The Cedar Tree (Love Is Not Enough) (16 page)

"Yes, sir, but I'm not playin' with her," he blurted. "I love her."

Her dad stared at him incredulously, and then gave a derisive snort. "You don't even know what love means."

He opened his mouth to reply, but the older man raised a hand and turned away. "End of discussion."

Jon turned into the house and slammed the door, leaving him alone and deflated where the glow from the porch light merged into the night.

Chapter Nine

Twenty minutes later at the Lone Tree General Store, a cold wind gusted up the valley and over the rushing water of the creek, whirling an empty paper bag and a Snickers wrapper along the sidewalk to lodge under the payphone. Gil had stopped at the public phone, unwilling for his grandfather to overhear the call he made. Turning his back to the wind, he pulled up the collar of his coat and lifted the receiver.

Fifteen minutes later he had used all his change, including what he had raked out from under his pickup seat, but he finally had the correct telephone number from the operator. His mother answered.

"Your wildest dreams have come true, Mama," he said after a few minute's talk. "I've found a nice girl."

"Gil, that's wonderful!"

"This's the big one."

"You're sure? What's her name?"

"Katie Campbell."

Silence.

"Mama? You still there?"

"Jon and…Becky Campbell's girl?"

"Yeah. You remember them?"

His mother cleared her throat. "Tell me about her," she said with forced lightness. "Is she pretty?"

"If you remember what her mom looks like, she looks a lot like her."

Another long silence.

"Quiet, beautiful smile, long blonde hair? Little bitty thing?" she asked, at last.

"Yeah." He frowned at the strain in her voice. What was wrong with her?

"That's wonderful, Gil. I'm happy for you."

"Just wanted you to know," he said. She sure didn't sound happy. "You and Dad move out of the apartment?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yes. Didn't Gramps tell you?"

"No." It must've happened while he was in jail.

"Well, you know that kid that did a tv series with the dog when you were growing up?"

"I remember the dog."

"Well, the kid grew up and bought a ranch in Sun Valley. Dad's managing it for him."

"I'll bet he loves that," he said dryly.

"He can keep his last roping horse and the dogs out here."

"And make you live in hell about it."

"He does better here than he did in town."

"Yeah, I'll bet," he said bitterly. He didn't have to be there to know how things were going. "You heard from Dee?"

"She's coming home for Christmas."

"You'll like that."

"I will. She says she's got a nice boyfriend. Marty. His family farms somewhere in Alberta."

A pickup pulled into a parking space by the phone, blinding him with the glare from its headlights.

"Gotta go, Mama," he said. "Somebody needs the phone."

"Are you happy out there, Gil?"

"Yeah, I am. Gramps has been good for me."

"Are you going to church with him?"

"Yeah."

"I'm so glad," she said, real happiness finally in her tone. "Your gramps is a good man. I wish I could see him."

"Come out here, then."

"I can't really…leave your dad right now."

His jaw tightened. "Mama—"

"I love you, honey—" the false brightness entered her tone again—"tell…Katie I'll look forward to meeting her."

He hung up the phone then got into his pickup to sit motionless and frowning.

What was wrong with everybody?

***

Sunday morning, Katie's blonde hair shone from a pew full of girls, but with an empty space beside her. Gil squeezed down the row and sat between another girl and her. She smiled shyly at him.

He grinned at her, and then glancing up, he met her dad's gaze leveled on him from two pews forward. He sobered at the warning in the older man's stare.

He turned away, only to meet his grandfather's unhappy look from the elders' bench at the front. He irritably dropped his gaze.

Anybody might think he was a stray dog getting ready to lift his leg on the pulpit, or something.

Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he stared down at Katie's feet, pretty in a pair of high heeled shoes. Lance's gaze bored into his back from the unattached males' pew and collective disapproval from the congregation smothered him like a blanket of dust.

