Page 11 of Silver-Tongued Devil
She’d have lunged at him, except she couldn’t, because Evan had her arm. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Let’s go. Not worth it.”
“She carrying your balls in that purse of hers, O’Donnell?” That was Jerry. His heavy face was flushed, his voice slurred with what Dakota guessed were a good four beers already put away at the bar.
The tips of Evan’s ears had reddened, his one telltale of emotion. “I heard you got canned, too, Richards,” he said. “Both of you are looking to take it out on somebody. Pick somebody else. I’m not biting, and neither is Dakota.”
“Maybe you’d better not answer for her,” Steve said. “Maybe you don’t know what she’s doing when you aren’t looking. Ask herwhyJerry got canned. Ask her who twitched her tail for Blake Fuckin’ Orbison the other night. Who did he strip down for and run off after when they were both still half-naked? How exactly did that go down, Dakota?”
She was going to kill him. Except she couldn’t, not if Evan didn’t let go of her.
“And then,” Steve went on, “she probably told him how Jerry made heruncomfortable.How she feltunsafe.Ain’t it just a damn shame that Jerry got his ass handed to him two days later? Now, why do you think that could be, O’Donnell? My guess is that whatever you’re getting, Orbison’s probably biting off a chunk for himself. But then, you’re probably used to that by now. Where’s your girlfriend again?”
Evan still had his hand clamped around Dakota’s upper arm in a vice grip. A good thing, too, because the red mist had descended over her eyes, and she was straining against his hold. Her partner’s voice was absolutely level when he said, “I’m not too bright, I guess, because I don’t know what you’re talking about. I only know a couple of things. One of them’s that two of us here are drawing a paycheck out at the resort and two of us aren’t, and I know which ones are which. And the other one’s that guys who talk big in a bar do it because they’re scared to say it in the parking lot. I’m not a big talker, but I’m real good in a parking lot. Maybe you remember that. You’re welcome to try me again sometime. I’ll be right here.” With that, he all but hauled Dakota away.
“Let me go,” she hissed.
“Nope,” he said, still sounding as calm and cold as the lake in winter. “We’re going to sit down and have a drink, and you’re going to remind yourself that Steve Sawyer is a scumbag who doesn’t have any power over you, and Jerry Richards is nothing but a mean drunk. And then I’m going to eat pizza that costs four times as much as Domino’s and doesn’t even have a stuffed crust, and I’m going to tell you again, as many times as you need to hear it.”
He was dragging her over to the hostess stand now. “You pick the worst moments to be assertive,” she complained. “Why didn’t you tell me Jerry got fired? How did you find out already? I could’ve helped you out in the parking lot, too. It wouldn’t even have been two against one.”
“Might’ve messed up your pretty see-through shirt, though. You wouldn’t want some scumbucket’s blood all over it.”
“I thought you didn’t notice what I was wearing.”
“I noticed. You got dressed up, I’m about to pay way too much for a beer, and Wild Horse is about to find out that Jerry Richards got himself canned and the two of us are doing fine. So come on, Dakota. Let’s do it.”
She hated it when he was right.
This date, Blake thought, was like wading in molasses.
The back patio of the Heart of the Lake winery and restaurant was probably what you’d call “enchanting,” if you were writing it up for a newspaper. Plenty of plantings around the perimeter, patio heaters taking the not-quite-summer chill off the evening air, candlelight and roses on every table, and tiny white lights winding through tree branches, all of it shouting, “Romantic as hell! You’re knocking her socks off, dude!”
Except he wasn’t.
It wasn’t her fault. Beth Schaefer was a pretty woman, and a very nice one, too. That was what had struck him when he’d met her at her parents’ over-the-top lake house two nights ago. Her parents being the previously richest residents of Wild Horse, and seeming not at all unhappy to be supplanted, especially once Beth’s mother had introduced Blake to her daughter.
The occasion had been a cocktail party and silent auction on behalf of the Friends of the Lake. A conservation organization Blake had figured he’d be wise to join, because there were plenty of people in town who’d fought the resort hard, some of them with the resources to make serious trouble. He needed to get them on his side, or at least off his back. Jobs and tourist businesses and the tax base were one thing, but the environment was something else, and a golf course wasn’t the kind of “green space” people wrote letters to the editor about. Besides, he liked the environment himself. That was the whole point.
He’d considered publicizing the amounts of his annual donations to the Sierra Club, but that could have put off as many people as it pleased in this north Idaho town. After some thought, he’d spent a very sizable chunk of money the previous autumn to buy a tract of land close to town containing a good-sized almost-mountain, with a promise to turn the whole thing into open space. As a tool to disarm at least some of the bad feeling, it hadn’t been too bad, but he’d been at the party to seal the deal. He could be a charming guy if he worked at it, at least that was what they said.
The truth was, of course, that if you were rich enough and didn’t actually have a personality disorder, somebody would call you “charming,” especially if they wanted your money. In any case, he’d used the occasion to announce the start of the project to build a public trail to the top of his new mountain. That had gone over well, especially when he told them it would be named the Kalispel Trail after the local Indian tribe, and not the Orbison Trail as he was sure they’d expected. He’d even gone wild and bid high on a case of very pricey north Idaho Cabernet, which had turned out to be not half bad, and a huge stained-glass hanging that hadn’t been so great.
It was of rainbow trout in the water, and it was stuck in his hall closet right now. He could hang it in a guest room window, maybe.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like trout. He liked them fine, on a plate and crispy-brown. Looking at their gaping mouths didn’t do much for him from an artistic point of view, that was all. But it had been that or another piece of a boat whose sails looked rigged all wrong. Or a painting of the lake—he’d rather look at the lake—or, finally, a coffee table with legs made out of antlers, an object he hadn’t wanted one bit. He didn’t care for animal parts as furniture, although he’d keep that opinion to himself up here. He also didn’t like tree trunk legs on beds or branches as headboards. He liked furniture to look likefurniture,not like something that belonged in a kids’ book.The wine and the glass piece had been as far as he’d been willing to go, but they’d seemed like enough, together with his new trail and the promise of a signed and framed jersey, guaranteed worn to the Super Bowl, for a future online fundraiser.
Of course, it wasn’t a jersey in which he’dwonthe Super Bowl, but there was no need to get all crazy about it. Some things, there wasn’t enough money in the world to buy.
All that hadn’t been bad, not really. The evening had left him grumpy once again, though. Standing around wasn’t his favorite thing, but withrunningaround off the table, let alone running around with any purpose, like to win a football game… at least it beat sitting around.
Beth had been a surprise bonus. Her mother, Michelle Schaefer, was one of those women who’d adopted the platinum bob as their signature hairstyle twenty years ago and had never seen any reason to change it, and whose favorite brand of makeup was Botox. Blake’s own mother was always telling him not to judge so fast, though, so he was doing his best to put off his final verdict, despite the calculation in Michelle’s eyes when she’d introduced him to her daughter.
Beth, though—she’d been different. Caramel-colored hair with blonde streaks that looked natural, pulled up into a conservative twist. Blue eyes, a pretty smile, and class all the way. A law degreeandfamily money, which meant she wasn’t after a meal ticket. Not like Courtney.
Forget that.
Beth. She was a little reserved, but that wasn’t bad. Sweet, he’d say. Wife material. The only problem was, his supposed charm wasn’t proving all that charming so far. Beth might have worn her hair down tonight, but whatever it took to make her let it down in any other way, he hadn’t found it. All that family pressure not letting her relax, maybe. Well, it was only the first date.
“Tell me more about the company,” he soldiered on now. “Why aren’t you working for it? I’d have thought that’d be a no-brainer.”
