We spoke not a word for miles, and even though Marshall had slipped on a pair of aviator-style sunglasses, I had the strong sense that he was also noticing me, just as intently.
Wy finished first and leaned forward again, saying, “I just want Tish and Case to come home. It’s so weird not to have them around all the time. Marsh, will Case wake up soon?”
Marshall looked back at Wy for a second. He said, “I hope so, I sure hope so, buddy. I know, it is weird. I hate it, too.”
“But you should see how much stuff Dad and Garth and the guys have already cleared away from the old barn,” Wy said then, sounding a little more optimistic. Garth was their oldest brother. He added, “Marsh, you gotta come check it out. Everyone is working so hard and it looks a shit-ton better already.”
“I will. I was planning to tomorrow, or the next day. I’ll come work my ass off, but right now I feel like I need to be at the hospital more than anything.”
“Tish really appreciates you being there,” I said, finding my voice. “She’s told me that about ten times since we got to Bozeman.”
“She’s like my little sister,” Marshall said. “And I know Case would appreciate me being there for her, I know it. God, I miss him. I miss hearing his voice. I know it’s worse for Tish, but still.”
“Let’s sing a little,” Wy insisted, leaning between the seats to turn up the radio. “That always makes me feel better.”
“Same here,” Marshall agreed. He looked over at me and said, “You aren’t getting out of this, you know.”
I felt my eyebrows lift as my heart again took up an erratic rhythm. Marshall’s eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses; I could see my own surprised reflection in them. I asked, “You want me to sing?”
He smiled a little and my heart was out of control. Maybe I was just nervous to sing in front of them, or maybe it was because I liked the way Marshall smiled at me. Instead of replying, he simply nodded.
“Here, this is a good one, everyone knows this one,” Wy said, and Marshall began tapping out the drumbeat with his thumbs on the edge of the steering wheel. Both he and Wy took up the chorus with a great deal of gusto. I liked country music and I knew it, a Tim McGraw song from when I’d been a teenager.
So I sang, at first tentatively, then with a little more heart. When a set of commercials came on after the first few songs, Marshall said to me, “You’re pretty good.”
To anyone else, I would have responded with a polite thank-you, but instead I heard myself snap, “‘Pretty good’? I was in concert choir in high school and we competed at State all four years.”
Marshall was completely unruffled by my tone. He repeated, amending only slightly, “Pretty damn good.” Before I could reply, he couldn’t resist needling me further, saying, “You know what they say about those concert choir girls…”
I couldn’t help but laugh at this, even though I probably should have smacked his arm, at least. To make matters worse, Wy asked with true curiosity, “What’s that?”
I sent Marshall as scathing a look as I could manage, despite the fact that I was still laughing. I asked, “Yes, tell us, what is that?”
Without missing a beat, Marshall replied innocently, “They hit those high notes…you know…the ones other girls can’t touch…”
“Oh my God,” I groaned, tipping forward I was laughing so hard. I knew it probably wasn’t the time or the place; I could blame the sleepless worry of the past few days, the need for stress release, but when it came down to it, he really was funny. Even if he was just trying to get a reaction from me – it was good to laugh.
“You wish,” I returned when I could catch my breath.
We sang for the next sixty miles, and I found myself hard-pressed to recall when I’d had a better time in the recent past. Marshall had a wonderful voice, sincere and true, shifting effortlessly to the background to harmonize with mine when the song featured a woman singer. Wy was a good sport, singing both male and female parts with equal enthusiasm. We passed the exit to Billings, and many smaller towns in between, before coming upon the first sign that announced Jalesville, 12 miles. It seemed to me as though we’d just begun driving.
“I’m so excited to see the town,” I said, as we neared, and Wy reached to turn down the volume for the first time in over an hour.
Marshall looked over at me and grinned, and I found myself smiling right back at him. He said to Wy, “It’s barely a speck on a map to anyone else, but we love it, don’t we, buddy?”
