Billy Bob Walker Got Married (24 page)

The bright circles of light cast by the lamps on each corner didn't intrude into the black shadows of the big trees and the courthouse.

At first she thought he wasn't there; the old truck was nowhere in sight. But she found it parked on the other side—the dark side—of the fruit stand, and her heart began to beat heavily.

He was here.

He'd come.

He was standing in the deepest shadows, leaning against the wall of the stand, one booted foot crossed over the other. She saw that much because his legs protruded from the darkness and a dim light struck them.

They faced each other in silence, until the black night pressed down on them like a heavy, smothering blanket. Shiloh breathed harshly, fighting the sensation. At last, his voice broke the stillness.

"I know how to act and what I'm supposed to say," he said abruptly, his voice controlled and stiff. "It's nothing to me if you're engaged to Sewell again. I earned the money you offered me, and that's all that's between us. That, and a little heavy petting on the side. If you members of the upper crust want to kiss in front of a television crew, that's your business. But so you won't turn up a bigamist, we need a divorce. Tell me how and when, and we'll go get it quick."

She took a quick, protesting step toward him. "I didn't want to be with him. I told you. And I don't want to hear what you're supposed to say. I want you to tell me the truth."

"I've heard that before. Do you really think I'd trust you enough to tell you that? But there's one thing I don't mind saying." He hadn't moved at all, locked in a quiet, unnerving rigidity. "I'm glad I didn't fall into this sweet little trap you've been baiting for me, honey. Because when I think about you and Michael, it makes me sick. I wouldn't like having my brother's leavings."

The harsh words spilled out between them, in an absolute silence.

"I knew you'd say something that would hurt, Billy." Her words shook. "Now you have. Does it make you feel better?"

"I feel fine."

"No, you don't."

"How would you know?"

"Because I know how
I
feel. And most of it's your fault. I got through the fights with everybody else, but I couldn't sleep because I knew I had to try to set things right with you."

"You can't. Go back to Michael. You looked right with him up on that stage. Like you belonged together." "Don't say that," she said vehemently. "Why not? It's true."

In the darkness she found his warm, bare arm unexpectedly, her hand catching it. He shuddered at her touch, breaking away, and the terrible stillness vanished as he straightened violently.

"That's the worst part. You looked like you fit with him. I can't ever forget that, or what you've done with him. Tonight, and all the other nights."

"And what have I done?"

He tried and couldn't say the words, so she rushed on.

"I know what you're thinking. And while you're thinking it, you ask yourself how it's all right for you to sleep around with—what, hundreds?—but for me—"

"I've slept with exactly four women since you left," he interrupted bluntly. "I like living too much to mess around with hundreds. I don't want to die of some disease. I'm careful."

"Oh, four. Is that all? And how many times with those lucky four?"

Even in the middle of his distress, Billy had the prudence to stay quiet.

"That's what I thought." She couldn't keep the hurt out of her voice. "And you'd had girls before me, when I was eighteen."

"I was twenty-three. Yeah, I'd had a few. But I'd never been to the Palace, or done half the things I've done since, until after you took off to Mexico.
You never came back, Shiloh.
What was I supposed to do?"

"You never really cared, then. Or you couldn't have touched another woman."

"You don't know men if you believe that," he answered, ironic humor coloring his words.

She gathered everything in her for her admission.

"Maybe you're right. I don't know men. Not any of them. Not a single one—ever."

There was a long, long silence while he registered her words.

"Did you hear me, Billy?"

"I don't believe you." He couldn't seem to speak. "You never do. But why not? If we ever get to the point where it . . . matters, you'll find out the truth,

anyway."

"It matters right now." His voice was strangled as he stepped forward toward her, leaving the shadows, and his face was twisted with a mixture of doubt and hope.

"I did one thing that was wrong—very wrong—with Michael, but I didn't really even understand that it was all that bad until I saw you again."

"I don't want to hear about it. I can't stand to."

