Daddy’s Best Friend

by Crowne, K. C.

  We all loved this town, and now I was in charge of protecting it.

  For my family and all of theirs.

  My speech was fairly brief, talking about the initiatives we had planned along with conservation efforts and activities we would bring to Liberty.

  I ended the speech with, “I’m dedicated to protecting Liberty, the town we’ve all lived in and loved. I grew up here, I came back here, and I intend to stay for the rest of my life. I will raise my children here, and while I will support economic growth and development for the small businesses that make our town so special, I will never let that tarnish the beautiful town we call home.”

  The applause was deafening, and I could see my baby girl starting to fuss from all the noise. I was mayor, but I was also a mom and my family would always come first. They were the reason I discovered my new passion: politics.

  I hurried from the stage and scooped Charlotte into my arms, and as soon as she was with her mother, she quieted down.

  “She has the magic touch,” Jeremiah said with a wink to my mom.

  “That she does.”

  My speech might have been over, but the event was just getting started. People from outside Liberty had also come out to the event, journalists from other parts of Utah and even national papers too.

  I’d made a name for myself. Not only from running for mayor, but publishing an article, and later a book, about the Holts and the entire case and how an innocent man had almost gone to prison. It was a cautionary tale for other towns that might be blinded by the money.

  And it was a best-seller all over the world.

  I’d peaked with my writing career, in my opinion. I turned down offers from People and Time to write for them - turning my attention to being more active in politics, no longer content to be just a passive observer and reporter.

  And this was only the beginning for me.

  Jeremiah stood back with Amelia and Grace, and my mom had taken Charlotte as I talked to the press, keeping them out of the public eye. That was something we agreed upon, and I made it clear to anyone who wanted to talk to me - my daughters were off-limits for photos.

  I answered a few questions, then excused myself to spend the rest of the time with my family. Being in the public eye was exhausting, but I was better suited for it than Jeremiah.

  “It’s clear we’ve made the right choice in who ran for office,” Jeremiah whispered into my ear.

  I chuckled. “Damn straight we did.”

  Jeremiah was still working, but only when he wanted to. We had a nanny part-time, but mostly we raised our kids ourselves. Jeremiah worked from home a lot, and he seemed to like caring for the girls himself. I was home as much as I could be, making sure I never neglected my family for my career. Liberty was a town that understood family came first; it was never an issue. I was almost always home for dinner, and I would always put the girls to bed with Jeremiah. Some things were non-negotiable.

  Jeremiah enjoyed building things again. He worked with Kellen and Grant, and they had a woodworking business making cabinets and furniture and whatnot. It made him happy. Happier than working as the mayor.

  Jeremiah captured my attention by brushing against me since his hands were full of almost toddlers. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

  We slipped away from the prying eyes of the press and the people, behind some trees and near the small stream that ran down from the mountains. Somehow, Jeremiah had found a private little alcove, a piece of Heaven.

  “This is beautiful,” I said, walking over to the stream. “Look at this, Char.”

  I turned the baby so she could see the stream, her little eyes taking it all in.

  “That’s not what I wanted to show you,” Jeremiah said from behind me.

  “Then what—” I turned around.

  Amelia and Grace each held piece of paper in their tiny little hands. The two combined spelled out, “Will you marry our daddy?”

  My heart nearly exploded in my chest. Jeremiah and I had talked about marriage someday. Life had just been so crazy that it kept getting put off.

  He held up a box .

  “Are you— Really?” I felt like a teenage girl. My knees went weak and I felt like this had to be a dream.

  “Of course, Elle,” he said. “You’re the most beautiful woman, inside and out. You accomplish everything you set your mind to, and I’m so proud of you. We have a beautiful family, and even though we technically live like husband and wife, I thought it was high time we made it official. So what do you say? Will you marry me?”

  Tears filled my eyes, and I rushed over to him. I stopped as he opened the ring box. My mother’s engagement ring. He’d gotten permission from my mother, and she’d given him the ring my father had given to her. The ring that had been on her hand for as long as I can remember.

  If I hadn’t been crying before, I was now. Full on sobs, but they were tears of happiness. Complete and utter joy.

  Jeremiah slipped the ring on my shaky finger. “So is that a yes?”

  All this excitement, and I had forgotten to answer him. “Of course,” I said, sniffling as I saw the diamond glistening on my hand. “I mean, yes. Of course I’ll marry you.”

  We hugged as best we could with three babies, and Amelia and Grace even got into the act. They might not understand the meaning behind it yet, but they could sense our excitement. Grace tried to eat the paper with the engagement on it, which I had to carefully pry it from her hands. But that was life with three kids under the age of two.

  It was wild and crazy sometimes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Mountain Man’s Treat (Preview)

  Jared

  I hated courtrooms. It was something about the stuffy air, the need to remain silent, the pomp and power of the judge and the attorneys. The whole scene pissed me off. But nothing made me angrier than seeing the back of Mario Gianni’s head as he stood between his two lawyers. Of course, they were the most crooked attorneys New York had to offer. Big shots who had arrived in Station Springs for the trial treating us all like we were wild mountain men with the IQs of a chimp.

