Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
J anelle blinked in the darkness, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. “You’re calling me from the next room?” she yelled through the wall.
“Yes.”
“On the telephone?”
“You’d prefer a telegraph?”
“No, I?—”
“Pick up the damn phone, Janelle.”
She scrambled off the rollaway bed, stepping carefully over Sherman’s slumbering body. Snatching the phone off the desk, she fumbled for the button to answer the call.
“Hello, who is this?”
“Cute. Very cute.”
She snuggled the phone up next to her ear and crawled back under the covers. It felt warmer than it had a few minutes ago, which probably just meant she’d gotten chilled walking from one side of the room to the other. It had nothing to do with the heat of Schwartz’s voice, or the thought of him lying in bed just ten feet away wearing nothing but a thin pair of boxer shorts.
“Why are you calling?” she asked.
“Because this is safer than talking to you in person.”
“What do you mean safe?”
He sighed. “You’re going to make me spell this out?”
“Please.”
“Fine. I want you. In case that’s not perfectly fucking obvious.”
Janelle flashed back to the scene in the bathroom earlier, to the way he’d practically run from her like she had cooties. “It wasn’t,” she said, “Obvious, I mean. The way you ran from the bathroom seemed more like horror than lust.”
“Sometimes they look the same.”
Janelle smiled and burrowed deeper into her pillow. One hand cupped the phone against her ear, while the other trailed under the covers, absently playing with the strap on her cami top.
“So you’re calling to apologize for shooting me down earlier?”
“Hell, no. I was smart to shoot you down.”
“Oh.”
“I mean—we can’t do that, Janelle. God knows I want to, but I can’t let my judgment get cloudy. I can’t risk screwing this mission up and disappointing my family or letting you get hurt. I just can’t do that, okay?”
“Okay,” she breathed, not totally sure what he was talking about. “I get it. I think. So why are you calling?”
“I heard you talking to the dog in there. Thin walls.”
“Right.”
“Didn’t want to ignore you if you’re having trouble sleeping.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
She waited a moment, not sure if that was the end of the call and he just wanted to hang up and be done with it. When he didn’t make a move to disconnect, she rolled onto her back and switched the phone to her other ear.
“So tell me a story.”
“Sorry, I left my copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar in the other room.”
She laughed. “Do you really own a copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar ?”
“No.”
“But you sent one to your sister,” she said, remembering the way Sheri’s twins had toddled up to the door carrying the matching plush caterpillars when Janelle and Anna dropped by for a wedding-planning meeting. “It was a collectors’ edition. Jackson and Jeffrey love that book. Sam reads it to them every night.”
“Huh.”
She wished she could see his face. She couldn’t tell anything at all from his monosyllabic reply. But she could tell a lot from the fact that he’d thought to send a gift to his twin nephews the week of their mother’s wedding.
“You’ve never met Sheri’s twins?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“You’d like them. They’re sweet little boys.”
“I’m not surprised. They take after their mom.”
She waited a few breaths, hoping he might volunteer something else. Hoping he might share more about why he’d stayed away from his family for so long.
But Schwartz stayed silent on the other end of the line. He wasn’t hanging up, though, so that seemed encouraging. Janelle slid her finger up and down the length of the strap on her cami top, fiddling with the elastic.
“Tell me a different kind of story,” she said. “Not The Very Hungry Caterpillar . Something else. Something about you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. We’re stuck here alone in this mountain cabin together. We might as well know some personal details about each other.”
He was quiet again, and Janelle wondered if she’d pushed too far. She held her breath, hoping she hadn’t offended him. Hoping he wouldn’t hang up on her.
“What do you want to know?”
She blinked, almost too surprised to respond. “I—I don’t know. Tell me something about your family.”
“No.”
Ooo-kay.
“Not right now,” he added, not that it explained anything.
“I’m not fishing for dirt, Schwartz. I just want to know what you were like growing up.”
“Did you watch Sesame Street as a kid?”