"You already know it. I let him take your place. Like you said. He has this unfortunate tendency to look like you, and for a while it felt like he brought back a part of me that was gone." She rubbed her hands over her cheeks in tired defeat. "You don't deserve to know this, Billy Bob, but I'll tell you anyway. When he touched me, it wasn't right. Maybe it was because I was afraid of being like my mother, or because I've discovered that I really do believe that sex belongs with marriage and love and commitment—or maybe it was because I found that he wasn't really you after all."

"Shiloh."

He reached for her and she backed away, her eyes dark pools that shimmered in the moonlight, backing until she was stopped by the side of his truck.

"No, you haven't heard it all yet. Finally, Michael tried to make me. Do you understand? He hurt me. I had to fight him, like an animal, to get away. That's why I was running the night T-Tommy put me in the cell beside yours."

She paused for breath, gasping. Billy was staring at her in shock.

"Well, go ahead," she burst out defiantly. "Say it. It was my fault. I was teasing him, playing games, like I did with you. It's the way I dress, or talk, or breathe air. Be like Sam. Tell me Michael wouldn't stoop to attempted rape."

He moved at last, as jerky as an old man, his face like stone in the starlight. When he got to the other side of the truck, he opened the door and got in under the wheel.

Shiloh said in alarm, "Billy, what are you doing?" Then she fumbled for the handle and slid in the passenger side.

"Get out, Shiloh." His voice was mild, but there was a controlled ferocity in his motions as he jammed the keys in the ignition.

She caught his arm. "Where are you going?"

He went still under her touch, looking down at her. "I reckon," he said calmly, "that I'm gonna go find Michael Sewell."

"Why?"

"You know why."

"No—no, Billy, you can't. You're going to do what? Beat him up? They'll put you in jail again, all for nothing. He didn't rape me. Are you listening? I got away."

She caught him by both arms this time, reaching across him, across the steering wheel.

"Do you understand what I'm saying? Don't go, Billy, please."

This close, she could feel the violence in him, the strength and temper that lay just under her hands. And then the truth swept over her in a warm, rich tide: Billy Walker had believed her, no matter what else was between them. Believed so much that he had meant to fight for her.

There was a long stretching moment filled with her desperate need to hold him, when her face and voice were full of longing and invitation as she looked up at him.

"I reckon if I was you," he said quietly, "I'd be scared to get too close to a man—any man—unless I was sure I wanted him to touch me. Be sure, Shiloh."

He caught her when she flung herself against him, pulling her tightly to his body. The tears threatened again, pushing against her closed eyelids. She wouldn't cry again, not now. The minutes ticked by, marked by nothing but their ragged breaths as his hands held her tightly in place, not turning loose even one fraction.

He said huskily, "I know it's not supposed to matter these days how many men you've been with, but it does. It does, baby."

Under his hands, she shivered.

"Are you—you're not crying again, are you?"

She shook her head, not sure she could speak, then he held her away, trying to see in the darkness. His hand brushed her cheek, then stilled, and he replaced it with the brush of his lips, his skin warm and smooth against her face.

"You're shaking." His voice was as shattered as her own emotions.

"Not because I'm afraid," she managed, her cheek hot from his touch. "Because I thought on the telephone, you sounded like you hated me."

"Maybe I did. At least, part of me did, ever since I saw you—" he broke off.

"I didn't want to be with him, Billy."

"I needed you to call me tonight," he said somberly. "But only if it means something tomorrow."

"Billy, I didn't come here because I needed to. Don't you see? I thought I needed you and that marriage to hide behind, to throw in Sam's face. But I didn't." Shiloh pushed away from him, fumbling for the words to explain. "All of a sudden, I could do it. I felt like an independent person for the first time. It was my life. And if they didn't like what I wanted to do with it, or if they didn't like me, it wasn't important. I had to tell Michael in front of everybody. I told him I hated him—to stay away. And when I looked at Sam, he looked old and angry, and I didn't want to hurt him, the way I wanted to when I asked you to marry me. But I can't live for Sam. Then I knew. I was free. Free, Billy. I've never felt so light, so . . . uncaged in my life. Does that make sense?"