“We do!” Wy agreed, nearly bouncing up and down in his seat. He said, “I can’t wait to show you all the animals, Ruthie. We have all of Case and Tish’s animals right now. They’re staying with us until they get home.”
“That’s what Tish told me,” I said. “How nice of you guys.”
The foothill country was breathtaking. I cranked down the window (no automatic power buttons in this truck) and simply admired the view as Marshall exited the interstate and took a left, down a steep hill bordered on its sides with long-needled pine trees and scrubby bushes, over a set of railroad tracks and then into the town itself.
“The Spoke!” I said, as we drove along Main Street. I had heard so much about this place from both of my sisters that I felt like I’d already been there.
Marshall nodded and said with certainty, “We’ll take you there.”
A few blocks down Main Street, Wy said, pointing out my window, “There’s where Tish works,” and I looked at the law office, Howe and James. It was a far cry from what Tish had once envisioned for herself, a gleaming Chicago high-rise where she would skyrocket through the ranks until she earned a corner office with a view of the entire city. But as we drove past the modest little business here in Jalesville, with a poster featuring a local rodeo taking up the bottom quarter of the front window, I smiled to myself, understanding that this was where my sister truly belonged.
“This is where you guys live?” I asked, with a great deal of awe, a few miles later as Marshall turned into a long gravel driveway.
“This is the homestead,” he said, and I leaned to peer out the windshield at the gorgeous house nestled within view of low-lying mountains on the far western horizon. There were two barns on the property, one appearing new and the other much older, built from wide wooden boards, with a steeply-pitched roof and encircled by a split-rail corral, where a couple of horses were hanging out in the mellow afternoon sun.
“But the original homestead was west of here, right?” I heard myself ask, as Marshall parked. I could hear wild barking coming from the direction of the barn and two horses had nosed up to the fence, as though to welcome us. I was oddly certain about what I’d just said.
Marshall didn’t move to open the door, quietly watching me. He said, “Tish must have mentioned that, huh?”
“Yep, it’s out by where there’s some old caves in the foothills,” Wy affirmed, lightly thumping his fists on the back of my seat; he couldn’t get out until I did, so I climbed down and breathed deeply of the air, which did smell different than back home.
Good guess, I thought, and for whatever reason shivered a little, as though a cold hand had suddenly wrapped around the back of my neck. I shrugged away this feeling and instead lifted my face to the sunshine.
The sun felt good on my skin – I felt as though I had been inside for weeks straight. Wy immediately took my arm and hauled me excitedly over to the corral, explaining, “This here is Case’s horse, Cider,” indicating a lovely animal who was almost the exact shade of apple cider, hence her name. The boy went on, “And this guy is one of ours, Gunpowder. He’s a pinto. My horse is his mother.”
Marshall called over to us, “I’m gonna go shower. I’ll be right back.”
“Good, you smell!” Wy returned.
Marshall disappeared inside the house; I realized I was staring after him and snapped my eyes back to Wy, who was hanging on the fence and giving some love to Gunpowder, rubbing the horse’s neck, kissing him between the eyes. Wy said, “C’mon
, let’s get the dogs.”
Wy gave me the grand tour of both the interior of the house and all the outbuildings; outside, we were tailed closely by five dogs, two of which belonged to my sister and Case, as Wy diligently informed me. A cat prowled near the barn doors and Wy said, “One of the kitties just had a litter, up in the haymow. I’m gonna go see if I can find them. You wanna come?”
What I wanted was for Marshall to rejoin us, a little shocked at myself as I found my eyes returning time and again to the front door of the house, watching for him to emerge. Without waiting for me, Wy scampered into the barn and a minute later his head popped out the haymow window.
“Ruthann, come and see!” Wy invited, hanging precipitously over the edge to wave at me.
“Be careful!” I squawked at him, reaching inadvertently as though to break his fall.
He giggled and his head disappeared back inside; from behind me, Marshall said, “Aw, he’s fine. He knows better than to fall out.”
