No Place Like Home (23 page)

It was beautiful, of course, its sexiness in what it hid as much as what it revealed. It only hinted at the naked body beneath it. Her creamy shoulders glowed against the black lace. “It’s gorgeous,” I said. “Very 1930s. It will be perfect in your house.”

“Will it make him crazy, do you think?” She opened earnest eyes now, taking a deep breath that illuminated her graceful sweep of collarbone.

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. That’s the first one.” She eyed the other, tossed over the built-in bench.

I turned around. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

The quick agile movements of shedding one, then donning the other. “I have to keep my eyes closed this time,” she squeaked. “You can turn around now.”

Laughing softly at her appealing modesty, I turned and whistled low. “You want them both, babe,” I said. It was black, too. And a lot more revealing, but in the best possible way. “This is an entirely different mood. Maybe this would be good for one night a little later in the honeymoon.”

“He kind of likes fishnets,” Jane said, putting her hands over her face. “I think he’ll really like this one, and I’m the one who really likes the other one.”

“Then you definitely need them both. One to perk you up when you’re sensing he’s in the mood and you aren’t—”

“Oh, I can’t imagine not being in the mood.”

I chuckled, turning to face the door. “I’m not looking anymore,” I said. “So get them both just for fun.”

“I think I will.” There was no sound. I suspected she was admiring herself in the wicked body stocking she had enough sense to realize would please the bad-boy side of her ever-so-respectable husband. For some reason, it put a lump in my throat.

“Oh,” she said quietly, “I really can’t wait. My skin feels like it’s on fire. All I think about—” her voice was muffled as she pulled something over her head “—every single minute, and I’m not kidding, is our wedding night. I don’t know how I’ll stand to wait the whole entire day.”

It made the knot in my throat worse. “I love it that you haven’t slept together.”

“Yeah, I’m glad in a way. It’ll be—” her voice got breathless “—fun to discover it all with him.”

The knot moved through my throat to the backs of my eyes and I blinked hard, wishing with everything in me for the discovery of sex with a man I’d be with for the rest of my life. “It will be more than you even imagine right now,” I said, and hoped my voice sounded steadier to her than it did to me. “The best.”

She squeezed me from behind, giggling and happy. “Thank you, Jewel. You are so awesome to do this with me.”

“My pleasure,” I said. “Now, let’s go find something for Mama and get some lunch. I haven’t eaten since five this morning.”

We didn’t have a lot of luck at the first two shops we tried—most of the fashions were too young or extreme, nothing my mother would wear on a bet. We had not been entirely certain about size, since Mama wouldn’t discuss her weight and cut the tags out of her dresses so no one would ever know, but on that, Jasmine had come through. She hadn’t been able to come shopping with us today, but she had slipped into Mama’s room one day and measured one of her dresses with a tape measure at bust, waist, and hip, and we figured she was a size eight. Ten at the most. Impossible that my little mother and trim father had had such Amazon daughters. Except of course that it wasn’t.

In the third shop, we found it. A classic mother-of-the-bride dress in soft champagne silk, a scoop-neck, sleeveless sheath with a waist-length jacket made of matching lace. “Ooh,” Jane breathed as I pulled it off the rack. “This is it.”

“I wish we could talk her into wearing her hair down or something.”

“No, not down,” Jane said, shaking her head. “But loosely gathered on her head, don’t you think? Her hair is her secret thing, you know, like for Pop alone. I think that’s kinda neat.”

Ah. Of course. “I guess it is.”

When I left Jane, I ambled back to my car, sluggish with the heat of the sun and the long, long day of shopping. I was sleepy and peaceful and content. She made me feel ancient, but in a good way, not like a crone but a priestess, and when the lingerie shop came into view, maybe that was why I slowed. Testing myself.

And suddenly, it occurred to me that I knew exactly what to get her for her wedding gift. Let everyone else give her Crock-Pots. From her bold, wild sister would be at least one thing that was unbelievably racy.

The clerk smiled, remembering me from earlier. “Forget something?”

