Dodge the Bullet (16 page)

Dodge turned, slapped his hands on the deck
rails, and spun around again to face her. “You can’t be that naïve.
If you tie yourself to me in any way, lease or friendship…whatever,
you’ll be judged. Your kids will be judged. I should have told you
when I suggested the lease, but I don’t like to talk about it. And
I’m serious. I don’t want you defending me.”

“Tough.”

“I’ll understand if you change your mind
about the lease. You don’t need this, nobody needs this. I can make
other arrangements.”

“I’m not changing my mind about the lease.”
She looked out at the river, watched the angry water churn over the
rocks, and chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“This certainly explains your views on
women.” She looked at him then. “Go sign the lease.”

“You may be the most stubborn woman I’ve
ever met.”

“You have no idea.” She pushed him back
inside.

Kimberly Weston sat at her desk, a seriously outdated steel
monstrosity she’d detested from the moment she’d laid eyes on her
office. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the only reason
Benji had it in his otherwise stylishly furnished Westmoreland
office was because it was too large and too heavy to be removed. It
would probably stay in the office for as long as the building
stood. She reached for the phone that sat on the edge of the beast,
then pulled her hand away and played with the ends of her hair.

She needed to call her mom. She needed to
tell her she was in Westmoreland, a mere 75 miles from her hometown
of Bellingham, a whisper of a town that sat between the larger and
more prosperous Hailey and the soon to be gentrified Cooper. Her
mom would expect a visit, despite the nearly two hour drive, and a
full accounting of everything she’d done in the last few months.
She’d critique her hair, her clothes, her mannerisms, and feel
betrayed when Kimberly didn’t want her to fix the comfort foods of
her youth. She’d find offense at everything that Connie Weston saw
as evidence that her little girl had changed--and not in a good
way. All the same stuff she’d dealt with on her last visit home,
almost a year ago.

Kimberly had been back in Colorado since
then, even as close as Cooper when they’d met with Saxton on
several occasions at the site where he planned to build. Her mom
would flip if she knew Kimberly had been so close and hadn’t come
by. But nobody knew Benji was involved in the Cooper project
because of the grass roots movement against it, and Benji shied
away from negative publicity. Besides, there hadn’t been time, not
with Benji on a tear about the property in Hailey some woman from
Georgia owned. He was fit to be tied after their last meeting with
Saxton and then he seemed to rebound again in a matter of days. But
something had happened again, she wasn’t sure what, but she kept
hearing Benji rant and rave about that Dodge guy to poor Tommy
Thornton.

Kimberly wondered if Tommy remembered her or
even realized they were cousins. He was older, much older, like
almost forty. Her mom always referred to the Thornton side of the
family as “the drunks”. Of course, teetotaler Connie Weston
considered anyone who had more than a sip of wine at church during
communion a lush. And since Tommy’s dad died of cirrhosis of the
liver a few years back, Tommy and his mom were left with the label,
even though she knew it didn’t fit either one of them.

She hadn’t seen him since his father’s
funeral when she was only twelve. She’d been thrilled to finally
get a look at the wild branch of the family tree. Her overactive
imagination had turned him into a lean, mean Harley riding hell
raiser with a take-no-prisoners attitude. In reality, he looked
more like a bald nobody who might work at the local bank or even
bag groceries at Safeway. The world was always more exciting in her
mind's eye.

“Kimberly, get in here,” Benji called from
his adjoining office.

She jumped at the unexpected yell and braced
her hands on the desk to stop her from falling out of her chair.
She’d never gotten used to him cattle-calling her like he did when
he was angry. Despite her best efforts to overlook it, it still
pissed her off.

“Coming.” She rose and grabbed her note pad
to jot down his barrage of instructions.

From the doorway, Kimberly saw him pacing.
The rhythmic flash of his Bluetooth made him look like a mad
robot.

“He’s done it again, by God, that man is my
Achilles heel!”

