Forever Driven: Forever Bluegrass #4

A
ll Rights Reserved
. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

T
his book is
a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

A
n original
work
of Kathleen Brooks.
Forever Driven
copyright @ 2016 by Kathleen Brooks

“
W
hat do
you think of Riley Davies?”

The dim yellow glow of parking garage lights kept the faces of the people in shadows as they met in secret for one last time before the November elections.

“I think she’s going to lose the election to Skites of Lipston.”

“Damn.” A hand slammed onto the trunk of the car. It didn’t matter if it made a sound. It was two in the morning and the state’s small capital city of Frankfort was empty.

“You don’t think we can control Skites?”

“No. He’s a stubborn prosecutor. We’ve talked to him, and he’s not telling us anything about his plans once he’s in office. We can only assume he’ll be in favor of the highway since it will help Lipston, but I hate assuming anything.”

The snort of amusement echoed in the empty garage. “As if Davies will support it? It’s her town we’re destroying.”

“True, but she’s just a hick who works on her daddy’s farm. What does she know about how politics are played?”

They looked at each other in the darkness.

“You think you can control her?”

“Everyone has a price. And her price will be significantly less than a righteous prosecutor’s.”

Their white teeth showed in the shadows as they gave each other knowing grins.

“It’s going to be hard. She’s an Independent.”

“It doesn’t matter. The polls show she’s only a few points behind Skites. And we don’t need to worry about the other candidate since those photos came out showing his secretary taking his
dictation
.”

“Then we agree. We will have Riley Davies elected next week. Do whatever it takes to get that win.” Heads nodded in agreement in the cool night air.

“And you do whatever it takes to keep her in line once she reaches Frankfort.”

“Of course. And if she doesn’t, well, we’ll just have to find a reason to have a special election. It’s always so tragic when someone dies in office. However, they do get to lie in state in the Capitol’s rotunda.”

They parted silently after their plan was made. In the stillness of the fall night, the cars left the garage and drove off in different directions.

R
iley Davies ran
into the house she and her twin sister, Reagan, shared at the back of their parents’ farm. “Crap, crap, crap!” Riley shouted, kicking off her dirty cowboy boots.

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago!” Reagan yelled as she rushed forward with a wet paper towel in one hand and a pants suit in the other.

“I was helping Wyatt deliver a new foal and lost track of time.” Riley kicked off her jeans and ran toward her sister, stripping her dirty clothes as she went.

“You’re going to be late to your own fundraiser. It’s your last week before the election. The whole town is counting on you to win, and you have your arm up a horse?”

“That was Wyatt. I was just helping,” she explained about their cousin who worked with his mother, Katelyn, as the town’s veterinarians.

Reagan rolled her matching hazel eyes at Riley. They might be fraternal twins, but since Riley announced she was going to run for the State House of Representatives, Reagan decided they needed to look even more different. Riley didn’t really care. She hadn’t wanted to wear suits either, but Reagan had made her do it. Riley was far more comfortable with her red hair in a sloppy ponytail while wearing jeans, a flannel shirt, and cowboy boots. But Reagan had taken her to the Fluff and Buff, the new hair and nail salon in downtown Keeneston, to get her hair cut and nails painted. Now Riley’s red hair was shoulder length with a little curl to it, while Reagan’s was still long and straight.

Riley ran the wet paper towel over her face as Reagan held out the pants for her to step into. “Do you have your speech?” Reagan asked as she took the dirty paper towel and handed Riley a light pink blouse.

“I memorized it last night.” Riley buttoned her blouse and stepped into the heels Reagan had set in front of her while her sister ran a brush through her hair as if she were an errant child late for church.

“Good, let’s go.” Reagan had her keys in hand as she dragged her sister from the house.

Riley ran through the talking points in her head. Contrary to what her sister thought, she wasn’t taking this election lightly. She was just trying to do two jobs at once. Her competition, Jamie Skites, had given up his law practice to run full-time. He was a family man in his late thirties. Riley was single and twenty-eight. It had been an uphill battle to prove herself, but even so, she was determined to keep working on the farm as much as she could. Politics was not her first love—horses were. But she wasn’t going to sit idly by, waiting for Frankfort to pass a budget allowing for a new highway to cut Keeneston in half. If no one else was willing to stand up for the town, then she would.

Her sister sped out of their farm and down the winding country road toward Ashton Farm. Will and Kenna Ashton, friends of Riley’s parents, Cy and Gemma, were holding a fundraiser at their farm for her. It was to start in fifteen minutes. She was supposed to get there early, but Will would understand. After all, he ran a horse-racing farm and understood about untimely foaling. They never had their foals at the time you planned.

They drove past the large farmhouse belonging to Will’s parents, Betsy and William Ashton. As they approached the white house with fall decorations outside the front door, Riley counted the cars. There were at least fifty parked in the grass and four news vans. Riley needed a good turnout today to have a chance of raising enough money for a first and final run of commercials that week.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She could do this. It was for her town, her farm, and her friends. And if there was one thing Riley was good at, it was never backing down from a fight. This week would be nonstop from here on out. She had tractor pulls and dirt track races to attend. She had a town hall meeting for the women of her district at the Fluff and Buff and rally speeches all over her district. This election all came down to each candidate’s ability to gain votes in the other town. If she could take more votes from Lipston than Skites could take from Keeneston, she could win.

“Miss Davies!” a reporter waved and hurried forward with a cameraman trailing close behind. “If you have a moment, we can go live to the newsroom for the noon show. Would you mind taking a minute to answer some questions?”

“You should never do live television,” Reagan whispered.

