Until Tomorrow

by Abbie Williams

  Inside the barn, the sun fell in crisscrossing patterns on the cement floor, which was frosted with sweet-smelling sawdust. Sawhorses were covered with planks; I had been hearing the whine of an electric blade intermittently all day. Sean was on his knees, putting the finishing touches on a board with a sanding brush. Clark and Garth, and a few other men whose names I could not recall, were on ladders, working on the arch of the structure, high above. Wy and Quinn were also up high in the newly-constructed loft, nailing floor boards. Wy called, “Hi, Ruthie!”

  Marshall showed me the stalls that they’d built, taking me all around the space, pointing out details large and small, while I covertly admired the bones of his forearms (he was wearing a pair of leather work gloves that nicely emphasized his wiry strength), let the sound of his voice move over my skin in little pulses, studied his long-nosed profile from the corner of my eye. I thrilled at his obvious enthusiasm, the way he got excited about his hard work, the way that I knew he was hyperaware of me, too.

  We ended up back where we’d begun, at the first set of stalls where Sean was still wielding the sander, and Marshall hung over the edge, letting his arms dangle down the front. He said, “Well?”

  “This is incredible,” I told him, standing with hands on hips, smiling right into his eyes. “My sister is one lucky woman.”

  “She’s made our big brother just about the happiest man in the world,” Marshall said. “And it’s our pleasure, ain’t it, Sean-o?”

  Sean nudged sweat from his eye with one shoulder and nodded agreement. He had his sunglasses perched atop his ball cap.

  Clark, who was up on a ladder, called down through wooden skeleton of the ceiling, “Ruthie-honey, would you be willing to mix up a new pitcher of lemonade?”

  “You need any help with that?” Marshall asked me, with just a hint of wickedness.

  “I think I got it, but thanks,” I told him, though the sight of his eyes with that expression made me weak all through my lower body. I may have put a little, tiny bit more sway than usual into my hips as I walked back out of the barn. And I made sure that I tugged my braid over one shoulder, so that Marshall had a nice, clear view of his name between my shoulder blades.

  Shameless.

  That is what I had become.

  Dinnertime rolled around, and men began collecting their tools and leaving; I had helped Al to fold up his tables and chairs before he left, which we propped against the back of the trailer, for tomorrow’s use. I called good-bye to people as they headed out, from where I knelt on the far side of the yard. I had taken up Becky’s work of weeding. There were a great many flowers blooming, sort of helter-skelter throughout the yard, but it didn’t seem as though anyone had tended them in a long time. My knees and hands were black with dirt, despite the work gloves I had slipped into place, the back of my neck certainly sunburned. I eased to my heels, my eyes roving immediately for a sight of Marshall.

  Sean and Quinn were carrying one of their ladders back to the work truck, Wy following with a toolbox dangling from his right hand. I smiled a little at the sight of Wy without a shirt; here was evidence of what Marshall had surely looked like as a teenager, tall and gangly, beanpole-skinny, ribs like a marimba. I quit with the weeding, brushing my hands on my shorts, and jogged over to the barn. It was serene in the setting sun. Clark was talking on his cell phone, which made me think about my own phone, the phone I had been so diligently avoiding. Clark was the last person in the barn. But where was Marshall? His truck was still here. I knew he wouldn’t possibly leave without me, but still…

  I tried to pretend that I wasn’t (almost frantically) looking for him. It wasn’t until I was forced inside by the necessity of having to go to the bathroom that I inadvertently stumbled upon him. And then a smile, a soft and tender smile, bloomed on my face as the screen door to the trailer eased closed behind me, leaving me in relative privacy with him.

  You poor baby, you were so tired, weren’t you?

  My heart sent almost-painful beats all the way to my feet, my fingertips. Unable to resist, I crept to the couch where he was sprawled and simply indulged myself, watching him for a moment, clutching my braid in one hand. He was on his back, one knee drawn up against the back of the couch, the opposite arm hanging off the edge. His left hand was lying lax upon his chest. He was snoring lightly, lashes soft on his cheeks. His hair and t-shirt were still all sweaty and his long, lean feet were bare.

