Until Tomorrow

by Abbie Williams

  Sean and Jessie joined us after the first song, along with Quinn, Gus, and his girlfriend Lacy. I barely noticed them, too absorbed with watching Marshall. He was so handsome, so impressive on his instrument of choice, the rhythm flowing effortlessly from his hands as he wielded the drumsticks, keeping time with his shoulders. He kept sending me little private looks; I couldn’t stop smiling. They were playing some damn good country, Walt and Junior on guitar and vocals, Case on the fiddle, Marshall sexy as hell on the drums.

  “Just look at Case,” Tish leaned close to my ear to murmur, cupping my knee in exuberance, smiling in complete adoration at her man, who looked straight back at my sister and sent her a grin. I felt her shiver, and elbowed her teasingly.

  “I know just what you mean,” I said, my eyes intent on Marshall. Our men looked so at home on the stage, making music with such a sense of joy.

  “Let’s dance,” Tish said.

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  “Will you guys watch Ruthie’s purse?” Tish asked Jessie, who nodded at once.

  But then, seeing our intent, Jessie decided, “The guys can watch it! I want to dance with you two. C’mon, Lace.”

  The guys had just ordered a pitcher and so consented to watch my purse. The four of us made our way onto the dance floor – no small task, as it was elbow to elbow. Jessie was dressed as a nurse, complete with a stethoscope, and Lacy was Snow White; I wished that I’d thought to dress up. The crowd parted just enough to allow room for four more bodies, and within ten minutes we were sweating as though we’d run a mile in ninety-percent humidity.

  I kept facing the stage so I could continue to watch Marshall, who studied me with a naughty, knowing grin as he played and I danced. The bar might have been empty for all the attention we paid anyone else – it was just Marshall and me – he played for me, so completely sexy, and I danced for him, rocking my hips and letting loose. My hair slipped free from its clip, and I shook it out; the heat from Marshall’s eyes just about burned right through me as my curls fell all over my shoulders. With our gazes, we told each other just exactly what we’d do when we got home. My heart beat even harder and hotter, at the thought.

  The dance floor was jam-packed and I couldn’t have said at that moment what it was that caught my attention – but something was just slightly off. The guys were playing “Cotton-Eyed Joe” and the crowd was riled up beyond belief. From above, we would probably have resembled a swarm of ants. Someone jostled Lacy, who bumped into me, causing me to shift to another direction and it was then that I noticed a man in regular bar clothes but with a werewolf mask was too close behind my sister. An unwelcome spurt of coldness splashed through my warm buzz.

  It’s Halloween, I reminded myself. Three-quarters of the crowd was costumed…so exactly what was wrong? Tish and Case were busy exchanging private messages with each other too, and Tish wasn’t paying attention to anyone but her husband.

  “Tish!” I tried to get her attention, but there were so many people between us; I could have shouted and she wouldn’t have heard me. I struggled to get closer to her, suddenly fearful. I looked over my shoulder at Marshall, sending him a message with my eyes – something’s wrong.

  I looked back at Tish just as the man in the werewolf mask slipped his arm around her from behind, right beneath her breasts, drawing her body firmly against his. Things seemed to happen in slow motion. I clearly saw my sister’s eyebrows draw together in both surprise and annoyance, and she turned her head to see who in the hell had clutched her this way. I saw her mouth move with the words, “Let go of me!”

  The werewolf ignored this and put the snout of his mask directly to Tish’s right ear, as though kissing her. She clenched her hands around his grip and struggled against the forearm locked about her ribs. No one noticed anything was wrong – they almost appeared to be dancing – except Case, Marshall and me. I felt mired as though in quicksand, unable to get closer to my sister through the crush of people between us. The werewolf’s thumb moved upwards from where his hand was clamped around Tish, sweeping slowly and deliberately over the round fullness of her left breast. I gasped, the sound lost in the swirl of the crowd; Tish made a fist and elbowed him as hard as she could.

  Case absolutely leaped down from the stage, and from the look on his face, I didn’t think this particular werewolf would live to howl at another moon. At that moment, with my sister in possible harm’s way, Case looked ready to destroy anyone in his path to get to her. The werewolf noticed this and let Tish go, shoving away immediately through the crowd. It was so chaotic, and the Jorgensons kept playing despite the fact that their fiddle player and now drummer had jumped ship.

