Mammoth Secrets (34 page)

Her cellphone was full of texts and pictures from Eden's latest gown-hunting jaunt, but not a word from her so-called boyfriend. Even the word seemed silly at this age. Perhaps it was good. They both needed time to think, to sort things out about what came next for them. She'd made her play and was digging in outside of Hardy, and he, well, he was bound to pull up stakes soon and head back to the coast.

Still, the river ran as she plucked another bunch of yarrow and Queen Anne's lace from the wildflower garden. Thick air blanketed the oak scrubbed hilltops, the sky dog-days hot, white, and heavy, but there was a hole in her soul that even wildflowers in mason jars couldn't fill.

Lilah trundled down the stone steps to the secret launch and plopped onto the damp grass. She dragged a bare toe across the muddy bank and drew her name like a child, a flourish underneath, followed by a question mark.

A breeze tugged her hair, the only answer. A kingfisher splashed into the river and then flapped away with an echoing call.

When the great heron floated down from the treetops to take its place, she froze to watch. The big bird stepped on stilted legs, cautious, searching, through the reeds, fishing for dinner as she mentally compared it to its glass twin, now resting in the kitchen window of her river house.

Papaw's memories were part of the river now. The way it rippled in the sunlight. He was in the thrilling tug of a fish on her line, and the voice in her head while she reeled it to shore.

And, all this beauty was a waste without anyone but her to witness it. Last person she'd shared it with was Jake, who'd kissed her in the sun-dappled shade. If only she weren't so stubborn, so afraid. She'd rush back and tell him—

“Lilah...”
The wind whispered her name from the cottonwoods.

Ears perked.

Darting birds chattered, zipping tree top to tree top. A trout broke the surface of the water, while the heron stood perfectly still, waiting in the reeds.

Was she hearing things?

In full season, the river would be noise and laughter, skiffs, canoes, and inner-tubes. No sound, but in the rattling cattails. She was alone with the chirping frogs, a low buzz of dragon flies. In the distance, a train whistle, the slow-chug of the six fifteen on its way to Jonesboro.

At the sound of the approaching engine, the heron raised its long neck, flexed its wings, and launched upriver.

She watched its departing form lift into the M shape of a child's drawing, its reflection wavering on the water as the big bird rounded the bend just as a lone canoer paddled into sight.

She returned her gaze to the chained skiff, hooked on the rough planks of Papaw's fish-dressing table with silver fish scales forever embedded on its surface. The wood, weathered, twisted, and broken.

Have to hire a carpenter to fix those,
she mused. Steps to the river dock and the others back up to her house all needed resetting. Those and countless other tasks remained on her to-do list. Wasn't it funny that the constant maintenance Nana hated about this place was what Lilah loved about it most of all?

The mewing caught her attention. Another batch of kittens? She knelt to peer under the shadow of the upside down boat. There, in the dim light, a stray black and white adolescent kitty stretched its claws and yawned. “Here, kitty. I won't hurtch'a.” She beckoned.

The creature took one step. Two. A third, and then rubbed its chin on her outstretched hand. Its purr kicked up over the lapping water.

She cradled the purring creature, stared into its green, blinking eyes, and sat back on the dock. Her right foot dangled in cool water. With her back to the river, she cuddled the foundling and realized just how lonely she really was. “Where's your mama?”

“Looks like you're it.” Jake's voice startled her from behind, and she whipped around. “If you're up for the job.” He paddled up to the dock.

Lilah adjusted the little cat along her arm. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see my girl.” Grabbing the dock pylon, Jake wrapped his tie rope and knelt-stood in the boat, his hands gripping the sides of the wobbly vessel.

“You can't get out that way, Jake.” Lilah warned, stepping to help him a split-second too late. The canoe bobbled, careening crazily under his weight.

“How does one get out of a canoe, anyw—” He overcompensated, leaning away from the water against the capsizing boat.

Sploosh!

Kitten claws out and hissing, the black and white creature pushed out of her grasp and retreated to safety underneath the upside-down rowboat.

Lilah glanced from it to Jake's waterlogged form as he stood, drenched in knee deep water. A cloud of silt murked the clear pool around him. “That's one way to do it.”

