He showed me at least ten times before I got the hang of it; he and Banjo were both the essence of patience, and Wy encouraged me from the sidelines as well as any coach. By the time the sun had fully set, leaving the world muted with tints of gray, I had a basic handle on how to buckle the cinch and tie the appropriate knot.
“Buddy, will you go and grab us something to drink?” Marshall requested of his brother.
“Sure,” Wy said agreeably, hopping down from the fence.
Wy had hardly turned his back and we were in each other’s arms. Marshall murmured intensely, “I need your mouth, right now.”
And of course I gave it to him.
***
By my third weekend in Jalesville, I had managed to increase my words-per-minute on the computer by about one million, thanks to all of the typing I did at work, I had learned to competently saddle, mount, trot and dismount Banjo, I had learned the names of all the bartenders and servers at The Spoke, which was owned by the Hellers (Clark’s sister Julie’s family), and had procured and begun taking birth control pills.
On top of everything else, when everyone was gathered at the table for a Friday dinner at Clark’s, Tish and I explained exactly what Robbie Benson had told us the day he left Jalesville, omitting only the information about our father’s extramarital activities. I told Marshall about it privately, and of course Tish told Case, but we decided that not everyone needed to know that our father was a rotten, cheating son of a bitch.
Neither Tish nor I had spoken to Dad; we hadn’t even told Mom, who would understand more than anyone, both of us still too stunned that our father would risk ruining a second marriage, would sink so low as to cheat on another wife. Meanwhile Robbie had started work at Turnbull and Hinckley in downtown Chicago. He called Tish every few days during his lunch hour, and while he had not yet provided any useful information, Tish was confident he was searching, ideally discreetly, and refused to give up on him.
Marshall came to get me each evening after work and remained every bit a gentleman. We kissed all the time, could hardly keep our hands from each other, but Marshall was determined to continue our courtship as otherwise properly as possible – or, as I well knew, until he received even the slightest hint from me. Though it was increasingly difficult, I was determined to at least wait until my pills were working and we didn’t have to use a condom.
But I thought about making love with him almost every minute of every day. At night Marshall dropped me off and I lay alone in my bed, Bender sprawled on the floor (or more often mattress) beside me. Marshall would call and we’d talk for at least another hour, and after we managed to hang up, I would stroke my fingers between my legs (which was something I had never done before him), shallowly and then deeper within, and I would need him to be inside of me so much that I thought I might explode.
Soon, I thought, willing myself to stay strong. Very, very soon.
***
The following Saturday night we took Arrow out for a ride after dinner at Clark’s, using no saddle, as it was easier to sit double without one.
“I have never seen the stars look like this,” I marveled for what was probably the sixth or seventh time.
“The ones in the sky or the ones in your eyes?” Marshall teased me in response, his chin near my left temple as he delivered these soft words. We were both bundled in jeans and warm sweatshirts, boots and wool socks; the foothills were chilly at night, even in late summer. Though I didn’t require anything but Marshall to truly warm me; riding double with him was just about the most wonderful thing I could imagine. I ran my hands over the length of his thighs, braced on either side of mine, and he made a throaty sound and bit my earlobe.
I snuggled even closer, delighting in his warm strength behind me, his right arm anchoring me to him as he held the light riding rein with his left hand. Beneath us, Arrow’s powerful muscles shifted as he walked with relative politeness, but even I could sense that the big gray longed to run. He snorted and tossed his head, but never disobeyed Marshall’s commands; his pointed ears were like radar, constantly attuned to the sound of his master’s voice.
We had been talking about the Yancys earlier, and I told Marshall how Derrick drove past the law office nearly every day. I added, “It’s like he’s mocking Tish. But at least she hasn’t run outside to scream at him since that first time. I haven’t actually met him yet, but I hate him by default. He’s a threat to Jalesville and he’s a threat to my sister and Case.”