He didn't answer for a moment. But he let his hands slide down the side of the leather-wrapped steering wheel as he looked away from her, out on the still square with its murky, draped booths and the blue-and-white posters proclaiming Sewell for Governor that had already been plastered on everything available. And his jaw tightened.

"So you don't need me, or the marriage."

"Not for the reasons I did before. But I think I want you, and that's better," she whispered, her hand reaching out to trace his ear.

He didn't flinch; he didn't move at all. "You want me. Am I supposed to like that? How many women have told me that? Do you know, Shiloh?" In the shadows as he turned to look at her, his eyes gleamed ferally. "More than I can count. T want you to kiss me, Billy. To dance with me. To go home with me. To make me feel good. To hang on my arm and make me look good.' So keep your 'wanting,' Shiloh; I've had a stomachful of it."

She winced, but she spoke determinedly.

"You don't understand. I think I want you as ... as . . . this is hard for me to say when you're so angry, Billy, but I want you as my real husband. Not because I need you as a buffer or a slap in the face to Sam. But because— well, the question is, do you want me?"

Still as a statue, Billy stared at her while eternity slid by. Shiloh was glad it was dark; her face was on fire. But she didn't flinch from his wide-eyed stare.

Then he moved in one rough lunge to haul her up against him, her face smothered against his chest, her legs tangled with his. Under her cheek, his heart beat as heavily as hers. "I've wanted to marry you for four years, baby. That's how long you've been under my skin."

His raw, passionate words whispered around her head, and she began to laugh—a broken, emotional sound.

His calloused fingers fumbled for her face, forcing her chin up. His own face was intent, his eyes on her lips as his head dropped toward her, and she flushed deeply, as shy suddenly as if he'd never touched her before. His lips on hers were warm—the kiss sweet—his mouth nearly chaste.

This kiss was a vow, a serious, reverent one. There was only the soft sound of their hurried breathing and the sibilant one when their lips parted, lingered, and parted again.

Then a tiny flurry of movement as she drew in breath and looked down, away from his brilliant gaze.

"I'm coming to get you tomorrow, Shiloh." His words were steady and determined. "Get your things ready."

"I want you to give me time." She said it in a rush, dreading his reaction. "You can't come yet."

"Time!" He laughed incredulously. "Not that again. We're married. You just said—"

"There's Sam to think of—no, don't pull away. This isn't like the movies, Billy. I mean, we've got families, both of us do. Neither one of us wants to hurt them. I told you, Sam already feels betrayed. I've thrown away everything he wanted for me."

"Goddamn it, Shiloh, how much am I supposed to take?" Billy flung open the truck door and pulled violently away from her to stand outside. "It's either me or Sam. I told you years ago. No room for both of us."

"Things have changed. Give him a chance. I want to do it right this time, Billy. Like you said, no more sneaking around. Come to the door tomorrow, ring the bell, ask for me. Take me to—to the parade at ten. Let's walkthrough town and let the whole world see us. If they don't like it, if Sam doesn't, that's too bad. But he'll know. It won't be like us just turning up married." She didn't tell him that she didn't want her father coming down on him, the way T-Tommy thought he would. Maybe her way-would prevent it.

He turned to look at her, raking the too-long hair from his neck.

"Ring the doorbell and ask permission to see my wife. That's good, Shiloh, real good."

"You know it'll be easier to tell about this marriage if we do it this way for a few weeks. A month. And it'll give us time out in the open, out from the pressure, to find out if a marriage will work. I've never even met your mother, Billy. Nor been to your house. If we are going to be married, I want it to last."

Her words were logical, sensible, pleading. He stood stiffly, rejecting them for an eon, then he took a deep breath and his whole body relaxed.

"You offered me money for my name-—we got married fresh out of a jail cell—and tonight I watched you kiss another man in front of our whole hometown. Now you want me to be proper and reasonable."

He propped his right forearm on the top of the truck, the other pushing against the open door, and he looked at her while she waited for his answer, while that sweet night breeze blew his hair back a little.