I startled slightly at the sound of his voice, my heart speeding up; after all of my watching for him, I hadn’t even heard him come back outside. I turned to see him standing with his thumbs caught loosely in the front pockets of a new pair of jeans, studying me with an expression of slight amusement.
His dark hair was clean and damp but he hadn’t shaved; my eyes, which seemed out of my own control when I was around him, detoured briefly to his mouth. The dark scruff framed his lips really nicely, I couldn’t help but notice. I wished, instantly and foolishly, that I could simply study him. I turned back around too quickly and then found myself struggling to draw a breath.
“Ever been in a barn?” Marshall asked, coming momentarily close as he walked past me to lead the way within. He looked over his shoulder, still with a little bit of a smile, and added, “That sounds like the first line of a joke.”
I said, playing along, “As in, were you born in a barn?”
Without hesitation, Marshall replied, “Nope. Conceived in one,” and then he winked at me and his smile became a grin. I went from fairly composed to flustered and hot in less than a second; he clearly noticed this as his grin deepened and he said, “God, you’re cute. C’mon.”
Cute.
He was in his element, teasing me, and here I was, predictably riled up. But come on – cute? How condescending. What happened to you still look just like an angel? Had that been a joke too? I decided it probably had, and was then upset with myself for even caring. Marshall disappeared into the barn and Wy yelled from within, “Come see my horse, Ruthann!”
Annoyed, I followed after Marshall. Wy was hanging on a stall door in the middle of the barn and waved me over at once. I brushed by Marshall and did not at all notice the way his biceps looked as he used a pitchfork on a bale of hay, the way his shoulders shifted as he worked. I especially didn’t notice how he sent an amused half-smile my way, or how my heart seized up and then pounded forcefully at this.
“This is Oreo!” Wy said excitedly, tugging my elbow as though he thought I might not listen unless he forced me. I bit back a smile.
“I’ve heard about her, from Camille,” I told the boy, reaching to pat the black and white mare’s long nose. She calmly regarded me as I stroked her face, and I said softly, “You’re a beauty. Wy takes good care of you, doesn’t he?”
Wy grinned and his eyes lit as though with sunbeams. He said, “I do. And she’s one of our best breed mares. She’s Gunpowder’s mother.”
“How many horses do you guys have?” I asked him, noting that almost all of the stalls were occupied.
“Six. Eight, including Case’s,” Wy informed. “Buck had some burns on his hide, but Doc Tomlin said he’ll be all right. Case saved him.” Wy’s expression changed at once and he added somberly, “Case will be all right, too, won’t he.” Not a question.
“He will,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. Tish’s willpower practically had its own solar system; I trusted that she wouldn’t allow anything to happen to her man. Maybe it was ridiculous, but I comforted myself a great deal with this thought.
“I love Case like a brother,” Wy said. “He’s just like a big brother to me.”
“Tish told me so,” I said. My hands had stilled on Oreo’s neck, and she made a whooshing sound and nudged her nose at me, as though to encourage further attention. I said to Wy, “He’ll be all right. We have to trust in that.”
Wy nodded and then swiped at his nose with a knuckle. I couldn’t resist patting his head, cupping my hand around the back of it, the way I did back home with the kids; I baby-sat them all the time and was used to consoling. My nephew Brantley, one of Camille and Mathias’s twins, was especially sensitive, and Wy reminded me a great deal of him.
“You wanna meet everybody?” Wy asked then, a hint of eager excitement back in his voice.
“Sure,” I said. Behind us, Marshall was working as though alone in the barn, not appearing to pay us any attention.
Wy led me from stall to stall, giving me detailed information on each of the horses. I felt a bond with him, as he was the youngest in a large, outspoken family and also had extremely good-looking older siblings who probably often claimed the spotlight from him; clearly Wy craved any amount of attention, which I understood well.
“This here is Arrow,” Wy said at the last stall in the row, and the horse within stomped its hooves as though impatient, tossing its head and shaking its mane.