“I’ll second that,” Marshall agreed. “And even if people are resisting, his dad’s company has succeeded in buying up hundreds, if not thousands, of acres around here. Apparently to cover up dirty, shitty dealings. Go figure.” He shifted his hips and tightened his knee to take Arrow in a slightly different direction, adding, “Yancy’s got eyes that remind me of a wolverine. Mean and beady. Calculating. You should have seen the way he looked at Tish at the city council meeting back in July. Case was ready to break his neck that night, but if Yancy looked at you that way I’d be tempted to kill him, too.”
“My sister will kill him before anyone else,” I reflected grimly, before saying, “I totally believe that there was something illegal going on inside Highland Power. It’s still just sitting there, empty and useless. And to think it was owned by the Yancys anyway.”
Marshall said, “I’ll ask around at college when I start back there, at least into the environmental angle. If someone from the local Fish and Wildlife chapter was asking questions, maybe I can find out what it was about. If we get enough people involved, it actually could affect those Chicago assholes. You know they think they’re untouchable.”
“Because they always have been,” I reflected. I clutched his thighs again, this time in concern. I implored, “Marshall, I don’t want you getting too involved. This is the kind of thing you see in late-night movies, when people get suspicious of the person asking too many questions…just like Tish always does…”
Marshall swept my loose hair away from the side of my neck, so he could press a gentle kiss there. He said softly, “It feels so good that you worry about me. I mean, not that you are worried. I would never purposely make you worry –”
“I know what you’re saying,” I interrupted, turning to kiss his chin. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Arrow neighed then, sharply, as though alerting us; we were riding the outskirts of the Rawleys’ property line and I sat straight all of a sudden. I heard myself say, “Over there. That’s where the old homestead was, wasn’t it?”
I felt Marshall nod. If he thought it was strange that I somehow knew this, he didn’t comment. Instead he said, low, “I just felt you shiver. What’s wrong?”
His arms had already crushed me closer; I knew he was thinking of the word disappear – just as I was. It seemed to swell in my mind, along with other images, other words, as clear as they were inexplicable. I heard a woman speaking, and a man, both as though to me, calm and conversational.
I told him I wanted a west-facing porch, Ruthie.
And that’s just what I built for you, love. Ain’t that a beautiful sight?
That’s always been your favorite too, Grantley, watching that setting sun.
My own voice, whispering, There is something about it.
I pressed both palms to my face, now seeing Una Spicer’s words scrawled in fading ink on a long-ago letter.
“The marshal…” I whispered painfully, and my hands flew back to Marshall’s thighs, my fingers digging into his jeans in effort to hold tight. The past seemed so close – so close that I could touch it, hear it, breathe it in the air surrounding us. My vision clouded and the Rawley family called to me…but not the family I knew and loved now, in 2013. It was a family from over a century ago, and I knew them…
I knew them.
Me – not some past incarnation of me.
And they were just beyond the edges of my perception. Though it was the deep black of night where Arrow, Marshall and I existed, a flash of settin
g sun struck my vision, a magenta-tinted sun, rendering me momentarily blind. It was right there. I could hear Grant Rawley chuckling at something his wife was saying.
But then she interrupted herself to address me, disquiet in her voice, as she commented, Ruthie, you’re so pale…
I thought, What…the hell…
Reality flickered as fireflies at twilight. Time didn’t exist and yet it did – the sunset cut through the starry night, then disappeared, as a channel being changed. I swore I heard my own voice suddenly screaming for Marshall, frantically screaming his name, the essence of myself racing as though to reach him before…
Before…
My tightly-gripping hands suddenly passed straight through Marshall’s legs and he was shouting my name, feral and frantic, and I knew terror – stark and uncompromising – that we were being ripped from each other.
Don’t take me, I begged. I understood that I was begging Time.
Like a taut rubber band snapping into its original shape, I rushed back to myself at the last possible instant, only a fraction from the point of no return that I could sense hovering in the background like a vulture – back to Marshall.
