiar ceramic matador and bull gleamed on top of the vintage console TV, and the birthday cards were taped like Christmas greetings around the arched doorway leading into the combination dining room and kitchen.

  Nelly smiled, taking the time to admire each and every card. “You have a lot of friends,” she said.

  “Yes,” Tillie replied proudly. “There’s one there from Kathleen McCaffrey. She painted it herself. See the one with the pear?”

  “That’s lovely,” Nelly said, with sincere admiration.

  “Sometimes it just amazes me, the kind of talent you find in a little bitty town like this. Why, the McCracken boys are starting a rock-and-roll band, right across the alley there, in their garage.” Her eyes sparkled behind her glasses; Purvis remembered the frames from before he went to Vietnam. She just kept replacing the lenses. “Have you heard them?”

  He smiled. “I’ve had a few calls,” he said. “Not from their fans, though. Now let’s go out and get us some supper. We’ve got a birthday to celebrate.”

  Tillie twittered like a young girl about to dance the night away. “I have a two-for-one coupon for the Stagecoach CafÈ,” she said. “It came out in Wednesday’s Gazette, with the grocery ads.”

  “Good a place to eat as any, I guess,” Purvis said.

  “I love the food there,” Nelly added, and Purvis was moved by her quiet desire to be a part of things.

  The restaurant was little more than a block away, but that was too far for Tillie to travel on foot, especially in the dark. Purvis escorted her to the car, with Nelly leading the way up the walk, and when Nelly started to get into the backseat, Tillie protested.

  “You sit up front with Purvis,” she commanded.

  Purvis cleared his throat. The backseat was hardly spacious, and Nelly would fit a lot better than Tillie. “Mom—”

  “I like to be chauffeured,” Tillie insisted, and scrambled into the rear of the car.

  Purvis closed his eyes and held his breath until she was settled.

  Nelly got in front and scooted the seat forward.

  “Well, my, my,” Tillie trilled, “there’s a present back here, all wrapped up with shiny paper and a fancy bow. Is this for me? It doesn’t look one bit like a bathrobe.
”

  Purvis smiled at the mischief in his mother’s voice. “Yes, it’s for you. And maybe it’s a robe after all. One of them skimpy little things, made out of space-age microfibers.”

  Tillie laughed lustily. “My goodness, Purvis Boyd Digg, there are ladies present.”

  “Mom?”

  “What?”

  Purvis glanced at the rearview mirror, saw her face reflected there, glowing with happiness. “I love you,” he said.

  She reached forward and patted his shoulder. “I love you, too, son,” she replied, without hesitation.

  He glanced at Nelly sidelong and noticed the soft expression on her face. Purvis recalled how she’d told him both her parents were gone. Like him, she was an only child. Unlike him, she was alone in the world. Or had been, he corrected himself, until he came along. “Go ahead, Ma,” he said, a little gruffly. “Open your present.”

  Tillie ripped in, and gave a gasp of delight just as they pulled into a parking space in front of the cafÈ. “A gold locket,” she whispered. “I’ve wanted one of these all my life.”

  “Nothing but the best for you, Ma,” Purvis told her proudly.

  “I think I’m going to cry,” Tillie said.

  “Me, too,” Nelly added. And they all laughed together. It felt good, and Purvis was in high spirits as they entered the Stagecoach CafÈ. Later he’d be glad he hadn’t known it wasn’t going to last.

  13

  Only when J.T. actually stepped into the Springwater Station carrying a large pizza box and a rented video in a vinyl case did Maggie happen to remember that her television set and VCR were in the bedroom. She felt her cheeks redden and J.T., in his damnably discerning way, narrowed his eyes at her and grinned.

  “What’s the matter, McCaffrey?” he teased, in a low drawl. “Did you forget how devastatingly attractive I really am?”

  As if she could forget that, she thought, more than a little jangled. Her attraction to J.T. involved all five known senses and several yet to be identified. It was much bigger than the way he looked—impossibly handsome—or sounded—all man, with no apologies offered—or felt—hard as tamarack, warm as a woolen blanket—or tasted—delicious—or smelled—like rainwater and clean denim. She closed her eyes, in a bid to gain some kind of control over her riotous feelings.

  J.T. chose that moment to kiss her. He’d set aside the pizza and the video, pulled her close, and brought his mouth down on hers, ever so lightly, all in the space of one irregular heartbeat.

  She moaned, instructed herself to pull away before she wound up under his spell again, and slipped her arms around his neck instead, returning his kiss without reservation.

  J.T. deepened their contact, gently prodding her lips apart, teasing her tongue with his and setting all her nerves ablaze with something ancient, something fierce, something fundamentally dangerous. He held her hips in his hands, and drew her to him, as though already claiming her; she felt his erection against her belly, and longed to take him inside and keep him there, as much a part of her as her heart or her spirit.

  She let her head fall back, and J.T.’s mouth strayed, hot, along the length of her neck.

  “What about the pizza?” he murmured.

  “Oh, hell,” she whispered back, “forget the damn pizza.”

  He chuckled into the hollow beneath her ear, then lifted her easily up into his arms and started into the corridor. Sadie followed as far as the master bedroom, whimpered when J.T. closed the door in her face, then trotted away, tags jingling, into the void that was the rest of the universe.

  The room was almost dark, since twilight was gathering outside, and J.T. didn’t bother to turn on a lamp. He laid Maggie on the bed that had been Jacob and June-bug’s and stood looking down at her.

  “If you’re going to change your mind, McCaffrey,” he said gruffly, “now is the time to say so.”