He glanced at Katie. Color flooded her smooth cheeks and her chin had a stubborn set—she felt it too. The whole church thing was really going to stink. If he hadn't already told her he'd attend with her…

But her deep blue eyes defied public opinion and she moved her hand to the seat between them, easing it over to touch his thigh with the tips of her fingers. His heartbeat quickened as he shifted his leg slightly to cover her fingers. The light contact spread through him like warm oil…and held him there beside her.

***

Throughout the next days, his grandfather's Poppin' Johnny bucked and pitched over the rough pasture by the creek, breaking out the ground with an old two-bottom plow. Volcanic boulders—black lava, riddled with holes, and hard as iron—littered the field, often too big for the plow to turn out of the ground. When that happened, Gil got off the tractor and broke up the boulder with a sledgehammer, wedge, and an iron bar, while his grandfather loaded the broken pieces into his old pickup.

He frequently lost patience with the slow process and hurled the heavy hammer like a discus across the freshly turned soil. His recent attempts to reform his vocabulary had left him without many of his staple words and phrases, and he groped about in his mind for something mild to relieve his frustration. When he found nothing, he gave an inarticulate roar and sent his hat winging after the hammer like an ungainly, black bird.

"Son," his grandfather said, finally, eyeing him, "we'd get more done if we didn't have to stop ever few minutes for you to throw a fit."

He brought the sledgehammer down on a boulder that seemed half as big as a horse. "I hate farmin'," he grunted. "If you can't do somethin' off the back of a horse it probably don't need done."

"We don't have to do this if it ain't what you want," the old man said mildly.

"We've got to have more hay if we're gonna run more cows, and—" he glanced at his grandfather—"I might get married one of these days. I gotta start makin' a decent livin'."

His grandfather didn't reply, but his eyes held the disapproving and faintly worried look. So irritating.

He turned away and lifted the hammer over his head. Well, if Katie wanted him—he gritted his teeth and drove the sledgehammer down with all the force he could muster—he didn't give a rat's…er…rear who didn't like it.

***

The next Wednesday evening brought an early end to another maddening day with the plow. He arrived at church early to ensure a seat at the far end of the pew—if Katie wanted to touch him, she only had to watch that the girl on the other side of her not see it.

Not only did she touch him, she slid a folded piece of paper beneath his leg. After the service, he walked her to her father's car—keeping his hands to himself—and then slid into his truck to hold the paper to the light from the street lamp.

Since you can't call me, will you write?

Saturday afternoon, he bought the only spiral-bound notebook on the dusty shelf at the general store. That night, he sat on his bed with it opened on his leg, frowning.

He'd always gotten girls into trouble, not tried to keep them out of it. The note thing worried him. Besides, he'd never written notes to a girl…at least not since second grade. He filled the trash can beside his bed with wadded pages before he settled on one.

Katie, I'm sorry I got you in trouble, I really am. I don't want to get you in deeper by writing notes to you. Your dad might not even let you sit by me in church. Maybe if I show him I'm serious about this he'll cool down and we can be together…

He slipped the note into her hand after church on Sunday, and then stood near her in the parking lot where the church's noisy youth group milled about, making plans for the afternoon. One of the girls invited him to go along for hamburgers and a basketball game later, but after a look at Jon's frowning face, he declined.

He regretted it when he stood alone watching Katie ride away in a car filled with young people—including Lance—but on Wednesday night, she slipped another note under his leg.

Dad never said anything about notes. He makes me ride the bus to school because he's too tight to pay for gas, but there's a cedar tree at the turn to our place where Tim and I catch the bus. It's hollow in the back. There might be something in it tomorrow after I get home from school. If you're interested…

Slipping the note into the pocket of his shirt, he grinned, envisioning her under-the-lashes look and the flicker of a smile on her lips.

The next afternoon, he made an excuse to his grandfather and drove to the twisted tree. The hollow space inside it held a folded paper, fragrant with cedar.

