Conflict of Interest (The Walker Five Book 1)

by Marie Johnston

  The tack was stored in the corner of the barn. Dillon chose a smaller saddle that belonged to Cash’s younger sister.

  “Here’s your first lesson.” He handed Elle the saddle. She grabbed it, hefting the weight, inspecting the stitching. He held up a square piece of fabric. “The saddle blanket goes on first. It’ll protect her back and soak up sweat.”

  He laid the blanket in place and lifted the saddle from Elle’s grasp. Tossing it over the blanket, he wiggled it into place and showed her how to tighten the cinch strap.

  “She’s holding her breath, doesn’t like it snug. But it needs to be, or the saddle’ll slide around, and you’ll go with it.”

  He held Elle’s rapt attention all the way through saddling the mare. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something had shifted between them—for the better. Her smiles came easier and she was more open to him.

  “LeDoux’s turn. He’s technically my horse, but it’s better for him to stay with the other horses. He’s young enough to think he’s the boss.”

  “How do you come up with their names?”

  Dillon opened the stall. LeDoux whinnied, Mandrell answered, and the horses outside the barn chimed in. “Old country singers our grandparents and parents listened to. You’ve heard of Patsy Cline?” Elle nodded, backing up while he led LeDoux out of the stall. “Barbara Mandrell and the Mandrell sisters, Chris LeDoux?”

  She chuckled, reaching out to pet LeDoux’s neck, but he jerked his head up and down. Elle snatched her hand back.

  “It’s all right, Elle. He’s being stubborn. I’ll give you some goodies to feed him and you’ll be his new best friend.”

  Dillon trotted back to the corner to collect his tack. Elle helped him saddle the roan. He let her do much of it by herself to get hands-on experience, while he had his hands on her.

  Elle stepped back to evaluate their handiwork. “What other country-star horses do you have?”

  “Brock keeps his horse, Hank Senior, in the same pasture. My uncle, Brock’s dad, loved Hank Williams, Sr. Aaron’s old horse died last year, he’d had her most of his life. He’s discussing with Travis plans for breeding one of his mares, Reba or Crystal Gayle.”

  “Will the new generation have contemporary country names?”

  “Never know. Aaron loves him some Carrie Underwood. Or we could start a new trend and do movie stars or something.” He handed Mandrell’s lead rope to Elle. They guided the horses out of the barn.

  Cash met them outside. “Hey, Dillon. The weather’s supposed to stay nice. Perfect night for grilling. Travis’s girl is hanging out with him. I’ll call the others. Whaddya say? We’ll do it here. I already took steaks out.”

  Elle squinted in the sun, smiling at Cash. Not the way Dillon saw most women gaze at him, but a good-natured greeting. He wanted to turn the invitation down, things between him and Cash were far from settled. For him at least; Cash seemed clueless. But if he turned the grilling party down, his cousin would insist, things would get awkward.

  “If Elle’s okay with it, we’ll be there.”

  Elle’s smile faded slightly as she gauged Dillon’s reaction before answering. He gave her a slight nod. Cash was oblivious to the exchange.

  “Sure.” Her gaze flicked back to Dillon, searching for reassurance that she’d answered correctly.

  Cash clapped his hands together. “I’d better clean some house. Hey Dil, if you go riding in the west pasture, can you inspect the fence line for me? I haven’t made it out there yet.”

  Because he was wasting too much time at the bar picking up women. Even when Dillon slept in late, he still got all his work done.

  “Will do.” Dillon waited for Cash to leave before he turned to Elle. It gave him a chance to wipe the disappointment off his face. Elle was too astute to not notice. “Ready to mount?”

  “Is there a special way?”

  “You’re on Mandrell’s left, so put your left foot in the stirrup, grab the saddle horn, and haul your sweet ass up.”

  Despite her dubious look, she followed his directions. A triumphant smile accompanied a shimmy to situate herself in the seat of the saddle.

