The First Law of Love (17 page)

I woke up to an especially frightful crashing and fell directly off the couch. Heart hammering like a blacksmith on acid, I lay flat on my back and tried to make sense of what was happening. My body was rigid with tension; I'd come awake in the middle of a powerful orgasm. I could hardly move for the sensations rioting through me. Lightning sizzled, backlighting the curtains, followed by another tremendous, building-rattling burst, and I jerked to a sitting position, a wave of dizziness rippling through my head.

“Holy shit,” I said, as my apartment was once more filled with unearthly blue-white light. “Oh, holy Jesus.”

My dream was still happening in my head, and I closed my eyes to get back to it, shaking as I cupped my breasts, naked and taut beneath my pajama shirt. I shuddered and bent forward, and somehow understood that I would see Case before Friday. I knew it, and this knowledge filled me with enough strength to climb back onto the couch and sleep until morning.

I spent the entire next day battling the urge to run straight down the sidewalk to Spicer Music, where I had not yet been brave enough to venture, and burst right through the door to see Case. Just see him. That was all. Just put my eyes upon him, and then I would unbutton my blouse…

Tish, you are crazy. Cra-zy.

But it was such a realistic dream
…

At the law office, Al was so proud of how I'd presented myself last night that he couldn't quit remarking; he might as well have been my father. I thanked him again and again. Evidence of my good work bore fruit even before noon, as two families called the office to say that they had officially turned down the offer from Capital Overland.

“Minor victories,” I said, though I was pretty proud of this accomplishment too.

“None are minor in this instance,” Al said, beaming at me. “I have to be in court at one. You hold down the fort for me, all right?”

“Aye, captain,” I teased.

By the time I finished work at five, I was near rabid to see Case. I drove home and frittered uselessly around the apartment for three hours before at last making up my mind and changing into a soft, black, daisy-print sundress (an old one of Camille's that I may have “borrowed” without her knowing) and black sandals, having decided to walk around the fairgrounds, on the off chance that Case would be done playing and also wandering around, looking for me too. I knew he was performing on the main stage tonight, along with Marshall, but I had no idea what time.

Dressed and ready, I debated driving versus walking. It would likely be late when I came back home, but the beauty of the summer evening made up my mind and minutes later I found myself strolling along the gravel path that led to the bridge spanning Stone Creek. Beyond the creek stretched the fairgrounds, the sounds of which had played in the background while I brushed out my hair and applied make-up. I could smell mini donuts and popcorn from a hundred paces out. At the main entrance, two older men with orange vests and pocket aprons waved me inside the gate.

“Have fun, honey,” said one of them. “Your fee is on us.”

“Good work at the meeting last night,” the other told me, and I blushed with pleasure.

“Thank you,” I told them.

There was just no such thing as a county fair in a place the size of Chicago. I was taken back to my high school days in Landon as I walked along the midway, bombarded by the sights and sounds. Food vendors in trailers painted with brilliant colors and decorated with flashing bulbs. Music blasting from the bigger rides, like the Ferris wheel and the Zipper. Carnival games, where you could win huge stuffed animals and t-shirts with neon slogans.

I was surprised at the amount of people who called to me by name, and whose names I knew in return; I might as well have been at Trout Days, back in Landon, and I was warmed at this notion. In Chicago, I would likely never have this experience. Despite the growing sense of familiarity, I was too shy to ask anyone when Case and Marshall would be playing; I determined that I would find out for myself. The main stage was through the grandstand, not directly visible from the midway, and the crowd was increasing now that the sun had set, the mood ever more boisterous. I was starting to feel like a stalker, scanning groups of people at first covertly and then less so.

As my heart was literally palpitating, I decided I needed to quit walking in circles and that a drink was in order. Fortunately I spied the beer garden. Two women were working the counter of a small building open to the outside, lit from within by cheerful lights. Though I could have ducked inside to the main tent housing what was surely a bigger bar, I sat instead on a stool where I could continue to observe the action on the midway.

“Hi, hon,” said a woman with a deep tan, lots of eyeliner and long hair held back in a clip. I thought she might possibly have been from The Spoke, vaguely recognizing her from Thursday. She leaned her palms on the counter opposite me and asked, “What can I get you?”

