Billy Bob Walker Got Married (22 page)

What would Sam
do to Billy? What
could
he do? Shiloh wondered, but she meant to keep her promise to him the next day at Danny Joe's. If she didn't, Billy Bob might not be back for more of this delicious teasing.

But she never got to Danny Joe's. Just before lunch, Noah Ledbetter walked in, freshly arrived all the way from Dover to see her. And by the time she was through with his grievances, it was nearly two.

There was no sign of Billy Bob anywhere when she left to go home, and no time to hunt for him. She had to be at supper early, then back at the square at six o'clock for the kickoff to the next day's festivities. Somehow she'd become Sam's official representative.

Sweetwater lay in a rich, warm glow from the late afternoon sunshine as she headed home; a news crew down from WTVA television station in Tupelo was setting up across the street from the temporary podium and platform that had been erected. This was one of the oldest Independence Day celebrations in Mississippi, but Shiloh wondered when it had grown to be so important that television got involved. Surely one out-of-date
Geographic
article couldn't cause all this.

There was a line of cars in the drive at home. Inside, she stumbled over the mayor and two city councilmen at Laura's kitchen table. She might have asked the house
keeper
what was going on, but they'd barely spoken in two weeks, so she said nothing when Laura informed her tersely that Sam needed her in the study.

His voice was gruff on the other side of the door when she knocked. "Come in."

She shut the door behind herself carefully. "Laura said you needed to see me. Where did all these people come from? And why are—"

The words died on her lips as she turned. Judge Sewell sat in the wingback chair beside her father's desk, his face calm, cool, handsome.

Not a hint of the anger he'd shown at the country club.

"Good afternoon, Shiloh," he said courteously as lie arose. "It's good to see you. It's been a while."

You'd never know this sophisticated man in the cool gray suit had ever stooped to a messy illicit affair that had produced something as earthy as Billy Bob.

"Judge," she acknowledged, wondering if her dress was clean. He always looked too pristine, too perfect, too together. "I didn't realize you and Sam were in a meeting."

Sam pulled off his eyeglasses and laid them on the desk. "Judge Sewell is here on both business and family matters, Shiloh. He's come to a major decision. He's decided to run for governor."

There was a small, expectant pause. Was she supposed to be surprised?

"I see," Shiloh murmured at last, then held out her hand. "Congratulations, sir."

He shook her hand, then he said humorously, smiling at her, "Or maybe condolences."

The man actually had a dimple, and a sudden charm, all the more disarming because he seemed so proper the rest of the time.

He had bequeathed the charm at least to his illegitimate son.

A sudden insight hit Shiloh. "The news crew from Tupelo—that's what they're doing here."

"Have they already arrived?" The judge frowned, looking at his watch. "They're two hours early."

"Robert is going to make an informal announcement tonight, just for his home county," Sam told Shiloh. "The official one will be next week at the capital."

Small hometown, patriotic holiday, parades and floats and kids and dogs. Who said Robert Sewell didn't know how to run a campaign? Shiloh thought wryly. Or maybe, Sam knew.

"Are you his adviser?" she asked her father bluntly.

"More like a backer, that's all," Sam demurred. "But I have a stake in this, just as the judge here does, just as you do."

Nobody spoke for a minute. Shiloh knew what was coming; she braced herself for it.

"This needs to be straightforward. Simple. No confusion." Judge Sewell reached out to take her by the wrists, his face kind as he looked down at her. "This mess with you and Michael needs to be straightened out. He's kept his distance for over a month, mostly because Sam has assured him that there are no other men in your life, that you love him, that you only needed time. My son wants to talk to you. All of us—and that includes Lydia and myself and Sam—we want you to be a part of the Sewell family. I hope you've come to the right decision, Shiloh, a mature, thinking, responsible one that will allow Michael to stop worrying himself ill over you."

His voice was gentle, wheedling, pleading, and underneath all that was the sting of reproach, barely felt. His hands were too soft, too wet on her arms.