She let him rant on and on as was required
when he got flustered. He’d talk to her, or through her, as he
organized his thoughts. When he’d first confided in her, it made
her feel important. But she’d come to realize that in her absence a
plant or coat rack could serve the same purpose; he simply needed
to bounce his feelings around to someone who knew better than
interject their opinion before he ever got down to what he
wanted.

“I had him. I had his balls on a platter and
he went and convinced that poor spineless widow to let him lease
her land for a year, maybe more.” Benji’s face got all red and the
vein that crossed the side of his temple stuck out like it did when
he yelled. “I’ve only got three weeks to get that property under
contract or Saxton’s going to cut me loose. The lease is iron clad;
Mitchell Garrity drew up the contract. Damn it!”

He stopped short of the swivel turn she’d
seen him do a thousand times on the oriental rug--heel down, toe
up, she’d say in her head and then time his steps across the narrow
room. Heel down, toe up, one-two-three, and so it went.

“Who do you know in Hailey, Kimberly? And I
don’t mean from church. It’s time for desperate measures. I don’t
have time to make discreet inquiries about who’d be willing to get
their hands dirty for a few bucks.”

Kimberly tried hard not to roll her eyes.
Half the people he did business with would run stark naked through
a crowded mall for the almighty dollar just to be in his good
graces. She lifted her shoulders and pinched the bridge of her
nose. “Depends on what you’re looking to do, Sir.” She didn’t want
to hear his answer. It was bad enough listening to the underhanded
ways he snaked around the law. It was something altogether
different to be part of it.

“I need to make some trouble for her, for
Mrs. Woodward and for Dodge.” He moved around his desk and braced
his hands on either side of the inlaid leather top. “I guess I can
look at this like killing two birds with one stone. He’ll have most
of his cattle moved to her place by end of the weekend, so I figure
if I could get someone to cut the wires to a few of her fences…stir
his cattle up and get them off of her property. Maybe mess with the
caretaker’s house…break a window or two, make it look like
vandals.” He eased into his seat, a small smile formed on his face
as the aftermath of his impending destruction played out in his
mind.

Kimberly stayed in the doorway, afraid if
she entered he’d consider her a willing participant in his criminal
antics.

“What are you doing standing all the way
over there?” He waved her in with his hand. “And close the door. I
don’t need anyone around here catching wind of this.”

“Senator,” she said. This went above and
beyond the call of duty. “
I
don’t want to catch wind of
this.”

“Don’t go weak on me now, Kimberly. It’s
time to rally the troops and I need all my generals lined up and
ready for action.”

Kimberly found his war analogies
patronizing, especially considering he’d never spent a day of his
life serving the country in any military capacity. “This little
general doesn’t want any part of illegal activity, Sir.”

Benji rose from his chair and sauntered
around to rest his hip on the desk directly in front of Kimberly,
where she’d lowered herself into a seat after she’d begrudgingly
entered the office and closed the door. “Sweetheart, I don’t want
to do this either. And I’m not asking you to arrange anything
that’ll endanger someone’s life. I do have morals, you know.”

That was questionable.

“All I need are the names of a few people
who’d do something, not illegal really, but prankish, the kind of
stuff teenagers do with too much time on their hands. Just a few
people who don’t have the same morals and values you and I were
brought up with.

Now he was lumping her in with him.

“Don’t you know anyone whose parents are in
prison…or who drink too much…or who are so down on their luck they
need some extra cash and don’t care what it takes to get it?”

Kimberly leaned back in the chair and let
the notepad rest on her lap. She pushed the pencil she’d brought
through the spiral at the top of the pad because she was in real
danger of breaking it in two. “Senator, I haven’t been in Hailey
for well over a year, and the friends I do keep up with are the law
abiding type.” She looked up at him and saw disappointment in his
face as the lines between his brows drew together in a glower.

He began to back tread in a heartbeat. “I’m
just talking now, Kimberly, you know that, don’t you?” He stood and
walked over to the bar, splashed some scotch in a crystal tumbler
and took a swift drink. “You know I’d never do anything illegal. I
just need to talk through stuff sometimes. I appreciate your
listening and…humoring me for awhile. Go on back to your desk and
start working on making those arrangements for our trip to Denver
next week.” He moved back to his desk and picked up a pen and a
file, gave her a dismissive wave. “I’ll want to stay at the
Sheraton this time, Kimberly. No more Marriotts for me. My back’s
still sore from our last stay.”