“He seems a little wilder than the others,” I said, not reaching to scratch this guy’s neck, as I had with all of the rest of the animals. As though in response, Arrow snorted loudly and swung his head again. He was a gorgeous horse, big and sleek and silver-gray, flecked with darker patches; his mane and tail were black as a new moon night. I murmured to him, “You know it too, don’t you?”
“He is pretty wild,” Wy agreed.
“Aw, he’s a good boy,” Marshall said then, at my left elbow. I jumped at the sound of his voice; for the second time I hadn’t heard him approach. He looked down at me and was openly amused; every other thing I did seemed to provoke this response in him. He added, with clear affection, “He’s mine.”
“Marsh has had him from a yearling,” Wy explained, the faithful tour guide. “He got bucked a bunch of times before Arrow would let him ride.”
“Well that was before he was gelded, poor guy,” Marshall said, scratching Arrow’s big square jaw. Arrow nickered and blew a loud breath; I’d noticed how his ears twitched immediately towards the sound of Marshall’s voice.
“You cried the first time,” Wy remembered in a sing-song and his dark eyes danced with teasing.
“You see how great it feels to get bucked, buddy, and then you can crack all the jokes you want,” Marshall responded, not without humor. He added, “Besides, it was over twelve years ago. I was just a kid.”
“I’m sure it hurt,” I said, daring to meet his eyes, which I could not help but notice were as gorgeous a variation of gray as Arrow’s hide. Marshall alone possessed gray eyes; Clark and the rest of his sons were all brown-eyed. I found myself wondering about their mother; certainly she had been the one to gift Marshall, probably also with the very dark, thick eyelashes, though this in no way detracted from the air of self-confident masculinity that he exuded. I imagined dozens of beautiful women in his past, girls with perfect hair and perfect makeup, girls with more experience than I could even conceive.
What do you care?
It’s not your business!
And you have a boyfriend!
“It hurt a great deal,” he affirmed. As our gazes held the smile fell slowly from his mouth. I was close enough in that moment to see the grain of his deeply-tanned skin, the crisp outline of his lips, which had a lot of natural pigment. There was a little indentation in the exact middle of his top lip, which Grandma would call an angel kiss, and I had a sudden, extreme desire to feel it under my tongue. Instantly I looked away, mentally reprimanding myself; I realized I was curling my palms almost painfully tightly a
round the top edge of the wooden stall door, chest-high to me, and tried to unobtrusively let go of it.
Wy, utterly oblivious to any inappropriate undertones, said brightly, “Ruthann, you gotta come see the new kittens.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Marshall was still studying me as though somewhat puzzled; when I peeked back at him, his gaze flashed away from me. He said, “They’re up in the loft.”
I followed Wy to the haymow ladder, terribly self-conscious of my ratty jean shorts, dirty tennis shoes and old t-shirt. I imagined Marshall noticing women with long, manicured fingernails and shimmering lipstick, women who wore strappy high heels and skintight miniskirts. And then I giggled a little, thinking, Such as hookers?
Marshall had followed right behind me; at the ladder, constructed of wooden beams, which Wy had scaled with as little effort as a monkey up a vine, he said, “Careful now.”
I was standing with both hands clinging to the outer slats of the ladder, poised to climb, though I hesitated; this position inadvertently arched my back and Marshall’s eyes flickered to my breasts, though he returned his smoky-gray gaze almost at once to my face. Heat blasted though me and I thought, Dang, what is it about him?
Without so much as a word he caused me to entertain crazy, slutty thoughts of moving directly into his arms and pressing my breasts right against his chest. He might have said that I was cute, teasing me as I clearly understood, but I felt purely sexy around him. Sexy and breathless. My heart was hotly beating, as though I’d just jogged in place for a good half hour.
To say the least, I was not used to this feeling. At all.
“You coming?” Wy called from above and I jumped a little, as though caught doing something deviant.
Marshall grinned as though he was able to read every last thought flooding my mind. He was quite a bit taller than me, no more than two feet from my left shoulder. He said innocently, “I’ll be right behind you. If you stumble, I mean.”
Until Tomorrow Page 6