“Will do. I’m just happy she wasn’t here for everything.” Juliette squeezes my hand, and the uncharacteristic gentleness removes another chunk of my irritation at her for poking into my private life.
Wes drives me to the hotel and insists on walking me to my room. I’m glad he’s with me, because the second I walk into the room I’m assaulted with memories of Dixon strong-arming his way in here. The pen, my would-be weapon I couldn’t reach, lies on the table. For all that took place in here, there are no signs of it ever occurring.
Wes balks when I trade the too-small shorts for my black work pants. “Don’t you think you should take today off, Dakota?”
“If I sit around here and think, I’ll lose my mind. I need something to do.” Also, the more I use my body, the better I feel. Resting makes me stiff.
“I understand. If we were still at the ranch, I’d be on Ranger right now. Helps me clear my head.”
I kiss his cheek. He stands in the doorway to the small bathroom and watches me apply makeup. For everything I went through last night, my face didn’t fare too bad. Foundation covers most of the scrape, and wearing my hair down should make it even less noticeable. My wrists, however… Juliette ran them under the warm water to loosen the adhesive from the duct tape, but red marks make it clear something abnormal occurred. I step past Wes and select a long-sleeve silk blouse from the closet. The daytime weather is too warm for my outfit, but I’ll just have to deal with it.
“Dakota?”
Wes stands beside my night table, holding up the gold band. “You took it off?”
“You made that payment, and I assumed…” I shrug. “It’s not like you’ve been easy to read.”
Wes crosses the room and folds me into his body. “I’m sorry I made it so easy to make the assumption.” He pulls away to look at me. “To be clear, I love you, and no matter what happens, you’re mine. My girl. My lady. My person.”
The words reverberate down my spine, sinking into the dark corners of my body. “Same, Wes. Same.”
Wes kisses me goodbye and leaves. I gather my purse and keys. When I go to put the gold band on my finger, it’s gone.
38
Wes
“It’s beautiful,” the salesman, Greg, says admiringly. He holds the ring up to the sunlight streaming in through the front window of the jewelry store.
After I left Dakota’s hotel I called Warner and told him I had an errand to run in Phoenix. More specifically, in the ritzy suburb of Agua Mesa. I walked in and told the first salesman who said hello that I wanted an engagement ring, and not something typical. He led me to a case and removed a ring I knew at first glance belonged on Dakota’s finger. The delicate, simple gold band allowed the emerald to take centerstage. He told me the stone was cushion-cut, and I pictured a couch cushion, which is probably about right based on the shape of the stone.
“I’ll take it,” I tell him.
The transaction finishes up, and I hop back in my truck and point it north. There’s a beautiful woman with a finger that needs a ring on it.
Just like I thought, I find Dakota on the jobsite. The plumbers are installing the pipes, and Dakota stands beside an overweight man wearing a T-shirt bearing the name Gibson’s Heating and Cooling. I lean against the hood of my truck while I wait for Dakota to finish her conversation.
What she’s accomplished out here blows my mind. In just a couple months she’s taken a parcel of my family’s land that has never been used and created something that will generate jobs, revenue, and memories. She is nothing short of incredible.
Dakota and the Gibson’s guy shake hands, and she walks over to me. She turns her face up for a kiss, and I’m more than happy to oblige.
“Do you think you’d be up for something this afternoon? A non-strenuous hike?” I don’t want to ask too much of her after what she went through last night, but there’s somewhere special I want to take her, and she appears to be moving around okay.
“Definitely,” she answers. “I need to show the HVAC guy my plans, but pick me up at the hotel at four?”
“Perfect.” I brush a kiss across her lips, reveling in the fact that those are lips I plan on kissing until I’m sitting on the front porch of the homestead talking to my grandson the way Gramps talks to me.
Dakota goes back to work, and I head to the ranch. On the drive I keep glancing at the royal blue gift bag on the passenger seat, the ring safely nestled in a ring box inside. I pull onto the dirt road leading to the ranch, and just as I’m about to reach into the bag and peek at the ring, my attention is caught by a police cruiser parked in front of the homestead.
It was going to happen sooner or later. Dixon’s meth house was just a few hundred yards off HCC land. If the police deepen their investigation beyond what they see on the surface, it makes sense they would approach us. I park the truck and get out, surprised to find my dad and Sheriff Monroe standing in front of the badly burned barn. I had assumed they’d be in my dad’s office.
Their backs are to me, so I make enough noise to let them know I’m walking up. They both look over their shoulders at me as I approach.
“Sheriff Monroe.” I dip my chin in greeting. When I was in high school, he wasn’t yet the sheriff. He was just my friend Bryce’s dad, and I called him Mr. Monroe.
“Wes,” he answers, returning my nod. “Quite the eventful night out here with this barn fire, not to mention that meth house explosion up in the mountains.” He motions around the barn with one finger. “The fire captain said it looked premeditated. Little fires around the perimeter. Derrick said there was a gas can found in the woods. I’d like to take a look at it.”
Dad’s gaze flickers behind me. “Wes, I put it in the shed. Go grab it.”
I do as he asks, setting it at the sheriff’s feet.
He removes a handkerchief from his pocket and wraps it around his hand before touching it.
“I looked for initials or a name somewhere on it,” I tell him. “Couldn’t find any.”
“I can check it for prints, but it’s been handled by multiple people.” Sheriff Monroe picks the can up off the ground and the gasoline inside sloshes around. “Hmm,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing. “Could’ve sworn Derrick said the can was empty when he found it.”
Dad speaks. “He must’ve been mistaken.”
The sheriff's and my dad’s eyes meet, and something passes between them. You’d never know it, because their facial expressions don’t change, but their eyes hold a conversation. These are two men who’ve known each other for decades, and I have a gut feeling this secret won’t be the first they’ve agreed to keep.
The sheriff places the gas can on the ground. “Without prints or a name, there’s no way to determine who set fire to your barn, Beau.” He tucks his hands into his pockets. “Good luck with insurance. They can be stingy.”
We watch him get in his cruiser, leaving a trail of dust floating in the air.
“Dad,” I begin, but he lifts a hand and stops me.
“Son, you’ll spend a majority of your life on the right side of the law. And then there may come a time when you decide you are the law. If that ever happens, just be mindful of who you include, and remember your reasons.”