Chapter Forty-One - Westin

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

WESTIN

The next morning, bright and early, I head down the mountain in my truck. I stop in town and get a dozen red roses. Then, mind blank, I drive until I pull up outside a two-story house with blue shutters at the edge of South Platte. It's nine in the morning. All the lights are on, and I can see the fireplace burning through the window.

I step out and head up the front porch. A familiar cinnamon scent wafts through the door. It always smells like that.

My knuckles rap on the door. There's a short silence, and the blue front door opens as my mother's pale, oval face appears. She pulls back, shocked that I'm finally visiting. Then, she recovers and pushes open the screen.

"Westin," she whispers. "Come inside, baby."

I'm thirty-seven and six and a half feet tall, but I don't tell her I'm not her baby. I just kiss the top of her head and follow her into the front hall. She's in leggings and a big sweatshirt, her gray and brown hair piled on her head and skewered with a pin. Everything is exactly how I remember.

"Can I get you coffee?" she asks once we're in the kitchen .

I nod, sinking down. She has tiny chairs, and I always feel them groan beneath me. She busies herself making coffee. The room is thick with the unspoken months since my last visit. I clear my throat.

"Sorry I haven't been around," I say. "The ranch has been busy."

She waves a hand. "I understand. How's it been?"

"It's good. We turn a decent profit," I say.

She sets the coffee down before me and gets a cup for herself. I take mine black; she likes lots of sugar. Her eyes fall on my hand on the mug, and she frowns.

"You get so many scars from the barbed wire, baby," she says. "Make sure you wear gloves."

I nod, clearing my throat.

She chews on her lower lip. There's a faint light in her eyes that hasn't been there in a while.

"Something going on?" I ask.

She smiles, tapping her mug. "I'm seeing someone."

My brow arches. "Oh? What's his name?"

"Matthew Hewitt," she says, blushing a little. "He's very kind, quiet and…gentle."

I know the Hewitt family; they own a chain of banks in South Platte. Matthew is about my mother's age, and he has always been respectful towards me, but I don't know him well.

"I'll drop by and see him sometime," I say.

Horror creeps over her face. "Don't you dare, Westin."

I reach out and take her hand. "I won't fuck this up for you. You deserve to be happy."

"Don't swear, baby," she says, her eyes going soft. "And thank you. He's very different from your father, but we're happy."

My mind goes back to this morning. My hand loosens, and I withdraw it. My mother's eyes follow me, her brow creased.

"You came here to ask me something," she says quietly.

I nod. I'm not sure how to say the words.

"Ask me anything," she urges.

"Was my father a good man?" I say, looking her in the eyes.

She's taken aback. Her nails clink on her mug as she thinks .

"He wasn't," she says finally. "He was gentle but very stern and bullheaded. There was a reason my father ran him off with a gun."

I cough, clearing my throat. "What?"

She shrugs. "My father ran him off with a gun the first time he came to our door. He was too old for me, but I was just so…young, I guess. I couldn't see all the reasons why a cattle farmer who'd already been married twice was a bad match for an eighteen-year-old girl."

Quietly, I pick my jaw off the floor.

"You were his third wife?"

She nods. "The first died, the second ran off. He was a distant, hard person. Maybe he was difficult to love."

I'm not sure how I feel about all this new information.

"So how did you end up marrying him?" I press.

Her cheeks flush, and she tucks a wisp of graying hair behind her ear. "Oh, you know."

"No, I don't know."

She waves a hand. "There was a situation."

My brows rise, and I lean back, stretching my legs under the table.

"You were pregnant," I say. "With me."

She shrugs, waving her hand, like everything that's coming out can be shooed away like a fly. "Things were different then. I couldn't have had a baby without a husband."

My mouth is dry. "Did you want to marry him?"

She shrugs. "I mean, he loved me. He was kind to me, kind to you. That's all that mattered. But love…that's a strong word for what I felt."

"Did…he know you didn't love him?" I ask.

She shrugs again, so flustered that her words shake, even though she's trying to be casual.

"He didn't care. That wasn't his way," she says. "He just…willed the world to obey him, and it did."

She stands up, clearly unable to handle the discomfort, and starts clearing the coffee mugs, even though mine is still full. Her back is to me, and maybe that's good, because it gives me the courage to ask what I need to know.

"Am I like him?"

She turns, leaning on the counter. Her eyes are haunted, like she's been dreading this question for years.

The silence speaks volumes. Then, she shakes her head once.

"Yes, but no," she whispers. "You and Sovereign always seemed like the two sides of him."

"So together…we were a lot like him," I say flatly. "That's why we got the farmland."

She nods. "He knew you'd do well going into business together. He wanted to make sure you were taken care of and that you'd take care of me."

Silence falls. The past feels heavy in the kitchen I bought her with the money from the land my father gave me, from one hardheaded man to another, willing into existence by blood, sweat, and calculated violence.

"And ruthless," she says suddenly.

"What?"

Her lids flutter. "Your father was in awe of that part of you. He used to tell me the world wasn't ready for you to take it on, that you were…ruthless."

My heart sinks.

Her lips purse. "It was a compliment, coming from him."

I can't speak.

Her eyes are soft. "I don't want to lie to you, baby. You are so much like your father."

My head isn't on straight right now. Maybe I came here wanting her to tell me I was nothing like him, that all my self-perceptions were wrong. But my mother has always been honest. She told me the truth I already knew.

Now, I just have to live with it.

