Wild Flower (19 page)

Aubrey…

No, God no, she's mean and nasty, but not crazy…

And she wouldn't have had the time today anyway.

Could it have been Rae, messing around?

I sat on the dock for a good half hour, sipping the sherbet tonic and reaching no satisfying conclusions, before my sister called down from the porch, “Hey, you wanna join me for supper?”

I peered over my shoulder to see Jo leaning over the railing. I felt a small splash of gladness and called back up, “Yes, I'll be right there!”

Inside the café it smelled of fried fish and onion rings, battered mushrooms and beer. I inhaled these familiar scents, moving to join Jo at the counter. It had been such a long and terrible day, I almost requested a beer from Tish, who appeared as though by magic to ask what I wanted. She and Ruthie were taking the dinner crowd, along with Sue Kratz, Mom and Aunt Ellen's old friend from town. Tish had her dark hair twisted up into a high knot on her head, two pencils sticking out from the bun at cock-eyed angles. She was wearing raspberry-tinted lip gloss, two pairs of gold hoop earrings, and chewing gum a little too boisterously; she could have been Jo from our high school days, and I smiled at the thought.

“Honey, bring me an O'Douls,” I said. At least it was non-alcoholic.

Tish cracked her gum and said, “You got it, Aunt Jills. Mom, what do you want?”

“Just water for now, honey,” Jo said, and then bumped her shoulder against mine. She nagged, “So what gives? What the hell is bothering you so much, Jilly Bean?”

“Where's Matthew?” I asked, unwilling to spill my own problems at the moment.

“Christy's home with him and Millie,” Jo said, reminding me that Blythe's mom was in town for a few nights, from Oklahoma; she had arrived this afternoon. “And it works out perfectly, since we've got the show at Eddie's tonight, remember?”

“What show?” I grouched.

“Oh my God,” Jo groaned, exasperated with me. She flicked my earlobe. “You know, the one
you
were all excited about a couple of weeks ago? Jim Olson's nephew…his band played at you and Justin's reception, remember? He's playing at Eddie's tonight.”

“Right,” I said, recalling now. Shit, that
was
tonight. In the spirit of the Fourth of July holiday, the festivities continued in Landon through this weekend.

“Eddie thought standing room only,” Jo said, dragging a couple of fries through the ketchup on her plate.

“I have to ask Justin,” I said. “We had…we had kind-of a fight this afternoon…”

“About what? Not Aubrey,” Jo said. “Jilly, I think you're letting this upset you way too much.”

“Easy for you to say,” I snapped, and Jo rolled her eyes at me.

“Here's your drink,” Tish said, sliding it to me. “You want a mug?”

“No, thanks,” I told her and she darted away. I watched her, covertly scanning the place for any sign of Zack Dixon. If I saw that fucker I was going to confront him, doubts or no. He owed me an explanation. And with the thought of those words, Aubrey was right back in my head.

“Let's go out and have some fun,” Jo said. “C'mon, Jilly. You look like you could use an evening away. Mom can watch Rae and we'll head over to Eddie's around nine or so.”

And I grudgingly agreed.

“The Spoke,” Mathias read from the white, black-lettered sign beneath the flashing bulbs of an arrow. He grinned at me and said, “It looks classy.”

“It looks like a place with good fried food,” I decided. “You want to chance it?”

“Sure, let's try it,” he said, swinging our joined hands. We had walked over from our campground, about a quarter mile, under a sky tinted a brilliant rose-pink as the sun sank, a finger's-width strip of gleaming turquoise at the farthest eastern horizon. To the west a group of sterling-silver clouds were jumbled atop one another like kids making a monkey pile. I pointed towards the turquoise and asked, “Have you ever seen the sky that color?”

“Not back home, unless it's from the aurora,” he said. “But I remember being out here when I was little and thinking that the sky had some really strange colors.”

This morning, back in Makoshika, I told him all about the dream I'd had, about Cora.

“Malcolm wasn't searching for gold or anything like that,” I told Mathias, as he'd made coffee and eggs on a cast-iron grill set over the fire. The sun crept from behind the rock formations in the east, casting soft light over us as he worked the fire. I insisted, “He was searching for her, for this girl. For Cora.”

“But he didn't find her?” Mathias asked softly, our eyes holding. “Jesus, that's so fucking horrible.”

“She wants
us
to find her,” I said. “But I don't know how. I have no idea what to do. Oh Thias,” I said painfully. “She told me I was her only hope. And she put her hands on you. Oh God, I saw her eyes for a second, and they were really strange. Two different colors, like a witch or something.”

He drew a breath and swallowed, before saying quietly, “I don't know what to do. We can't even begin to know where to start looking.”

“Maybe…maybe those letters in Bozeman,” I said. “Maybe there will be something in those. A clue.”

“We'll be there tomorrow,” Mathias said. “Or do you want to get there sooner? Should we forget camping out tonight?”

I shook my head. “No. I like being out here with you. It feels like we're the only people on the planet, and I don't mind that. It's kind-of nice, actually.”