And over his shoulder, Sam waited, watching her sternly.

I'm just the petted, spoiled little girl who got into a silly lover's spat with Michael and made trouble over it to get attention and my own way. That's what they think of me, Shiloh realized suddenly. They don't take me seriously; they never have.

But they were going to have to.

"It's the right decision for me. I can't marry him."

She wondered where the clear, decisive voice came from; surely not her, the one whose heart was jerking like a jackhammer.

"Goddamn it, Shiloh," Sam swore, his face like a thundercloud. He slapped his hand down on the desk so hard a picture fell—hers. "You're a fool."

The judge dropped her hands like they were hot coals. "You told me she was willing," he said accusingly to Sam, his face dark. No charm now. "She's kept Michael dangling for weeks now. I expected better of your daughter, Sam. And of you."

"So did I."

"There are other girls. Michael won't grieve long. But it would have been better to have the two of them together for everybody to see. I wanted this to be cleared up. Things have been in limbo. Sweetwater's a little town, and it talks. A broken engagement between them is just more fodder for gossip, and that damned news crew is out there, waiting to hear it."

Sam was staring at Shiloh, disappointment etched in his face, but his words were blunt. "It's a minor thing. Who pays any attention to a candidate's grown children? It won't even make a ripple that Michael's engagement was broken. If anything, women'll like him better."

The judge thought about that. "You may be right. We might just stay quiet about everything tomorrow. Let people think what they will."

"No."

Shiloh and Sam spoke simultaneously.

"There's no point in dragging this misery out any longer," Sam snapped. "Shiloh's burned her bridges. She can live with her mistakes. We'll tell it tomorrow. The news people will be gone. And when all this—this election hoopla is over this weekend, me 'n her—we're going to have our own conference."

Her stomach was tied in knots, but her heart felt light, wild, fluttery. She was free, just like that. It was her life and her body, and she couldn't share either with Michael Sewell. She'd known it for a certainty ever since a dance with Billy Bob at the Legion Hall.

The crowd in the courthouse square was boisterous and excited that Wednesday night. Word was out: Sweetwater's favorite son was going to announce. It was such a big occasion that every church in town except a diehard Freewill Baptist over on Houston Road had dismissed services.

Cotton and Jackson sat firmly entrenched on their bench, watching the excitement in the crowds around them.

"I'll lay you ten to one odds that Sewell’s the next governor," Cotton offered.

"Not me you won't. He's bound to beat that sorry excuse for one we got now," Jackson retorted. "And the judge has Pennington backin' him. That ornery old man knows things."

"Speakin' of which, there's his girl," Cotton answered, nodding toward the woman who stood hesitantly on the edge of the crowd, scanning it.

"She don't look much like a politician's daughter-in-law," said Jackson doubtfully.

"She ain't never gonna marry into that Sewell crowd. Ain't stiff-necked enough. Did you see the way she sashayed right up to Billy Bob? It's a shame the way women chase men these days."

"I don't know. Billy didn't mind, didn't seem like. But it sure makes you wonder where them two struck up an acquaintance, and what kind of acquaintance it is. Real peculiar, considerin' that Billy's blood kin to Michael."

"She's lookin' for somebody," Cotton observed.

"Michael Sewell?"

"Billy Walker. I'll bet money on it."

"Ain't takin' that bet, either," Jackson returned sagaciously.

She wasn't ready yet to tell Billy everything. Didn't want to talk at all.

But she needed to see him, maybe to touch him in light of this new, exhilarating freedom she'd suddenly found.

He would know without words that she'd taken steps away from Sam. The only thing she was worried about now was if she really wanted to step in Billy's direction. She thought she did, but she needed to see him.

She was a prisoner who'd been cut free, and she had a lot of options.

Where was he?

Not at his grandfather's fruit stand. She could see it from here, through the dusk.

The crackling of a microphone quieted the crowd immediately; the mayor looked a little flustered at the sound, and he blinked in the glare of the big lights the camera crew fixed on him.

