Wild Flower (20 page)

“Sure thing,” I told him. I turned to Mathias and settled the black hat over his thick black hair and my constant and intense attraction to him sent an immediate firebolt between my legs. I slowly adjusted the brim; he saw the expression in my eyes and winked, and I was a little afraid my desire would win out and I would bite his neck and beg him to push up my skirt, everyone else be damned.

“We do lots of old school,” Garth was saying. “Like Johnny Cash, some Willie, a little Hank, Jr. What's your range, Carter? You got any favorites?”

“I know a bunch of Travis Tritt, Garth Brooks, Toby Keith, some Charlie Daniels,” Mathias said, his thumb making small circles against my belly, sending hot little pings straight south.

“We know a lot of the nineties country,” Garth said. “I'm lead guitar and I'll chime in on vocals. Case here is bass guitar,” (he pronounced it ‘gee-tar') “and little bro is our drummer.”

Case tipped back his hat brim and then joked, “I know I look like a fucking greenhorn but I can't see what I'm writing otherwise.” He had a short lead pencil and a cocktail napkin. He licked the pencil point and then said, “Let's make a playlist.”

“What's a greenhorn?” I asked.

The three of them laughed heartily at that, and Case gently nudged my shoulder with his beer bottle. Again, oddly, I felt a little like a beloved sister with them, comfortable despite the fact that we were virtual strangers.

“That's someone who's not acquainted with local customs,” Case explained. “For me to wear my hat like this makes me look like I haven't got a clue how it's supposed to be. Carter,” and he nodded at Mathias, who planted a kiss on my bare shoulder, his dimple deepening. Case went on, “You gotta keep that brim level with the earth, just so. Take my word.”

Mathias nodded gamely. He said, “Duly noted.”

“Let's start this crowd out right, do some fast sets first,” Garth said. The Spoke was really bumping now, people crowding the wagon wheel tables, the servers moving like worker bees through a noisy, neon-tinted field of honeysuckle. The woman who'd seated us appeared and asked, “So what's the word, boys?”

“Our asses just got saved,” Garth said. He grinned. “Netta, this here is Mathias Carter, of Minnesota, and his woman, Camille. He's gonna sing for us. Fuck Jason, for tonight, anyway!”

“Thank God,” Netta said, rolling her eyes. “We've got a full house and I was afraid it might get ugly if you guys tried to sneak out. I cleared out your usual table, just so you know.” To Mathias and me she added, “Good to meet you two. How about a round? What'll it be, guys?”

Mathias said in my ear, “Shit, I just got nervous as hell.”

“Honey,” I said, turning to him, getting my arms around his neck. “You'll kick ass. I know it.”

He tipped his chin and regarded me with his indigo eyes. I studied the golden flecks that shone like treasure in his irises, my heart panging fiercely with love. I added quietly, “I happen to know how amazing you are, especially in the shower.”

His dimple reappeared and he said back, “You think they might let me keep this hat, for later…”

“You will be wonderful,” I assured him. I rubbed his warm sides with both hands. “I can't wait to watch. I feel like I'm at a concert I didn't even know how much I wanted to see.”

“All right, I feel a little better,” he said, drawing a deep breath, his chest expanding. He stole a long swallow of beer and held up his glass to indicate another.

Netta was looking expectantly at me and I said, “I'll take another tea, thanks.”

“At least I'm dressed a little like a country singer,” he said, adjusting the hat. “Faded jeans, black t-shirt…”

“You look incredible,” I told him admiringly, cupping his jaws. “You have just the right amount of scruff. I'll probably have to fight about fifty girls off of you once you start singing.”

“Hey, I hope you know how grateful we are,” Garth said, leaning to bump the side of his fist against Mathias's shoulder in a companionable fashion. He cocked his head to the side and looked between Mathias and me. He asked, “You sure you two've never been out this way before tonight? Shit, it's strange, but I feel like we've met before.”

“That's fucking weird, I was just thinking the same thing,” Case said.

“I've been out this way as a kid,” Mathias said. He added, half-joking, but I could hear in his tone that he was in agreement, “Kindred spirits? And hey, I'm glad I could help out.”