Neither of us feel like talking about my father anymore after that. It occurs to me that I want to ask if she thinks he was faithful, but I don't have the courage. I don't think it matters matter anymore .

I stay for lunch and have more coffee as she cuts the roses and sets them on the table. When I leave, she hugs me goodbye, and I feel a tremor in her arms.

"I won't take so long to visit," I say.

She steps back. "Bring your girl next time."

I pause, in the doorway of my truck. "What?"

She taps her neck. "You've got a hickey there, Westin."

I swing inside. "Listen, Mom, I need a little time."

Her face falls. "Okay. I won't rush you."

"It's not you," I say firmly so she knows I mean it. "This is about me and…all the bullshit I have in my head. Just give me a little time, and I promise you'll meet her when I've sorted myself out."

She nods, her smile fragile. I get out of the truck again and go to hug her. When she pulls back, she pats me on the cheek and gives me a teary kiss.

"I've never been able to guess what's going on in that head, baby," she says. "But I can be patient."

I pull her in one last time. "I want you to know, nothing was ever your fault. Nothing."

"Oh, darling," she whispers.

"I mean that. I want you to tear it up, go out with all the bankers you want, alright?"

She laughs as she lets me go. I touch her face before heading back to the truck. My head won't straighten itself out. I do a grocery run, trying to get anything I think Diane might want, and pack it into the cold back of the truck. Then, I go to the general store and head to the fabric counter, because if I can't use my words, gifts will have to do.

I stop short, floor creaking under my boots. There's somebody already there, leaning on the counter, chatting up the lady at the register.

"Deacon," I say.

He swivels. "What are you doing here?"

I shrug and lean on the other side of the counter. The lady stands between us, glancing back and forth. She's got a bolt of pink dotted cotton rolled out. Deacon and I look down at it and then back at each other.

"That looks like church girl fabric to me," I say.

"Aw, shut the fuck up," he says.

I laugh, and some of the tension eases in my shoulders. "Listen, you want to get some coffee? I've got something I want to talk to you about."

He shrugs. "Sure. Let me finish up here."

The lady folds the pink cloth and puts it in a bag for him. Then, I pick out several bolts of fabric I think Diane will like. Just as I'm being rung up, my eye falls on a soft, glossy cloth edged with lace. It's creamy white, and the lace is pale yellow.

"What kind is that?" I ask.

The cashier pulls the bolt down. I can feel Deacon smirking behind me.

"It's a satin blend," she says.

That doesn't mean anything to me, but it would look pretty on Diane, so I get a few yards of it. Deacon and I take our tickets and head up to the front register. There's a short line. I glance back at him, but he's checked out, staring up at the ceiling.

"Long night?"

He nods, blinking. "I need to figure this shit out. I had people from the gas company on my porch yesterday."

"What did you tell them?"

"I said they're either getting hit with a shotgun now or with a lawyer later," he says. "I don't have time for this. The summer is shaping up to be as hot and dry as last year. I need to work on my ranch, not fuck around in a courtroom this year."

"I get it." I put my things down.

The Lemon Chews stare at me from their bucket. I take a handful and add it to the pile, even though my stomach is queasy.

"She's got you whipped," Deacon says.

"Maybe they're for me."

"You don't like candy."

"Shut up. "

I pay for my things and wait while he does the same, smirking. Then, we head across the street to drop them off in our trucks. The cafe is a block down, and it's empty. I sink into the corner with a cup of black coffee. Deacon sits opposite me in the booth.

"Alright, what's your plan, gunslinger?" Deacon says.

"I don't have a plan," I say. "At least, not a full one. But if I can figure out how to get David Carter, Vince Cassidy, and Corbin Buchanan out to Sovereign Mountain, I can take care of them all in one go."

"I'm all ears," he says.

I lean forward. "The bridge over the river is very high. If you forced a vehicle off there, it'd be hard to get evidence."

His eyes narrow as he thinks. "You're going to force three cars off a bridge? I don't know."

"No, we need to get both men in the car."

"You mean all three."

I shake my head. "David Carter gets something else. I don't know what, but if we can get him up to Sovereign Mountain, I'll take him out before that."

He cocks his head. "You really hate him."

I nod. "I really do."

He leans back, crossing one leg. "So what you need is an event, one big enough that you could invite friends and business associates, one people feel like they can't say no to. Sovereign Mountain isn't well liked, but you have half the town in your pockets."

We sit in silence for a while. He shrugs.

"Maybe a funeral."

I raise an eyebrow. "Would you like to volunteer to play the role of dead body?"

"Alright, no funeral. A wedding."

We both look at each other.

"You're the one with a girl," he says.

"So are you. I'm not getting engaged just so I can invite people over and murder them. "

Deacon's jaw works, brows creased. "Were you going to get engaged anyway?"

"Of course," I say. "But it would break Diane's heart if she thought it wasn't sincere."

He lets out a deep sigh and sinks into the seat. "You're right. And she probably wouldn't want her brother at her wedding if he's as bad as you say. Let me think on this. I'll come up with something."

I put my hat on and empty my mug. "I'll start working out the particulars."

We head out the door, and Deacon looks out over the snowy street.

"What's your plan for today?" he asks.

"I got some more errands," I say, taking out a pack of cigarettes.

He takes one. "I'll come with you. I got a meeting in town early tomorrow, so I'm not driving all the way home. You got a couch I can crash on?"

I sigh, shoving the package into my breast pocket. "Yeah, but you better not embarrass me in front of Diane. You act like a gentleman, okay?"

He pulls his hat lower. "I'll be a saint."