“Yes.” She smiled at the memory of curling up with Anna in a blanket fort while their mother slipped mugs of cocoa through the door they’d constructed out of pillows. “I loved that show. Did you?”
“Yeah. Do you remember that song, ‘One of These Things (Is Not Like the Other)’?”
“Of course. And you had to figure out which thing didn’t belong with a group of things that fit together?”
“Exactly. That was me.”
She frowned, trying to understand. “Oh. I—um—I’m so sorry.”
“No, that’s not it. That wasn’t some ‘poor little Schwartz’ story that’s supposed to make you feel sorry for me because I didn’t fit in with the rest of my family. It was fine. I was okay being different.”
“Is that why you joined the Army when everyone else in your family was a Marine?”
He didn’t answer right away, and Janelle closed her eyes and wished she could take the words back. She was pretty sure she’d just stepped on a land mine with that question, though she had no idea what it was.
“Never mind, forget I asked,” she said at the same time he murmured, “It’s okay.”
There was another awkward silence, and Janelle waited. Did that mean he was okay sharing more about his military history, or had he just been assuring her it was all right that she’d asked? Where was the damn rule book when she needed it?
“Look, let’s try a more neutral topic,” she said. “Tell me about your first car.”
“My first car?”
“Sure, when you were a teenager. What did you drive?”
“I didn’t drive a car.”
“Oh.”
“I drove a truck.”
She smiled, nodding a little to herself as she tugged at the strap again, absently hooking a thumbnail beneath it. “That fits.”
“It was a 1976 Ford F-250 with alloy wheels and a V8.”
“The only word I understood there was ‘wheels.’”
“A classic. Used to belong to my grandfather. Grant and I worked together to fix it up, and we both had after-school jobs to pay for gas and parts.”
“So the two of you shared it?”
“Yeah. Our parents helped a little with insurance, but it was ours.”
“How’d you decide who got to drive it?”
“It wasn’t as much of a pain in the ass as you’d expect. Grant and I were pretty tight, so we were usually going the same places anyway. It only got tricky when we both had a date.”
Janelle smiled, trying to imagine a teenage version of Schwartz with a fresh shaving cut on his chin and twenty dollars in his wallet. She pictured him youthful and hopeful and full of excitement about his future. She let go of the strap on her cami top and began fiddling with the neckline instead.
“Did you date a lot in high school?” she asked.
“I guess so. I was eleven months older than Grant, so I got dibs on the truck more often. Took Ashley Orion to the prom in that truck.”
The thought of Schwartz in a bow tie and cummerbund made her smile again. Then her brain veered to an imaginary image of a grown-up Schwartz looking dangerous and drop-dead sexy in a tuxedo, and she caught herself sliding her hand down the front of her top. Her fingertips brushed her nipple, and she sucked in a breath.
“So Ashley Orion, huh?” Janelle asked, struggling to keep her voice casual as she circled her nipple with the pad of her thumb. “Was that a steady girlfriend or just a prom date?”
“Somewhere in between. Grant dated her cousin, so we had to work out this complicated schedule for planning dates and who got the truck on a Friday or Saturday. It got a little dicey at one point.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, since our parents helped with insurance, they used the truck sometimes, too. This one time our mom borrowed it to pick up lumber at Home Depot. As soon as she got home, she marched us outside to look in the ashtray.”
“The ashtray? Did you guys smoke?”
“Nope.” Schwartz cleared his throat. “There was a condom in it. A used condom. Stella—our mom—found it when she went looking for change.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. She stood there in the driveway and gave Grant and me this long lecture on personal responsibility and self-respect and public decency laws.”
“Wasn’t she at least glad to know you were practicing safe sex?”
“Yeah, we got bonus points for that. Her gripe was more about disrespecting women. About making a partner feel shady or ashamed or unvalued with a quick screw in a truck instead of something more meaningful. She talked a lot about the importance of being sensitive to a woman’s needs.”
