A Kiss in Winter Page 21

  Chapter 17

  On Saturday, the day of the reenactment, daylight was slow in coming. The ground was soggy from last night’s rain. It squished beneath Caroline’s shoes as she moved around the Perryville Battlefield. It was early—public admission had just begun. In the chill of misty morning gray, men dressed in Federal blue and Confederate gray moved about the field like ghosts from the past. From somewhere out of sight, a horse’s whinny carried on the damp air, seemingly coming from all directions at once. The entire scene lent an otherworldly feel that made Caroline reach for her camera.

  But her camera wasn’t on a strap around her neck, as it usually was. She’d deliberately left it in the car to prevent herself from watching the surroundings through the limited view of the lens.

  The battlefield covered hundreds of acres of rolling green fields and woodlands. She knew there was no way she could watch the entire area herself. But there were multiple safety inspections before any of the reenactors were allowed to take the field. Hopefully that would be enough to safeguard against sabotage.

  She looked around her, trying to decipher where danger might lurk. The possibilities were many—cannons, antique rifles, charges of black powder were the most volatile that came to mind. But she realized that even if she’d been aware and looking for a threat at the football game, she would never have guessed it would be a pipe bomb on the back of the scoreboard. No, she couldn’t predict where he might strike.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” The voice came from just behind her.

  Caroline spun around, her heart slamming into overdrive. She hadn’t realized she was so jumpy. “Uh, no…”

  A man in a Confederate uniform said, “Didn’t mean to frighten you—you looked like you were looking for something.”

  He appeared to be a little older than Caroline, and as lanky as if he’d been living on Confederate field rations. He had a pleasant face sporting a period mustache and about a week’s growth of beard. All part of the authenticity, she supposed.

  “Oh, no, thank you,” she said. Everyone was so helpful at these things. A couple of reenactors had offered information when they saw her examining weaponry; this was the first one who had surprised her from behind. “I’m just taking it all in.”

  He glanced around, appearing a little puzzled. “Not much happenin’ yet.” Then he fished in his pocket and pulled out an old-fashioned cigarette paper and a little pouch of tobacco. Some of these guys really got into this.

  “I guess I’m excited,” she said, watching, fascinated, as he rolled the tobacco in the flimsy paper.

  “Your first reenactment?” He lit the cigarette (she noticed he wasn’t so into authenticity that he didn’t use a normal modern lighter) and looked like he was settling in for a long conversation.

  “No. I was here once before.”

  “Well, if you’re looking for someone to show you the ropes, I’m your man. We don’t go on the field until almost two.”

  She took a half-step backward and lifted her hand in a good-bye. “Thanks. I’m doing fine.”

  He took a step forward, closing the space between them again.

  This time she sidestepped and started walking. “You have a fun war.” It was a little weird being hit on by a guy who looked like he’d stepped out of a history book.

  “Oh, it’s gonna be exciting.” He lifted his chin and blew out a long stream of smoke as she walked past. “You sure you don’t want my inside view?”

  “I’m sure, but thanks anyway.”

  A man with Union sergeant’s stripes smiled and said a friendly hello before she’d gone more than a dozen yards. He looked like he was going to offer his “inside view,” too. She said a quick good morning, averted her eyes, and hurried on.

  As she moved among soldiers and generals, cavalry and cannons, she asked herself what she thought she could accomplish wandering around here. Even by chatting her way around the field, barring something blatant, she wasn’t familiar enough with anything to recognize if something was out of kilter.

  Walking farther, she decided that her best chance of catching the culprit would be by recognizing the man. Not that she’d seen his features all that clearly. The bill of the baseball cap had cast his face in shadow. But his attitude had been so out of place after the explosion at the football field; perhaps, since she was looking, she’d see similar incongruous behavior here.

  The longer she roamed, the more she realized this was like looking for a pebble in a stone quarry. The vandal might not even strike the battle; there were dozens of auxiliary demonstrations and exhibits associated with this event.

  Still, she felt duty-bound to keep looking—but for who or what, she didn’t know.

  Finally, she ran across a state policeman. She asked him if he’d been alerted to possible vandalism or sabotage. He looked steadily at her and said, “That’s what I look for every day, ma’am. This is a safe event.”

  “I wasn’t questioning your capability.” She explained her concern and watched his face grow steadily more skeptical. “Have they assigned extra officers?”

  “You can relax, ma’am.”

  She didn’t know if that meant get lost, or if it meant the security had been beefed up.

  Returning to her vigilant wandering, she noted there didn’t appear to be any weaponry or “ammunition” left unattended. Even those cannon and limbers—which were the real danger since they were the wooden boxes carrying the black powder charges—already on the field were manned by at least one person. That made her feel marginally better.

  The weather remained dismal, the air so heavy with moisture, it was just short of a mist. It beaded on every metal surface and penetrated layers of clothing. The battle wasn’t scheduled for another three and a half hours. She decided to get some coffee.

