Come Sundown, Page 36

  “It’s not.”

  “It is. On you, on all of us. So I’m telling you like I’m going to tell everyone else: When you need a break from it, you take one.”

  “What about you?”

  “Your father’s already made it clear I’ll be taking one from time to time.” She lowered her voice as they reached the second floor. “The nurses are going to use the sitting room off Alice’s bedroom when they’re not in with her, and the bathroom across the hall we’ve designated for them and for Alice. Celia’s coming about eleven tomorrow. Our house is going to be full of people for some time to come.”

  “Mom.” Bodine drew her mother to a halt. “Weren’t we all there, all of us, when Grandpa got sick? Didn’t we bring him back here from Bodine House, and sit with him, read to him, do everything we could—even with the nurses—so he could die at home, at the home he’d chosen?

  “Alice isn’t dying,” Bodine continued, “but it’s the same. We’re just going to do everything we can to help her start living again.”

  “I love you so much, my baby.”

  “I love you right back. Now introduce me to your sister.”

  They crocheted together, mother and daughter, in the two chairs Maureen had chosen hoping for just that.

  Though Bodine had been prepared for Alice’s appearance, if she didn’t know the woman was a couple years her mother’s junior, she’d have sworn Alice was ten years older.

  “Alice.”

  Alice’s head shot up at Maureen’s voice; her eyes glimmered with distress as she saw Bodine.

  “Is she a doctor? Is she a nurse? Is she police?”

  “No, this is my daughter. This is your niece, Bodine.”

  “Bodine. Alice Bodine. The mother says Alice Ann Bodine.”

  “I named her Bodine to honor that part of us.”

  “She has green eyes. You have green eyes.”

  “Like my mother’s, and yours.” Trying for casual, Bodine stepped closer. “I like your shoes.”

  “They’re pink. They don’t hurt my feet. I ruined my slippers and the socks, too. That was bad and wasteful.”

  “Sometimes things just wear out. Is that a scarf you’re making?”

  “It’s green.” Almost lovingly, Alice smoothed the length of the wool. “I like green.”

  “Me, too. I never could get the hang of crocheting.”

  Lips pressed tight, Alice applied herself to it.

  “The sister has a daughter,” she muttered to herself. “I had daughters. The sister gets to keep the daughter. I don’t keep the daughters. A man needs sons.”

  Bodine opened her mouth, saw her grandmother shake her head.

  “This is a pretty room. It’s cheerful, this pink. Do you like it?”

  “It’s not cold. I don’t need a shawl. The bed is soft. It faces west for the sunset.”

  “That’s my favorite part of it. It’s a beautiful sunset tonight.”

  Confused, Alice looked over.

  Her crocheting fell out of her hands into her lap. A long, long gasp escaped as her face transformed. Cora plucked up the hook and yarn as Alice pushed to her feet.

  Outside the window, the sky seemed to fill the world, mad rich colors, undertones of gold etching billowing clouds, streaks of light shooting out of them and painting the white mountains.

  “Do you want to go outside to see it?” Maureen asked her.

  “Outside.” Wonder filled her voice, her face, then she scanned down, rapidly shook her head. “People, people are outside. You can’t talk to the people. If people see you, hear you, God will strike you down. Strike you down as they die.”

  “That’s not true here.” Cora rose, joined her daughter. “But we’ll watch from here tonight. It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Alice?”

  “Every night? Not once a week?”

  “Yes, every night. I think a God who gives us something so beautiful as that sunset is too loving, too kind, too wise to strike anyone down.”

  Whether she believed it or not, the words and the beauty soothed, and Alice rested her head on her mother’s shoulder.

  * * *

  In the shack, Callen washed up his dishes. He’d been waiting for a knock on his door, but since it hadn’t come, he thought he might take himself over to the bunkhouse. Seek the company of men. Maybe sit down for a poker game. He didn’t gamble often or much, but since he didn’t have his father’s problem, he enjoyed the occasional game.

  One thing he knew: He didn’t want to spend the evening in his own company. Too much thinking and worrying about what might be going on at the main house, too much thinking and wishing for Bodine. Too much thinking about the things his mother had told him.

  Just too much thinking.

  So maybe a beer with the men, a few hands of cards—which might add some change to his pockets. He didn’t have his father’s problem, and generally a lot better luck.

  He’d talk to Bodine in the morning when they rode into work. He could settle for just talking until her life smoothed out some.