We can write every day this way. Tim won't notice anything. He wouldn't notice if a meteorite fell on his head, so if you can manage it, we could even do it twice a day…

At seven-thirty the next morning, her school bus lumbered past his grandfather's graveled lane. He waited in his pickup for a glimpse of her quick wave, and then he drove to the tree. The mode of communication frustrated him, but hungry for contact with her, he did it.

Friday night, he sat on the edge of his bed rubbing his fingers through his hair, still wet from the shower. He reread her note from earlier that day.

I think I can get away tomorrow afternoon to meet you at the clearing at one o'clock. There's a deer trail behind that old barn where the road crosses the creek a couple of miles from our house. If you follow it, it'll lead close enough to the clearing that I can see you…

That was a different thing from passing notes. If she got busted with one of his notes, her dad might have a fit, but if Jon caught her sneaking off to meet him…

It was a terrible idea. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't. He'd told her dad he'd keep his hands off her and if he was alone with her…

He lay down, the springs of his bed squalling in protest. Clasping his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. Maybe if he rode Lucky…That'd keep anybody from seeing his truck parked at the old barn. He could make some excuse to leave work with his grandfather.

He rolled over on his side. No. He wouldn't do it. If he was patient her father would eventually realize the thing between him and Katie wasn't going away.

But a few minutes sitting beside her on the flat rock, the sun on her hair…?

He'd go. Just once. He'd tell her they couldn't do it anymore.

The next afternoon, a depthless, blue dome of autumn sky curved above bare branches along the deer trail. He rode Lucky past the old barn and along the edge of a rocky gulch where the creek, rimmed with ice in shady places, rushed thirty feet below him. A mile later, Katie's mare neighed from the direction of the clearing. Lucky jerked up his head and whickered back, his pace quickening.

Katie stepped from the trees and onto the trail, wearing boots and jeans, her hands in the pockets of the denim coat over a white hooded sweatshirt.

He dismounted with a creak of saddle leather, his gaze holding hers. She came to him, and without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms, his heart pounding.

"We can't do this, Katie," he said, his face in the unforgettable fragrance of her hair.

"Is that what you came to tell me?" The brown canvas of his coat muffled her voice.

He didn't answer.

"You don't want to see me where we can talk and—" she raised her face to meet his gaze, color rising in her cheeks-" do this?"

"You know I do, but if your dad catches us, he'll—"

"What about what I want?" Her eyes challenged him.

"Your dad's gotta trust me or he's never gonna let you be with me."

"Gil," she said, her eyes filling with strain, "I need to see you. You don't know what it's like at my house now. It's like a funeral home or something. Everybody's sick or unhappy and Dad's so worried about Mom he's like a bear all the time. He says worrying about me is making her feel worse. I can't do anything right. He watches me like a hawk—"

"Where's he at now?" he asked in alarm.

"He went to town. He won't be back for two or three hours."

"What about your mom?"

"She sleeps in the afternoon."

"Katie…" he groaned.

She silenced him with a finger over his lips then reached for his hand. Leading Lucky, he followed her off the trail toward the clearing where Candy grazed.

He dropped the reins and lowered himself to a seat on the rock beside her. "I'll stay for a few minutes then you have to go—" A sudden expression of uncertainty in her eyes stopped him. "I want to see you, Katie, but if you get caught meetin' me…" 

His gaze strayed to her hair, glossy in the sun, and tied back in a ponytail with a piece of blue satin. He fought himself, but then reached to gently pull the end of the ribbon. A sweet smelling wave of light hair released over her shoulders and around her face. He rubbed a silky strand between his fingers.

"It's beautiful," he murmured.

Shyly, she lowered her head to his shoulder and away from his gaze. He slid his arm around her and pulled her close. The few minutes he'd allowed himself stretched into an hour, but finally, he rose and pulled her to her feet after him.

He stood with his hands on her waist while she gathered the shining fall of her hair, tying it with the ribbon. Reluctantly, he released her then helped her mount.

She leaned down to touch his face, smiling softly. "Don't look that way. I wouldn't have thought you ever worried about anything."