Chapter 19
Cal lowered the gun immediately. “Shit.”
The boy’s lips started to move, but Cal quickly held a finger to his lips. “Quiet,” he whispered. “Don’t breathe a word.”
Fern crouched next to Cal within the closet, the legs of the overalls brushing against her back. Heat radiated from the crawl space, and the tang of urine met her nose. The boy had been here. He’d been here the whole time. He was about ten, though the fear rounding his eyes made him appear younger.
“What’s your name?” she asked softly.
The boy sat with his knees tucked up into his chest, his arms wrapped around them. He dipped his head. “Billy.” His voice was muffled when he spoke.
Fern swallowed hard, imagining what had unfolded earlier while she and Cal had been on their way here.
Or maybe sitting in the Bluebird Diner, laughing about ketchup on egg salad sandwiches.
The boy’s mother might have been standing at the sink, washing dishes when the Buick and Ford turned fast into the driveway.
She’d likely seen the cars through the window and shouted for Billy to hide.
Lied to Rod and said he was at a friend’s house for the day.
She’d protected her son the best way she knew how.
“I’m Fern,” she told him.
Distrustful eyes jumped from Cal to her. “Where’s my ma and pa?”
Her eyes burned with the sting of tears, and her mouth wouldn’t form the words.
“Billy, it’s important you stay very still and very quiet,” Cal whispered, avoiding the boy’s question.
“You look like them,” the boy said to him.
“I’m not gonna hurt you. But if they find out you’re here…” Cal paused. “Just, stay quiet. We’ll be gone soon.”
“I’ll bring you water,” she told Billy as Cal secured the knee wall back into place.
Her legs throbbed as she stood up and moved back into the bedroom. Cal followed, shutting the closet door for good measure. He slid his gun back into its holster and paced near the door, worry slackening his usually rigid expression. “If Rod finds out he’s here, he’ll kill him.”
It was what she’d feared.
“What do we do?” she whispered.
Cal stopped pacing, then sank down onto the edge of the bed. He propped his elbows on his thighs and folded his hands, as if in prayer—though Fern knew that was the last thing he was doing. He was thinking. Trying to figure a way out of this mess.
She looked out the window again, through the aged lace. The sun had finally slid below the horizon. In the distance, the cornfields looked purple with dusk.
“It will be dark soon,” she said. “If we can distract the others, maybe Billy can sneak out.”
He’d know these fields; he could disappear among the cornstalks. Find somewhere to go and be safe. Hopefully.
Cal stood up from the bed. “You’ll go with him.”
She parted her lips to argue against it, even though in her heart she did want to flee.
“It’s gonna be a shoot-out,” Cal went on before she could speak. “If things don’t go the way Rod wants, or if anything happens to me… I don’t want you left here alone.”
He didn’t have to explain why. But running into the cornfields without him felt wrong. Cal couldn’t come with her, though. He wouldn’t leave his brother.
Fern wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. The room was hot and stuffy, and she could smell the lingering scents of Tom and his wife. Sweat and lilac water. A fly buzzed against the glass of the closed window.
Cal took his billfold from the pocket of his coat on the bed. “The boy’ll know the lay of the land. He can lead you to town. From there, find a bus station. Get to the city. There’s a boardinghouse in Streeterville, on Oakland. It’s run by Helen D’Angelo. Tell her I sent you.”
He pulled out a stack of green and folded it.
She shook her head. “No.”
Go to Chicago alone? To a boardinghouse. She couldn’t. Even getting out into the cornfields seemed impossible.
Cal stepped closer and tucked the money into Fern’s skirt’s pocket. She grabbed his wrist and tried to stop him. “Cal, I can’t!”
With one quick swoop of his hand, his palm closed around her elbow. He dragged Fern to him. They stood as close as they had inside his room at the Lion’s Den the night he’d branded her neck.
“You wouldn’t have left Zionsville if you couldn’t do this.
Listen to me.” He braced her other elbow and held her firmly against him.
He waited too long, though, as if what he had been planning to say had either slipped his mind or he’d decided to say something else.
She couldn’t smell the bedroom around her now, just Cal and his woodsy cologne.
He stared into her eyes, never shifting his gaze to her scars. Because he didn’t care about them.
“You don’t belong here with me, Fern.” He spoke so quietly she had to read his lips to make out the words.
She started to shake her head again, but then those lips were on hers.
She hushed, the press of his mouth insistent and stunning.
Inexplicably, they were the only thing she’d ever wanted.
Fern knew that now. How had she not realized it before? Why had she tried so hard to deny it?
Cal nudged closer, pressing harder to part her lips, and she did, marveling at the sweep of his tongue against hers. The kiss was gentle and halting, as if he was waiting for her to push him away, or maybe he was contemplating whether he should stop.
Before he could make a choice, Fern released the shocked tension from her shoulders and stood onto the tips of her toes to loop her arms around his neck. Cal raked his fingers through her hair, losing a thread of control as he made a soft growl low in his throat.
But then, he disentangled her arms from around his neck and broke the kiss. Her heels slammed back down onto the floor. He licked his lips as he stared at her mouth, then met her eyes.
“You’re safer away from me,” he said.
Fern couldn’t argue. Couldn’t tell him it wasn’t true.
“Why did you come to Young Acres, then?” she asked instead. He held her hands in his, but at arm’s length.
Cal brought her right hand to his lips and held it there, his quick breaths fanning over her skin. Then, he let go and took a long step away, grabbing his coat from the bed as he moved toward the door.
“Wait until just after it’s fully dark. Rod won’t be drinking, but the others will be.
I’ll make sure they’re distracted. Leave through the window.
Drop onto the porch roof. No shoes. Carry them.
” He wouldn’t look at her. His words snapped.
“There’s a trellis off the side of the porch.
” He gestured to one side of the house. “Climb down and get into the corn. Don’t stop. Don’t hesitate.”
He reached for the doorknob.
“Cal.”
He held still. Fern hadn’t planned what to say to him. She only knew that she didn’t want it to be goodbye.
“We passed a barn down the road. It had a Coca-Cola advertisement painted on it. Do you remember it?” she asked.
He didn’t answer either way.
“That’s where I’ll go. I’ll wait for you there.”
She braced herself for an argument, for him to tell her that she wasn’t thinking straight. But instead, he looked back at her. “If I’m not there by sunrise, it means I’m not coming. Be careful, Fern.”
The door shut quietly behind him.