Mathias grinned and leaned to kiss me, stroking a strand of hair behind my ear. He whispered, “Thank you for last night. For every night, actually. For allowing me the gift of you.”

I giggled a little at his formal wording, pulling his lips back to mine. I kissed him softly and whispered back, “Well, it's a tough job…” and then a devil perched on my shoulder as I went on, “Taking your incredibly huge, hard, beautiful cock into me…but
someone
has to do it…”

His dimple flashed as he took me to the blanket, still spread on the ground from our lovemaking last night, and kissed me thoroughly.

We explored all over Makoshika in the morning before heading southwest, towards Miles City. We ate lunch there and then continued towards our evening destination, a little town called Jalesville; outside of this place was a small campground that the Carters had always favored on their journeys west, once upon a time run by an old friend of Bull's from college. This fellow had died, but the family continued to run the business; plus, as Mathias had explained, the campground was located on Cartersville Road.

Now, hours later and both of us hungry as hell, we made our way across the parking lot of the little bar and grill called The Spoke. On the walk from our campsite we'd passed a green sign welcoming us to Jalesville, population 823. Mathias opened the door for me; already I could smell hot grease and my stomach rumbled in anticipation. I was wearing my favorite pale-green sundress, my hair loose and soft over my shoulders, and when Mathias looked over at me I felt the love in his eyes the same way I would feel a brilliant sunbeam breaking through a thick gray cloud-quilt, the heat and intensity and joy of it. I smiled back at him with all of my heart, squeezing his fingers.

“Hi there, folks,” said the woman at the podium. She was small and deeply tanned, with short dark hair and scarlet-red cowgirl boots, and bore enough resemblance to the woman tending bar that immediately I thought,
Sisters
. The Spoke was actually fairly reminiscent of Shore Leave, but with a distinctly western theme; the jukebox in the corner was belting out a Tanya Tucker song, the barstools were fitted with saddles, and the wooden walls decked in all manner of bridles, tack, spurs, fringed buckskin shirts and a variety of ancient-looking rifles; a moose head the size of Rhode Island dominated the bar, its antlers strung with bare-bulb lights, winking cheerily.

“Two please,” Mathias said, and she led us to a small round table, a lighted candle lantern on its surface.

“Oh wow, look at that,” I said as we sat, indicating the table, which was made from a glass-topped wagon wheel.

“I want one for the cabin,” he said at once. We had to check out all the tables then; each was constructed from a different wheel. It was after eight, and the crowd had certainly thinned from dinner rush, allowing us the chance to inspect the variety.

“Duh, ‘The Spoke,'” I giggled, back at our own table.

“Do you think these are legit? I mean, like actually from covered wagons? Ours looks about like it would fit on one,” Mathias observed, opening his menu and indicating the table with it. I simply admired him for a moment, loving his little peculiarities I noticed because he was mine. How he lined his left index finger over his top lip whenever he read something, thumb hooked under his chin, the way his thick black eyebrows drew together in concentration, the effortless grace of the way he dropped his right shoulder in a half-slouch, comfortable in his chair. He looked up from the menu to meet my gaze, and I smiled at him, certain he could see the stars in my eyes.

“What?” he asked softly.

“I just love you so much,” I said.

He reached and gently appropriated my right hand, bringing it to his face. He held it against his cheek for a moment before kissing the back of it, and at that moment someone cleared her throat near us. We both looked up at the server, who regarded us with wry amusement quirking her lips. I giggled a little; we were so apt to get wrapped up in our own little world.

“Newlyweds?” she inquired, in a teasing tone of voice that reminded me of Aunt Jilly.

“Soon to be,” Mathias said, curling his fingers through mine.

She winked at him and then asked us, “Can I get you a couple of drinks?”

“I'll have an iced tea, thanks,” I said; as I was not yet twenty-one, I couldn't order a drink in a restaurant. And besides, there could very well be a baby growing inside of me at this very minute. I felt flush with warmth at the thought of last night, cupping one hand discreetly over my lower belly.

“Whatever you have on tap, I'll take a tall,” Mathias said.

“Name's Pam,” she told us. “You two got here at a good time. We'll be packed ass to ass in here in a half hour or so. My cousin's band is playing tonight.”

Her prediction was correct, as the place began filling soon after.

“I think this must be a townie bar,” Mathias observed as we ate towering bacon cheeseburgers, drippy with grease and utterly delicious. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand and said, “You can tell everyone here is local.”

“As local as tumbleweed,” I agreed, giggling a little. “I have never seen so many cowboy hats outside of a country music video. It's pretty cool, if you ask me. Except that I feel a little naked without one.”

The couple at the table to our left was decked in full western attire, the likes of which I would expect to see at a rodeo; the man even sported a full handlebar mustache. I was impressed.

“Honey, you want to stay and listen to the music?” Mathias asked. Outside the windows, the sky was a rich pink, graying slowly towards night. The candlelight from the tops of the wagon wheel tables gave the space a welcome glow and I felt at home here.

“Sure, for awhile,” I said, starting a little as a guy trying to squeeze behind my chair bumped the back of my head with a guitar case.