  She knew she ought to send him away, but she couldn’t. She’d missed him too long, and too badly, and she needed him too much. Tomorrow, she would surely have regrets, but tomorrow could damn well take care of itself.

  She stretched, like a cat, and then kicked off her flat shoes and lay there in her jeans and white eyelet top, gazing up at him, letting all her desire show in her eyes.

  J.T. gave a low groan and hauled his shirt off, laying it aside with a distracted motion. His gaze hadn’t left Maggie’s face since he’d brought her to the bed; he took off his boots, then stretched out beside her on the mattress and rested one strong arm across her middle.

  “Ah, McCaffrey,” he breathed, “if this turns out to be a dream, and I wake up alone, I’m not going to be able to take it.”

  She smiled lazily and put her arms around his neck, drawing him down for a temptress’s brief kiss. “Don’t talk, Wainwright,” she said softly. “One of us might come to our senses if you do and spoil everything.”

  He laughed, kissed her again, and she was lost even before he caressed her breast through the fabric of her blouse, even before he undressed her, and somehow himself, and immediately found one of her nipples with his mouth. He sucked lightly at first, then harder, and Maggie’s cry was one of jubilation, of welcome, of passion long held in check and now demanding release.

  “God, McCaffrey,” he rasped, nibbling his way over the rounding of her right breast, seeking the left, “I’ve missed you so much—”

  She entwined her fingers in his hair, held him fast when he began to tease her with his tongue again, causing her nipple to harden deliciously for him. A network of sensation spread through her in a fiery flash. “J.T.,” she pleaded, and then his name fell from her lips again and again, like some desperate litany.

  He enjoyed her thoroughly, feasted on her breasts until she was half-wild with need, and then started tracing a path downward, over her belly, over the damp, silken junction of her thighs.

  “Dear God,” she gasped, when he parted her, took her full into his mouth.

  The result was an exquisitely ferocious pleasure, shattering, all-consuming; she began to move in a rhythm as old as humanity, and he stayed with her, granting her no quarter, driving her further and further into sweet madness. He seemed to sense when she was about to fly apart in his arms, and in those moments he withdrew, merely breathing upon her, whispering sexy, half-coherent promises. This happened several times, and just when Maggie thought she would lose her mind for all of time and eternity if he didn’t satisfy her, he lowered her to the bed and poised himself over her.

  He searched her face. “McCaffrey,” he ground out, “it’s cold out here. Can I come in?”

  She answered by grasping his flanks in her hands, digging in her nails and pulling him toward her. He gave a low, hoarse cry of his own and plunged inside her in one stroke. She arched her back to receive him and, because she had been so close to the pinnacle as it was, she immediately tumbled into the heart of a slow, elemental explosion. Over and over, her body convulsed with a savage joy she’d never experienced before, not even with J.T., and he continued to love her all the while, whispering tender words as he carried her past the rooftops, past the sky itself, past the stars. When at last she began to drift back toward earth, catching on small, velvety spikes of ecstacy as she fell, J.T. finally gave in to his own need. Flexing upon her, causing her to spasm softly around him, he surrendered at last, and filled her with warmth. Long, luscious moments passed before he fell to her, exhausted.

  They clung together, arms and legs entwined, breaths mingling, for what seemed like hours. Then their strength began to return.

  J.T. straightened Maggie’s sprawled limbs, mounted her, and made love to her again, this time with no foreplay at all. That second session was even more powerful than the first, and when it was over, they were both utterly spent. J.T. wrapped Maggie in his arms and held her, his face buried in her hair, and they slept.

  “She’s wonderful,” Nelly said, when Purvis returned to the car after seeing Tillie inside. She’d enjoyed her birthday dinner at the Stagecoach CafÈ, his mothe
r had, and she’d be on the phone to all of her friends, first thing in the morning, boasting about the gold locket he’d given her.

  Purvis gazed at Nelly, marveling at all she made him feel. “You’re wonderful,” he countered. He would have kissed her right then and there, but he was fairly sure his mother was looking out the window.

  She smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

  “I guess you want to head home right away,” he blustered, feeling like a fool because he didn’t know what to say. He was just a middle-aged, cow-town cop, and he’d had limited experience with women, even though his blood was as red as any other guy’s.

  “Or not,” she said quietly.

  Purvis stared at her, mute as a mailbox, afraid to hope he’d understood her correctly.

  She laughed. “What’s the matter, Lawman?” she joked. “Are you worried about your reputation?”

  Purvis doubted that he had a drop of spit left in his head. When he tried to speak it came out sounding like his throat had rusted over. “I—er—”

  She laid a hand lightly on his thigh. Her expression was ingenuous, tender, and yet the sassy way she smiled made him hard as a flagpole. “I want to stay with you, Purvis,” she said. “All night.” She glanced down at his lap. “And it looks like you want pretty much the same thing.”

  “Believe me,” he managed to say, “I do. But—”

  She touched his face with the backs of her fingers, light as the pass of a bird’s wing. “But?” she urged.

  “I want you to be sure,” he said. He’d never meant anything he’d said in his life as much as he meant that. “No regrets.”

  She shook her head. “No regrets,” she said. “Take me to your place, Purvis.”

  He put the Escort in gear, his heart rising on a swell of happiness. “All right,” he told her, and pulled away from the curb.

  They almost made it, too. Would have been doing what came naturally in no time at all, if they’d taken another route, instead of driving past the jailhouse.

  Reece McCaffrey was standing out front on the sidewalk, looking in one direction and then the other, and Purvis knew, without giving the matter more than a passing thought, that Reece was there to see him. He might have driven on past, if it had been anyone else, but there were few people Purvis liked or respected more than this one man. If Reece wanted to talk to him, there was a good reason.