  He grabbed her foot, moving it back until only the ball of her foot rested in the stirrup. “You never want to shove your whole foot in or it’ll get caught if you need to dismount quickly. You’re not wearing boots with a heel, but if you learn to ride like this, it won’t be a problem in running shoes.”

  He swung up on LeDoux and held up the reins with his left hand. She mimicked his hold on her reins. “Now we ride.”

  Elle caught onto the commands riding next to him. They traveled through ditches, turning down prairie roads where they had complete privacy.

  “This is amazing.” Elle’s face flushed from the cool breeze and her exuberance. “I’m riding a horse. Like, a real horse. I thought it’d be different than I’d imagined, but it’s so much more.”

  Dillon chuckled. “If you took riding lessons, you’d be in a more controlled environment, with limited freedom controlling the animal. That’s not a bad thing, but this is Mandrell’s territory. She’ll teach you to ride better than an instructor. Trust her instincts, but don’t let her ride all over you.”

  They rode with only the sounds of nature and the horse’s steps. Dillon led them to the fence Cash wanted him to look at. “When we’re done inspecting this, we’ll take a break, and head back to clean up for dinner.”

  “Are you certain you’ll be okay tonight?”

  He frowned. “Yeah, why?”

  “You’ll be around Cash.”

  “The others will be there.”

  “Have you and Cash talked about anything other than business since you returned home?”

  “No.” Why did she insist on ruining their lovely day with the topic of Cash?

  “You need to.”

  “Well, tonight’s not the night.” He’d spoken with more force than intended.

  She leveled him with a measured stare, but he ignored it. Feared he’d lash out at her again.

  Urging LeDoux into a trot, he continued inspecting the fence, noting any areas that needed repair before the cattle were herded back in. He spun LeDoux around to Elle catching up. She was a natural on horseback, her body swaying side to side with Mandrell’s steps.

  “There’s a pile of rocks we dug out of the field up ahead. Otherwise known as organic chairs to you city girls.”

  He received a guarded smile from her. Determined to ease the tension between them, he continued chatting until they reached the break area. After dismounting, he tied off his lead rope to a fence post. Elle did the same, not waiting for instruction.

  He pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry. I don’t want my issues with my cousin clouding our afternoon. Or our night.”

  She cupped his face. “It’ll cloud more than that if you keep ignoring it—and him.”

  Catching her lips, he deepened the kiss as if he could convince her nothing was wrong.

  Chapter Twenty

  Elle laughed at a joke Cash cracked. She stood at Dillon’s side while he talked with Brock and Cash entertained her. If any eligible woman in Moore could see her now, they’d waste away in envy.

  Another tall, good-looking man entered the kitchen. He had coppery hair and eyes that appeared blue at first, but as he came closer, she saw flecks of green rimming the irises. She couldn’t remember which cousin he was from the picture when Dillon had been describing them all.

  Nodding to the others, he zeroed in on her. “You must be the Elle I’ve heard so much about.”

  “Guilty.” He didn’t have a girl with him so he must be— “Aaron?”

  “Aww,” he drawled, “I always knew I was Dillon’s favorite. Talks about me all the time, does he?”

  “Not nearly as much as you talk about yourself,” Dillon chimed in.

  Elle was content to stand back and watch the men chat. They were all each other’s friends and family. Something she’d never experienced—neither having a lifelong fr
iend nor a family member she was so close to. These guys all had each other, plus their own siblings.

  But she was in the mix now. Getting to know people, thanks to Dillon’s influence, and not just his relatives. She smiled at the memory of her chatting up Betsy during their Mental Health Wednesday tradition.

  Movement out the window turned her head. A fifth pickup parked in line with the others. Two people were in the cab. The man who must be Travis and a woman were talking. From the flailing of her arms, she seemed upset. She got out of the pickup and slammed the door.

  Definitely upset.

  Travis followed her, his hands held out, pleading for her understanding.

  She wasn’t having it.

  Elle watched in fascination as the woman composed herself before entering Cash’s house. By the time she and Travis entered, they acted civil. Guess Dillon and Cash weren’t the only ones pretending nothing was wrong.