“About that playlist?” Case prodded. “We got fifteen minutes 'til showtime, men. The boys are almost done setting up the equipment,” and he used the pencil to indicate the three teenage boys running power cords, propping up amplifiers and arranging drums on the little pie-shaped stage in the far corner. In front of the stage was a smooth wooden dance floor, lit by the glow of an enormous neon moon, which had just clicked on into yellow-orange, casino-grade brilliance.

“Jesus, my blood pressure just went way up,” Mathias said, and beneath his tan he grew suddenly pale.

“Thias,” I said, slightly alarmed. “You don't have to do this.”

He shook his head and his voice was steady as he assured me, “I'm all right. For the most part.”

The guys created a list of about fifteen songs, while Garth tightened a guitar string. As each minute ticked by, I felt Mathias's heart rate increasing. I patted his thigh, beneath me; his right leg, the one I wasn't sitting upon, had taken up a nervous jittering. I cupped his knee and squeezed him gently. He polished off another beer and then wrapped me into both arms, kissing my temple, the hat brim bumping lightly against my hair. I tipped beneath the hat and kissed his lips, whispering, “I love you so much.”

He said back, “I love you too, honey,” before addressing the guys, saying, “Let's do this before I shit myself.”

They all laughed. Case said to me, “You get front row honors, hon. C'mon.”

As we made our way through the rowdy crowd, Garth and Case toting their guitars, people took notice, lifting drinks in salutes and cheering. Even I felt a rush of nerves at this evidence of anticipation. I squeezed Mathias's fingers, which were wrapped securely around mine. He squeezed back, just as we reached a four-top to the right of the stage, front row with a perfect view of the action.

“I'll be right here,” I promised, my heart thunking along, Mathias's revved-up energy flowing forth and into me. He looked a little like a man about to climb the gallows for his own hanging, and I wrapped my arms around his torso and clung tightly for a moment. He clung back, kissing the top of my head.

“I'm okay,” he whispered, but he looked about to vomit as we drew apart.

“We're on, Carter,” Case said, thumping Mathias's back, giving him a grin. “You ready?”

“Ready as I'll ever be,” Mathias said.

There were two steps leading up to the stage, which Garth climbed with a spring in his step. The crowd erupted with whistles and cheers as he tipped his hat brim and took up the mic. He yelled, “Who the hell is ready to party? Who the hell wants some good fucking music this evening?”

The roar was deafening; Case and Marshall, with sleek black drumsticks in hand, mounted the stage, waving and grinning. Mathias squared his shoulders and followed, just as Garth continued in a tone that reminded me of a circus ringmaster, “We've got a friend from out of town joining us on lead vocals this evening. Sorry, ladies, he's about as taken as the morning train, so don't get your hopes up. But let's give it up for Mathias Carter! How's about a big ol'
Jalesville
welcome!
”

I wished his sisters could be here to witness this moment. I clasped both hands and brought them under my chin, too nervous to sit down, as Mathias attempted to offer a grin, holding his hat to his chest as he made a small bow, then resettling it; as he straightened, he looked my way for strength, I could tell, and I blew him a kiss. I tried to pretend I didn't hear the way all of the women in the crowd were screaming for him, instead just reveling in the fact that he was doing something he had long dreamed about.

“I wanna see asses on the dance floor!” Garth commanded, handing the mic to Mathias. For a split second I thought Mathias was going to faint and my heart flew upwards and into throat; as Marshall lifted his drumsticks and tapped them together to count off the beat into the first song, I pressed my folded hands hard to my mouth.

You're all right, honey, it's all right
, I thought.

Garth and Case bent to their guitars, faces taking on expressions of absorption, giving over completely to the music. They had decided on “Should've Been a Cowboy” by Toby Keith for the first song.

Mathias closed his eyes and I held my breath.

And then his rich, true voice took up the first line of the song. It was one of his shower favorites, and though he kept his eyes shut until the second time he reached the chorus, I knew he was indeed all right. I let the breath lodged in my chest release slowly, and then a smile broke over my face, the warmth of happiness. For a second I watched the crowded dance floor, again noticing that cowboy hats seemed required wear around here, even for the women. I could not keep my eyes long from Mathias, who had overcome his stage fright and was now enjoying himself. He looked my way and put his free hand to his heart, and I smiled all the wider. Probably all of my teeth were showing, but I didn't care.

