Conflict of Interest (The Walker Five Book 1)

by Marie Johnston

  “Call the police.” Brock whipped out his phone and Dillon entered to determine the rest of the damage.

  The two main tractors stored in his shop had been vandalized. The yellow spray paint was the most obvious, but when Dillon got closer, he saw the tires on the smaller tractor were trashed, opened up with black, gaping holes. The fucker probably had had to use a machete to cut into them. Or a carving knife and a lot of rage.

  He texted Aaron and Travis to check their shops and equipment. Aaron’s shop held the combines for harvest and Travis stored all the haying equipment. They both lived farther from town than Dillon, so maybe he was the only one targeted—easier access?

  Dillon assessed the damage while waiting for the deputy to arrive to take pictures and ask a truckload of questions. Except for the tires, it was all nuisance repair. Yellow squiggles covered both tractors, garish against the original red paint. To keep from smashing anything breakable, Dillon tried to look on the bright side. At least no swear words were scrawled in the obnoxiously-colored paint. And those two pieces of equipment were mostly used on the main stretch of road that he and all his cousins lived on. It’d save a little face. Someone might notice the new detailing on the tractors out in the fields and wonder if it was a new farm logo.

  The crunch of tires on his driveway signaled the deputy had arrived. He went back out to meet him. Max Steelman, one of the county’s finest and an old family friend, greeted him.

  “Another vandalism?” Max asked.

  “A little more obvious this time.” Dillon’s phone started ringing. Aaron. He waved at Max to go on in. “Brock’s in there and can show you, but it’ll be clear right away what kind of damage was done.”

  Max retrieved his camera from the patrol car. Dillon answered the call to pass on the bad news.

  He rubbed his temples. And here he’d thought the phone call from Cash cast a dark cloud over his day.

  Shoulda picked up two cases of beer.

  ***

  “I told ya we’d have a house warming.”

  Elle froze at the baritone. Her dad glanced at the doorway in surprise, then at her.

  She plastered a friendly smile on her face and waved Dillon in. Introducing him to her dad, she skipped how she knew him. Her dad would have enough tact to ask when they were alone, giving Elle time to think of an answer that wasn’t the truth.

  “Dillon, this my dad, Gary Brady.”

  They shook hands. Her dad looked so diminutive with his blanket-wrapped form prone in the bed and a farm boy towering over him. Gary had never been as tall or broad as Dillon in the first place and then alcohol and leukemia had eaten the muscle right off him.

  Dillon shoved his hands in his pockets and studied the room. “I see you got settled.”

  If by settled, he meant a few pairs of her dad’s sweats and a rocker glider for her to hang out in, then…yeah.

  “I’m going to bring a little bit each time I visit.” The touch of defensiveness in her tone wasn’t on purpose, but the more she was around Dillon without the buffer of her office environment, the more he scrambled her senses.

  It’d help if his clothing was rumpled and his eyes were bloodshot, but since it was four in the afternoon, he might be past the hangover stage. Instead, an apparently healthy, virile man choked out all the air in dad’s room, leaving her short of breath, butterflies spasming in her belly.

  “Lemme know if you need help. I’ve got four other guys at my beck and call with strong backs.”

  “Thanks for the offer. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Rejecting help was a reflex for her. Only this time, there was no staggering dad at home to hide.

  “Thanks for offering, Dillon.” Her dad shifted and winced. “That’s great knowing Elle has assistance if needed. So, what do you do for work?”

  Dillon chose a seat next to her on the metal chair the nursing home supplied. His heat and fresh scent radiated off him until she was pressed to the farthest side of the rocker.

  Why was she so aware of him?

  “I farm north of town, the Walker Five. We have both a farming and ranching operation, but I stick with the farm unless it’s time to move and work cattle.”

  Her dad chuckled. “It’s a whole different world out here.” He sighed. “I’m glad for the slower pace.”

  “We don’t get too worked up in Moore unless the street dance gets rained out.”

  The guys went back and forth, discussing the crazy not-quite spring weather for this time of year.

  Elle studied her fingernails. Chitchat wasn’t part of her personal life. She’d never thought she’d missed it, because her days were filled with talking and listening. But this threatened to be nice, to be enjoyable.

  “Listen.” Dillon sat forward to address them both. “Gram is ready to give the grand tour, get you into all the cliques. You like pinochle, she’s got a partner for you. Want to be on the bird feeding rotations, she knows the scheduler personally. Say the word.”

  “I appreciate it.” Her dad’s eyes lit with excitement, but with an undercurrent of anxiety from the anticipation of dealing with people. Those old feelings that drove him deep into the bottle in the first place.

  “But hey, if you want to be left the hell alone, Gram will fend ’em all off.” Dillon’s grin caused her to grin, too.

  Her dad laughed. “Some days, right?”

  She peeked at her watch, and Dillon caught her action.

  “Can I walk you out again, Elle?”

  Before she could decline, her dad interjected. “Go on. I’ve got the DVD player and those new movies you brought, peanut. Go home and get some rest. You’ve got a full week ahead of you and they’ll be bringing dinner soon.”

  Make a scene or roll with it?

  She collected her purse and gave her dad a kiss.