“A surprise for her.” Jane had said that her fiancé liked fishnets, and with a happy, close smile, I marched over to the racks found the red corset—medium—and the leather skirt. Jane was younger than I, but she was as voluptuous as the rest of us, so I tried it on, finding it pretty tight. Just right for her. On the way past the wall of stockings, I chose a pair of fishnets, with a garter belt, naturally.

“Oh, very sexy,” the clerk said.

“Yeah.” It cost a pretty penny, pennies I couldn’t really afford after the dress-buying spree, but life came around only once.

“Do you want me to wrap it?”

I shook my head. “I’ll take it like that.” I wanted to stop by and show Michael. Just for fun.

MALACHI’S FRIED FISH AND POTATOES

Ain’t nothin’ fancy about this meal. Cube a few potatoes, no need to skin ’em, and toss them in whatever oil you have handy, though olive oil is real good if you’re not camping. Bacon grease is also terrific, but a little more trouble if you’re cooking over an open fire. Watch out they don’t burn.

While you’re cooking the potatoes, take your basic white fish, any style, and clean and de-bone. Slice the fish into manageable pieces and roll them in a mix of cornmeal, flour, salt, and pepper. Fry in a hot skillet till done, and serve with beer.

Chapter 16

The day had turned deep gold by the time I got back out to the farm, and I found myself thinking about Malachi. Without Shane, we’d be knocking around the house alone, and I felt a little apprehensive as I pulled up by the lilac bushes. There were no pies, no wedding goodies to cook, and even if there had been, I was really too tired even to think about standing up in a kitchen all evening.

Heavy clouds were gathering to the west, but the sun was just ahead of them, and it fell in dusty reddish gold bars through the elms lacing their arms overhead. It was the stillest time of day, and as I closed the car door, I heard the faint strains of music coming from the house. No other sound whatsoever. No engines, not cars or tractors or planes. Too early for crickets, and the cicadas must have been taking a break.

The music seemed to be coming from the back and I walked around the outside of the porch, looking for Malachi. He didn’t hear me come up, and I caught him in a rare moment of revealment—his legs propped on the railing in their boots and jeans, his shirt open in deference to the heat. His hair, really getting too long now as the weeks passed, was a little tousled, as if he’d had his hands in it, and on his slanted and carved face was a distant expression.

I stopped, pierced a little by how much I liked looking at him, how dear his face had become over the short time he’d been here. It occurred to me that I’d become very dependent on him these past few weeks, dependent on his reliability, his easygoing humor, which was so welcome in a family of such intense personalities, his way of simply taking care of things that otherwise went undone.

It scared me, suddenly. I had not allowed myself to depend on anyone in a very long time. I took care of things myself. I liked it that way—if you didn’t put too much trust into somebody, you couldn’t get hurt, right?

For a minute, I felt a panicky sensation in the back of my throat, as if I couldn’t quite breathe. Then I realized that there had just been so much going on that I’d taken the easy help he offered. I didn’t expect him to stay. Didn’t expect a declaration of love or a proposal of marriage. My independence was safe.

Still, I felt bereft, wondering if I’d ever see him again after Michael died.

Feeling as if I were invading his privacy with my silent observation, I moved into his line of vision. “Hey, soldier,” I said, carrying my packages up the stairs to dump them on the table. “How you doing?”

He picked up a long-neck bottle of Bud and examined the last two inches of beer left in it. “Guess I’ll be better when I get me another beer. You want one?”

“Sure. I’ll get it.” I took the strap of my purse from my shoulder and started to turn.

“Nope. For once, you sit.” He pushed on my shoulder lightly. “I’ll get it. You want anything else?”

It wasn’t until I was sitting that I realized just how very tired I was. Gathering the heavy, hot mass of my hair from my shoulders, I said, “Water?”

“No problem.”

I twisted my hair into a rope and tied it into a knot at my neck. Not exactly an elegant style, but it worked. A light breeze swept over my nape and spine. So much better.

Malachi was back in a second, carrying a very big glass of ice water and two beers. “I made dinner, too. Nothing like your cooking, a-course, but I hustle up a mean fish.”

“You cooked?”

He sat down, put his beer on the table, and bent over to unlace his boots. “Got lucky this morning and bagged a couple of nice bass out at the reservoir.”