  I reached Tish at the same moment as Case, who was vibrating with anger, but after cupping Tish’s face and confirming that she was all right, he bolted immediately after the man in the werewolf mask. Though people were still dancing, many others were speculating and jostling each other towards the door. I realized most of them probably wanted to follow directly after Case in hopes of seeing a fight.

  Oh shit, I thought.

  I leaned in close to Tish to demand, “What happened?!”

  “It was Derrick,” she said, her lips right at my ear so I could hear her. Her voice was shaking with rage. She moaned, “Case went after him,” straining to see around the bodies surrounding us. Her face was agonized as she added, “Shit.”

  Marshall set people none-too-gently to the side to get to me; he’d abandoned his drumsticks. He reached us and curled me close at once.

  “What the hell?” he asked Tish. “Was that Yancy?”

  She nodded reluctantly, and Marshall looked hard into my eyes; I recognized his unspoken apology at what he felt he must do, which was support his older brother and best friend. Though I hated to, I nodded, and he took off through the crowd, stopping only to grab Sean, Quinn and Gus on the way.

  “Goddammit,” Tish moaned, as the four of them blasted out the main doors.

  “Come on,” I ordered, and we tried to follow them, but everyone had discerned that a potentially exciting situation was unfolding outside. There was already a jam of bodies at the front entrance.

  “This way,” Tish said, tugging my elbow, and she led me down a back hallway. The sounds of chatter and shouts met our ears from around the front side of the building, but we were the only ones who’d thought to use this door; the night was black as a crow and completely starless. Tish yelled desperately, “Case!”

  There was a roar from the crowd then, and the sounds of intense commotion, and my heart fell. I chased after Tish. A ring of people was already forming around Case and Derrick, who was now without his werewolf mask. Tish shouted for her husband again, the sound lost in the furor – I grabbed her arm to prevent her from racing into the midst of their fight.

  “Let go!” she demanded, tugging at my firm hold, both of us staring in horror as Case and Derrick fiercely circled each other. Both of them were tall, wide-shouldered men, and I could sense the anger churning between them even from a distance. Arms bent and palms upward, Case beckoned with curled fingers, taunting Derrick to throw the first punch, giving Case the justification to let loose; my eyes roved frantically for Marshall, spying him with his brothers, just beyond Case and watching intently, all of them tensed to spring if necessary. People were shouting and shoving; some were on their phones.

  Derrick took the bait and swung, and Tish gripped my arm so tightly I would have bruises tomorrow, her shoulders hunching as though the punch was aimed at her instead. Case easily sidestepped and then delivered a fast, hard right to Derrick’s jaw; I imagined I could hear a crunching sound. Derrick had obviously been raised in a different environment than our men, unused to brawling in this fashion – his head jerked backwards as though tugged by a rope, arms flailing. Case was already on him, eyes nearly unrecognizable with fury, anchoring Derrick in a headlock, as though in preparation to take him to the ground.

  “Jesus Christ,” I groaned miserably, holding fast to my sister.


  “Spicer’s gonna kill him!” more than one person near us speculated.

  “Stop them!” I yelled, fruitlessly. No one was paying a hint of attention to anything but the action.

  Derrick regained the balance to lunge forward, even bent over as he was, taking Case backwards into the crowd, sending people scattering. Case was delivering solid punches now, left and right, his powerful arms bulging as he swung; I wouldn’t be surprised if Derrick sustained broken ribs. Somehow Derrick twisted free and reared upwards, managing to land a hit that caught Case squarely in the mouth. At the sight of Case’s abrupt wince of pain, Tish began sobbing, her fingernails digging crescent moons into my skin.

  “Marshall!” I screamed, even though he was on the other side of the crowd. “Stop them!”

  I could see the local sheriff’s SUV hauling ass down Main Street, closing fast, its blue top-light spinning. Jerry Woodrow screeched to a stop across the street and hit the ground running, and it was all over then anyway.