  “Nice to meet you, Gary.” Dillon followed her out. “I’ve been wondering how you’re doing.”

  He…worried about her? “I’m fine.”

  They meandered through the hallways, just two people with loved ones in the home. A nice excuse for her to be around him.

  Stepping outside, she mourned the fading sun. The crisp air promised snow, but the weather forecaster wasn’t sure exactly when. Just sometime this week.

  “Take out your phone. I want you to call me.”

  She swung to stare at him. “What?”

  “You don’t know anyone and if you get into a bind, I want you to have someone to call.”

  Her hand twitched to do as he asked, but she curled her fingers around her tote strap.

  “Elle.” He rolled his eyes toward her, his mouth lifted in a teasing smile. “If it storms and you’re stuck in a drift you can’t shovel out, who are you going to call?”

  “I’m sure there’s a tow truck I can call.”

  He nodded. “There is, but what if it’s after ten at night and you’re going home from here? Ten-Four Towing shuts down after six. Vicki put her foot down and said no more emergency calls.”

  Her brow furrowed as she tried to come up with a plan. “I’ll call the police.”

  “Yep. They can take you home. Can’t dig you out until Ten-Four opens again at eight a.m.”

  Scowling at him, she dug her phone out and handed it to him. A thrill shot through her and she stomped it back into place. He punched in his digits and his phone rang.

  He silenced his and turned her phone back over. “You need anything, you call.”

  She tucked her phone back into place but felt the weight of his stare.

  “Okay?” he stressed.

  She couldn’t help but smile, hated to admit how nice it was to have someone looking out for her. “Got it.” Reluctant to walk away, she took a side step, but he stepped with her.

  “You haven’t eaten supper yet?”

  Her stomach chose that moment to rumble and she pressed in on her belly. “No. I have leftovers waiting for me at home.”

  “Let’s go grab a bite.”

  She stifled an automatic no. He’d been
so nice and considerate. “I…”

  Her automatic response of It wouldn’t be appropriate stalled. If only she was going somewhere more emotionally comforting than her empty house, surrounded by her dad’s stuff, and bills piled on the counter…

  “I’ll drive.” He nodded toward a flashy pickup.

  As he swaggered toward it, she glanced between the vehicle and him. Her car could probably fit into the box of the black pickup. For the first time, she allowed herself to admire the breadth of his shoulders and how his long-sleeved shirt tucked into a narrow waist. She stopped before she reached his butt. No need to torture a girl.

  She opened her mouth to let him know she couldn’t go, but no words formed.

  He reached the passenger side and opened the door, waiting for her.

  Without permission from her reasonable brain, her feet shuffled toward him.

  The grin that lit his face was worth it, yet guilt began to build. She shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be getting his hopes up. They could talk over food.

  “What’s open?” The pickup was so tall, she had to use the running board to climb inside.

  He stood with one hand on the door, the other against the frame. A casual position, but his body draped next to her like that shorted her thinking.

  “There’s the diner along the highway. They have a ton of choices.”

  Now was her chance to make her apologies, she couldn’t go. Gently nudge him out of the way and slide down.

  “Sounds good.”

  His blue eyes twinkled as he shut the door. She stared straight ahead.

  What was she doing?

  The enormous cab of the truck shrank to a quarter of its size when he got in.

  Once they were on the way, he draped a hand over the steering wheel and glanced at her. “How’s your dad really doing?”

  Genuine concern was in his voice and she appreciated it. Betsy and a couple of her other coworkers had also been checking in. How different it was when Elle could actually discuss her father’s health. When he’d been deep into his alcoholism, Elle had isolated her and her dad so badly that no one knew what went on at home.

  “He’s good. I don’t think he’s crazy about the nursing home portion; he’s one of the youngest in there. But his assisted living apartment will be ready soon and he’s recovering quickly so I’m sure he’ll move in within weeks.”

  “Good to hear. How’d it happen?”

  She told him the story of coming home to find her dad at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Good thing he has you.”

  “Yeah.” Story of her life. He would’ve been dead from malnutrition a decade ago.

  “Here it is.” He pulled into a small restaurant she’d passed several times but had never tried.

  She swallowed hard and fiddled with her purse. What if she knew someone in there? What if one of her coworkers decided to eat out tonight? She should’ve gone home instead.

  To her great relief, she recognized no one.

  Dinner was a revelation. She peppered Dillon with questions about the nursing home. He answered, entertaining her with Gram’s stories of life in the home. Elle could watch him tell stories for hours. His voice, his expressions, so alive, lacking all the panicked melancholy she’d felt for years.

  “Gram used to bring a cowbell to my football games.”

  Elle tried not to laugh with a mouthful of food. Gram raising a ruckus in the stands sounded like the kind of grandma Elle would’ve loved.

  “What’s your favorite team?” Dillon asked.

  A warm glow ignited within her at his sweet smile. “The team that’s finished playing.”

  “Oh, so it’s like that.” He chuckled.

  “It is. I like football movies, though.”

  “It’s a start.” His eyes twinkled and her warm glow grew hotter. How was it possible he was growing better looking?