“Right,” Janelle said, her thumb circling her nipple as her brain echoed the words “a woman’s needs.” Her nipple tightened pleasantly under the pad of her thumb, so she kept circling, keeping her touch light and her voice casual. “So what happened?”
“I took the rap for the condom.”
“It was yours?”
“Nope. But I didn’t want Grant to get busted. He’d gotten in trouble earlier that week for his grades, and Mom had threatened not to let him play in the big game that weekend if he didn’t shape up.”
“Wow. I hope he appreciated that.”
“Nope. He called me a liar.”
“What?”
Schwartz laughed, his voice warmer now than it had been ten minutes ago. “Yeah. He thanked me for trying to cover his ass, but said I shouldn’t take the blame for it. Mom was threatening not to let me go on this big school trip I’d been talking about for weeks, and Grant said I shouldn’t give that up to take the rap for something he did.”
“Wow, that’s really sweet.” Janelle moved her hand to the other breast, remembering the feel of Schwartz’s mouth on her nipple that morning. She stifled a moan, feeling a little ridiculous. For crying out loud, he was just telling her a family story. It wasn’t like he’d called to talk dirty to her.
It’s his voice , her conscience pointed out, and she kept talking so she could hear it again. “You and your brother sound really close.”
“Yeah. There was just one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“The condom wasn’t Grant’s, either.”
“What? Who put it there?”
“We didn’t know. But Mom did.”
“You’re kidding me.”
He laughed again. “The whole thing was a setup to see how we’d handle the situation. Honor and dignity and sticking together is a big thing in the military. In the Patton family especially.”
His tone had taken on a slight grimness, and Janelle tried to rewind through the conversation and figure out where things had gone off the rails.
“So who left the condom?”
“Our sister, Sheri.”
“No way!”
“Yep. She was older than us and in college by then, so it wasn’t like she was some fifteen-year-old getting groped in a borrowed truck. She was home on break, and she’d taken it to the drive-in movies with the guy she’d been dating. I guess they forgot about the condom.”
“I can’t believe this! So your mom knew all along?”
“She did. After she finished lecturing Grant and me about honor and respect, she called Sheri out for her talking-to.”
“Was she harsher on her than she was with you boys?”
“You mean in the sense of ‘my little princess should be pure and wholesome’?”
“I guess.”
“Hell no. Stella Patton doesn’t go for any of that double standard bullshit. She raised her daughter to be empowered and responsible and open about sex. There was no difference between that and how she raised the boys. Well, except one.”
“What’s that?”
“After she finished lecturing Sheri about self-respect and public decency laws, she moved to a lecture on demanding sexual satisfaction.”
“What?”
“Grant and I tried to take off at that point, but Mom made us stay. She said it was important that we all understand that women are wired differently from men, and that they should expect their partners to respect them enough to take the time and care to bring them pleasure.”
“Seriously?” She laughed, cradling the phone against her shoulder as she slid her other hand over her hip. “Go, Stella!”
“Yeah. We were all pretty embarrassed, but deep down, I think we took mental notes.”
Janelle laughed again, trying to imagine a teenage Schwartz filing away the knowledge of how important it was to take his time and go slowly, ensuring his partner’s pleasure. She closed her eyes as the fingers of her left hand stroked her nipple while the right hand slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts. Her skin felt soft from her bath oil and smooth from the Brazilian wax she’d endured a week ago. As her fingers trailed downward, she sucked in a breath.
“So your mom wanted to make sure you knew how to get a girl off.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“Yeah. Never try to pull the wool over Stella Patton’s eyes. Also, multiple orgasms are a thing.”
“No kidding.” She let her legs fall open as her fingers slipped between them, her brain still ringing with the word “orgasms.”
“How was that?” he asked. His voice was low and gravelly, and it made Janelle feel like she’d just swallowed a spoonful of melted bittersweet chocolate.
“How was what?” she breathed.
“Was that a good enough bedtime story?”