  Except I guess I was a mountain man now. After I was discharged from hospital, I couldn't face being cooped up in the apartment. I needed to be free, needed time to think, to feel the freezing mountain air on my face each morning.

  When Jackson joked I should spend a few months up in Grandpa's cabin halfway to the summit of Renfrew Peak, I'd agreed in a heartbeat. It was exactly what I needed. An hour drive from the center of Station Springs, but far away enough to feel like the wilderness, it was the perfect place to clear my head.

  Jackson was sat beside me now, looking angrier than I was. He was staring into the back of Mario's head as though he was trying to set it on fire with his eyes. I'd been angry like that too. The guy wasn't welcome here. Him and his brother were nothing but a scourge on the town who'd destroyed the peace and serenity of Station Springs.

  But as I recovered, I had more time to think, and my anger toward him had become a controlled rage. I was eager to let the justice system do its job. After killing his own brother in front of multiple witnesses, it was expected he'd get a life sentence. Not to mention there was plenty of evidence to prove his involvement in a whole catalog of crimes reaching back decades.

  "He's going away," I whispered to Jackson.

  "Think he'll get life?"

  "I know he will."

  We both looked over at the judge who was shuffling papers. She was a strong, stoic looking woman who looked as though she had better things to do than stare into Mario's face and tell him where he was going to spend the rest of his life. With cropped, gray hair and slim glasses resting along the tip of her long nose, she resembled a librarian more than a judge.

  Behind us, a group of reporters was gathered, waiting to scoop up the news of Mario's sentencing like vultures. To our right, Sheriff Baxter sat stony faced with his lips pursed together waiting for the news.

  "How's Gabby?" I aske
d Jackson.

  He was fiddling with the cuff of his suit sleeve. The guy never wore a suit, not unless it was for weddings and funerals, but here he was looking like a real dapper motherfucker in a black Hugo Boss suit with the perfect cut.

  "Getting bigger," he said. "Exhausted and crabby. Keeps demanding I bring her mint chocolate chip ice cream."

  "You know you love every minute of it."

  "I do," he grinned, still looking at his sleeve. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

  He was still grinning to himself when the judge finally opened her mouth to speak.

  "Mario Gianni," she said, leaning down toward him and his lawyers.

  They both stood on either side of him like a pair of slimy bodyguards, both of them with slicked back hair and dripping in gaudy gold jewelry.

  "I'll keep this short," she began. "Your family has terrorized this town for long enough, and I'm sure the jury and everyone else in this room is eager to say goodbye to you."

  She raised her gavel, looked him dead in the eye and said.

  "You are sentenced to life imprisonment and...."

  I didn't hear a single other thing she said. I didn't need to. Jackson threw his arms around me and I breathed an epic sigh of relief that made all the muscles in my body relax simultaneously.

  Life.

  He was going away forever.

  His father was dead.

  Benny, murdered. He was the last of the scum bags. Finally, Station Springs was free of that family.

  Everything was a blur as I floated out the court room. The last few months had culminated in this very moment, and it couldn't have gone better.

  "Life," Jackson kept saying as we walked down the steps.

  Cameras were being thrust in our faces as we descended, but I paid them no interest, and pushed my way past the reporters and their questions.

  "You were shot during the rescue mission to the house, what do you have to say?

  "Your sister was kidnapped by Mario's brother. Is she here today?"

  "You were there when Benny was shot. Can you tell us about that fateful moment?"

  "No comment!" I yelled and barged my way toward Jackson's truck.

  It wasn't until we slammed the doors closed that I felt as though I could breathe.

  "Fucking reporters," I groaned as I pulled on my seat belt.

  "They're just doing their job. Besides, I don't blame them for wanting to know where Carly is.”

  “It's none of their fucking business.”

  Ever since that night in the bunker, our sister had changed. She was no longer the chatty party animal that we all knew. She was subdued, careful about where she went, and always looking over her shoulder. She'd pretty much stopped going out altogether, choosing to spend her evenings sipping wine from the comfort of her home. And when I'd visited her last weekend, she told me she couldn't bear to listen to Roxi Lane anymore. That was when I knew shti was serious.

  "She couldn't bear to be here," I said. "Think it was too much for her to see Mario."

  "I'm worried about her,” Jackson replied as he pulled away from the courthouse. I tried to call her last night, but she wouldn't pick up."

  "She wouldn't pick up for me either."

  "Think I'll drive down and pay her a visit," he said.

  "She won't appreciate that," I told him. "You know how she hates her big brothers checking up on her."

  "Yeah, but she can't just hide away like this. Like you are."

  "I'm not hiding away, I'm recovering," I told him. "There's nothing wrong with some solitude."

  "Yeah, well I'm still gonna pay her a visit. "

  "I know she'll just need time and the last thing she wants is us two nagging at her."

  "I'm still going," he said stubbornly.

