Wild Hearts

by Sharon Sala

  “I’m getting my hearing back, and to save time and your ink, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Mark stuttered.

  “We, uh...we found out your father’s death was ruled a homicide. We wanted to get a statement from—”

  “Get off my property,” Dallas said, and then waved at the camera crew. “All of you! I’m not talking about my father’s death. I’m not talking about the dog attack. I’m not talking, period. How many times do you have to be told?”

  Mark glared. No more Mr. Nice Guy. His tone turned sarcastic, bordering on demeaning. “Sorry, but you’re news, baby. The public has a right to—”

  “A right to what? My personal life? No, they don’t, and neither do you. I’m not a wanted felon. I’m not famous. I will not trot out the devastation I feel for everyone’s entertainment as they eat their supper, understand?”

  “The boss isn’t going to like this,” Mark snapped.

  “I’ll call him myself,” Dallas said.

  “And tell him what? If you’re going to give someone the story, give it to me, damn it!”

  “I’m not giving anyone the story. I’ll be giving him my resignation. I learned a hard lesson during all this tragedy. I now know what it feels like to be on the other side of that camera, and I don’t much like it. I don’t want to be a part of that anymore.”

  Mark looked dumbfounded. “Are you serious? Why would you quit when you’re on the verge of getting into the big leagues?”

  “Get in the van and go back to Charleston. All of you! And don’t ever come back,” Dallas said.

  The camera crew scrambled into the back of the van, as Mark got in the front seat. He was still staring at her in disbelief.

  She stood in the breezeway, watching them leave, and never once regretted what she’d said. And the moment they were out of sight, she sent a text to her boss. Ironically, the last scoop she gave him was about herself. Dallas Phillips, WOML’s hot on-the-spot journalist, had just quit her job.

  Once the text was sent, she felt nothing but relief. She’d cut ties with the very reason she’d left Trey, and instead of regret, it felt like she’d finally stepped out into the light.

  Fifteen

  Dallas raided the freezer, digging through the food Betsy had stored for her after the service, and took meat loaf, scalloped potatoes and a peach pie out to reheat. A little while later the house smelled wonderful.

  She was in her dad’s recliner with her feet up and a glass of sweet iced tea in her hand, still trying to quench her thirst. After the day she’d put in, she gave in and took a pain pill. When the throbbing began to subside, her relief was huge. Today had been a day for revelations, and she couldn’t wait to tell Trey.

  The television was on, but she wasn’t paying much attention. She kept watching the drive for Trey’s car, and when she saw it, her heart skipped a beat. He was home!

  When she got up to let him in, she paused by the window. He looked so tired. Today must have been a busy one. And after next to no sleep last night, she would bet money he was out like a light tonight.

  “Welcome home,” she said when she opened the door.

  The change of expression on his face was humbling. It was quite a heady feeling to know she was loved.

  “You are a sight to come home to,” he said, as he leaned down and kissed her. “Lord, something smells good.”

  “Not my cooking. Raided the freezer from Dad’s service.”

  “Works for me,” he said. “Give me a couple of minutes to change out of my uniform and clean up. My day was crazy.”

  “Mine, too,” she said, and headed to the kitchen as he went to change. She couldn’t wait to tell him all the news, but after seeing his exhaustion, she decided to wait until after they’d eaten.

  They fixed their plates from the food on the stove and carried them to the table. Eating together like this was almost more than Trey could take in, and he wasted no time in saying so.

  “You have to know that this is pure heaven to me. Usually it’s takeout in the apartment and falling asleep in front of the television.” He leaned over and kissed her square on the lips. “Having you back in my life is my dream come true.”

  Dallas took the words to heart as further affirmation that quitting her job had been the right choice. No amount of personal success would ever mean more to her than this man.

  “And just so you know, my years in the city were never quite what I thought they would be. It was your absence that kept me from ever being really happy, and I’m ashamed that it took Dad’s death to make me see that.”