“That’s great.” I drank the water first, big long thirsty gulps of it, drinking until my stomach felt a little too tight.

One boot came off, and he stripped off his sock, stuck it inside, and started on the other. “You were out cold.”

“I was a little slow this morning.” I finally noticed the music. Bonnie Raitt’s “Angel from Montgomery.” “Mmm, I love this song.”

“Love the whole CD,” he said, and pulled off the other sock and boot.

His feet were long and sturdy, with graceful high arches and knotty looking toes. “What size shoe do you wear?”

“Fourteen.” Inclining his head, he slanted a grin at me. “Sometimes fifteen.”

“Shane wears a thirteen. It must be hell for you to find shoes.”

A half shrug. “I’m used to looking hard for everything I wear.”

Eyeing his long back, it occurred to me that I still sometimes forgot how enormous he was. He just didn’t have the usual big man misshapenness or clumsiness. Everything was in perfect proportion, just larger than average. “It really is kind of amazing that you didn’t end up in sports of some kind.”

“Ain’t it a bitch?” He laughed a little, showing me that crooked eyetooth that was so oddly appealing. “Just was no damned good at any of it.”

“Well, except wrestling rivers and fish.”

He shot me a grin, making the sun lines crinkle. “I guess that counts.”

“I’d say it did.” Easing into my chair a little more deeply, I took a sip of beer. A little tiny sip. This tired, with so much on my mind, I didn’t want to lose my head. “I went by to see Michael on the way home. They’re going to let him go maybe Monday.”

“I spent the afternoon with him. Took the fish by to show him.” The smile wavered, and he swallowed hard. “I’m about to carry him out of there myself.”

I touched his arm.

“You hungry?”

“I could eat.” I started to get up.

“Let me do it, Jewel. You’re always waiting on everybody.” Far away, thunder rumbled low and long against the mountains. He glanced toward the west. “It’s nothing fancy, just some fish and potatoes.”

“I can help.”

“Just sit.” He dug in his pocket and threw me a lighter. “Take care of the candles.”

I moved the bags off the table, making a mental note to take them inside before it started to rain, and lit the pillars and tapers and the nearly spent stubs of some votives in their varied containers. A soft wind, pushed ahead by the rain coming toward us, made the flames flicker. Darkness was falling in earnest now, and the candles, narrowing our world, made me feel cozy.

Malachi brought out two plates piled high with fried fish and potatoes, the silverware rolled in napkins in his other hand. “Want something else to drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” I inhaled the scent. “Smells wonderful.”

“This is about the extent of my cooking,” he said, “but I think I make it pretty good.”

And it was excellent, as the simplest foods often are, seasoned with salt and pepper, fried crispy with the insides still tender. We didn’t talk much at first.

“Guess I should have thought about some wine,” he said.

“No, I think beer is just right with this. Hearty.” To illustrate, I took a big swig. “It’s really good, Malachi.”

“Thanks.” I sensed a little shyness about him tonight. A wish to please, maybe. “How’d it go today with Jane? You guys went shopping for wedding stuff or something?”

As if it was a movie, Bonnie Raitt started singing “Love Me Like a Man.” “Something like that,” I said. “She wanted honeymoon items, actually.” Carefully I wiped my greasy fingers on a napkin, once, then again. “I picked up a present for her. You want to see?”

“Sure.” It was the reply of a man being casually polite. I took out the red corset, putting it up against my body, then laid the leather skirt across my lap. I wiggled my eyebrows. “Smashing, huh?”

His expression didn’t change. “Nice,” he said, and popped a potato in his mouth. Leaning back, he lifted a shoulder. “It always seemed to me that bare skin was enough.”

“Really.” I hoped it didn’t sound as irked as I felt.

“What could be better than naked?” His position showed me a long strip of chest and belly between the flaps of his shirt. Deeply tanned flesh, supple and hard as—I couldn’t think of anything except man. I wanted, with sudden ferocity, to see him naked again. And not for five seconds in a kitchen before we got caught, but where I could admire all that length and suppleness at leisure.