  Afraid, he’d start asking her questions, she asked him to list his favorite football movies, what number he’d been, anything she could think of. Her anxiety that they’d run into someone she knew had diminished, but she still hadn’t relaxed fully. She wanted to, she realized with a start as she watched him polish off his meal. Her craving to be at ease around this man had grown exponentially during their time together.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  And there it was. She set her fork down, glad she’d finished her roast because her stomach had soured. Be yourself. “There’s not much.”

  He gave her the really? look.

  Her mouth quirked. “All right. I was born and raised in Minneapolis. My mom left us before I was teenager and it was me and my dad. I went to the University of Minnesota. That about sums it up.”

  “Ever married?”

  “God, no.”

  He laughed. “Whoa. Touchy subject?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “No, but my life hasn’t been marriage friendly. There was school, more school, work to pay for school, and then Dad developed leukemia. Now it’s work to pay for his care.”

  “What’d he do for a living?”

  Ah, yes. One of the two questions she hated the most. The other one involved anything with her mother because Elle didn’t know. No clue where her mom lived, worked, or if she’d married the man she’d run off with.

  As for the subject of her dad’s employment… It used to depend on the day.

  “A little bit of everything.” Her answer used to be He’s in between jobs, which was usually true. “But getting sick forced him into early retirement.” Not that he’d saved up anything for real retirement. All of those funds had been consumed in liquid form.

  “You’re the sole bread winner. Wow.” He nodded and smiled at a couple their age that walked by. They glanced curiously between her and Dillon before moving on.

  She dug in her purse for her debit card. “I’d better get home.”

  “My treat.” He tossed some bills on the table.

  Staring at the bills, she fought the swell of panic that this seemed too close to a date. Shit, she didn’t have any cash to pay him back. “I’ll just grab some money from the ATM.”

  His hand landed on hers until she stopped. “It’s okay, Elle. I got it.”

  “Thanks.” Hastily, she stood and marched outside to his vehicle. Dillon was quiet behind her, but he opened the pickup door for her.

  “If I’d have known I’d be entertaining a pretty lady today, I would’ve washed my truck.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at his compliment. His black pickup still held a healthy shine under the fine sheen of dust it sported.

  He hopped in and fired up the engine.

  Elle snapped her seatbelt but Dillon didn’t move. Elle peered around to see what he was waiting on. A family was loading into the car on his left, their small children chittering excitedly and gripping colorful balloons the restaurant handed out.

  A balloon popped. One of the kids let out a wail and started to cry.

  Dillon jerked, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. He glared at the car, but his gaze swept their surroundings in a way she’d only seen on TV, on soldier or cop shows.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, softly.

  Visibly relaxing, he smiled at her, but it didn’t hold the same authenticity as before. “Of course.”

  The drive back was quiet.

  She struggled to think up a question that didn’t sound like she was at work. “What’d you do for school?”

  His eyebrows rose in surprise. Must be because she made a move to get to know him. “It took forever, but I finally got a degree in business while I was in the Army.”

  “Online?”

  “Sucked, but it’s done.”

  “That takes dedication.”

  He snorted. “Especially when my cousin wanted to go hit the bars every night. No wonder Cash never finished his degree.”

  “Cash is the cousin you deployed with?”

  “Yes, and he never had to be responsible because I always was. We managed t
o get stationed together for four years. It was a little too much closeness. Here we are.”

  He parked next to her car in the empty nursing home lot.

  With her hand on the door handle, she turned to face him. “Thank you for dinner.”

  He leaned in to close the distance. “Anytime.” His eyes landed on her lips.

  Her better judgment didn’t stand a chance as his mouth captured hers.

  He tasted hot, spicy, like the habanero ranch he’d had with his fries. His lips were firm, the hint of stubble from his chin only increasing the sensation.

  Her hands left their purchase to clutch at his jacket. He palmed the back of her neck, pulling her closer, coaxing open her mouth. She opened greedily for him. All of her pent up, forbidden emotions regarding Dillon roared in her brain, clambering to get closer to him.

  The first swipe of his tongue against hers released a moan. He. Felt. So. Good. She slid her hands up his broad shoulders, loving the feel of muscle so hard, so defined. When her hands reached the bare skin of his neck she splayed her fingers over his hair, trying to touch as much of him as possible.

  Their tongues tangled, danced, caressed. If the damn console weren’t in the way, she’d be pressed to him from head to toe.

  With the advantage of his height, he leaned farther over, his free hand landing on her thigh. It felt like a branding, staking his claim on her body. He devoured her and she gave herself to him, lost in the pleasure of his caress on her leg. He managed to work his way under her jacket, under her sweatshirt.

  She gasped into his mouth when his rough, calloused hand stroked her side.

  More. She wanted more.

  Arching her back, she wanted to feel his touch all over. She was wearing too damn many clothes.

  Massaging his way up her torso, she whimpered softly when he closed in on her sensitive nipples.

  Yes. Please, yes.

  She hoped he read minds because she couldn’t pry her mouth away from his for anything.

  His thumb brushed her beaded nipple through her cotton bra. It wasn’t enough for her; it wasn’t enough for him. Soon, her entire breast was cupped by his palm.

  It wasn’t enough!