“Ryan, glad you could join us,” Richard says. “We were just discussing all of the houses that are in need of city intervention.”
I pull out a seat next to Thomas Whitecliff, an older man that had been classmates with my parents. As Richard drones on, I give a silent nod to Thomas as I slide into my chair.
“I don’t think the city should be responsible for having to clean up people’s yards and or houses.”
“I made a list of a few houses that are in desperate need of attention. If the owners can’t or are unwilling to do anything about the problems – we’re talking fallen tree limbs in yards, still left from last year’s storm. Cars that no longer operate parked in people’s driveways and in a few instances, their front yards.”
“Let’s start fining them. Give them notice they have to get this crap taken care of within a certain period of days, or we start fining them,” I suggest.
“I agree,” Thomas looks at me, “I wish there was a way we could know who needs the help.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, is it a veteran who cannot remove his own tree limbs due to a war disability? Or is it the single mom with three young children? Or is it simply lazy homeowners unwilling to take care of their homes? I feel more inclined to find a way to help those that are truly in need.”
“Maybe we could figure out who is in need of assistance, do what we can to provide the necessary help and fine those who, after a certain period, aren’t taking measures to get rid of the unsightliness,” I suggest.
We go on like this for ten or so minutes until we formulate a plan of how to make this work. Richard brings up the open town manager position and I’m all ears.
“We have had a few applicants apply. Here are their resumes and applications. So far, I think Jean has the best experience.”
I wade through the papers, glancing at all of the applicants’ experience. A five and dime store manager, a manager of the city pool and then Jean’s: property manager to over fifteen rental properties, owner of Winston’s Drugstore as well as on the board of parks and recreation for Gibson County. Interesting. Had no idea he owned Winston’s. It was one of three drugstores in Lone Star, but I had no idea who owned it. Until now. Clearly he was more qualified than I gave him credit for. Yet he clearly had a chauvinistic side to him as well.
“Look these over everyone and let’s meet again next week. Same time and day work for everyone?”
We all give our assent and manage to discuss a few more items on the agenda. Another big one besides the position of town manager was the wind turbine conference in June. A few weeks away, we liked to discuss various things happening around town for the event, just to be informed and at the ready. Gatherings in the park, the conference itself, if the hotels were doing anything special and of course, the newspaper – Miranda – covering the event. A lot of restaurants created specials during the conference, like the tavern always had The Wind Mill – your choice of eggs, hash browns, toast, your choice of bacon, ham or sausage and a side order of biscuits and gravy for $6.99.
I’m itching to leave and would have had I not arrived late. But I wait until everyone put their two-cents in about the items on the agenda, giving my two where it was warranted. I manage to gather up my papers and am about to leave before I get cornered by Richard.
“What do you think about the town manager position?” he asks.
“I need to look over the candidates. I’ll let you know.”
“Jean would be a good fit,” he pushes.
“He may be, but I still like to make an informed decision before I say anything. Not sure what the citizens would think about hiring the brother of the man we just fired.”
“They’ll get over it,” he shrugs. “Besides, this town doesn’t know what’s good for them. We need to make that decision for people. That’s why we’re here and not them, Ryan. People need guidance. Just like you.”
He moves in closer to me and lowers his voice, “Have you been seeing Miranda?”
He squints his eyes as if he were sizing me up and the gesture has me instantly going on the defense. What fucking business is it of his? Was this just the beginning of what people would feel the need to share with me? To offer their advice about Miranda Phillips and how I shouldn’t get involved? Did I care?
“She’s helping me with something. Why does it matter?”
“Town tramp, that’s why. Hoodlum. She’s done her fair share to so many people it’s a wonder how she’s able to keep her head held high as she walks across the street. I don’t know what business she’s helping you with, son, but stay away from her.”
The only thing holding me back from slamming my fucking fist into his jaw is Thomas. He pulls my elbow, half turning me to face him as soon as Rich spews these ugly words and my only choice is to let it go. I don’t dignify his fucking advice with a response, letting out more of a growl than anything as I let the air gush out of my lungs trying to get my head on straight.
“You okay, Ryan?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.
“I didn’t hear what he said, but ignore that man. In high school your dad and I used to call him Running Dick because, well he was in track for one thing and two, he was always running his mouth making a fool of himself.”
“Yeah, it’s easier said than done though.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Always. Shoot.”
“Did you really like my idea about advertising help for the city clean-up? I’m thinking of contacting the youth group at my church as well as the boy scouts to see if we can coordinate a real project here before the city goes around fining everybody.”
“I think it’s a great idea. If we can round people up to help, that is. I can ask my brother and his teammates to see if that’s something they’d be interested in. We’re going to have to screen the applicants to make sure they need the actual help. That in and of itself will be tedious.”
“But worth it.” He smacks my arm, “You’ll see, Ryan.”
We would indeed. I hightail it out of there and head straight to Yates place. It is located only five blocks west of Miranda’s so it’s not like it was out of my way to drive past her house on the way there. Her front porch light is on as well as her light in the living room. I hope it’s still on when I finish with Yates.