  After introductions and greetings, Cash fired up the grill. Elle tried to strike up a conversation with Michelle, Travis’s fiancée. It was like talking to a sheet in the breeze. The girl’s mind was somewhere else.

  Thank the lucky stars, Cash started pulling steaks off the grill. Elle jumped into help set the table, eager to do any task that prevented her from chatting with Michelle.

  “Want a beer, water, or soda?” Dillon spoke quietly in her ear.

  “Water, please.”

  Dillon reappeared with a bottle of water for her and a can of beer for himself.

  Elle held her tongue, glancing briefly between him and the beer can. He was a grown man and they were surrounded by people.

  Dinner was filled with talk and laughter and absolutely excellent steak. Elle never grilled herself, rarely ordered it eating out; it made the gathering extra special.

  Until Dillon cracked open a second beer.

  Talking grew louder, jokes became rowdier, and Elle’s gut hurt from laughing. It was the only thing that covered the sinking feeling that her relationship with Dillon was taking a different course than she’d thought this morning.

  He was on his third beer.

  Clean up. She could help clean up, then she needed to head home. Her home. She couldn’t overnight it with Dillon tonight. She’d just committed to giving their relationship a chance, no easy decision. Every crack of a can opening sunk her optimism further.

  Walking to the kitchen with an armload of dishes, she noticed Michelle standing by the dishwasher, her back to Elle.

  “Is it full, or is there room for more?”

  Michelle jumped, wiping at her eyes before she opened the door of the dishwasher. “No. Nope. Load it up.”

  The girl kept her back to Elle.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Nodding vigorously, back still turned, Michelle sniffled. “Just fine. Got something in my contact and my eye’s watering up a storm.”

  Elle didn’t need her degree to read through that.

  Raised voices blasted in from the other room. She and Michelle raced out.

  “I’m just saying, you’re telling us that’s what you’re planning,” Dillon shouted, “but what are you really going to do Cash? You’re not known for following the rules.”

  “Bullshit, Dillon,” Cash hollered back. “You got a problem with me, say it.”

  “I don’t have to!” Dillon roared. “You know exactly what you did!”

  “We aren’t in fucking Iraq anymore, and you don’t outrank me. You’re in my house so you can get the fuck out.”

  Elle turned the corner. Travis jumped to stand in front of Michelle as if protecting her, Brock and Aaron flanked the two men who were standing nose-to-nose yelling.

  Dillon’s head whipped toward her, his eyes blazing, jaw grinding, fists clenched.

  Cash mirrored him, until he saw her and Michelle being blocked by Travis. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t always cut it when you hurt someone. But lying suits you just fine,” Dillon spit out.

  Cash’s gaze spun back to Dillon. “Don’t be an angry drunk.”

  “Fuck you. I don’t know why no one questions your whoring ways, but every time I turn around, someone’s bitching about my drinking, thinking I’ve got fucking PTSD.”

  Elle couldn’t help but feel hurt. His umbrella statement had included her.

  “They bitch about your drinking because you don’t get your ass into the field until damn near noon. At least I’m not sitting on my couch blaming everyone else for coming home and feeling like shit.”

  Dillon stood inches from Cash, his finger shoved into Cash’s chest. “I wouldn’t feel that way if you had done what you were supposed to. I’m not the one who got someone killed.”

  Aaron and Brock inched closer, ready to pull the two angry men off each other.

  “How the fuck would you know what happened? You just assumed it was all my fault.”

  “It always is.” Dillon stalked toward Elle, grabbing her hand, pulling her behind him out the door.

  The force of the stare from the others rested heavy between her shoulder blades. How she hated the pitying looks for the poor girl who had to leave with the drunk guy who was being an ass.

  He dug his keys out of his pocket.

  “Dillon, I’ll drive.”

  He reared back like she’d told him to go to hell. She couldn’t promise that wasn’t how the night would end.

  “It’s less than a mile home. I’m fine.”