“Perfect.” She dipped two fingers into her wetness, the rumble of Schwartz’s voice making her tingle everywhere. Some spots more than others.
“Feeling better now?”
“Much, much better.” She bit her lip, sliding two fingers inside herself, then drawing back only to slip inside again. She closed her eyes and imagined Schwartz touching her, those huge hands stroking her hips, her breasts, her thighs.
“I’m glad. Oh, and Janelle?”
“Mmmm?”
“Don’t think I don’t know you’re touching yourself on the other side of this wall.”
“What?” She blinked in the darkness. “How did you?—”
“Good night.”
And with that, he hung up.
The image of Janelle pleasuring herself in the dark was still burned into Schwartz’s brain the next day. And the next day. And the day after that.
As the week dragged on, it got harder and harder to keep his distance. He stayed as polite as he could be, making small talk over dinner and even allowing her back into the office to work since the light was better for her graphic design projects.
But all he had to do was recall that soft little gasp on the phone, the breathy moan she thought he couldn’t hear. He could only imagine what she’d looked like as she threw her head against the pillow and slid her fingers between her legs.
Truth be told, he imagined it a lot.
It was ridiculous. He had no idea how much longer he could keep his hands off her, but he had to figure out a way to do it. From what Grant reported, Jacques wasn’t giving up his search for his ex-wife. The police were involved, of course, but they’d already failed several times to get the situation under control. Jacques was too slippery, too good at not getting caught.
It was no wonder Janelle hadn’t figured out right away what sort of man she’d married. The guy was good, Schwartz had to give him that.
By Friday morning with Janelle bare-legged and sucking the tip of her pen at the other end of the desk, Schwartz was running low on resolve.
He was also running low on groceries. He shoved his keyboard aside and turned to face her. “I need to go into town today.”
She looked up, her eyes wide and hopeful. “Can I come?”
She could come pretty easily from what he’d heard on the other side of the wall, but that probably wasn’t what she meant.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. “About whether you’re safer here alone, or with me.”
“With you. Definitely with you.”
“I’d be flattered, except that I know the real reason you’re jonesing to go.”
She stood up, beaming. “I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll wear my disguise and keep to myself. But I’d seriously sell a kidney for a decent cup of coffee right now.”
“I don’t think they take payment in kidneys,” Schwartz said, getting to his feet. “Be ready to go in ten minutes.”
“Thank you, Schwartz!” Before he could say anything, she’d launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing him in a surprisingly ferocious bear hug. He meant to step back and push her away, but his arms went around her by instinct and pulled her tight. He was still reeling when she let go and turned to scurry toward the door.
He patted himself on the back for making a damn good effort not to notice the jiggling going on under her T-shirt.
An hour later, he led her out to the truck. He opened the passenger door and offered her a hand up into the cab before moving around to the other side and sliding behind the wheel. “Explain to me again how it can take you fifty minutes to get ready,” he said as he shoved the key into the ignition.
“I had to do my hair.”
“You’re wearing a wig.”
“And I had to fix my makeup.”
“Your sunglasses take up half your face.”
“And I needed to find something to wear.”
“You brought enough clothes to outfit a small African nation.”
She grinned at him from the passenger seat. “Thanks for taking me with you, Schwartz.”
He grunted. “Buckle your seat belt.”
He drove most of the way in silence, though every once in a while he’d stop to point out a landmark or a buffalo or a path to the creek that snaked through the woods around his cabin. He’d agreed to skip the blindfold this time, knowing she’d never be able to describe the twists and turns and back roads making up the fifty-mile stretch between the cabin and the closest town. Three Creeks was a little over an hour away, and they bumped along the gravel road in companionable quiet for most of the way.
He was aware of her, though. His chest tightened every time she smiled or laughed or touched his arm to point out a mountain view she found breathtaking. He’d lived out here for nearly a decade, but driving along with Janelle in his truck was the first time he’d really noticed most of this stuff.