Riley plastered on the gentle smile she had practiced for a month before announcing her decision to run. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

Reagan shook her head as she moved to stand behind the cameraman in case she needed to “accidently” knock the camera from his hand.

“Thank you. We’re live in thirty seconds.” The woman moved Riley into position and Riley tried not to laugh as the reporter went from bubbly to serious. She’d been practicing her looks in the mirror, too.

“Thanks, Dan. I’m here with Riley Davies at Ashton Farm in Keeneston where the race for the district’s House of Representatives seat is coming down to the wire.” The reporter turned to face Riley, and Riley worked hard to keep her gentle smile on her face as she waited with dread for the first question.

“Your opponent, Mr. Skites, has been hard pressed to state where he stands on some of the local issues. Are you as tightlipped about what you stand for?”

Riley took the softball. “I do have a reputation for being outspoken on issues close to my heart, and nothing is closer to my heart than this community.”

“When asked about the proposed highway from Frankfort to Lexington, Mr. Skites said he would reserve judgment until he was elected and talked to the engineers and the governor. What is your stance on this new highway?”

Riley let the smile slide from her face. Instead of focusing on smiling, she was focusing on not getting angry. “As you can imagine, I’m very concerned about this proposed highway. In fact, it will be the first issue I intend to address when I’m elected. First, there’s already an interstate that connects the two cities. Second, this highway would destroy Keeneston’s beautiful farmland by cutting many of our famous thoroughbred farms in half. But it’s not just those farms that are being hurt. Worse yet, it’s the small family farms that work hard with every acre of land to supply corn, soybeans, and hay to the citizens of Kentucky and beyond. Those innocent people would be hurt the most as acres and acres of land would be taken from them through eminent domain. The cost of defending their property in court, since none of them want to sell, will be an economic burden to these hardworking people.”

“How would you respond to the citizens of Lipston who want this highway since there are rumors of an exit ramp to their historic downtown?”

Riley shook her head. “At the expense of Keeneston, whose historic downtown is being threatened. The highway will be miles from downtown Lipston, while the shops at the end of Main Street in Keeneston are slated to be destroyed so the highway can be run
through
our downtown—all because of an underground waterway they have to build around to satisfy the environmental surveys. I say to the voters in Lipston—if you support this, what’s to stop the redesign of the road to run through your downtown? What’s to stop Frankfort from deciding to take some of your land, houses, and businesses to build an unnecessary road? Keeneston has stood by Lipston when they had to rebuild from a tornado, and I intend to stand by Lipston again to make sure no road will ever cut either of our towns in half.”

“I guess it will be up to the voters to decide. Thank you for talking with us today, and good luck on the final week of campaigning. Back to you at the studio, Dan.” The red light on the camera turned off and the reporter tossed the microphone to the cameraman. “Thanks for the interview, Miss Davies.”

“Anytime.” Riley placed the smile back on her face and started for the house. A small group of people came up to her to shake hands. “How are you doing?” Riley asked as she saw her sister go inside to announce that Riley had arrived.

“Great interview, Miss Davies.” Riley shook the older gentleman’s leathered hand. It was obvious by the calluses on his hands that he worked outdoors a lot. He was probably a farmer, maybe even one affected by the proposed highway.

“Thank you—”

“LeeRoy, ma’am. I’m sorry to stop you here, but we have to get back to work. I just wanted to give you some money the other workers and I raised to support your campaign.”

Riley took the check without looking at it and shook his hand. The people with him took pictures and looked so excited they could bust. “Thank you so much, LeeRoy. Every penny matters during this last week. I hope I won’t let you down.”

“You could never do that, ma’am. It was a pleasure meeting you, and I sure hope you win.”

LeeRoy stepped back as the people with him hurried forward to pose for pictures with Riley before quickly waving their goodbyes and shouting their best wishes. Neely Grace Rooney stood in all her elegance at the open door, watching. Neely Grace and her husband, Henry, were Keeneston’s defense lawyers and served as Riley’s counsel for the election. Neely Grace was also her treasurer, and Henry advised her on any potential legal trip-ups in the issues being debated.

“You’re late,” Neely Grace said in her perfect lawyer voice.

“I was giving an interview and then had some supporters stop with a donation check before going back to work.” Riley handed the check to Neely Grace who glanced down at it quickly.

“Jeez, this is $50,000. Who is Hager, Inc.?”

Riley froze. “Seriously, $50,000? That’s almost our entire fundraising goal.”

“I know, but who is he?”

“I think he’s a farmer. He looked like one, and he said he and the rest of the employees raised that for me. I met some of the other employees and they said they were glad to help out.”

Neely Grace’s brow creased as she thought. “I wonder if this is one of the accounts from the big farming business that was just built in Keeneston near Lipston? You know, the one Miles and Morgan fought against but our mayor gave a tax break to anyway?”

Riley shook her head. “That’s Luttrell Food Industries. Although, this could be one of the farms they acquired. Just don’t tell my aunt and uncle I took their money. Uncle Miles hates that place and its CEO.”

“You would, too, if your job was to help the small town farmers out, and in comes a corporation that has farms all over the country.”

Riley nodded. She understood. Miles and Morgan had vented about it plenty at the family dinners out at her grandparents’ farm. The mayor was just happy she brought jobs to the town and didn’t really care how she did it. “Well, are they ready for me? It’s been a great start so far. Let’s hope we can meet our goal today, and then I can worry more about gaining voters instead of asking for money.”

Riley walked into the House and was met with cheers. She shook hands, gave her speech, and held a question-and-answer session. By the end of it, she had raised enough money to get her platform out via television ads. She just hoped the people of Lipston liked her more than some of the people of Keeneston liked Skites.