  “You’ve been drinking.” How many times had she had this conversation? Wrestled her father for his keys while he could barely stand on his own two feet?

  The muscle in Dillon’s jaw flexed, he glowered at her. Finally, he handed her the keys and climbed into the passenger side of his truck.

  Hauling herself into the driver’s seat, she refused to glance at him. His anger clogged the cab. He was probably angry at the world, like her father always was. Dwelling on all the ways he’d been wronged. Blaming everything that had happened in Iraq that he refused to talk about on Cash.

  During the strained two-minute drive back to his place, neither of them spoke. She pulled into his garage but left the door open so she could get out to her car.

  “You’re leaving?” His expression mixed indignation with misunderstanding.

  She handed him back his keys and got out. “I’m not going to stay here when you’ve been drinking.”

  “Three beers, Elle,” he said, following her. “That’s all.”

  She put her hand up to stop him. “You’ve had five and I’ve had this conversation too many times in my life. I don’t ever want to have again it.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Tears welled. She heard her dad’s voice, swearing about how little he’d had to drink, slurring his words the entire time. “It means I don’t want to have it again. I never should have gotten this involved with you, Dillon. I almost lost my job, I lost my raise, and I can’t do it anymore. I refuse to sacrifice any more of my life for alcohol.” She choked on a sob, rushing to her car.

  In a daze, she started her car and swung it around. Through her tears, she saw Dillon in her rearview mirror, looking as confused and distraught as she felt.

  ***

  What the fuck was that ringing?

  Dillon groaned and rolled over, landing with a thud on the floor as his sorry ass was dumped out of the couch.

  Fuck, I didn’t drink that much. He hauled himself to his hands and knees, knocking over several cans that clanked and rolled under him.

  Maybe I did.

  The fight with Elle. She’d been disgusted with him, couldn’t get away fast enough. He’d come inside, thrown a few things, punched his table, busted up his damn hand. Then he’d had more to drink…because the damage had been done. Why not? Everyone thought he was an alcoholic anyway.

  She’d broken up with him and left.

  He rested his forearms on the edge of the couch and laid his head on them. With eyes closed, the world still spun.

  The h
igh-pitched ringing continued.

  He pushed himself up. Balancing himself on his feet was harder than he anticipated. He looked at the time. Middle of the damn night.

  What was that noise?

  He ambled to the kitchen. His heart slammed to his feet, the fog in his mind blowing clear.

  An orange haze lit up his kitchen. He ran to the window to find the source.

  Flames licked along the sides of his shop, the siding already burned and blackened.

  Reaching in his pocket for his phone—it wasn’t there.

  His heart hammering, he searched frantically. He needed to call the fire department. It lay by on the floor by the couch where he recalled in utter dismay that he’d been drunk dialing Elle.

  For fuck’s sake. He’d screwed up bad.

  It took him three tries, bogged down by beer and amped up by adrenaline, to dial 9-1-1.

  He gave them the information while staggering out of his house. The blaze reached as high as the roof. Heat singed his face even as he stood across the yard, helpless to watch. No fire extinguisher he owned would dent that fire.

  Would he lose all the equipment? Insurance only went so far. He’d already taken a minor financial hit replacing his pickup.

  He couldn’t do nothing. Racing into the garage, he grabbed a garden hose and hooked it up. Getting as close as he dared and as near as the hose would allow, he aimed and sprayed. Did it do any good? Probably not, but he was doing something.

  Thick smoke in the air clogged his airway. He covered his mouth with his shirt, tasting nothing but ash. His bare feet burned as if scorched from the heat.

  Several minutes later, the sirens of the rural fire department filled the night. He hoped it was enough to wake Brock. Calling his cousins was high on his to-do list, but not until every damn spark was put out.

  The patrol car pulled into his yard before the fire engine.

  A young deputy Dillon had never met got out. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to move back to safety.”

  Dillon glared at him, his water spray aimed at the shop, sweeping back and forth. “You know I’m not going to listen, right?”

  “Mr. Walker—”