Page 6 of Silver-Tongued Devil
As soon as she opened the back gate, Bella was there, her ears pricked high and her tail going fast.
“Hey, girl.” Dakota gave the dog a thump on the shoulder. “Did you and Dad have a good day?”
In answer, Bella went and grabbed her rubber Kong, dropped it at Dakota’s feet, sat, and waited, her gaze riveted on the toy as if there would be a prize for Most-Focused Dog.
“At least give me a chance to put my bike away.” Dakota was cold despite the earlier warmth of the day. She should have taken the time to change out of her clammy suit, but she’d needed to escape. She put her bike into the shed, and Bella, who’d followed her, dropped her toy again. Dakota picked it up by the grungy rope, gave it a toss, and said, when Bella came back, “One more, and that’s it until I change.”
“She’s going to have to wait, because dinner’s ready,” her stepfather said from the back porch.
“Hey.” She tossed the toy once more, then ran lightly up the back stairs and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “How you feeling?”
“Oh, you know. Can’t complain.” He turned and hitched his way into the kitchen. “Stew in the crock pot for dinner, using up the meat from that roast. Came out pretty good, though.”
“Five minutes,” she promised. She took her bag into her bedroom, stripped off her tank and shorts, caught a look at herself in the mirror, and recoiled in horror.
There she’d been, looking like that, giving her “I wouldn’t stoop so low” speech to Blake-Bigbucks-Orbison.Her hair looked like a five-year-old’s after a long nap, her face was pale and nearly gaunt, and most horribly of all, she had a piece of water weed sticking out of the bottom of her suit like some kind of off-center green tail. Blake must have walked away from her and started laughing like a hyena. He’d had a girlfriend who was aSports Illustratedswimsuit model, and Dakota looked like she belonged in aField & Streamdog handler feature. Possibly as the dog.
She shook it off once again—she was getting plenty of practice today—took a lightning-quick shower, changed into warmer clothes, and went into the kitchen to have dinner with Russell.
He looked at her and said, “That’s better,” which pretty much confirmed her suspicions. When they were eating, he said, “I got that new storage unit finished and stained for you today. Tried to move it out of the garage, but it didn’t work out. You’ll have to do it on the weekend.”
She shot a glance at him, but he was focusing on his stew. “Sure,” she said easily. “Thanks for that.” He was moving more stiffly than usual, and Bella had her nose practically against his leg, which meant he was hurting bad. Probably from overdoing it. He must know he didn’t have to push himself that hard. She was perfectly capable of moving and hanging a storage unit. It wasn’t like she hadn’t told him so. She knew why he did it, and she didn’t know how to stop it. “How did the physical therapy go?”
“Didn’t show. Again.”
“Those jerks. Workers’ comp, right. Workers’non-comp. I’m going to call them.”
“No, you aren’t. I did it. Don’t coddle me.”
She shut her mouth, and they ate in silence for a minute before she said, “I did something stupid today myself. Went for a swim after work and had a run-in with Jerry Richards. I met Blake Orbison, too.”
Russell had been reaching for a knife to butter a roll. Instead, he knocked it off the table, and it fell to the floor with a clatter. Dakota was out of her chair, but Bella was faster, chasing the knife over the slippery linoleum until she managed to grab it. She brought back over to Russell, sat by his leg, and presented it to him.
“Good girl,” he said gruffly, taking it from her even as Dakota handed him her own knife.
“I know,” Dakota said. “Like I said. Dumb. I went for a swim out there, probably because Jerry told us not to.”
“Orbison doesn’t own the water,” Russell growled. “It’s not his lake.”
“It was his shoreline, though. I thought about Evan afterwards, and about you, too, and wondered why the heck I’d put both of you at risk just to jump off the rocks.”
“You lose the job?”
“No. I don’t think so. Blake didn’t seem like he minded. Hopefully he told Jerry that. And I’m sure he doesn’t know who I am other than one of his peons, no matter how many letters I wrote or how many phone calls I made. He obviously doesn’t care how negligent his contractors are or how many workers get injured on his watch. We all know he’s a bottom-line guy.”
“Sounds like you’ve got no problem, then, other than all that mad you’re still hanging on to like it’s going to get you somewhere. What is there to feel so bad about?”
“I told you.”
“Jumping off the rocks? Doesn’t sound like that big a deal to me. You gotta be a rebel some way. It’s in the blood. Look at me. I was ten times the outlaw you’ll ever be, right up until seventeen years after I had a kid. What was I, fifty? You’re fine.”
“Do you really think it’s in the blood?” She asked it quietly. That was the other thing that had nagged at her all the way home. “That I can’t change?”
“Change what? Who’s saying you need to change?”
“Nobody. But you know—Mom. My father. Sperm donor. Whatever. It’s pretty clear that I don’t come from the clean end of the gene pool.” She looked him in the eye, finally, and he looked right back at her, his gaze, as always, as straight as his back wasn’t. “I’m reckless, Dad,” she admitted. “You know I am. I keep feeling like one push will send me off to the wild side, and I can’t afford the wild side. How did you stop?”
“How do you think? When something mattered more. How you feel isn’t who you are. What youdois who you are. Take it from an alcoholic.”