“I like to make an entrance.” He tossed back dripping hair and shook his head like a dog, then grabbed the canoe's bow-rope and sloshed up the sloping edge.

Hand outstretched, Lilah helped him onto the bank. “Where'd you come from, anyway?”

“Maya's renting canoes out of Seven Falls.” He tied the rope to a knotted root. “I stopped in to check on her, and she convinced me it was a good idea. Thought it would be romantic.”

“She's a good kid.” She could see the kitten's form huddled against the far wall of the boat. “Any word on her father?”

“They all cleared out until next year, if they come back at all. Maya wants to stay, though. She's working on her GED.” Jake pulled a soggy handkerchief from a back pocket, wrung it out, and returned it. “Trying to lend some guidance. Get her to services once in a while.”

She knew that look in his eyes. He was trying to see why she'd missed a month of Sundays, as well. He repeated the motion with his t-shirt, and water rained around his sandaled feet.

Why'd it plunge so deep at the very mention? She dropped to her knees at the base of the tree, jockeying over the roots, “Here, kitty, kitty.” She reached as far under as she dared.

Jake dropped to one knee by her side, dripping a puddle from his sodden clothes. “Sorry I scared your cat.”

“Not your fault.” Her mouth twitched a smile. “Have a nice swim?”

“Wasn't exactly what I had in mind.” He dusted off his shorts. “Should have worn my suit.”

With a moment's coaxing, she gathered the black and white fur-ball and tucked it back in the crook of her arm. “Come on. I'll get you a towel.”

“In a minute.” He stepped to her, touched her cheek with damp fingertips. The sinews of his neck tightened, no sign of a bruise at his jaw. His mouth unreadable, gaze questioning, but Jake pressed no further. His gray t-shirt pasted to his chest, and he gave a shiver. “I missed you.”

“Have you?” She blinked and looked down to her bare feet. Any attempts to keep it light were weighted by memory. “You didn't call.”

“Neither did you.”

A standoff, then. Fine. Two could play at that game. Far as she could tell, they were both losing. But she remembered the languid, healing waters of his kisses, the warmth of his skin. Her heart surged with need to hold him close even as her stubborn head mapped out a chessboard of possible moves. But did she want him for the right reasons?

“I've missed you…” His voice remained silver-smooth as she shot a wry grin.

“I've been a little busy…”

Jake brought her hand to his mouth. Warm lips pressed on her hand, light as a firefly. “Diner's not the same without you in the kitchen. Eden's specials are nowhere near as interesting as yours.”

“I'm sure the rest of the town's missing my pico de gallo, too.” Lilah's spine did a shiver-shake, and she shrugged to cover it. She gave the purring kitten's chin a scratch with her index finger.

“Don't make excuses.” He stepped closer still. “You've been hiding.”

“Like you haven't?” She jutted her chin, but her heart was slamming. “Pastor Gibson?”

His face went hang-dog. “Some folks like that we're out here. Hoping Dad'll come out for a guest speaker now that I'm not hiding anymore. But you're still hiding. Aren't you.”

The kitten glanced up in question, and then closed its eyes and purr-snored.

Lilah kissed its head. “I don't need to hide.”

“That's the truth.” Jake's mouth angled toward hers, inches, centimeters, millimeters, yet remained a million miles away. As if their souls were mingling in an electric dance. His green-eyed gaze, soft, patient as he waited for her, just as he'd waited a month for her to sort things out, for her to close the distance.

She tipped her attention heavenward, through the twist-trunked trees.
Lord, if I kiss him now, its forever, doesn't he deserve someone better? Someone...

A branch, newly ripped off, showed a broad section of trunk she'd never noticed. There, a carving, until now, obscured by time and overgrowth. “What's that?”

She pushed the wet cat into his arms and hauled herself up the first branch, then the second, attention on her target.

“What?” Jake watched her climb, head cocked in obvious confusion. “What do you see?”

“Up there.” She strained to see, traced the rough bark carving. “Someone's initials. S plus R. In a heart.” The bitter sweetness of her parents' love wrapped around her, born in secret and over too soon. “Sam plus Rebecca. They were just kids.” She sniffed a pensive laugh. “He really did love her, didn't he?”