And then it was utterly still.
Marshall heeled Arrow into a full canter, taking us back to the house, though we barely cleared the yard before he dismounted with me in his arms; we clung, the force of our desire to be in each other’s embrace taking us to our knees. I knew without speaking that he’d felt it too – the imminent danger of our separation. It had almost been too late.
My heart would not slow its speed. I gripped Marshall’s sweatshirt so hard that my knuckles ached. He wrapped his arms so fiercely around me that they were nearly doubled, his breathing harsh; I realized he was crying. He kissed my face repeatedly, as though unable to believe that I was still here. The house was dark except for the kitchen light, the bonfire pit silent this night. It must have been much later than I’d realized.
When we regained enough control to speak, he whispered one word, “Never.”
“What happened?” I whispered, exhausted, almost unable to open my eyes.
“It will never take you from me,” he said roughly. “Whatever it was – there was some kind of fucking force field out there…oh God, I don’t know…”
“I could hear your family,” I whispered. “Grant Rawley and his wife were talking to me, Marshall…I know it’s crazy…”
“It’s not crazy,” he said intently. “Or I’m crazy, too. I heard them. I saw you – oh Jesus – I saw you start to…vanish. Ruthann…” His voice choked around my name.
“I can’t go there – I don’t want to go there,” I said brokenly.
“You’re here, with me,” he whispered. “I won’t let you go.”
Arrow was standing near us, still as a sculpture except for his swishing tail, as though on guard. Marshall cupped the back of my head and made himself draw a deep breath. My eyes sank shut and I breathed the scent of Marshall’s neck, until I calmed.
***
Later, in the parking lot at my apartment, Marshall killed the engine of the truck. For the first time, Bender was not with us at this point in the evening. In the darkness we studied each other silently. At last Marshall said, in a tone that left no room for argument, “I’m going to hold you close to me all night. And I won’t try a thing, angel, I swear. I just want to breathe against your hair while we sleep. Will you let me do that?”
I was so in love with him that I could hardly breathe. This knowledge ricocheted through my body as intensely as anything I’d ever felt, a fall I hadn’t seen coming, had not expected, but welcomed with a fierce intensity. I said, “Of course I will.”
It was late. We spoke little as we entered my apartment; in my room, Marshall wrapped his arms around me from behind and hugged me to his chest as he studied the tiny twin bed. He had not yet been in my bedroom, and he whispered, “Well, that just won’t do.”
I laughed a little at this, relieved that I was still able to laugh after this evening. I said, “It will have to for the night anyway.”
Marshall was as good as his word, and though he didn’t attempt to restrain the heat in his flashing gray eyes as I emerged from the bathroom in one of his t-shirts and my pajama shorts, he simply reached wordlessly for me. He was sitting on the twin mattress in his boxers and nothing else, sheet drawn up to his thighs, and though the temptation of his arms almost did me in, I settled my hands slowly on my hips and just admired him in the lamplight (a lamp with a tattered shade was plugged in near the bed, no nightstand included). Somberly, I studied his lean body and his handsome face, the day-and-then-some worth of black scruff on his jaws…this man I loved so much that my bones seemed to be resonating.
This man I could not do without.
He whispered, “The way you look right now, ready for bed. Ruthann, I want to see you this way every night for the rest of my life.”
Tears blurred my vision. I went to him, directly into his embrace, and pressed my face to his chest hair. He smelled so good, reminiscent of the way he tasted. I slipped my legs beneath the sheet to wrap around his, closing my eyes as Marshall settled us on our backs and gently stroked my hair with both hands.
“The lamp,” I murmured, unwilling to move.
“I’ll get it,” he whispered back.
Chapter Thirteen
I woke to the sound of the shower and rolled to my right side, curling around the single pillow on the bed; I had slept with my head pillowed on Marshall’s chest. He was humming in there, just quietly, and I smiled at the sound, hugging myself around the middle. I’d slept dreamlessly, safe in his arms.