“A Mich Golden,” I said, in the mood for beer. “Thank you.”

“Coming right up,” she said.

It was at that moment that I heard excitement ripple through the stands and someone said into a microphone, “Good evening, Jalesville!”

I sprang to attention, but it wasn't Case or Marshall, instead someone whose voice I didn't recognize.

“Here you go,” she said. “Can I start you a tab?”

“Isn't Case playing tonight?” I asked, no longer caring about being subtle.

“He played the early set tonight,” she said, and disappointment swelled like a living thing within me. “Traded spots with the guys playing now.”

I would not ask if he was still here. I would not. Instead I nodded and sipped my beer.

If you start getting all teary-eyed right now
…I warned myself angrily.
But you just walked around for an hour and didn
'
t see him. He
'
s not here.

“Speaking of the devil,” she said then, nodding at something over my shoulder, and my heart pulsed and throbbed. I dared to peek behind me, casually as I could, fidgeting with my hair as if that was my excuse for movement.

Case was headed our way from a distance, guitar case in hand, black backpack slung over his shoulder. He was wearing his customary jeans and t-shirt combo this evening, cowboy hat in place, chin tipped a little as he listened to the guy he was walking with, who was also carrying an instrument.

“Dang. He is
such
a sexy man,” the woman said and my gaze flew back to her face.

It would not be in your best interest to tear out her eyes
, I told myself, taking a long pull from my beer.

She smoothed her hands down the front of her server apron and thrust out her breasts just a little, almost unconsciously, as she continued watching Case, and I felt all my hackles rise, though I had less than no right. She said, as though I was a good friend instead of a virtual stranger, “I told Lynnette she was crazy to let him go. I've heard he's incredible in bed, and I believe it. Takes his time on all the right spots, if you know what I mean.” And then she looked at me and winked.

I couldn't help but smile back, even as my nipples tightened and a burst of heat smashed through my lower body. Goddammit, of fucking
course
she would say such a thing to me right now. Just what I needed to hear.

“Another, sweetie?” she asked, nodding at my now-empty bottle.

“Sure,” I said, somewhat hoarsely.

She opened a second beer and set it in front of me while I used every bit of willpower I possessed to remain facing away from Case, determined not to turn and watch him approach, dying for him to come and sit by me. I would not ask him to; probably he would walk right past without even noticing me.

But then the bartender smiled in an undeniably warm welcome, asking, “You guys ready for a drink? Sounded good earlier.”

“Yes, ma'am,” said a man I didn't recognize. “And we're plenty thirsty.”

I turned that way at once to see Case with his eyes on me.

He
'
s here, he
'
s here, he
'
s here!

I rejoiced at this even as I played it as cool as I could. I hadn't seen him since the parking lot at the courthouse last night. Well, unless I counted my thunderstorm-induced dream.

Oh God
…

“Take a load off, boys,” the bartender invited and my heart was up somewhere near the stratosphere as Case sat on a stool to my left, though he left one empty between us. He braced his guitar case beneath the edge of the bar. The other guy sat on his far side, leaning over the bar to grin at the woman behind the counter.

I tilted my chin to peek at Case, who looked over at me at the same moment. Candy colors flashed over our faces and there was a ripple of screams as the Zipper started back up, across the midway. Music from the main stage played in the background.

“Hey,” he said, softly.

Was he as glad to see me as I was to see him? Oh God, I hoped so…

“Hey,” I said back, eating him up with my eyes. “I guess I missed your show.”

“We traded spots,” he affirmed, accepting a beer from the bartender with a polite thank-you; she tugged teasingly on the brim of his hat and I thought my own bottle just might bust in two in my grip.

“Lee, this is Patricia Gordon,” Case said then, surprising me.
My first name!
He hadn't ever spoken it in my presence, and it threw my heart into even more intense and agitated motion.

The bartender leaned her hips against the counter and said, “Oh, so you're the new lawyer in town, working for Al. Well, nice to meet you.”

“And this is Lee Heller. Her family manages The Spoke. And they're cousins with Garth and those guys,” Case explained to me.

I reached to shake her hand, saying, “I'm pleased to meet you.”