It still miffed me a little that he was unmoved by my ploy, and folding the pieces, I shrugged. “Naked is good, I guess.”

He chuckled softly. “Naked is the whole point, isn’t it?”

I couldn’t look at him. Shoved the pieces back in the bag and took a long drink of beer to cool my overheated throat. Chest. Groin. It didn’t reach that far, and I wiped a little sweat from below my ear with my wrist. “Eventually,” I answered finally.

He kicked his feet out in front of him, looking at me steadily.

“What?” I snapped.

“You want to get naked with me, sugar?”

I snorted. “Not with a man who calls women
babe
and
sugar
all the time.”

“All right, then.” He took a leisurely swallow of beer. “Jewel, you want to get naked with me? Because I’d sure like to get naked with you, and maybe we don’t have many chances.”

I smiled slowly. “The answer, Malachi,” I said, standing up and picking up my bags to keep them safe from the rain that was coming, “is yes.” I walked to the door. “Last one naked is a rotten egg.”

He jumped up, and we raced inside, banging the screen door behind us. I dropped my bags on the dining room table and saw that he’d already lost his shirt. “Not fair!” I cried. “You started out way ahead.”

“I’ll let you catch up.” He dropped the shirt over the back of a chair, rubbing his belly in that way men always do, easy with the feel of themselves. “Better yet, I’ll just get naked and watch you get yourself naked.”

“Upstairs,” I said, reaching for the waistband of my jeans. I shimmied out of them. “And you have to go up first because there’s no way I’m walking in front like this.”

“You go up the front stairs. I’ll go up the back.”

Quizzically, I smiled. “Why?”

“Naked when you reach the top of the stairs.”

A shiver touched my neck. We parted.

I climbed the stairs, pulling my T-shirt over my head at the landing, then my bra off on the next step, feeling deliciously wicked at being naked in some part of the house that wasn’t a bedroom or bathroom. I reached the top of the stairs with my panties still covering me, and couldn’t quite get the nerve to take them off.

Malachi had fetched a candle from the kitchen and carried it in his big right hand. The light flickered over him, hiding and revealing the buttery look of his flesh—the astonishingly gorgeous length of him, long torso and longer legs. His shoulders looked sleek and round, and I stopped in almost overwhelming desire for a minute, my clothes forgotten in my hand.

“Naked,” he said.

I peeled off my panties and he moved toward me. “Now, what costume could be better than this?”

“Easy for you to say,” I whispered, unable to get more volume than that as his arm looped around my back, his palm spreading over my bottom. “You’re perfect. The rest of us have things we’d just as soon hide.”

He kissed me. Bent that giant lion head and captured my mouth, using his arm to pull me against him, a sensation that gave me a jolt so violent in combination with his mouth that my knees nearly buckled. I had the sense of the candle aloft to one side, casting yellow light over my eyelids, lids I closed against the onslaught.

He lifted his head, his eyes sober and sparkling at once, and took my hand. “Bed,” he said, and led me to my room. He put the candle on the dresser and we fell on the unmade bed together, limbs and lips and hands tangling in that acute, needful way people who’ve been resisting will do when they finally give in. “You don’t know,” he said in his raspiest voice, gathering my breasts into his hands, “how often I lay down there in that room and thought of this.”

My heart pounded, sending extra blood around wherever it was needed. “Yeah?” I asked breathlessly. “And what’d you think about doing?”

He reached behind him and tossed the cover over me. “I would think of you naked under a sheet,” he said in a low voice, smoothing that sheet over my breasts, almost to my neck. “Sleeping on your back.” I closed my eyes, a pulse fluttering in my throat. “And I’d think about coming in here, and slowly pulling down the sheet—” it slid downward, an inch at a time “—until I could see your breasts, imagining how beautiful they would be.” He used his hands, his mouth. “How responsive.”

“And then what?” I breathed, my hands moving on his thigh, tight and tense from his position.

“And then you’d wake up, and I’d kiss you.” He did.

“Didn’t I do anything back?” I pushed at him a little, touched the weight of his sex teasingly.

“Maybe.”

“In my imagination,” I said, sitting up, “it was a little different.”

“It was?”