I pull into his driveway, immediately shutting off my truck lights. I don’t want him to think I showed up to kick his ass again and have him not answer the door. If it got to that point, I definitely would kick the motherfucker’s ass though.
I ring the bell and he opens the door right away.
“What do you want? I haven’t touched Miranda.”
“I’m not here for that.”
“What the hell do you want, then?” he hisses.
“I want to know what you know. Your secret you blabbed to me at the court house that day.”
He bursts out laughing, “This is funny. What’s funny is you actually think you can come up to my door and I’ll tell you whatever you want. No, thank you.”
I wedge my foot inside the door, before he can close it. “What do you want in exchange?”
I already know what he is going to ask for so I’m not shocked by his request.
“I want to be town manager.”
“I know. Even if I agree to that, it’s still a long shot.”
“Not if you get some of the other people to vote with you. Thomas Whitecliff. The mayor. And those other women.”
“Maryann and Rhonda. But you don’t need everyone. Just majority.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I want everyone to vote in favor. It looks better for me that way.”
I mull this over. There are no guarantees I can even get any of these people to vote for Jean. Even if I push and prod them, and they promised they would, when it came down to voting time to hire someone, they’d damn well vote for whom they wanted. Happened more than once on these boards.
However, not
being able to guarantee Yates this, he wasn’t going to give me the information I wanted.
“Fine. I will convince them to hire you. But you need to give me something in return. Now. I’m not waiting until you get hired. Besides, it’s no guarantee you’ll even get hired. What do you know that would concern me?”
Yates hesitates for a second before he swings the door open, gesturing me into the house. I take in my surroundings. It’s a decent house, well-kept and decorated like mine. Bare, no frills, drapes or knick-knacks. The TV played Leave it to Beaver and I knew right away it was that episode where Wally bought some device through the mail guaranteed to make his nose better looking after a girl he liked told him he had a “pug-nose.”
“Can’t believe they still play these shows.”
“Me neither. Have a seat. Aren’t you wondering what you have to do with this? Why I would tell you anything after you got the upper hand on me?”
“Crossed my mind,” I lean back into his leather sofa and drape my arm over the back of the couch. “Also figured it was because you wanted the job.”
“I do, but I have a few other reasons. Some I won’t go into details about, but I will tell you years ago, when the drugstore went up for sale, your parents were interested in buying it.”
“My parents?”
“Yup. Became a toss-up between them, myself and Rich.”
“Are you bullshittin’ me, Yates? Why have I never heard this story before?”
“Your parents probably didn’t think it was worth mentioning. Especially since they ended up not buying. Anyway, I wanted it because my mother’s grandfather Howard P. Winston opened the store in 1908 and well, there have been a few more owners since then. When your dad heard my story, he actually helped me buy the place. Gave me the ten grand I needed for the down payment. Gave not loaned. Anyway, in doing that, he helped me outbid Rich and I bought the place.”
I stay silent because fuck. What could I say? This had all happened when I had been a lot younger than I was now. After what he did to Miranda, I couldn’t fathom that my father would actually help a guy like him.
“Why’d he give you the money?”
“Don’t know. I’d asked him over and over. Insisted I couldn’t take the money but he wouldn’t budge.”
“This doesn’t make any sense. Not really. A guy like my dad, didn’t go around handing out money, let alone ten grand.”
“Well, he did. I got the store because of him. Beat out Rich for it.”
There isn’t much more I can say. Wanted to say. I still hated the asshole. I hated him for the way he treated Miranda. But here I am making a deal with the devil.
“You have my word I will do what I can to get you hired as town manager. Tell me what you think I ought to know.”
“A wind turbine factory is slated to be built here next October.”
“What?”
“You heard me. It will create jobs for almost six-hundred people.”
“You’re fucking me with, aren’t you?” that alone would employ about a third of Lone Star.
“No. On your dad’s grave for him helping me with the drugstore, I shit you not.”
“Altitude Energy?”
“That’s right. Building a factory right out on Pepper Ridge.”
“How’d you find out about this? Why did you want me to know?”
“Some things I can’t tell you, Ryan. Some things you’re gonna have to figure out on your own.”
“No. Fuck that. Why’d you think it was important for me to know?”
He stands up, walking toward his front door, signaling my time is up. I unwillingly follow behind him, my mind throwing around all of this new information he’d just given me. My parents and the drugstore. The dad I knew, would’ve never given a man ten grand unless he was well worth it. The image of Jean attacking Miranda replays over and over at the forefront of my mind like an old-time movie reel and I can’t imagine that he was the well-worth it kind of guy. Ever. A good man doesn't do that kind of shit. To any woman. No matter what.
“Your dad helped me. I owe it to him to help you. It’s the location. It’s on Pepper Ridge. Figure it out.”
With his parting words, he slams the door in my face. Dickhead.