  As she approached the concession, off to her left she saw Mick, his blond head above most of the crowd. His gaze and his attention were concentrated and focused on the crowd. As if he, too, was on the lookout for trouble.

  The very sight of him soothed some of her brittle tension. She felt safer—and a little warmer, too.

  “I didn’t know you were a Civil War buff,” she said as she slipped up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  He turned, looking like a little kid caught snooping under the Christmas tree. Then he smiled. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “And a few I do know that you would rather I didn’t.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He raised a brow. “Such as?”

  “Such as, you just can’t help but help when someone asks.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But there was a twinkle in his eye that said differently. “I’m here to see history come to life.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll just leave you to your fun.” When she started to leave, he followed her.

  “I wouldn’t mind having company while I watched,” he said.

  “Really?” She walked faster. “I hope you run into someone to enjoy the show with, then.” There was no way she was going to let him get by without admitting he simply couldn’t turn his back on a person in need. It was one of those things she knew he continually shortchanged when he looked at himself.

  “Okay! Okay,” he said. “I knew you’d be here—and you have no business going after this guy on your own.”

  Putting her hands on her hips, she stopped and said, “I’m not ‘going after him on my own.’ I just thought—”

  “Thought what? What did you think that you, out here alone, could do?”

  Hearing her foolishness aloud was worse than her own doubts, and it fired her temper. “Well, I can hardly pretend I don’t know what’s going on, can I? I have to at least try to stop this.” She started moving without any destination in mind.

  He was on her heels. “And I’m here to make sure you don’t try in any way that might be foolish.” He paused, then said, “Caroline, didn’t you ever consider that this might be pers
onal?”

  Her feet stopped moving. She suddenly realized her toes were numb. The metallic clanks of equipment, the deep rumble of male voices, and the whinnies of horses carried eerily on the mist. There was such surreal detachment about this whole morning that it was starting to get under her skin. So much so, that for a moment, his comment made sense.

  Personal?

  She grounded herself in reality. “That makes absolutely no sense. If it were personal, why go after things scattered all over the state? Why not just come and break my windows, paint graffiti on my house?”

  “Art is personal… you see—” He bit off the words.

  “Yes?”

  Anger flashed briefly in his eyes, no doubt because he’d almost let himself get sucked into the very thing he’d refused yesterday—lending his professional expertise to solve this puzzle. “I don’t know why, but I think there’s a distinct possibility that it’s true.”

  The idea was too awful to consider. It was bad enough that her calendar had set up targets, but if it was about her… No. It made no sense at all. It wasn’t as if she was well-known.

  Even so, a sharp blade of fear chipped away at the rational and pragmatic foundation she’d built her entire life on.

  She couldn’t admit her fear, especially not to him. Instead, she called him on his misstep. “I thought you weren’t going to get involved in police business.”

  “I’m not.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “I’m involved with you.”

  For a moment, she stared into his blue eyes, unable to move, to breathe, to think. The magnetic slide toward him that she’d felt so often began again. And she knew this time she couldn’t resist. The power had increased with every conversation she’d had with him. Nothing could stop her now.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind her common sense shouted all of the reasons she should keep her distance. But in this moment of vulnerability, those shouts sounded very, very far away. She ignored the distant echoes and allowed herself to need him—just for today.

  She didn’t ask him to explain, to define what he meant by “involved.” It was best to leave that unsaid. She leaned forward, resting her forehead on his chin, and felt his arms come around her.

  After a moment, he said, “You’re shivering.”

  “It’s the damp.”

  “It’s the situation.” He held her closer.

  And she let him, forgetting, at least for a moment, her independence, her vigilance, her reason for being here.

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and said, “You don’t have to do everything alone.”

  And just like that, with those few words, he turned the walls she’d so carefully constructed to dust. Her arms went around his waist, clinging to the dampness of his jacket, and she held on as if she’d be swept away if she lessened her hold. The tears she hadn’t known were dammed up inside her began to flow. Once the trickle started, it soon became a flood.

  As with all broken dams, after a time the water level equalized and Caroline sucked back her sobs and found the courage to look up at him. His arms loosened but didn’t let go. She saw that somehow without her noticing, he’d inched them backward until his back was against a tree and they were half-shielded from public view.

  “Sorry.” She sniffed and tried to step out of his embrace, but he held tight.

  “Not yet,” he said softly. With one arm still around her, he took a thumb and wiped the tears from her face.

  How could such large hands be so tender? How, in this wet cold, were his fingers so warm? Caroline thought these things to keep from thinking about what was coming next. If she thought about it, logically she’d have to stop it. But when he lowered his lips to hers, she didn’t. She took what he offered, drinking in his support, his caring, like the needy little girl who used to live above the dry cleaners.

  You don’t have to do everything alone. Mick’s words rang in her head like a revelation. She hadn’t spent more than a few hours by herself since her adoptive parents had died. And yet she was alone; alone in responsibility, in decisions, in life.

  As he kissed her, her shivering ceased, her toes warmed—and her heart opened.