  ***

  No one went to jail, to my great relief; everyone who was asked confirmed that Derrick, now considerably worse for wear, had struck first. Case was overwrought with adrenaline, unable to stop pacing around even after the crowd finally cleared out and headed for home; Jerry had separated the two and hauled Derrick, who was unable to stand straight, to the nearest emergency room, over in Miles City, for an examination. Jerry had assured Case, “You and I have a lot to talk about tomorrow, son,” before leaving.

  The breeze whistling across the almost-empty parking lot had real bite now. I was secure against Marshall’s warm side; he smoothed his hand over my back in a soothing, repeated motion. Immediately after the fight, Tish had shoved brusquely through the crowd to get to Case, who’d gathered her instantly to his chest; she held him hard, crying. He had a split lip, bleeding and already swelling, but had sustained no other physical damage.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” Case said again, as Tish reemerged from inside the bar, where she had disappeared to grab my purse. Now that she had calmed slightly, I could tell Tish was torn between concern and the desire to verbally lay into her husband.

  Lee, Netta and Pam Heller were the last ones in the place, cleaning up after an unexpectedly crazy night. Gus and Lacy were still hanging around too, but in their car, which was running. Gus rolled down his window and called, “Casey, you all right if we head home?”

  Case nodded and lifted a hand in farewell to his little brother, then looked straight back at Tish, whose eyes had filled with tears at his quiet apology. I could tell he felt terrible; his bottom lip looked bloody and painful.

  “You better get home and get some ice on that,” Marshall said matter-of-factly, attempting to diffuse the tension a little.

  “I hate that you got hurt,” Tish said to her husband, not about to be distracted, her voice full of gravel. She swiped impatiently at her tears and demanded, “What if he’d pulled a knife?”

  “A knife?” Marshall repeated skeptically. I elbowed him at the same time Tish sent him an absolutely scathing look, before directing the same dangerous eyes at Case.

  “You can’t see how much Derrick hates you?” Tish asked her husband, not quite shouting but not far from it. Tears flowed over her face as she added, her voice shaking, “He already tried to kill you in a fire!”

  “Tish.” Case’s voice was low and pained. He realized there was no point arguing with her.

  “You know what he said to me on the dance floor?” she demanded. In the intensity of the last hour, I hadn’t even thought to ask; from Case’s expression, he had not either. Tish didn’t wait for our replies, informing us, “He said that I belonged to him, no matter what I thought. Belonged. As though I was his property. He said I would belong to him again, whatever it takes.”

  Case’s jaw bulged and he demanded, with heat in his tone, “And you’re wondering why I just beat the shit out of him? You think I’m going to let him get away with talking to you that way, putting his hands on you?”

  A part of me took a moment to be glad that Tish had found a man who didn’t back down to her.

  “I’m just so scared,” Tish said, and all the fight had abruptly drained from her voice. She studied Case across the ten or so feet separating them, and her blue eyes were full of intense pain. She whispered around a lump in her throat, “He won’t stop, Case, and it scares me so much. I can’t go on without you. I can’t even think about it.”

  Case instantly closed the distance between them, catching Tish into his arms and rocking her close. She clung to him, sobs overtaking her. I pressed my face to Marshall’s chest. Tish’s words echoed through me and I thought unwittingly of the night at the old homestead, the force of the past intent upon dragging me away. I shivered hard and his arms clutched me even tighter.

  “We best go,” Marshall whispered into my ear, and I nodded, trying with everything in me not to think about the horror of ever having to go on without him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  December, 2013

  “Once more, angel, you almost had it that time,” Marshall said, nodding at the cinch beneath Arrow’s belly. To his horse, he said, “You hold still.”

  Arrow snorted rudely (I had come to understand since last summer that horses had as much individual personality as humans), obviously annoyed at being forced to let me practice saddling him. I felt like an experienced rider by now – all teasing aside, I was pretty damn proud of how well I’d taken to horseback; I had learned primarily on Banjo, who I absolutely loved. I loved how she felt beneath me when I sat astride her back. I loved the way her ears pricked towards my voice; I loved her kind, intelligent eyes and velvet-plush nose. Her mane was coarse and black, and sometimes I braided sections of it for her, much to Marshall’s amusement.