"Evenin'," he croaked, then cleared his throat. "We're here tonight in Sweetwater, on the courthouse steps of our fine town, to welcome one of our own. We're real proud of him in these parts; he's come a long way from his raising in the north end of Briskin County. He graduated from the University of Mississippi, then went on to law school there, too. Last few years, he's been a judge that we've all come to respect. But it's time for us to share him and his abilities with the rest of our state. Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, our own Judge Robert Sewell announces his candidacy for the governorship of Mississippi."

A huge roar went up from the crowd, and some man across from Shiloh stuck his fingers in his mouth and gave a wild, shrill whistle.

Robert and Lydia Sewell rose from their chairs on the platform, and Jack Sherrill, the song leader at the AME Church, led the crowd in a vigorous, roaring version of "The Star-Spangled Banner."

Bedlam couldn't have sounded worse, but it didn't matter. Because suddenly Shiloh caught sight of the one reason she'd come down here tonight.

Billy Bob walked across the road opposite her, well behind the range of the cameras. He had one of his grandfather's peaches, tearing it with his teeth, and his lanky form made a long, long shadow as he strolled under one of the streetlights that had just come on. The rest of the world might be impressed with Robert Sewell, not him.

Over at his grandfather's stand, he swung himself up to the counter, letting his legs dangle. Only his white shirt and his light hair showed up distinctly.

She could just walk over there. The chains, whatever they'd been made of, were gone.

She took one step—then stopped.

What did she want from him? He would want to know, and she wasn't sure.

"Shiloh." The low, husky voice came from behind; so did the warm hand that clasped her bare arm.

Michael. He'd walked up right behind her, his eyes hot and excited even in the twilight.

"What are you doing here?"

"Dad wanted me to come. I barely had time to speak to him. He says he's talked with you. That it's settled."

And his other hand reached for one of the wild brown curls that the humidity had created against her neck.

"It's a good day, Shiloh. Dad gets to announce his big plans, and I get you back, right where you're supposed to be," he whispered, his hand on her arm tightening.

"Michael, you don't understand," she said frantically, straining away from him, but he held her still.

". . . and my son Michael is in the crowd. He drove here from Memphis to be with us," she heard Sewell say jovially over the big speakers. "Come on up here, son. This boy and Lydia are my only family."

Shiloh froze as a thousand eyes turned toward them; she hated being in the spotlight, but here she was, caught in it, trapped against Michael by his hands and the rules of polite society. Then the big camera lights swept over them.

She couldn't kick or scream or bite. "Come on, Shiloh," he said with a laugh that held excitement and arousal, "you belong up there with me." "No—no, Michael—"

His hand pulled her along after him inexorably—the faces of the laughing crowd danced in front of her eyes— what was she supposed to do?

Billy. Billy would see this. She had to let him know it was wrong, that she didn't want to be here, being dragged like a sacrifice up to the altar of the local politician.

Twisting frantically to look back over her shoulder, she saw him all too clearly. He wasn't sitting on the fruit stand anymore. He'd come out from it only to freeze in a pool of light, and even if she couldn't see his face, his body told it all. Stiff, unmoving, furious. She stumbled, and Michael's hand above her elbow urged her up the steps.

Sewell's face was stunned when he saw his son pulling her up the wooden steps after him. For once, the glib tongue failed him.

Get us out of this one, Judge, Shiloh thought in hysterical despair.

"I just want to say how proud I am of my father," Michael said smoothly. He looked like a young prince in the hot white lights of the camera. "And I wanted to introduce my fiancée, Miss Shiloh Pennington."

The crowd applauded; Shiloh and Robert Sewell never moved.

But things weren't as bad as they could get, after all; Shiloh discovered they could get worse when Michael looked down at her, caught in the crook of his arm, and kissed her full on the lips, bending her head back with his force.

Sweetwater loved it—they screamed and yelped. When Michael turned her loose, she looked frantically for Billy Bob, searching the shadows. He was gone. And he didn't come back.