By the time he pulled the truck into the dirt parking lot beside the small mini market, his stomach was growling.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“Starving.”
“See that place over there?”
“The house?”
“That’s the restaurant I was telling you about. Owner makes a damn good meat loaf.”
“Just tell me she also makes coffee and I’ll love her forever.”
“Him,” Schwartz said, pushing open the truck door. “Keep the chitchat to a minimum, okay? We don’t want anyone asking questions about you.”
She hopped out of the truck on her side and came around to join him. She grinned and raised a hand to her forehead in salute. “Roger that. Now lead the way to the coffee.”
Schwartz shook his head and headed across the dust-covered asphalt to the Elk Horn Café. A handmade sign out front gave the name. He watched as Janelle scanned a collection of other small signs advertising taxidermy services and pointing out where to tie up horses.
“What does that sign mean?” She asked as Schwartz held the door open for her.
She stepped into the restaurant and he followed behind her, ducking a little to get through the doorframe. “What sign?”
“The one that says ‘Walt Crossing.’ Who’s Walt?”
Schwartz shrugged. “Beats me.”
“I can answer that one, young lady.”
Schwartz looked up to see the owner, Bill, standing in the middle of the three tables that made up the dining area. He was smiling and looking at Janelle like he’d never seen anything quite like her.
That was truer than the guy probably realized.
Janelle swiveled her head to look at Bill, then shot Schwartz a nervous glance. He shrugged, letting her know it was okay to at least acknowledge the guy had spoken. Hell, maybe it’d be better to have her pretend to be mute.
“So what’s a Walt Crossing?” she asked. “Is that the name of this place?”
“Nah, this here’s the Elk Horn Café. Walt is my father-in-law.”
“And he has his own crosswalk?”
Bill beamed and gestured to the table closest to the window, setting down a pair of paper napkins in invitation. Janelle followed, while Schwartz cast a longing look at his usual stool tucked up close to the battered wooden bar where no one else liked to sit. He usually had the spot to himself, which was how he liked it.
But Janelle was already standing next to the long wooden table at the window, and Schwartz had no choice but to join her as Bill continued to chatter on about Walt.
“Walt’s ninety-two years old and blind as a bat,” he said. “Still likes to get out for walks every now and then, so we put up the sign to remind people to slow down when they see the old guy with the cane.”
“That’s adorable!”
“’Course we don’t get a lot of traffic through here, so it’s mostly just for show.” Bill smiled again and bent to pull out one of the long wooden benches tucked beneath the table. “Please have a seat. I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Bill.”
Janelle bit her lip and glanced at Schwartz. “Rebecca,” she supplied, and Schwartz gave an approving nod at the use of her middle name. At least it would be easy to remember.
“Rebecca, it’s great to meet you.” He shook her hand, then turned to Schwartz. “And I know you’ve been coming in here for years, but we’ve never really spoken, ’cept for the occasional food order.”
Right. That was the way Schwartz preferred it. No chitchat, no connections, no attachments. But it would be rude to say that now, so he stuck out his hand and nodded. “Schwartz.”
“Schwartz,” Bill repeated, offering a friendly smile and a handshake more suited to crushing beer cans. “Good to finally meet you.” He glanced over his shoulder to the empty tables behind him, then lowered his voice so the nonexistent patrons wouldn’t hear. “Gotta admit, Schwartz—there’s been a lot of speculation about you over the years.”
“Me?” Schwartz frowned. “What the hell for?”
Bill looked nervous, and it occurred to Schwartz that his social skills were probably a bit rusty. Beside him, Janelle gave an encouraging smile.
“Well,” Bill said, “you’re always so quiet and keep to yourself. Some folks thought maybe you’re some sort of terrorist. Janie—she’s the one who runs the post office—she thinks you’re a celebrity hiding out from the paparazzi. Back before you shaved off that beard, a coupla guys thought maybe you were a Sasquatch.”
