Chapter FIVE
Skye sat in the cornfield, her butt between half-dry stalks, the plants’ tassels tangling five feet above her head. Even someone looking down would have a hard time finding her, which was just what she wanted. For the first time in her existence, she was hiding.
For some reason, talking to Lucas or Jonathon was the last thing she wanted to do. There was only one other female on the Flat Springs farm, and it only took a few quick questions and a frown to know she hadn’t a clue what Skye was talking about. Whatever emotional malfunction she was having, she was having it alone.
And since when had ‘alone’ been a problem? Never, that’s when. But it was now.
She felt a sob welling in her chest, but there was no place for it to go. She even pretended to cry, making the motions, making the noise, distorting her face, but no tears came. She lifted her face and glared at what little bit of Heaven she could see.
“Why give me the feelings and no way to get rid of them?” Her whisper was eaten by the corn.
No one answered.
Suddenly, that odd loneliness eased a little as she sensed Jamison nearing—he was almost home. More proof there was something terribly wrong with her. How she wished she could run to him, tell him her troubles, let him comfort her as she knew he would...for a mortal girl. At least that weight in her chest would be shared. She wouldn’t have to carry the burden alone.
But Jamison had burdens of his own, and more to come. How could she even think of distracting him with her problems? At least that’s what the logical Skye would have said. The Skye she was at the moment screamed, “Tell him!”
But tell him what? Tell him the truth about her and she’d be telling the truth about the Somerleds—a secret well-kept for thousands of years. What right had she to tell it?
But rebellion bubbled into her thoughts. By what right had someone endowed her with emotions she was not equipped to bear? And they were emotions. Real emotions. She wasn’t capable of conjuring the storm that brewed inside her. Even with all the mortal joy and suffering she’d witnessed, from a detached distance, she never would have imagined frustration so powerful, desperation so consuming. It was a wonder the field did not go up in flames from the friction of her thoughts alone!
If she were mortal, she’d blame it all on PMS, but she couldn’t; she wasn’t pre-anything!
In all her assignments, she’d never known an emotional Somerled. Even Marcus, though he knew he would miss Skye like a daughter, had not been emotional at their parting. It had been she who had wrapped her arms around him and tried to delay the inevitable.
And her inevitable moment was coming. Could she hold on, suffer her emotions in silence, until they were purged from her in the process of transformation? Could she hold out another two weeks? Would she be able to walk calmly to the center of the circle? Would Jamison miss her?
Speaking of Jamison, why had he stopped? Why was he approaching from the South, instead of from Town? He still needed to pass her place to get home, and yet he wasn't moving.
She thought about resisting, about stubbornly staying in her private little lair until night fell, but curiosity pried her from her pity party. Once on her feet, she walked briskly through the field then shed her clothing just before emerging near the house.
The evening air would have cooled a mortal, but she couldn't feel it as she walked unseen around to the front yard. Two giant oaks, one on her side of the road, one on the other, reached across the asphalt to support each other thirty feet in the air. Their leaves were dulling to a lifeless green. Soon those leaves would be changing, falling, and revealing limbs threaded together like lover's fingers over the road that kept them apart. The autumn breezes would scatter those leaves into borrow pits and blow them across fields, like thousands of yellow and red love letters flung at each others' feet, then swept away.
Skye tip-toed across those lovers’ limbs and settled on a sturdy branch. Her hair was the pale green of drying leaves. Gray slanted across her face to continue the reflection of a branch. Her swinging calves and feet were blue, like the early evening sky behind her, as Jamison and the sheriff would view it beneath the entwined boughs.
She watched Jamison’s face through his windshield. Those wonderful eyes were easy to see from a distance, and his profile showed the high cheekbones and square jaw he’d inherited from Kenneth. She wished she could see his dimples, the long ones that ran down the sides of his face when he laughed and the vague divot in his chin. He didn’t laugh nearly enough.
She heard their conversation clearly.
Jamison was respectful while Sheriff Cooke lectured.
“I know you kids like to cut it up a bit during Homecoming week, but it's stunts like this that have our older citizens afraid to go out after supper.”
“Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir.”
Skye tried to soften the sheriff’s heart a little, bringing up memories from when he had been a teenager, feeling the urge to speed down an empty road.
Yeah, he remembered. A lot.
Apparently, the sheriff had learned early on if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. And somewhere in the sheriff’s office was a beautifully framed copy of his own arrest record, primarily for speeding. Skye couldn't help but laugh.
Jamison's head snapped sharply to the branches on which she perched and she stopped laughing.
There was no possible way he could see her. Even though she was tempted to show herself, she held her wishes in check. And why would he have heard—from inside the car—when the sheriff had shown no reaction? Besides, she was a good distance away. Mortal ears could pick up very little at that distance, and it wasn't as if she'd been loud.
Did the connection work both ways?
“I know just what you're going through, son. New in town and all—well, kind of new in town, I guess. I'll just give you a warning tonight...”
Jamison turned his attention back to the officer.
“...since you're Ken Jamison's and all.” The man leaned on the car roof and lowered his voice. “How's he doing, anyway?”
“He's doing fine. I just saw him a little while ago.”
“Well, we're praying for him. Will you tell him that? And let him know the sheriff's office will keep an eye on his place, and his grandson?”
“Yes, sir. I'll tell him. Thank you, sir.”
“You a Junior?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It might not be too late, you being a transfer and all...”
“Sorry, sir. I don't play football.”
The sheriff looked like he might be reconsidering that speeding ticket after all.
“Maybe next year, though. If someone can teach me the rules.”
The sheriff laughed and dropped his arm. “If someone can teach you the rules. That's a scream.” He started walking back to his SUV. “If someone can teach him the rules,” he muttered and laughed again.
Jamison looked up at her again, or maybe he was just looking up, thinking. But then whatever he'd been thinking couldn't have been good; he jumped out of his car and ran to the sheriff’s vehicle.
The man rolled down his window.
“Sheriff? Hey, uh, would you mind helping me out for a minute?”
“What is it, son?”
“Uh. Uh. I need to go onto the Somerled compound and talk to them, and I uh...uh...”
“And you don't want to go alone? That's silly, son. They're friends of your Granddad's. Been helping him bring in his crops ever since they moved in, and they did the whole season for him this year. They're good people. The best.”
“I know. I know, but, it's just that there's this girl—”
“Skye? You scared of Skye?” The sheriff raised his chin and blinked slowly. “Ah, I see. Well, let's get going, if we're going.”
“Really? Oh, that's great. Thanks.”
Jamison ran back to his car and Skye shimmied down the tree. Two seconds after her feet hit the ground, she was inside the house, leaning back against the door.
Jonathan stood five feet from her, hands on his hips, frowning.
“Not now, Jonathan. The sheriff is coming. With Kenneth's grandson.”
Jonathan looked toward the window.
“Oh? I think now is the perfect time. Dont' you?”
“Perfect time for what?” Lucas came down the hall, filling the space with his wide and generously draped shoulders.
Oh, not Lucas!
Having to confess to Jonathon would have been bad enough. She might have even been able to get most of it out before the doorbell rang, maybe even gotten a gentle reading of the situation from him without having to hear Lucas’ opinion. But now, with Marcus gone, and Lucas in charge, she felt like she'd been sent straight to the judge without first getting to explain to her lawyer.