  It took absolutely every iota of willpower I possessed to keep from giving in to the basic urge to curl up against him on that couch. The evening sunlight was lazy and mellow, stretching its long beams through the windows. I could hear the occasional laughter and chatter from everyone outside, as the men collected their gear and trucks growled to life. It had been a productive day, one of which we should all be proud – but somehow I could only think about how Marshall would surely collect me close to his chest, close to his heart, if I lay down beside him.

  I went back outside, into the golden, wheat-colored sunlight. I didn’t know exactly what my intent was; I didn’t realize until Clark caught sight of me and said, “I talked to your mother just now, and she’s planning to drive over here from Bozeman in the morning.”

  My heart went into a seizure at these words but I couldn’t let Clark see this. Instead I swallowed and said, “I’ll call her a little later.”

  “You have to be starving,” he said. “How about we run into town and grab dinner? Wy is just getting the truck going…”

  It took some courage, but I steadied my voice and said, “I’ll wait here, if that’s all right. Marshall is sleeping on the couch and I don’t want to leave him alone. Plus, I still have work to do in the trailer.”

  Fortunately Clark was only listening with half an ear, I could tell, as he called across the street to Wy, “Boy! Don’t clip that mailbox!” He looked back at me and said, “That’s fine, Ruthie-honey. Marsh can run you home when he wakes up, the lazybones.”

  “He’s had a long day,” I agreed, trying to continue sounding calm.

  Clark winked at me, and I could see from where the Rawley boys had inherited that particular talent. And within five minutes, there was nothing in the yard with me but settling dust on the gravel road that led back to town, catching the sunbeams in a thousand rainbow arcs.

  Chapter Seven

  Now that I was totally alone with Marshall, albeit a soundly-sleeping Marshall, I was as nervous as I’d ever been in my life. I paced outside for a while, actually paced, until I thought my heart had settled down at least a little – at least enough to enter the space where he lay asleep on his back, totally oblivious to my machinations. Then it took me three tries before I was actually able to set foot inside the trailer. I found myself literally tiptoeing, easing the screen door so that it wouldn’t sing on its hinges. I was that terrified to have him wake up, even though I had so craftily orchestrated being left alone here, with him.

  With Marshall.

  Oh God, oh God…

  Inside the trailer the light was dimming as the sun sank slowly behind the ridge. I clicked on the bulb above the stove. Marshall was still snoring. Probably he would sleep until morning and I was a moron. I was so agitated that sitting still was out of the question. I had tried to sit at the kitchen table, but the sound of the chair moving over the floor seemed as loud as a fire alarm. I was starving, but too worked up to make something; using the stove would be noisy. It was as I lifted my arm to peek into a cupboard, hopeful of finding at least a box of crackers, that I realized I smelled. And not at all good.

  In the bathroom a minute later, no more than fifteen or so steps from Marshall, I stripped out of my dirty clothes. I was behind a closed door, but I felt more naked than ever before in my life as they fell at my bare feet. With trembling fingers I un-braided my hair, my chin tipped down as I stood in front of the mirror, my nipples aimed straight at its reflective surface. My breasts appeared as white as a glass of milk. For all my sunscreen efforts back home, there was still a cle
ar demarcation along my upper body, showing my bikini line. My stomach was flat and freckled; freckles descended over the tops of my thighs.

  I climbed into the shower and cranked the faucet to the right. The pipes groaned severely and I might as well have used a tire iron to pound upon them. I closed my eyes in half-fearful angst, now horrified with embarrassment, even though there was no immediate sound of footsteps from the direction of the living room.

  Ruthann.

  What have you done?!

  I scrubbed my hair, using what was undoubtedly Tish’s shampoo, her favorite old strawberry-scented brand. I used her body wash next, coconut-y sweet, and the warm water felt good on my hot skin, incrementally relaxing me as I stood in its spray for long minutes. I had just leaned back to rinse the last of the conditioner from my hair when there was a knock on the bathroom door, two soft raps, and Marshall’s voice, conveying clear confusion, as he asked, “Hello?”