“A Sasquatch,” Schwartz repeated, mystified.
Janelle grinned and reached up to brush a hand over his cheek. “I’ve never seen you with a full beard.”
“Yeah. Well, I shaved it off a week ago.”
His face was still tingling as she sat down on a scarred wooden bench and picked up the little handwritten card that passed for a menu at this place. He glanced back toward his usual spot at the bar, wondering why no one ever joined him there. It had never occurred to him before, but maybe they were afraid of him. He couldn’t decide if that was depressing or funny as hell, so he looked back at Janelle instead. There was plenty of space beside her on the long bench, so he sat down next to her, figuring that was easier than claiming the opposite bench. At least this way he wouldn’t have his back to the door.
Her arm brushed his side, and Schwartz tried not to think about how warm she felt beside him. She smelled like flowers and sunshine, and he took a deep breath to fill his lungs with her.
“I’m hungry enough to eat a horse,” she said, her eyes scanning the menu.
“’Fraid we don’t serve horse here, ma’am,” Bill said. “But we make a mighty fine buffalo meatloaf, if I do say so myself.”
“That’s what Schwartz told me.” Ma’am Rebecca Janelle set down t he menu and picked up the ice water Bill had just poured for her. “Meatloaf sounds perfect. And if you have a fresh pot of coffee back there, I’ll take the whole thing.”
Bill laughed. “You want a mug, too, or you plan to drink it straight out of the pot?”
“If you could just hook it up to an IV, that would be great.”
“Coming right up,” he said, giving her another fond smile before nodding at Schwartz. “I like her. She’s spunky.”
Before Schwartz could reply, Bill turned and hustled off to the kitchen. Spunky Ma’am Rebecca Janelle watched him go, then turned back to Schwartz. “He’s not going to take your order?”
“Doesn’t have to. I always get the same thing. Keeps conversation to a minimum if he just brings it out without asking.”
She shook her head and gave him a look of dismay. “Welcome to humanity, Schwartz. It’s a nice place. You should visit more often.”
“Send me a postcard,” he muttered as he picked up his ice water and downed half the glass in one gulp.
She was looking around the room, taking in the mounted deer heads on the wall, the rustic woodstove in the far corner. Schwartz tried to see it through her eyes and wondered what she must be thinking. A set of stairs off in the corner led up to the second floor where Bill and his wife lived, but down here it was open for anyone who might want to stop by for a home-cooked meal. The scent of fried onions and woodsmoke hung heavy in the air, and the wooden walls bore the burned scars of brands from nearby ranches. The tables were large enough to hold big families or large groups of friends, but right now it was just the two of them.
He grimaced as a bell dinged at the front of the room. So it wouldn’t be the two of them after all.
“Mmm-mmm-mmm!” In the doorway stood a round-cheeked woman wearing cowboy boots and a long braid in her salt-and-pepper hair. She stopped on the threshold, sniffing the air like a deer in a meadow, her face tipped toward the ceiling. “Something smells mighty good,” she announced.
A man walked in behind her, doffing a weathered brown cowboy hat. He had a slight limp, and a flannel shirt tucked into jeans that bore ironed creases down the front. “Meatloaf,” he grunted.
“My favorite,” the woman replied, scanning the room. Her eyes widened as she spotted Schwartz, and he looked away fast.
“This spot okay?” the man asked.
The woman sighed. “I s’pose it’ll do. Looks like the usual table is taken.”
Schwartz gave in to temptation and looked up to see the woman watching him. The instant his eyes locked with hers, she broke into a smile. “Or we could sit with Triple M over there. Looks like he found himself a new spot. Gordy, you see this?”
Before Schwartz could say anything or ask what the hell Triple M meant, the woman was bustling over with Gordy in tow. “I almost didn’t recognize you sitting over here at our table instead of your usual spot,” she said. “And you brought a friend.” She eyed Janelle approvingly, then smiled and stuck out her hand. “I’m Laverne, and this here is Gordy.”