You, I thought as I watched him. You are mine and I belong to you.

I knew this, but still the force of the truth swept me off my feet again. Tears glinted in my eyes, blurring my vision, and as everything took on a hazy outline, I was overwhelmed with a rushing sense of déjà vu, a vision (a memory?) flowing into my mind. I saw us, all of us — Mathias, me upon his lap and held close, Garth and Marshall and Case — all sprawled around a crackling campfire, singing, sending our laughing voices into the everlasting night sky. There was a sense of wide-openness all around us, sparks rioting upwards from the flames like scarlet fireflies. Horses, our horses, somewhere in the darkness close to us. And joy. I felt it as surely as if someone had pressed a red-hot branding iron to my ribs.

It's us, but not us,
I thought, ridiculously.

That makes no sense.

The song ended and Mathias held the mic closer to his lips and said, “Good evening, Jalesville, I hope you're in the mood to dance.”

I could hardly hear over the roaring response. Mathias grinned, this time for real, and found my eyes in the crowd. He said, “I want to say ‘hi' to my fiancé, my sweet darlin', my Camille, who's right over there…”

I blushed as pink as the neon lights on the beer sign behind the stage, as just about every cowboy hat in the place turned my way. Mathias went on, “My only regret about being up here is that I can't ask you to dance, honey.”

“I'll dance with her!” shouted more than one person, and I hid my face, giggling and shaking my head.

Garth led off with “Don't Rock the Jukebox,” and the crowd went insane. Mathias launched into the vocals and I marveled again at how incredible he was, what a good sport and how extremely sexy he looked, powerful shoulders keeping time with the beat. The dance floor was elbow-to-elbow, and some people were actually line dancing. I felt as though I had wandered into an old-time saloon.

“Doll, I hate to see you sitting here all alone,” said a male voice two feet from my elbow.

I looked to the left, startled, to see an older man with wire-rimmed glasses and a graying mustache that nearly obscured his entire mouth. He tipped the brim of his silver-gray hat and explained, “That's my boys up there, Garth and Marshall. Two of them, anyhow. I have five in all. May I join you?”

I smiled then, nodding at once.

“Clark Rawley,” he said.

“Camille Gordon,” I offered, reaching to shake his hand. I'd been this close to saying ‘Camille Carter' instead. He took my fingertips and kissed my knuckles, reminiscent of his son.

“And that's your man, up there singing?” he asked, indicating Mathias.

I nodded again, flush with pleasure at the thought.

My man.

“Well he's damn good,” Clark Rawley observed. “He want a job?”

“We're just visiting,” I explained. “We're from Minnesota.”

Clark Rawley nodded at this information, studying me for a moment. He asked speculatively, “I don't suppose you two-step, do you, doll?”

I hesitated only a second before replying, “I'm a quick learner.”

Clark led me onto the edge of the dance floor, carefully steering clear of the flow of circulating couples, bowing politely before collecting my right hand into his left, his elbow gracefully elevated, his left hand resting lightly against my waist. He was as lean and lanky as a scarecrow, dressed in a formal white shirt with a black string tie and faded blue jeans that fit like a second skin. He nodded towards our feet.

“I'll teach you the rudimentary steps,” he said.

I looked up at Mathias on stage, singing his heart out; he looked back at me and winked, sweat trickling down his temples. Clark demonstrated the steps and I was awkward at first, but after a few minutes I had the rhythm; it took approximately two and a quarter songs before Clark deemed me knowledgeable enough to brave the swirling partners.

“I don't have a hat,” I worried. I felt as though I was making a large and unseemly fashion error.

“Don't fret,” Clark, who nearly twinkled with good humor, assured me, leading us smoothly. He added, “It would be a shame to cover up such beautiful hair like yours anyhow. Aren't I the lucky one? Prettiest girl in the whole place with an old geezer like me.”

“Well thank you,” I told him, and his eyes crinkled up at the corners, his mustache twitching as he smiled back.