Kimberly rose and closed the door behind her
as she made her way back to her desk. She had an uneasy feeling in
her stomach. She had to wonder how much damage she’d done to her
career by not agreeing to help him. But as sick as she felt
refusing him, she knew she’d regret helping him with what she knew
in her gut wasn’t just talk. He intended to sway Mrs. Woodward one
way or another and knowing it and not doing anything about it was
almost as bad as helping do it in the first place. And there wasn’t
a charm lesson in the world that would make it settle right in her
mind.

###

The kitchen light shone brightly through the
windows and the air smelled of manure, dirty dog and motor oil. The
sights and scents were a heady combination for a man who’d gone
without that exact mix for two decades. Dodge would’ve known where
he was by the smell alone if someone had dropped him blindfolded
into the spot where he stood after a long day’s work. He needed a
shower and a beer almost as much as he needed his next breath, but
his feet were firmly planted in the rocky drive of his boyhood
home. He closed his eyes and let his senses come alive with an
optimism he hadn’t felt for a long time. He was home.

Living with his dad had never been a part of
his plan, but there was something about it that felt like part of
the reason he’d come back to Hailey. His dad was nearing eighty and
he moved and talked like a man nearing the end of his life. Now
more than ever Dodge needed his wisdom and guidance. Telling Sarah
about what had happened with Wendy Hawkins felt like bathing in
tomato juice after getting sprayed by a skunk. He knew most folks
thought he still smelled like skunk, but the fact that she didn’t
smell it, well, that was something. Something he needed. Dodge
hoped maybe his dad would be able to explain why he needed
absolution from her in the first place.

“You gonna stand out there all night staring
at the stars or are you gonna come on in and wash the stink off? I
can smell you from here.” Donnie sat on the porch swing with his
dog asleep at his feet.

“Hell, pop, you scared the shit out of
me.”

“Wouldn’t know the difference, the way you
smell. What’d you do--roll in it?”

Dodge sauntered over to the porch and leaned
against the post, kept a safe distance from his father’s sensitive
nose. “We trucked the last of the cows from McGill’s to Sarah’s
place this afternoon.” Dodge sat down on the stairs to take off his
boots, the main cause of the smell. “I slipped in a pile and nearly
threw my back out.”

A faint smile passed over Donnie’s lined
face. “There’s dinner on the stove. You’d better shower first or I
won’t join you.”

Dodge looked over his shoulder, surprised.
“You cooked?”

“That’s usually what’s involved when the end
result’s a meal. Go on, I’ll fix you a plate.” He eased out of the
swing.

Once clean, the aroma from the kitchen
brought a grin to Dodge’s face and clutch in his stomach. Meat and
potato pie. The only meal his dad had ever cooked with success.
Donnie rarely had to bother with cooking because of Dodge’s
sisters, but on occasion he would, and the product was more likely
than not meat and potato pie. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and
took the seat across from Donnie at the table.

After consuming nearly everything on his
plate in four bites, Dodge sat back in the creaky vinyl and took a
swig of his beer. “You make this seven days a week?”

Donnie looked up from his plate and
shrugged. “Isabel and Lissa bring some stuff over every now and
again. Deb’s husband has a big garden and they keep me in greens
and fruit most of the year. Abbey, Mary Beth and Kelly send over
their leftovers with the kids on Sundays.” He rubbed a finger
across his chin and leaned back in his chair, a mirror of his son.
“Hell, if it wasn’t for needing milk and ice cream, I’d never have
to leave the house. And I swear your sister’s would be happy to
deliver it to my doorstep if I asked. They think I’m helpless.”

“You’re lucky to have them and you know it.”
Dodge felt uncomfortable. He needed to say some things and didn’t
know how to say them. “I haven’t been much of a help to you.”

“I don’t need your damn help.”