  Trey’s shoulders slumped. “I wish he was here to see this. I think he and Mom had given up on both of us.”

  He got up to refill their iced tea, and then sat back down and finished the last few bites on his plate. “Hey, honey, do you remember Walt and Stuart Pryor?”

  “Ella and Willis Pryor’s boys?”

  “Yes, that’s them,” he said, as he pushed his plate to the side “I arrested them today.”

  Dallas frowned. “What on earth for? I don’t remember them as troublemakers.”

  “Walt pulled a knife on Stuart at the feed store in town. They were going at it when I got there. Turns out Walt owed Stuart money, and when he didn’t pay it back soon enough to suit Stuart, Stuart stole Walt’s ginseng.”

  A chill ran through her. “Really? Brothers fighting over ginseng. That’s scary.”

  “Yes, it is. They’re both in trouble with the law now, Stuart for theft, and Walt for assault with a deadly weapon.”

  She sat for a few moments, trying to figure out how to tell him what she’d learned without sensationalizing the ginseng angle even more.

  “So you said you had an interesting day. Tell me,” he said.

  “I know about the big money venture Dad had planned.”

  “You’re kidding! What is it? How did you find out?”

  “I got a phone call today from a man named Marsh Webster wanting to talk to Dad. He was shocked to learn of his death and then asked if I would honor their deal. That’s when I found out Dad had a honey hole of ginseng he’d promised to sell to Webster.”

  Trey shuddered, struck by the odd coincidence of a man being willing to kill his own brother over ginseng and Dick being involved with it before his murder. He felt suddenly anxious. He didn’t like to think that Dick could have died for ginseng, or that, by association, Dallas could be in danger, too.

  “And you had no idea?” Trey asked.

  “No. Never in my whole life did I hear him or Mom mention digging ginseng. In fact I know they didn’t. I would have seen it. But I did find a book on ginseng in Dad’s room the other day. It belonged to the first Phillips to homestead this land, and build the house and barn.”

  “So what else did Webster tell you?” Trey asked.

  “He said Dad told him the patch hadn’t been harvested in forty or fifty years, which, if it’s good, means top dollar in the ginseng market.”

  “But your dad owed fifty thousand dollars to the bank. Surely he didn’t think—”

  Dallas interrupted. “Oh, yes, he did. Webster said he was prepared to pay upward of a hundred thousand dollars.”

  Trey flinched as if he’d been slapped. That was a motive to kill.

  “I don’t like this,” he said. “This puts you in a dangerous position. What do you want to do? Are you going to try and find it?”

  Dallas looked him straight in the eye so there was no misunderstanding her intent.

  “I’ve already found it. I dug for about five hours today, and right now there’s probably fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of green ginseng locked up in the egg cooler, and I didn’t even scratch the surface. The whole side of the mountain is covered in it. I don’t know how he kept it hidden, but it’s there.”

  He took a deep breath and mentally backed off. This wasn’t his call. This was her home and her dad’s honor that was at stake.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said softly. “So how much is ginse
ng going for these days?”

  “The older the root, the bigger the price. Green is worth less than dried, but you take a chance losing it all if it’s not dried right.”

  “So you’ll sell it green?”

  “Yes, at five hundred dollars a pound.”

  For a moment, all he could do was stare. “You have got to be kidding me,” he finally said.

  “No, I’m not. But I can’t quit wondering if it’s what got Dad killed. What if someone else found out about his patch and killed him so they could get to it free and easy?”

  “Then why weren’t they already digging?” Trey asked. “What are they waiting for?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because I’m still here? I told you, I keep seeing lights on the mountain. What if they didn’t know where it was, either? What if they’ve been looking for it, too, but I found it first.”

  Trey was stunned. If any part of what she was suggesting was true, then she was in big danger.

  “So you put the ginseng you dug up in the egg room.”

  “Yes, and padlocked the door.”

  His eyes widened. “The plastic storage boxes! That padlock and key. He was getting ready to harvest, wasn’t he?”