  “Charles, surely you’re not going to golf in this weather.” Debra sat on the bed and pulled her robe more tightly around her. Lately, no matter what she did, she could not get warm.

  “It’s just a little mist.” He pulled a cotton sweater over his golf shirt. Without a glance in her direction, he reached for his Windbreaker.

  For the past two months—since Mick had come home—a concrete wall had slowly, block by heavy block, been erected between her and her husband. They didn’t argue over their son anymore. They barely spoke at all.

  Nothing in her life seemed untouched by it. Debra felt as if that wall were slowly encircling her, blocking out the light, hiding her from the things she loved. She tried not to blame Charles. It was as much her fault as his. But it didn’t seem to be affecting him; she wasn’t even certain he noticed it was happening.

  “See you for dinner,” Charles said as he left the bedroom.

  Debra didn’t respond. She pulled down the comforter and crawled back into bed. Her entire life had been about this family. And now it appeared her life’s work had yielded nothing. Her own insignificance weighed her down more every day.

  If I can just hang on until Thanksgiving. With the holiday and the girls home, Charles and Mick would see what it means to be a family. That no matter what, no matter how mad you got, families stayed together. They had to see it. They had to.

  Macie had told Caroline that Shelley would take her to and bring her home after volleyball practice. And at the time, that had been the plan. But Caroline had left before light this morning to go to Perryville, and Caleb had called just before practice to say he’d managed “a pass from the warden.” Macie hadn’t asked him what his cover story had been. She really didn’t care. They were going to be together, and that’s all that mattered.

  After practice, Caleb’s car was pulled up to the curb. She threw her bag in the backseat and got in. She leaned across the gearshift and kissed him. As his tongue slid into her mouth, it was all she could do to keep from climbing into his lap.

  When the kiss ended, she was breathless. Never in her life had a kiss done to her what Caleb’s did. Kissing before Caleb had felt more like an experiment. Kissing Caleb… dear God, it was like nuclear fusion.

  “Where are we going?” she asked before the half-life of that kiss made her do things she shouldn’t in public.

  “Since your sister’s gone for the day, I was thinking maybe your house.”

  “No way. Mrs. Cooper next door hasn’t had enough to gossip about since Sam left for school. I’ve seen her peeking out her windows a little too often.”

  He started the car. “Guess we should discuss it over lunch.”

  “Where can we go that we’re sure nobody will rat us out?”

  As he swung out of the parking lot, he grinned. “I have something in mind.”

  “I sent my application for UCSB this morning.” Needing to touch him, she put her hand over his as he shifted gears.

  “You’ll get in.”

  “You will, too! You’ll see.” If being grounded had made her realize anything, it was that they had to be at the same college next year. If he didn’t get in to UCSB, she’d go wherever he did—no matter how big a fit Caroline threw.

  “My SATs need to be higher.” There was defeat in his voice.

  “And you’re taking them again, right?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned at her and her heart caught fire. “But I’m not the brain you are.”

  “I’ll help you study.”

  He gave a wry laugh. “Like, when are the armed guards gonna allow that to happen?”

  “That could be our answer, if we go about it right. Your folks want you in a good school. Surely they’ll let us study together. Just tell them I already have a 1,335 and I’m taking it again. That should push
them in the right direction.”

  “Maybe.”

  They drove down a couple of curvy country roads until he turned into an overgrown lane that led into heavy woods. Dry weeds and wild shrubs scraped along the sides of his car, making chills run down Macie’s arms.

  “What’s back here?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing but you and me.” He reached behind his seat and got a bag from Hart’s Deli. “And a couple of ham sandwiches.”

  “I think I like this restaurant.”

  “Just wait until you see dessert.” There was enough suggestion in his voice that parts of her got noticeably warmer.

  “Maybe I want dessert first.” She smiled and reclined her seat as far as it would go.

  If she’d been asked, she would have said there was no way Caleb could get his long legs over the console and end up in her seat with her.

  She’d have been wrong.

  The armies had taken the field. The Yankees and the Confederates no longer mingled together in an intricate weave of blue and gray. The ranks of Union infantry stood ready to face the lines of Rebels. Heavy artillery was stationed behind both forces’ defenses. And Caroline stood on the sidelines, sick with tension.

  Mick kept one hand on her shoulder, his grip revealing that his nervousness matched hers. “Maybe nothing will happen,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he believed it.

  “Standing here waiting for it makes me feel that much more responsible.”

  The crowd where they stood was no more than two people deep. Mick stood a little behind her, keeping to his pet theory, preventing someone from attacking her from behind. He said something that was lost in the opening volley of cannon fire. When it got quiet enough for her to hear again, she didn’t ask him to repeat it. After all, what difference did words of absolution make?

  The troops were moving. The battle under way. Drums, bugles, artillery, and Rebel yells all spun into a disorienting whirl of sound. She raked her gaze over the area visible from where she stood—which was too far away from the armies to prevent trouble, even if she saw it coming. She was trying to stop the wind, to isolate a single drop in a rainstorm, to predict the course of a raging wildfire.