“Rebecca,” she said. “And—uh, Triple M?”
“Mysterious Mountain Man,” Laverne said, clapping Schwartz on the back. “That’s what everyone around here always calls you. Got a real name, honey?”
“Schwartz,” he said, and reached under the table to squeeze Janelle’s knee. It was supposed to be reassuring, but probably came off like he was copping a feel. He let go of her knee and put both hands back on the table in front of him.
“Rebecca and Schwartz,” Laverne repeated. “So nice to finally meet you. You two don’t mind if we join you, right?”
“I—uh—” Janelle stammered, then looked to Schwartz. He was trying to think of a reason to say no—agoraphobia? Contagious disease? Invisible friends occupying the other bench? Apparently not sensing his hesitation, Laverne plunked herself down opposite them and patted the table.
“It’s so nice to see you being all friendly-like, Schwartz,” Laverne said. “Always wanted to come over and say hello, but I got the sense you wanted to be left alone.”
“I did,” Schwartz mumbled, and Janelle shot him a look.
Laverne didn’t seem to notice the muttering or the eye roll, which was just as well. “Gordy and I have lived around here for almost forty years, so we know just about everyone. We’ve seen Triple M before, of course. But I’ve never seen you around here before, sweet pea.”
Sweet pea? Good lord, what was it with the pet names? If this is what social interaction amounted to, Schwartz wasn’t sure he wanted any part of it.
Sweet Pea Spunky Ma’am Rebecca Janelle just smiled and edged a little closer to Schwartz. “I don’t get out much.”
“Oh, so you’ve been here awhile?” Laverne looked from her to Schwartz and back again, her expression curious. She was clearly angling for gossip, or wondering if Schwartz had kept a woman chained to his woodshed for the last ten years. Maybe that would be a good cover story.
“Awhile, yes,” she said vaguely as she lifted her water glass to her lips.
He had to hand it to her, she was trying not to be noticed. But who the hell wouldn’t notice someone like Janelle? She practically glowed with energy and spirit and personality. Spunk, Bill had called it. Something like that. Clearly, everyone could see it. And if they could see it, they might remember her.
“So, uh—Laverne?” Schwartz tried. “Maybe you two should let Bill know you’re here.”
“Aw, he’ll be out in a minute,” Laverne said, waving a dismissive hand. “So tell me how you two know each other.”
Schwartz gripped his water. “She’s my cousin.”
It would have been a great response if he hadn’t said it at the precise moment Janelle gave her own answer.
“I’m his fiancée.”
They both turned to look at each other, too dumbstruck to say anything else. Janelle winced. He grimaced.
Then she shrugged and slid her hand across the table to twine her fingers with his. “Babycakes,” she murmured, smiling at him.
Schwartz blinked, struggling to come up with an endearment. “Uh, pudding stain?”
Across from them, Laverne raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh. Oh my. I understand now.”
“You do?” Schwartz looked back at her.
“Yes.” Laverne nodded, looking between them again. “It’s no wonder you’ve kept to yourself all this time. What with being blood relations and all.”
Oh, hell.
Beside him, Janelle was nodding. “So you understand why we’d kinda like you to keep this between us, right?”
“Of course,” Laverne replied. “I mean I’m not sure what the laws are in Montana, but I had some cousins in Alabama that fell in love with each other back in 1974.”
“Sure, it happens.” Janelle was nodding beside him. “The laws in the South are a little more permissive, but we just adore Montana so much, you know?”
“Well, I can understand that, cupcake. Can’t we understand that, Gordy?”
“Yep.”
God bless Gordy, a man of few words. Schwartz picked up his ice water and drained it, wondering where the hell Bill was. Maybe he could drop a tray of glasses or light the building on fire or stand up and shout about an alien invasion. Anything to get them out of this.
“My cousin and—well, my other cousin—they ended up having the most beautiful baby boy,” Laverne prattled on. “So much dark hair, and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. I crocheted booties by the dozen for that sweet little baby. Do you crochet, lambchop?”