  She nodded. “I’m being up front with you, Trey. I won’t ever keep a secret from you, but at the same time, I want you to accept my decisions as I make them, just like I would yours.”

  “I hear you. I may not be comfortable with them, but I would never presume to override what you think is right.”

  “There’s more,” she said.

  He frowned. “Like what?”

  “Mark Dodson and a camera crew from WOML showed up today, wanting an exclusive because Dad’s death had been ruled a murder. They seemed to think my life was big news now.”

  “That son of a bitch is real slow to learn, isn’t he?” Trey snapped.

  She nodded, got up from her chair and slid into his lap, then gave him a one-armed hug that made him wonder how she’d ever dug ginseng with the shape she was in.

  “I sent them packing, and then sent my boss a text and told him I quit.”

  “Because of us?” Trey asked.

  “Partly, but also because I’ve had a dose of what it feels like to be on the other side of a news story, and I don’t want to be that person who shoves a microphone into a grieving parent’s face anymore.”

  Trey hugged her. “You are amazing,” he said softly, and kissed her until she was groaning.

  He pulled back and gave her a look, amazed by all that had gone on while he was away.

  “How on earth did you manage all that climbing and digging with a sore belly and bad shoulder?”

  “Oh, it hurt, but I kept remembering Dad had planned for this to save the farm, and I want the loan to be paid off his way. It’s the last thing I can do for him.”

  He saw the passion on her face, heard the fervor in her voice, and remembered this was part of why he loved her.

  “Then I’m behind you all the way. Just don’t tell anyone what you’ve found. Not anyone, understand?”

  She nodded.

  “And accept the fact that I’m going to stay so close on your heels that you’ll be sick of my shadow before this is over.”

  She hugged him.

  “I won’t complain about that. It’s a little creepy up there alone.”

  “You did take the gun, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, and my phone. If I see or hear anything weird, you’ll know.”

  He sighed. “Then okay.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s eat pie.”

  He laughed. “God, I love you.”

  She grinned. “Because I like pie?”

  “No. Because you’re a little bit crazy, like I am.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Let’s eat pie later.”

  “Yes, let’s,” he said, and picked her up in his arms.

  * * *

  High up on the north side of the mountain, two men sat in front of their tent, watching the smoke from their campfire rise high above the treetops and thinking about what they’d seen that afternoon, staring down at the Phillips place through binoculars. Every now and then one of them would refill his coffee cup and top it off with a splash of Jim Beam.

  Snake Warren eyed his buddy, Fraser, making sure he didn’t finish off the booze.

  Other than the snake tattoo on his belly that had given him his nickname, he wasn’t much to look at. The fact that he was missing a tooth and one eye didn’t bother him much, and he dared it to bother anyone else.

  “I told you if we watched that house long enough we’d find a way to get back the money we lost on Zeus,” Snake said.

  Fraser Pitts screwed the cap back on the bottle of Jim Beam and set it down between them.

  “We’d have Zeus himself back if she hadn’t killed him. I had him in my sights that night, remember? One shot with that tranquilizer gun and he would have been ours, but you had to go and fart. If you could have just held it a few seconds we would already be gone.”

  Snake shrugged. “What did you want me to do, blow up? Gas is gas, it has to go somewhere. If you’d pulled the trigger a few seconds sooner my fart wouldn’t have made a bit of difference.”

  Fraser took another sip of coffee as he stared down into the fire.

  “It’s over and done with, and Zeus is dead, although I didn’t believe it until I saw that guy bring the body in to the vet. When we told Sonny that bunch of hillbillies hunted down all the other dogs we came to pick up, he lost his mind. I’m scared to death to tell him Zeus is dead, too. The son of a bitch is crazy.”

  Snake shuddered. Disappointing Sonny Dalton was the quickest way to get killed, and Fraser was right. Telling him his best fighting dogs were dead had sent him into a frenzy. He didn’t see the problem himself. They were just dogs. All Sonny had to do was get some more.