  Before snow had begun falling in earnest, when the foliage in the foothills was tinted with the glorious shades of autumn, from deep russet to fiery ruby, I had advanced to cantering with Banjo. I loved watching Marshall canter Arrow – I could not describe what the sight of them at such speeds did to my heart. Marshall rode as though born to a saddle, his every movement effortless; he reminded me of a dancer flowing in perfect harmony with a partner, Arrow responding instantly to the slightest shift of Marshall’s hips, the tightening of his knee. As he’d told me, he had been horseback since almost before he could walk, just like all the Rawleys.

  When saddled up, Marshall was never without his black hat; sometimes he donned a pair of dark leather riding chaps over his jeans. He knew just how damn sexy he looked in these, though he pretended innocence when I first saw him and almost fell from Banjo’s saddle straight to the ground. He and I spent nearly every evening racing the horses through the wild foothill plains that made up the Rawleys’ land, sometimes riding well onto Case and Tish’s adjacent property.

  Time seemed suspended in a glass jar on those gorgeous late-autumn evenings, when the setting sun gilded our bodies, sparked from the horses’ manes, and I was so incredibly happy that my soul was like a singing bird – unimaginably joyful. Perhaps I should have realized that such blatant happiness always comes with a price – the universe rebalancing itself, maybe. Surely it was selfish of me, indulging so freely in this joy, wrapping within it; we’d ride far into the evening before tethering the horses, and then spread the camp blanket Marshall always rolled carefully and tied neatly behind his saddle.

  We’d scarcely be able to strip free of our jeans before the intensity of our need for each other overpowered all else. The sweet passion of kisses, wordless sounds of love, my thighs curving at once around his hips to take him so rapturously into my body atop that faded old blanket spread over the hard ground. These things remain crystalline in my memory – the last of the sun dancing over our bare skin before we turned gray with the gloaming light, clinging together as Marshall drove deeply into me, at times pinning our linked hands above my head as we sated ourselves on each other, our eyes holding just as tightly as our bodies. Arrow and Banjo grazing nearby, tail
s periodically swishing, unconcerned.

  I love you, Marshall Augustus Rawley, I think now, when I cannot bear the razor-edged pain of being without him another second, trying in vain to comfort myself. I whisper these words aloud, with all of my willpower, all my longing, praying for him to somehow hear me: I never stopped loving you, no matter what you may have thought. I still long to be your wife. You have to know this.

  Please know this, sweetheart.

  I find myself wondering when they finally found my car…

  ***

  In the barn that evening, the Saturday before Christmas, I practiced fitting Arrow with his saddle. Although I could easily saddle sweet-tempered Banjo, I had never attempted with Arrow, and Marshall wanted me to show the animal who was in charge – clearly, Arrow felt he still had the upper hand. My fingers fumbled over the cinch beneath the big gray’s belly, partially because it was chilly in the barn. Arrow neighed and stomped his back hooves, one after the other, and I murmured, “Steady there, big guy.”

  Marshall reminded me, “Forceful tone, darlin’.”

  I put more bite into my voice as I said, “Hold still, boy,” but Arrow simply made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a grunt and bent his back right leg, which made his body sag away from what I was doing; I nudged his flank with my elbow and muttered, “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

  Marshall said, “He’s a one-man horse, but he still needs to listen to you.”

  Wy popped through the barn doors, a gust of wind in his wake. He announced, “Tish and Case just got here for dinner! You guys coming?”

  “Just the excuse I needed,” I teased, loosening the cinch and tugging the saddle from Arrow’s back. It was heavy but I had long since learned to manage, replacing it carefully atop its padded stand.

  Inside the house it was toasty warm, the fireplace roaring away, candles lit all along the mantle. The big blue spruce, unimaginably fragrant, that Marshall and his brothers had chopped down, was glowing with lights shaped and tinted like jellybeans. Tish and Case were just taking off their coats, Case helping my sister with his usual tenderness. Much to their delight, Tish was indeed pregnant, due in early June. She smiled at Case (no one in the world had as beaming a smile as Tish’s) as he teased her about something, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. Her hair had grown out to just past her shoulders since summer, curlier than ever.