  My heart fell to the shower floor and almost went right down the drain. I was hardly in a position to ignore him, and he had to wonder what in the hell, not entirely certain just who was currently in Case’s trailer with him, showering. I could be a burglar, or worse, and then I was overcome with the desire to laugh, hysterically.

  “It’s just me,” I called, in a remarkably non-trembling voice.

  I could actually feel his surprise. He stood there rendered speechless for a moment, a moment in which I hugged myself around the middle and bent forward, in pure agony.

  At last he said, “Ruthann?”

  “Yes,” I said back, still bent forward, my voice slightly muffled. “You were sleeping.”

  He didn’t say anything else. Minutes ticked by and the water began running cold, and I couldn’t hide in here like a child, as much as I really longed to, so I shut off the spray with a thunk-clunking of pipes, and then listened intently for any hint as to what Marshall was doing.

  “Hey, I’m making us some supper,” he called from the kitchen, sounding typically at ease, and I could also hear the sound of something frying; my anxiety level cranked down a few notches, at least. I dried myself and combed through my hair, trying to remember if the bathroom was in sight of the kitchen. It wasn’t, I decided. I needed to sneak over to my sister’s room for some clean clothes.

  “I’ll be right there,” I called, double-wrapped in a towel as I raced into my sister and Case’s room. There, I closed the door and found a pair of her jean shorts and a clean tank top with no trouble (I had done most of their laundry today, and thankfully Tish and I were basically the same size). I slipped back into my bra, but still no panties. No more than a minute later I had emerged into the kitchen, heart clattering hotly in my chest, as I tried desperately to pretend that everything was completely normal.

  Marshall was at the stove, making eggs. He glanced over at me and I could tell he was keeping his face carefully expressionless, as though gauging my mood. He said, lightly, “Thanks for waiting with me. Guess I was pretty tired.”

  “Everyone else headed home,” I said, like he wasn’t well aware of this fact, and my heart was about to shred apart in my chest. Marshall was still barefoot. Somehow this made me ache even more fiercely with wanting him.

  “I figured,” he said, and there was something in his voice that I couldn’t quite interpret. He was still looking over at me. I was frozen at the edge of the kitchen, just watching him. I could smell eggs frying and the scent of my clean hair. I felt as tensile as a soap bubble, and just as likely to shatter at the faintest touch. A deep, indigo-blue had overtaken the sky as I’d showered.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked me, his voice low and quiet. Our eyes were locked.

  “Yes,” I whispered, and the word caught in my throat, scraping me. I felt a little like I was choking as I explained, “But not for…eggs…”

  “Ruthann,” he said, and my name sounded almost like a warning. Slowly he drew the pan away from the burner and clicked it off, all as I watched silently. When he looked back at me, the tension was so tightly-wound between us that I could almost feel it begging for release. He studied me intently from a few paces away, and I sensed he was waiting for even the slightest hint of invitation from me, to make his move.

  With my entire soul, I longed for this. So much that my limbs were weak and my blood was flowing out of control. I thought if Marshall put his hands on me, I may very well implode.

  You’re behaving like a slut, I thought harshly, my one coherent thought, reprimanding myself, while Marshall continued to watch me silently, his gray eyes appearing as thunderheads, backlit by a burst of lightning – his desire, which burned as furiously hot as mine, I knew without question. I opened my mouth to tell him we should go, right this minute, but instead I heard myself ask, just as quietly, “What?”

  Marshall shook his head then, as though to clear it, and his chest expanded with a deep breath. He said hoarsely, “Nothing.”

  Slut, I repeated, punishing myself. As though I already knew what I was going to do next. Where this would lead.

  “It’s not nothing,” I whispered, which I knew he knew very well, staring into his storming eyes. I admitted, completely certain despite my trembling voice, “At least, I don’t want it to be nothing.”

  He held very still for a long moment. I didn’t think he was even breathing as he stared right back into my eyes. My heart squeezed in on itself, hot and tight.