  Then the knock came. He stayed at the sink, annoyed with himself for the instant flash of pleasure. He’d be better off, he knew he’d be better off, not being so damn tied up in her. But he just couldn’t cut the rope.

  “It’s open,” he called out.

  When she stepped in, the stress and fatigue on her face made him ashamed of the annoyance.

  “I really need to get away for a while.”

  “You’ve come to the right place. Want a beer?”

  “No.”

  “Wine. I still have that bottle from the cabin.”

  She started to shake her head, then let out some air. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be just fine. I haven’t had my glass of wine tonight.”

  “Have a seat. I’ve got huckleberry shortcake, too.”

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “Yolanda, dessert chef? I let her boy ride Sundown. He’s been giving me the pleading eye after school every day for a week. I gave in, and I got huckleberry shortcake out of it.”

  “With whipped cream?”

  “It ain’t huckleberry shortcake without it.”

  “Good deal. I’m in for that.” She tossed off her coat, sat.

  He took out his multitool for its corkscrew. It wasn’t until he’d pulled the cork that he saw tears swimming in her eyes.

  “Ah, hell.”

  “I’m not going to cry, don’t worry. I may teeter on the edge of it for a couple minutes, but I won’t fall off.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t know, that’s the truth.” Breathing, just breathing for a moment, she pressed her fingers to her eyes as if to shove back the tears. “She looks a decade older than my mother, soft and kind of doughy in the body, with a face that’s lined deep, like a woman who lived hard. God, I hear how that sounds out loud. I’m not saying it to be judgmental.”

  “I know it.” He poured her wine, and though a beer would’ve suited him better, poured himself a glass of wine in solidarity.

  “Her hair’s frizzed up and dry as straw, and has to be down to her ass. Like it hasn’t been conditioned or trimmed in years—and I guess it hasn’t been. She’s got spooked eyes—you see animals with eyes like that who expect the boot or the crop because they’ve felt it too often. Then she saw the sunset, saw it through the window of that room I know you helped paint.”

  “I came in on the tail end.”

  “You helped paint,” Bodine repeated, a tear slipping through after all. “And there was such joy on her face, Callen. Such wonder—like a child’s. She wouldn’t go out because some of the men were still working outside, but she watched every minute of the sunset like it was fireworks on the Fourth of July and Christmas morning and a circus parade all rolled out in one shiny package.”

  “Nobody does sunsets like Montana.” He set a plate of cake in front of her.

  “God, Yolanda knows her cake. You know, Sal and I, and a couple of other girls, went up to the O
regon coast the summer after graduation. They’ve got some impressive sunsets, but they don’t beat Montana, not for me. And for Alice … Callen, she said she was allowed to sit out for an hour once a week, at sunset. If she was good.”

  “She’s going to remember enough so they find him, Bo.”

  “She’s remembering some—some of the grannies and of Mom, maybe the house. She said she’d had daughters, but she didn’t get to keep them like Mom could keep me. It ripped my heart.”

  When her voice broke, she stuffed cake in her mouth. “Ripped it in pieces.”

  Her breath tore. She bore down, made herself eat more cake.

  Callen said nothing, gave her the comfort of listening silence so she could finish it out.

  “We took up trays for her and Nana and the nurse. A good home meal on one of Mom’s pretty plates, with a cloth napkin. You’d’ve thought we’d set a banquet in front of her. The rest of us—well, except Chase—ate downstairs. But all I could think was how she’d looked at a plate of chicken and potatoes like it was the finest French cuisine, and she didn’t know quite what to do about it.”

  She sighed, ate some cake. “So I had to get away for a while.”

  “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but I think it’s bound to get easier. I was hoping you’d come by.”

  She worked up a smile for him. “Well, you did say you wanted sex.”

  “I was hoping for that, too, but wine and cake aren’t bad.”

  “It’s really good cake. Chase went over to Jessica’s for dinner.”

  “I heard.”

  “He took his Tombstone DVD.”

  Callen laughed, pleased to see that laughter mirrored in her eyes. “The man can’t help himself.”

  “They might actually watch some of it. I’m pretty sure he’s hoping to stay overnight. He brought her flowers today.”

  Callen just grunted, ate more cake.

  “He’s in love with her.”

  “Because he brought her flowers?”

