He walked out of the kitchen before I could answer, not that I intended to.
The town of Deadwood was a very friendly one. The dance had only just started and already we had met nearly half of the town's population. I imagine some found it stifling, but the idea of knowing your neighbors, really knowing them and their families, was one I liked a lot. The Sharptons were neighbors of ours who lived a few miles from the cottage. Bobby, the father, owned the hardware store in town. Missy, his wife, worked at the grain depot and their children, Hank who was ten and Wynona, who was six were in fifth and first grades respectively.
"You should come for dinner tomorrow night. It's hard work moving and I'm sure you don't have your kitchen organized yet."
The house was fully furnished and the kitchen was stocked after our trip to the grocery store, but it was the thought of conversation that had me immediately agreeing. "That would be lovely, thank you."
"We'll arrange something. I'll get your number before you leave."
"How long have you lived in Deadwood?"
"All my life, same as Bobby. We couldn't imagine raising our kids anywhere else. Everyone knows everyone and unlike some small towns, that isn't a bad thing. The only downside, jobs can be hard to find. I would give anything do something other than work at the depot. There's very little human interaction, but we need the second paycheck."
I wasn't sure what a grain depot was, but I could believe it wasn't a thrilling job. "It is a beautiful looking town."
"Especially just outside of it, the views are spectacular. You should take a picnic lunch for you and your husband. It's very romantic."
Yeah, the last place Damian wanted to be was somewhere romantic with me. I had been gifted with the cold shoulder during the ride here, but now he was being downright frosty after the faux pas with the death list. He'd probably tie me to a tree and leave me there.
But to Missy I said, "I can't wait to see it."
"Oh, there's Bobby. I owe him a dance. I'll find you later to get your number." And then she was off, moving through the crowd with surprising finesse. Damian had left earlier to dance with Madge. It was mean of me, but I had been anticipating him fumbling the steps, but he was a quick study. I think as payback for roping him into that dance, and for putting him on my harbingers of death list, he was avoiding me. I hadn't seen him since we arrived an hour ago.
I scanned the crowd and located him near the makeshift bar. He was leaning up against it, a beer in one hand, but it was the smile on his face that nearly took my breath away. I loved when he smiled. And then I realized he was smiling at two women, twenty something's that he appeared to be engaging in conversation. I knew he was playing the part and yet I still wanted to stab him in the eye. He could chat up the entire town for all I cared. And since I was feeling like a petulant child, I acted like one and walked right out of the square dance. I didn't even care about being cautious. It would serve him right that I be killed while he pretended to flirt with coeds. I started to mutter. Something I did often when irritated. "I should frame him for my death. I could scroll his name on the sidewalk in my blood just to give the local authorities a direction to focus their investigation."
Spending my days where the only noise heard was the settling of the house held no appeal. I had work to keep me busy during the day, but the evenings were going to be tough. The silence was bad enough, but the longing and sexual tension … the need to be as close to him as possible when he was trying to keep me as far as possible. Yeah I needed to find something to do with myself during the evenings, a social outlet. I took note of what shops lined the street so I could inquire about available positions with evening hours.
I passed a hotel. Good to know. If things got really unbearable I could get a room, one with room service and movies still playing in the theaters, and charge it all to Damian-my loving husband. The thought had a giggle burning up my throat. Married to Damian, the one I was stuck with now, I think it would be more fun to be buried alive. And speaking of Damian, had he not noticed his charge was gone? And on that thought someone came up behind me. My whole body tensed. "Scroll my name in blood?"
I jumped out of my skin, then turned and pushed him, but he didn't move, I did. The man was solid muscle. It was only after my heart rate went back to normal that I realized he had been following me from the moment I left the dance. And even being annoyed with him at the moment, my heart warmed.
"How the hell are you so quiet being as big as you are?"
"I can't protect you if you walk off."
"You can't protect me if you are too busy flirting with the locals either." Did I just say that out loud? I was grateful for his muteness so I wouldn't have to hear his thoughts on that.
"Jealous?"
"Now you decide to speak. Is it going to be like this from now on with you? Having to drag the answers out of you? It is really rather exhausting."
His demeanor changed in an instant, but it was the devastation buried in those eyes that had the air stilling in my lungs. "You could have died."
"But I didn't."
"I lost focus and you were the one who paid."
"That's bullshit."
"It's a fact."
"So the plan now is to ignore me?"
He moved so close I inhaled the air he exhaled. "I've tasted you. I've been buried inside you. I know the sounds you make when my cock is driving into you and the look on your face when you come. Staying away had been hard when it was the memory of us I was battling, but your taste is still on my tongue. I'm ignoring you because otherwise I'll give in."
"What's wrong with giving in?"
"I know how it feels to lose someone, I'm not losing you too."
Rocked to my core by that statement I had no words.
"Ready?" he asked.
He didn't wait for an answer and led me back to the car. It was me who stayed silent. He had lost someone, someone important. Not his mother or father, surely he wouldn't shed a tear for them. So if not them, who? The fallen soldier he had mentioned? Based on the pain I heard in his voice, I didn't think so. It was love and lost I heard and I knew how that sounded because I had been there. So it was likely a woman. He had never discussed the years we were apart, not personal things anyway. Was it possible he too had found someone, but unlike me she had meant something to him? I wanted to ask whom he had lost, but if he wanted me to know he would have shared. His unwillingness to share something that would bring me pain further suggested to me it was a woman. I went right to my room when we got home and spent the night coming to terms with the idea that Damian had loved another. I knew how he felt about me, but for a time he had loved another. It hurt, it fucking killed, knowing that he had loved someone else and it gutted knowing he had lost her. But under the pain there was contentment because he hadn't been alone, he had been happy, at least for a little while. It was more than I could say for myself.
"You were the one who said we needed to have a presence in town. Dinner with the Sharptons gives us a presence." I was in danger of actually morphing into Scarlet O'Hara with the number of times I had adopted her tomorrow is another day philosophy in the past week, but I couldn't think about Damian and the woman he had lost. It was in the past but the pain was very real for me in the present. I pushed it as far back in my mind as possible and fell back on the humor I had once sought comfort in after Dad had died. To laugh instead of cry and with how I was feeling I should have my own stand-up show.
Damian grumbled at me and it was like I asked the man to walk over hot coals while watching Pride and Prejudice with my mom. It was dinner, one we didn't have to cook.
"We won't stay super long."
No answer.
"I understand why you've resorted back to conserving your words like someone squirreling rations away for the zombie apocalypse, but if you spoke to me I wouldn't have been so eager to accept their invitation. You have only yourself to blame."
He was annoyed, but he said nothing-big surprise-and reached for the keys before holding the door for me. It was while we were in the car that I asked, "What is the significance of your tattoo?"
His head jerked to me in surprise. "Why do you think there's a significance?"
"A man like you doesn't mark himself, especially not that severely, without a reason."
The lines around his eyes and mouth softened a bit. I was guessing because I was right and he liked that I knew him so well. "I heard it enough growing up. I embraced it."
Now I was the one who was pissed. I turned more toward him as I worked to control the anger his matter-of-fact statement caused. "Your mother."
"Yes."
I knew his mother was vile, but to call him the devil? "Why did she call you the devil?"
"She hated my father and since I was his son."
I curled my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palms. "How old were you when she started calling you the devil?"
"Six or seven."
"And later, when you were older and didn't want me to meet her. What was she doing then?"
"Whatever the hell she wanted. She was a vile, vindictive bitch who manipulated her own son to get what she wanted."
It happened so long ago and still I ached for the boy he had been. "Manipulated you how?"