  We drove on, meandering our way through the town. Everything felt different today. The air felt lighter, everyone we saw walking down the street had a spring in their step. It even felt warmer. Although Halloween was just a few weeks away, and the weather had turned from summer to fall bringing chilled winds and little flurries of snow, the sun had come out today for the first time in weeks.

  I could see Jackson's eyes narrow more and more as we ascended Renfrew Peak.

  "Can't believe you're living up here," he said. "Our granddad died in that cabin. It's literally in the middle of fucking nowhere."

  “Uh, you were the one that suggested it dude,” I reminded him.

  “Yeah for like a week or something. You’ve been up there for a while now.”

  "I love it."

  "What is there to love? No central heating, no running water, no nothing. The place is like something out another century."

  "That's why I love it."

  "You're nuts."

  The truck struggled and groaned as we drove up over the last of the rocky road. Eventually, the edge of the cabin came into view, its roof poking out from under a veil of snow.

  "I don't wanna leave you here on your own," said Jackson. "It feels wrong. Are you sure you don't wanna come stay with us? We've still got a spare room."

  "Yes!" I insisted. "I'm happy here."

  He grimaced and looked over to the shack. It looked ready to collapse.

  "Hmmm."

  "Stop grumbling," I told him. "I'll be fine. Now come on in for a drink."

  "Now we're talking."

  We climbed out and landed in the heavy snow, the two of us wading our way over to the cabin. The door was already open, after all there was no need for locks unless you were worried a bear might get hungry.

  The moment we staggered inside, and I could smell the wood and embers of the fireplace mingling with the pristine mountain air, I felt as though I was in heaven.

  "Ah!" I sighed, pulling up a seat to the fireplace. "This is the life."

  Jackson frowned and looked around disapprovingly.

  "Take a seat," I told him.

  "Where?"

  "On the bed over there if you want."

  "Jesus, that thing's like fifty years old."

  "Still going strong."

  He plopped himself down on it and it squeaked under his weight as though it was in pain. His misery was further intensified when he pulled out his phone and realized there was no WiFi.

  "Can you not get the internet up here?" he asked, annoyed.

  "Nah. But if you stand by the window and angle your phone just right, you can get a single bar of signal."

  "Awesome," he replied sarcastically.

  I ignored him and set about chucking a few logs into the fire and lighting a sheet of newspaper to place on top. Jackson watched me from the bed as I pushed the poker into the flames.

  "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

  "I suppose Grandpa’d be proud of you living up here, putting his cabin to use. He was always trying to get us to visit when we were kids, remember?"

  "And the only time we made it up one summer he yelled at us for playing on our Game Boys all day."

  Jackson laughed and jumped off the bed, taking the poker from my hand to stoke the fire himself.

  "Sit down," he said. "You need to rest."

  "I'm fine! I'm not an invalid."

  "I can still see you limp sometimes," he replied. "I know it still hurts."

  I said nothing.

  Since being shot, I'd done everything I could to get stronger, and I still worked out like a maniac. I didn't want anything to hold me back, but I'd be lying if I said the pain didn't get to me sometimes. The bullet had done long-lasting damage to my muscles and grazed the edge of my femur. The doctors told me there would always be some pain, but I didn't want to believe them.

  "Here," I said, changing the subject. "Have a drink."

  "Is that bourbon?"

  "Obviously."

  I handed him a glass, and he took it gratefully, knocking half of it down in one gulp.

  " Jesus! This shit is strong! What is it?"

  "Homemade recipe."

  "Are you shitting me? From you?"


  "Nah, old Herbert down the road."

  "Herbert! As in the old decrepit guy who lived in the next house over?"

  He made it sound as though he was a next-door neighbor, but the reality was his own cabin was at least a mile away through the thick forest balanced precariously on a ledge of slate rock. The old dude had lived here his whole life and could make anything from scratch. That included bourbon.

  "Lives," I corrected Jackson. "He's still here."

  "He must be at least eighty!"

  "Eighty-three," I said. "And he's still as strong as a bull. Still does everything for himself up here. Although I guess he doesn't have much of a choice, being on his own."

  "I remember meeting him a couple times when I was a kid, and he really gave me the creeps," he said, putting down his drink, so he could warm his hands on the fire. "I can't believe he's still alive, and I can't believe I just drank his homemade bourbon. I'm probably gonna go blind."

  "Ah, you'll be fine. I've been drinking it for weeks. Does nothing but turn your piss a weird color."

  "Okay, thanks for that. I'll keep that in mind."

  Despite his reluctance, he gulped down the rest of his glass and crouched down beside me on the floor, the bottom of his pant legs growing dusty. The two of us sat there, staring into the fire like when we were kids.

  I took a sideways glance at him and noticed he looked deep in thought. His hands were on his lap, his thumb picking at the nail of his middle finger.

  "You know they really wanted to be with you today," he suddenly blurted out.

  "Dylan and Lucas?"

  "Yeah," he nodded. "They feel like shit they couldn't be at the courthouse."

  "I get it. It was my idea they worked, remember?"