I hop in my truck and drift slowly down the street toward Miranda’s. I pull into an empty spot across the street alongside the road from her house and shut off the engine. Rolling my window down, I breathe in the sweet smell of the summer night. Her front porch light is still on. Every fiber of my being wants to see her. Bad. To feel the swell of her sweet pussy lips along my fingers, on my face and down the ridge of my cock. I want to make her come. Watch her angelic face as I bring her to orgasm with my hands. Just like I’d given it to her the first time. At the wedding.
Here I was hard as fuck and instead of going to her front door, I sit inside my truck like a pussy. I’ve never been in this position before. Of knowing what I wanted and not knowing how to get it. Miranda made it sound so fucking easy, like if I wanted her, I could just have her. But it wasn’t that easy. Not in Lone Star.
I’ve worked impossibly hard to be a decent man since my father died. I’ve done everything possible to try to fill his shoes to the best of my ability. To become a likable citizen of Lone Star. I’ve taken over the farm and all of his dealings with other farmers, businesses in town, et cetera. I hadn’t liked it, but I’d done it because of Brianna and Alex and my mom. That was the way it should be. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the type of work, how I felt like I slaved away all damn day and night. I simply felt that there was no rest. I wasn’t born for this shit any more than a dolphin was born into the woods.
I was stuck in a life I hated. Finally. I said it. Admitted it. I did it because that was what I thought everyone expected me to do. I did it because I thought that’s what Bri and Alex wanted. It occurred to me, as I sat there like a night-stalker watching her house, that I’ve never asked Alex what he wanted. I’d never asked if he would prefer to live in the city, near most of his classmates. I’d never asked Bri if she would prefer to walk to school. I’d taken it upon myself to assume I knew what was best for them – that I knew what they wanted.
How could I know and understand what they wanted when I hadn’t a clue about what I wanted? Correct that. I knew what I wanted, I didn’t have enough balls to go after what I wanted. Her inside light went dark and if I was going to ring her doorbell, this was my chance. I knew if I did, she would want to know what kind of decision I’d come to: about us, about the farm and the kids.
Until I spoke to the twins, I couldn’t give her any of the answers she was looking for. Some of them, I couldn’t find myself. How do I be both: the guy in town most people loved and the guy that was crazy about the girl who grew up on the wrong side of town? City council board member and lover to Miranda Phillips, town’s most-hated journalist?
Pepper Ridge. That was the answer. It came to me like an answered prayer dropped from the sky. The water rights. It was all starting to make sense. Not totally, but there was a possible light at the end of the tunnel. If what Yates was telling me was true, Altitude Energy was going to build a plant on Pepper Ridge, which was practically where Ackelson Thorne water came from. Hence, all of my water shares.
Once they built that facility, it would open up a herd of jobs for Lone Star and all the surrounding towns. People would be flocking here with their families to live. This was going to be a major development for Lone Star. Was Altitude Energy High Plains? Were they after my water shares?
I rubbed my hand over my face and with one last, longing glance at Miranda’s house, went home. My life was fucked up. I was fucked up. I was a hypocrite. I own millions of dollars in water stocks I could easily sell, get rid of the farm and do what I wanted to do, for the rest of my life. But what was that? An accountant? I’d gone to school for that but now, six plus years out of college, with a hell of a life of hard work between all of that, an accountant didn’t seem like enough.
If I didn�
��t have anything to look forward to, how could I be so worried about what was my present? Shouldn’t I have a goal? Something I wanted to fucking do instead of a list of all the things I didn’t want to do? Miranda was right. On more levels than she knew. I needed to find a life. What it was I wanted to do, where I wanted to be and with whom. What would make me happy. What would make the twins happy. In short, I needed to find me.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Miranda
I put the final touches on my article for the Wind Energy Conference, when my phone rings. My heart beats frantically: I haven’t heard from Ryan since I’d done my fuck-you walk out of his house that night. He hasn’t called and I have been too stubborn trying to take a stand, that I haven’t called him, even though I’ve wanted to. I’ve been so busy at work, I haven’t had time to research much in the way of High Plains and most of the land owners. So really, there wasn't much reason for me to call. Right.
I’ve managed to knock my list from eight down to five because I was able to map out a few properties that aren’t located in the country or anywhere near the river. I felt pretty confident the properties I’d crossed off my list had nothing to do with water rights, some being multi-family homes and trailer park lots. The five it left me with were the mayor, Jean and Arthur Yates – barf, Mildred Hancock, Melvin Thompson and James Dyer.
“Hello?”
“Um, Miranda?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Brianna.”
My heart drops. I hope nothing has happened to Ryan, “Brianna, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I was, um, calling about my article.”
“Oh yes,” I respond. Relief washing through me, “How are you? And Alex? And Ryan?” I can't help but add.
“We’re all good.”
“That’s nice. I haven’t talked to Ryan for a little while.”
“Oh probably because he’s not here. We’re staying with my aunt and uncle for a few days.”
“Oh. I didn’t know. About your article though, why don’t you email it to me and we can do some final touches and then it should be good to go into next week’s paper.”
Wet: A Small Town Romance (Love in Lone Star Book 1) Page 13