“Holy shit, I'm sorry,” he said, bending down to regard my hair as though I was spurting blood. “You all right? Jesus, it's so packed in here…”

“I'm fine,” I assured him as Mathias and I looked up at him; he appeared stressed as hell, flustered, with reddish hair standing on end.

He was carrying a guitar in a black case and had a huge, overflowing backpack hanging haphazardly over one shoulder. He eyed the stage, far away across the bar, almost in a separate room, and muttered, “Dammit!”

“What's up?” Mathias asked him, in a companionable fashion.

The guy looked back at us and said, “I knew I shoulda got here sooner. The table where we normally sit is full and I'll have to kick people off it. I hate doing that.” He scrubbed a free hand through his hair and asked, “Shit, can I join you guys for a sec? I hate to ask, you're probably on a date, but I gotta take a load off.”

“Sure, sit,” Mathias invited, and I could tell he was amused by all of this.

The guy set his gear on the floor with considerable relief. He plopped onto a chair and seemed about to say more, but was distracted by his phone. Catching it up, he turned slightly away and then proceeded to have a rather heated discussion with someone on the other end.

Mathias raised both eyebrows at me, sipping from his beer, and I shrugged, also amused.

“Dammit,” the guy said finally, ending the conversation and chucking his phone onto the table. The bartender immediately sent a stern look his way, drawing her index finger across her throat, and he called out, “Sorry, Lee! It didn't chip, I swear!”

“What's going on?” Mathias asked, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Oh,” the guy shot me a wholly embarrassed look, eyebrows lofted, as though he was concerned that I especially might have been offended by him. He explained in a rush, “Our lead singer crapped out on us just now. He does this all the time, and we're supposed to play in less than a half hour.” He heaved a sigh, again swiping one hand through his reddish hair. He was very sunburned, freckled, about Mathias's age; he lowered his face into both palms for a moment.

I had the thought at the same moment as Mathias, as his indigo eyes met mine and he asked silently,
Should I go for it?

I felt a smile creeping over my lips, taking a sip from my iced tea as I nodded incrementally.

“Hey,” Mathias said, leaning to tug on the guy's t-shirt sleeve to gain his attention. “I don't know if it helps or not, but I'm a pretty good singer. I'd be happy to fill in, if you want.”

The guy lifted his face at once, clearly surprised. He had cinnamon-brown eyes fringed with red-gold eyelashes, and I would bet good money that as a kid he had been the one to get everyone else in trouble with his ideas; he had the look of it about him, somehow. He cried, “No shit? God, that would be fucking awesome. Free drinks, on the house, for the whole set.” He looked at me, again with the sheepish attitude, as he explained, “We play for beer.”

“I better ask
what
you play,” Mathias said then, excitement beginning to radiate from him at this unexpected opportunity. I grinned to see it, excited too; I could not wait to hear him in action.

The guy leaned to the side of his chair, grabbed something out of his backpack, and then settled a chocolate-brown cowboy hat over his head. He tipped the brim, giving me a teasing wink, and said, “Give you one guess.”

“Good deal,” Mathias asked. “Country is my thing. You guys are in luck.”

“Case Spicer,” he said by way of introduction. “I'll say we're in luck. You just saved our asses.”

Two other guys threaded through the growing crowd to join the table; they resembled each other well enough that they were clearly related, both lean as spareribs, as Gran would have said, with shaggy brown hair and long noses that dominated their faces. The older one said, “So, we're pretty much screwed.”

“No, guys, this dude just offered to sing for us!” And Case indicated Mathias, who rose and offered his hand.

“No kidding? You're serious?” The older of the two shook Mathias's hand, the tension in his shoulders relaxing.

“I hear you play for beer,” Mathias joked. “And I'll need a hat.”

“Shit, we got a hat for you,” he said in reply, and then introduced himself. “Garth Rawley. This is my little brother Marshall.”

“Mathias Carter. And my fiancé Camille Gordon,” he said, and I stood to shake hands as well, feeling drawn into their group with a sense of immediate welcome, as though we were, for this night at least, part of some big, close family. There was an air of merriment amongst the three band members, a sense of past good times, and many more to be had.

“Damn, you are one lucky man,” Garth Rawley said to Mathias, shaking my hand and then turning it over to kiss my knuckles, but not in a creepy way; it seemed gentlemanly, a gesture from another era of manners. He nodded, releasing my fingertips, and said, “Ma'am.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, leaning to shake the younger brother's hand too; I would bet he wasn't much older than Tish and Clint, and he ducked his head shyly as our palms touched.

Case asked, “You two on vacation? We'd know you if you were from around Jalesville.”

“We're from Minnesota,” Mathias said. He sat back down and I couldn't resist claiming his lap, subsequently freeing a chair for one of the Rawley brothers. Mathias hooked an arm comfortably around my waist, squeezing me extra close for a second. He explained, “We're out visiting relatives in Bozeman.”

The Rawleys straddled chairs at our table, leaning on their elbows, while Case rooted around until he found a cowboy hat, which he handed to me, saying, “Here's one for your man. You want to do the honors, hon?”