Beside him, Lambchop Cupcake Sweet Pea Spunky Ma’am Rebecca Janelle nodded. “Sure, just a little bit. I’m really more of a knitter, though.”
“Oh, you should join our sewing circle! We meet every Tuesday from noon to four. Potluck, of course.”
“Of course.”
Schwartz considered crawling under the table, but Janelle pressed her thigh against his and he suddenly lost the urge to flee.
“Do you two plan on having kids?” Laverne asked.
“We’re not really sure,” Janelle said, and Schwartz stepped on her toe under the table. “Ow?”
“What’s that, dear?”
“Oh, uh—toe cramp.”
“Oh, I used to get those myself. I tell you, it’s probably a potassium deficiency. What you need to do is eat a banana every morning for a week.”
“Banana,” Janelle repeated, wriggling her foot out from under his. “Got it. Darling, maybe we can hit the grocery store after this?”
Darling? Right, he needed to contribute another damn term of endearment if he was going to keep up with this conversation. “Whatever you want—uh, honey bunion.”
“Bunions!” Laverne grinned and clapped her hands together. “Let me tell you, I used to get those so bad. I can teach you some toe stretches that’ll have you dancing the two-step again in no time.”
The door chimed again, and before Schwartz could learn more about bunions or turn to see who else might be joining their unplanned party, Laverne was waving someone over to the table.
“Merle! SaraJo! Come on over here and meet Schwartz and his special friend, Rebecca. Dollface, this here’s Merle and SaraJo from over in Butte. They come all the way up here twice a month for Bill’s blueberry pie. Did I tell you he makes the best pie around?”
“Um, no, you didn’t,” said Dollface Lambchop Cupcake Sweet Pea Spunky Ma’am Rebecca Janelle as she squeezed his hand again.
Bill chose that moment to come bustling back into the dining room with a pot of coffee and a blue mug printed with white letters that read Frank’s Water Trucks: We spray anything . He set it down in front of Janelle, beaming like she’d just installed electricity in the dining room and showed them how a light switch worked. In a matter of speaking, she kinda had.
“Thank you,” she said, cupping her mug with the hand that wasn’t already twined with his. “You may have just saved my life.”
“It’s a life worth saving, ma’am.” He turned to Gordy and Laverne and Merle and SaraJo. “The usual each of you?”
“That’d be great, Bill,” SaraJo said. “We’ll just sit here and get acquainted.”
“It’s good to finally meet you, Schwartz,” Merle said. “Been wanting to say hello for years, but everyone said you were one of them deaf mutes.”
Deaf mute? See, that would have been a good cover story after all. Dammit.
Laverne reached across the table and patted his hand, which was still twined with Dollface Lambchop Cupcake Sweet Pea Spunky Ma’am Rebecca Janelle’s.
“It really is lovely to make your acquaintance,” she said. “Bill, sweetie? How about a little something for a special toast?”
“Toast? Sure, we’ve got white, wheat, rye?—”
“No, no—a toast. For our friends here. They’ve gotten engaged, and I think we all ought to celebrate, don’t you?”
She was looking at him now, and Schwartz sensed the correct answer was not “Hell no.”
“That’s not really necessary—” he started, but Bill was already turning away from the table.
“I’ll be right back,” he called. “I’ll get you some of the good stuff.”
“Oh,” his multi-named bride demurred beside him. “Actually, I don’t really drink champagne.”
“Neither do we, pookie-pie,” Laverne said. “Bill makes the best moonshine you’ve ever tasted. It’ll be perfect.”
“Perfectly perfect!” SaraJo agreed, flashing them a grin.
“Moonshine,” she repeated, turning to Schwartz with a smile that made him forget his irritation and annoyance and probably his own name. “Moonshine does sound perfect.”
“Perfect,” Schwartz muttered, and reached for the shot glass Bill handed him.