When the water clunked off, I called, “Good morning!”
Marshall, dripping wet, stuck his head out the bathroom door. He said, “Morning, angel. I just took the iciest, coldest goddamn shower I could handle. Waking up beside you just a little while ago…”
I rolled to my back to smile at him and he groaned a little; my nipples were very prominent against the soft white fabric of his old t-shirt. He said hoarsely, “All the ice water in the world can’t help me at all now…”
“Courting,” I reminded him, shivery-hot at the sight of his eyes.
Marshall grinned, lancing heat straight through me. He teased, “It seems like I’m usually the one reminding you of that…”
I said, “You dry off and I’ll make us breakfast.”
“It was so good to hold you all night,” he told me, in a different tone, completely serious now.
“It was so good to be held,” I said.
In the kitchen I realized, belatedly, that I had not one breakfast item I could cook; I wasn’t a big breakfast eater on any given day. I surveyed the countertop for so much as a stray banana, catching sight of my phone, abandoned where I had left it last night. The smile fell from my lips. I could see, even before I picked it up, that I had over a dozen missed calls and text messages from Liam.
I had not heard a word from him since the evening I’d texted him while sitting in my car in the parking lot, though I knew from conversations with Mom that he wasn’t dealing well with my absence. Dark, oozy guilt swamped back into my soul as I stood there wishing I didn’t have to pick up the phone.
Gingerly, as though handling a tiny bomb, I lifted it and read the most recent message, before setting it back to the counter.
I pressed eight fingertips to my forehead, hard, just as Marshall came around the corner from the bathroom, dressed in his clothes from yesterday and smelling like the coconut body wash that Tish had gifted me with. Whatever he started to say, with a great deal of cheerful sweetness in his voice, changed instantly to concern. He took my shoulders in his hands and asked, “What’s wrong?”
I reassured, “It’s all right…it’s not…I just…” I didn’t know if it was the right thing to tell Marshall about all the messages or not. I didn’t want to keep secrets from him, but I also didn’t want him to be unnecessarily upset at this evidence of Liam’s sudden, obsessive att
empt to get ahold of me. It was too late regardless; Marshall had already seen my phone.
“I didn’t realize…” I said, my voice trailing off. I didn’t know what to say.
“Do you want me to call him?” he asked, and his voice was carefully controlled.
“No,” I said at once. “He’s hurting right now, and I did that to him. If you called he would flip out. It would be terrible. So no, you absolutely can’t.” I was getting worked up, running both hands through my tangled hair. I snapped at him, “You can’t possibly think that it would be all right for you to call him.”
Marshall’s jaw tightened before he said, “I can see that him doing this to you hurts you, and I won’t have that.”
“I deserve it,” I lashed, punishing myself, and Marshall’s eyes were more like a thunderhead than ever. I went on, “I broke up with him and broke his heart, and I feel sick about that. The last person he wants is to hear from right now is you. He already doesn’t like you.”
Marshall plucked my phone from the counter with a single brusque movement. The latest text was from around five this morning and Liam had written, Please call me. I need to talk to you. I love you and that is never going to change.
“I will not have this,” Marshall said tightly.
I felt guiltier than ever; I would not pretend to ignore my personal accountability in this situation. I wanted to scream at Marshall, I’m in love with you! I know you know it even if I haven’t said it, so quit being so damn jealous!
That this was my strongest instinct only served to fan the increasing flames of anger in my chest. I faced off with Marshall and said, “As though I can help what he writes! He does love me, even if he shouldn’t, and it’s not like you can just get rid of those feelings in a month.” An inadvertent angry breath interrupted my tirade before I lashed, “And I told you before, I won’t have you telling me what to do!”
Marshall’s eyes absolutely flashed with lightning bolts. He said through his teeth, “And I won’t have him trying to guilt you into feeling terrible! If I have to call him to explain this fact, then I will!”
Until Tomorrow Page 25