“Dad was saying that the new lawyer at the meeting seemed like a little pistol,” Lee said, her eyebrows lifting as she regarded me anew. “I see Case here already recruited you on his side of this land debate.”

Case laughed a little at her words. He said, “I did no such thing. And watch who you're calling names, now.”

“It's a compliment!” Lee insisted to me. “Means you impressed him, and my dad isn't easy to impress. Means you're getting the job done, just like a pistol would.”

“What Lee's dad didn't mention was that you're gorgeous,” said the guy on the far side of Case. He rose and came to stand closer to my barstool, extending his free hand. “Since Casey here obviously isn't going to introduce us, I'm Travis Woodrow.”

Case took a long drink from his beer as I shook Travis's hand; Travis was about my age probably, stocky and cute, with a black cowboy hat and a dark goatee, and added politely, “Patricia.”

“It's Tish,” I explained. “I mean, that's what everyone calls me.”

“That's all kinds of cute,” Travis said smoothly, reclaiming his seat. “You see our show?”

“No, I got here too late,” I said.

Travis said, “I happen to have a roll of tickets right here, in my pocket.”

Lee burst into laughter, teasing me, “Watch out, he'll want you to reach into his pocket, next thing.”

Travis grinned exuberantly, leaning around Case to insist, “I've been crazy to ride that Ferris wheel tonight. You want to join me, little lawyer lady?”

“‘Lawyer lady'?” I repeated, with just enough bite in my tone, to which Travis was totally oblivious, and Lee laughed even harder. Case might as well have been deaf to everything we were saying, barely reacting at all.

“Yeah, you sure know how to win 'em over, Trav,” Lee giggled, refastening the clip holding back her hair.

“Come on,” Travis wheedled. “It'll be fun. I'll keep my hands on the bar at all times.”

“I need to unwind a little while,” I said, holding up my bottle to indicate, and I was surely imagining the satisfaction that briefly flickered across Case's expression.

“Later?” Travis pressed.

“Maybe,” I allowed, as Lee moved down the bar to wait on an approaching group. As though a floodgate somewhere had released a burst of thirsty people, the bar grew busy. A man jostled my elbow, apologizing even as he crowded closer.

Without questioning the action, I scooted over to the left, freeing the space for the group to my right. This happened to put me right beside Case, who acknowledged the proximity of our bodies with the faintest flicker of an eyelash. Determined to engage him in conversation, I leaned over the bar on my forearms and said, “Have you been here long today?”

Travis filled in, “Since the early set. We're done for the evening now.”

Case angled just slightly towards me; his right knee and my left were only about four inches apart. My leg was bare, his in jeans, and I wondered just what would happen if I pressed my skin against the denim on his thigh.

No
, I warned myself, fiercely.

Your mind is clouded by lack of sex
, I tried to tell myself.
It
'
s fucking up your judgment.

Takes his time on all the right spots
…

Goddammit it to hell.

“Did you walk over?” Case asked me. He looked so damn good that I had to take another long drink before I could think about answering this simple question. His jaw appeared chiseled, lightly stubbled with a day's growth of beard, his gaze holding mine lightly as he waited for my response. I noticed then that he had slight shadow-smudges beneath his eyes, as though he hadn't slept well, and I curled my fingers around my beer bottle, as so not to touch him somehow. He was sitting with his forearms lining the bar, a posture which emphasized his wide shoulders. The yellow-tinted bar lights created a warm glow around us, and highlighted the hair on his arms.

“I did,” I said. I had taken a good five seconds to respond, which was weird of me, I realized. He probably thought I was drunk. There were so many things I wanted to ask him, not the least of which what he thought of Derrick Yancy's claim that he had an ancestor who'd been cheated out of land in this area. But I couldn't seem to form coherent sentences, caught up in studying him.

“Wy was saying something about how you wanted a cat,” Case said then. I felt as though we were encased in our own little private bubble, the laughter and chatter and teasing, the hard-rock music from the main stage, seeming distant from us.

“I did, the other night at supper,” I said. I heard myself admit, “It's a little lonely at my apartment,” and was then embarrassed. I babbled on, “I mean, I'm so used to the company of other people. I shared a room with my younger sister forever. I don't have enough time to take care of a dog, but Clark suggested that maybe a cat would be perfect…”