  “I’m not going to play fair,” he said, shifting towards me. He warned, low and harsh, “I don’t care that you have a boyfriend. I will do whatever it takes to win you, do you hear me, Ruthann?”

  I could see the way his pulse was beating at the juncture of his collarbones. And then suddenly I had slipped my arms around his waist and licked him in that exact spot.

  Two seconds after that we were kissing, open-mouthed and reckless, Marshall picking me up into his arms and my legs going around his waist. I curled my fingers into his thick wavy hair, messing it up even further, at last tasting his mouth. He moaned, deep in his throat, clutching me around the hips.

  I hadn’t kissed anyone but Liam in years. Marshall was a different kisser all around, intense and heated, his tongue seeking mine, stroking the interior of my mouth. It felt so good, so incredibly good, and I was dying for more. Everything about him was different than to what I was accustomed – his lean, wiry build, his taste, his hair in which I could sink my questing fingers.

  His big warm hands slid down over the length of my bare thighs, then skimmed back upwards, this time ending with his fingertips just beneath the hem of my shorts, on either side. My heart was beating so hard I was surprised it wasn’t visibly displacing my ribs. He tore his mouth from mine and his eyes beat a path straight through me. I held tightly to him with arms and legs, both of us breathing harshly. He whispered heatedly, “I want you so much. I have for so long.”

  I breathed out in a rush at these words, instantly pulsing between my legs. His eyelids lowered and he sensed my urgent desire to allow him to have his way in every regard. He caught me back into his kisses, stroking me with his tongue. Not breaking our kiss, he carried me straight to the couch, setting me there and kneeling before me. The only light in the room came from the small fixture over the stove. But it was enough that I could see his beautiful eyes.

  My hands were pressed flat against his collarbones. I could feel his pulse throbbing, matching mine, and I whispered with absolute certainty, “I want you, too.”

  His eyes flashed with a hot, satisfied joy before he kissed me again, tongue delving deeply, as a moan escaped my throat and I ran my hands over his ribs, on either side. I could feel his heart racing as rapidly as mine and just as I’d recognized before, I trusted him. I drew away so that I could tell him truthfully, “Marshall, I’m not on the pill, I forgot to bring them with me this week…”

  He drew back just a breath further so he could look straight into my eyes, his arms braced on either side of me, and whispered intensely, “Let me go down on you. Will you let me do that?”


  I could not draw a breath, in elation and yet one part terror, as no one had ever done such a thing to me before. He was so near and immediate, and my body was rioting in response to him, flooding me with heat and wetness and passion.

  “Please,” he implored, already unbuttoning my shorts. I curled my hands around his t-shirt, gripping hard. My hips arched towards him in clear invitation, and he leaned to gently lick my bottom lip, urging, “I’ve dreamed about you this way for so long…please, let me…”

  I’d never experienced oral sex before; Liam was too shy to try such a thing, not that I would admit this to anyone in a million years. But Marshall saw something in my eyes, saw that I was a goner, dying to let him have his way. I could do nothing but nod, and he yanked his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side. His torso was lean and suntanned, his chest covered with dark hair, and in that instant I understood fully that I had never needed anyone or anything more than him. He grinned at me, his smoky eyes flashing fire as he slipped the jean shorts down my legs.

  “No panties?” he whispered, teasing me, but before I could respond he bent to me, pressing his lips to my bare lower belly. He licked me gently and whispered, “I wondered how far down your freckles went…”

  “Oh,” I moaned, as he curled his strong hands around my thighs, easing my legs farther apart. His eyes burned into mine, even as he smiled sweetly at me before brushing his lips in a hot path down my stomach. I gasped, “Marshall…oh my God…”

  He had two fingers inside of me and I pressed against his hand. He continued to stroke gently as he whispered, “You’re so wet…sweet Ruthann…I want to make this so good for you…”

  “Yes,” I moaned, each breath falling over the next, my thighs spread and my head arched back. Nothing in my life had ever prepared me for this intensity of feeling. Marshall withdrew his hand and sucked two of his fingers, both of which had just been inside me, his gray eyes almost black with desire. I was so wet that I could feel it along my inner thighs.