  “So the bitch killed Zeus. What’s your angle now?”

  Snake frowned. “The woman’s a looker, and worth a lot more to some sex trafficker than what Sonny would get fighting a new dog.”

  “Well, you tell Sonny your plan. I’m not going to,” Fraser said.

  “I’ll call him,” Snake said. “And now that we know what she’s doing up here, we don’t even have to go to her house to snatch her. She’ll come back up the mountain to dig up more of them damn man roots again, and when she does, we’ll hike over to where she’s digging and grab her. Won’t be a witness around to hear her scream, and we’ll be long gone before anyone knows she’s missing. I think she’ll bring upward of half a million on the foreign market. That would make Sonny happy.”

  “Whatever,” Fraser muttered, then downed the last of his coffee. “I’m gonna take a piss and turn in.”

  “I think I’ll sit watch for a while, maybe finish off that Jim Beam,” Snake said.

  As soon as Fraser hit the trees to do his business, Snake poured out his coffee and grabbed the whiskey. The night was cold and the whiskey would set him on fire, and he needed some liquid courage to make the call.

  He took two big swigs of whiskey and walked off with his phone. He didn’t want Fraser to hear him grovel.

  * * *

  Dallas slept on her back, favoring the shoulder that was too sore to lie on. Trey slept curled up beside her. one arm across her belly. Even in sleep his need to protect her was strong.

  Considering the six years, four months, three weeks and two days that they’d been without each other and the way they’d made love earlier with total abandon, maybe it was an unconscious desire to recoup what they’d missed.

  * * *

  Betsy let out a cry in her sleep that yanked her awake. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding, her body bathed in sweat.

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” she moaned, and rolled over to turn on the light. She stumbled out of bed, stripping her nightgown off as she went, and then moved to the dresser to get a fresh one.

  But not even the change of clothes could take away the terror she’d felt in her dream. Still shaking
, she went to get the journal she’d started using to keep track of her dreams. She’d read on the internet that it was helpful in controlling nightmares, though she didn’t know what good it would do, writing all this down. Still, if it would help her get back to sleep, she would do it gladly.

  She curled up in her reading chair, making sure to stay quiet. She didn’t want to wake Trina, because she didn’t want to talk about what was happening in her head. As soon as she turned on the light, she began a new page, writing down everything she could remember. Maybe when all the dreams were written down they would make sense. Right now they were nothing but a jumble of horror-filled images that wouldn’t go away. She longed for the days when her sleep was restful. Now she hated for it to get dark.

  * * *

  Trey left the farm before daylight. The town drunk had been found dead in the alley behind Charlie’s Burgers. It was a sad end to a wasted life, although in the end, everyone died. It was only the specifics of the exit that were never the same.

  Trey’s departure also gave Dallas an early start to her day. She was out doing chores just before daybreak. The cows were fed and already moving off toward the pasture, and she had put a new note on her door stating eggs could be purchased anytime before 8:00 a.m. and anytime after 5:00 p.m.

  As soon as she was packed, she headed to the mountain. This time she was prepared. Phone. Food. Water. Her digging tools, two plastic garbage bags and the shotgun. There was more to carry up this time, but she’d used a backpack and thought she could sling it over her good shoulder and suffer the pain rather than make two trips.

  She walked out to get in the pickup through fog so thick she could barely see the shed. She drove slowly across the cattle guard. Visibility was less than twenty yards, and sounds were muffled to the point that it was almost like before, when she’d been deaf. It gave her an eerie feeling, knowing how easy it would be to get caught off guard. And because she couldn’t see much past the hood of the pickup, it was difficult to keep an eye on the trail.

  She was thinking she was almost there, and then the next thing she knew she had just missed hitting the herd bull. She slammed on the brakes, her heart pounding as she looked out the driver’s side window. If she put her hand out, the bull’s nose would have been close enough to touch.