  “You tell me—I know you’ve been gone some years, but you know him as inside out as I do—so you tell me if you ever recall him bringing a woman—or a girl back a ways—flowers.”

  Callen drank some wine, thought it over. “He got Missy Crispen one of those…” He circled a finger over his wrist. “For the spring formal.”

  “You’ve got to do that. This is midweek, not even a date involved, flowers. I saw them sticking out of his saddlebag. Irises, so he went out and bought them deliberately.”

  Callen wagged his fork at her. “Has every man who brought you flowers been in love with you?”

  “I’d sure as hell know he was seriously sweet on me if he bothered. And Chase has shy ways with women. Flowers for him are a statement of intent.”

  “Intent of—”

  “She won’t know that,” Bodine breezed on. “But I know that. He’s in love with her, and he’s never been more than halfway sweet on anybody before. You know what else?”

  “I might, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”

  “I can’t say if she’s in love with him—I haven’t known her long enough to be sure of that. But I do know she’s seriously sweet on him. It’s not halfway sweet.”

  She pushed the plate aside. “God, I feel better. I think Rory was going out with Chelsea.”

  “He in love, too?”

  “No, but he’s in substantial like and definite lust. I think that’s absolutely mutual. Dad’s going to make sure Mom gets some rest, and the grannies are better for being at the ranch right now. So … Have you got a spare toothbrush?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, well.”

  “You want to brush your teeth?”

  “Not right this minute, but I will in the morning.” She polished off her wine, stood. “I’d like to try your bed out.”

  “It’s not as big as the one we tried out before, but it’s got good springs.”

  “Well, let’s give them a good bounce. Do you mind if I lock the front door? I’d just as soon nobody wanders in while I’m naked on top of you.”

  “Who says you’ll be on top?”

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  “Lock the door.”

  The springs held up just fine. And once they had, Bodine lay in a limp, sweaty daze.

  “Oh yeah, I do feel better.”

  “Glad I could help. But I think it’s time for you to feel a lot more than better.”

  He rolled back on top of her.

  The daze ran sugary enough that she tangled her fingers in his hair and just smiled. “That would be a heroic recovery, Skinner.”

  “Not really, because we’re going to do something we haven’t managed before.”

  “I can’t think of anything we missed.”

  “We missed taking our time.” He brushed his lips to hers, skimmed them over her jaw.

  “The fast and furious works pretty well.”

  “Let’s see how we do with the slow and thorough. I like how you’re put together, Bodine.”

  His fingers glided up and down the side of her right breast. “You’ve got long limbs, long and pretty ripped with it.”

  “I work out,” she managed.

  “Firm, pretty breasts.” He brushed the nipple with his thumb. “All that hair, straight as a ruler, dark as midnight. I like how it smells so I always want to get a little closer. I like how you taste.”

  He took his mouth to her throat.

  “And those eyes, the color of leaves in the shadows. The way your skin feels under my hands, just silk smooth. The way your mouth fits on mine.”

  He took his back to hers, let the kiss spin on and on, soft and lazy as a spring shower.

  “I do like how you’re put together.”

  “You’re going to turn my head.” But she couldn’t quite manage a laugh. Not when her head had started to spin, and those licks of heat ran under her skin.

  “The more I touch you, the more I want to. This time, you’ll just have to tolerate it.”

  Her pulse beat under his lips, slow and thick, just as he wanted it. Her body stretched, undulating under his hands, then quivered, then softened. He’d wanted her like this, wanted not just the excitement, the release, but all. What would all with Bodine be?

  Sighs and sumptuous kisses, quiet moans and moonlight in a narrow bed. Response in an easy, unhurried rhythm. Pretty green eyes, heavy with what he could give her.

  He worked his way down her body. And this time when she sighed, she sighed his name.

  Her head no longer spun. Instead it seemed she moved, they moved, through a warm, lovely mist where everything shimmered. His hands, hard, callused, only made those lazy strokes all the more erotic. The stubble brushing over her skin as he ran his tongue down her belly made her quiver.

  Then his tongue slid down, slid over, slid in, and had her rolling, rolling, rolling slowly, dreamily, helplessly over a velvet-covered peak.

  Still he didn’t rush. Still those hard-palmed hands drew her down, further down into dazed pleasure so the shimmering mists thickened. When his mouth took hers again, she’d already surrendered.

  He slipped into her, heard her breath catch, saw her eyes blur.