“Yeah. That's what he says.”

“You've talked to him?” Lilah jumped back down to the earth.

“Sure.” He handed her back the stray, stepped confidently to the stairs, and took them two at a time in front of her. “Can I get that towel?”

“Jake!” She trotted after him to the top of the ridge. “Tell me what you mean.”

“Guthrie's replacing the stained glass window—it's a new design, but it fits.”

“He's working for you?”

“Volunteering.” Jake pressed a smile. “Went to Joplin to collect recyclable glass. He's starting next week. You really should come back…”

“Jake, I—”

“To see him, I mean.” He walked into the house ahead of her. A slow whistle of approval blew through his lips as he turned a slow circle in the small living room. “You've been busy.”

She set the cat in the chair, and it snugged into the draped quilt. Because her hands were vacant, she grabbed a rag-woven throw pillow, fluffed it, and tossed it to the edge of the couch. Shoulder to doorframe, Lilah re-admired her handiwork through his eyes.

White paint dressed up the old table and chairs. She'd antiqued Nana's wicker rocking chair, a crackle-coat that showed through with original wood. Clean sunlight filtered from open windows, and the six-candle shabby chic chandelier, bought at an antique store in Hardy, hung in place of the dated chain lamp. Everywhere, pale greens and whites in various patterns, neither too feminine nor too masculine. Mason jars, the color of Jake's ocean eyes, sat on every window sill and table, blooming with wildflowers.

“Wow.” By the appraising look on Jake's face, he meant it. “Eden's place is so…Eden. But this is all you.”

“Just a little elbow grease.” She shrugged, standing a little straighter at his compliment in spite of herself. She opened the fridge, grabbed the milk carton with a slosh, and poured a saucer full.

Jake leaned against the kitchen counter and selected a green apple from the bowl, next to her Bible, and crunched a bite. His attention lingered on the page.

Heart pounding, she remembered the phrase she'd outlined that morning.

His smile curled as he read, swallowed. Nothing smug about it, just satisfied. “This'll make a great getaway.”

She set the saucer to scrubbed linoleum, and the cat happily lapped it up. “I was thinking it was more, home.”

“Long way to drive for your diner shift.” He took a fistful of nuts from the bowl on the counter. “I've missed your cooking,” he said with a crunch.

“I needed some time off.” The floor rattled underneath her as she stepped over to a hallway closet and freed a fluffy sage-green towel.

With one statement, he'd deflated her notion that this could be a year-round home. He was right. Winters out here would be unbearable. Ice, snow, and weather would wash out the rutted road. Propane would be scarce. Life in the backwoods of the Ozarks wasn't for sissies or city folk.

Jake's heavy steps reverberated across floor as he followed. He accepted the towel and scrubbed a corner at his damp hair. Now finished with its milk, the cat gave a thoughtful paw-lick.

He reached for her with confident, warm hands, setting them firmly on her hips. “You call this home, but do you even know what that means?”

“I'm doing my best to find out.” Lilah faced Jake, square-on.

“You're not gonna find it here. All this place has for you is memories. Even with a fresh coat of paint and a furry houseguest.” His gaze warmed her, head to heels. Even while he searched her eyes, she knew he saw straight into her soul. “I came back and you weren't there. Mammoth isn't the same without you. Please come home with me.”

“Do we know each other well enough for you to ask me that?” She held her ground, verbally, even as her heart melted for him.

“I know you, Lilah.” He cupped the back of her neck, stroking her curls with his work-roughened palm.

“What about my past? What about yours? Your father…surely, he wouldn't approve.” She backed a step away, shaking her head.

Jake's lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line. In one swift motion, he held the towel around her waist before she could escape and roped her against him. Trapped.

“But...”

“It doesn't matter.” Jake's mouth lowered to hers, intoxicating, drowning her in a rush of sudden longing, an undertow he created, only now allowed to surface by his shaking restraint.

Her lips warmed by his touch. They held on to one another, drawing warmth, life, and light. Breath to breath, she allowed the silent moment to linger.