Conflict of Interest (The Walker Five Book 1)

by Marie Johnston

“Mellow, I think. No wait. I have to get up early Saturday and pack the rest of Dad’s stuff and move him. I don’t want a late night before that.”

  Her voice weighed heavy with fatigue, whether physical or emotional, he didn’t know. He felt like an ass for pushing her. Sleeping twelve hours on a Friday night was probably right up her alley.

  “I’ll run to town Saturday morning and help you load up.”

  “Thanks, Dillon, but I rented a moving van.”

  What the hell for? “Why didn’t you call me? I’m begging to be yours to command.”

  “You’re busy Dillon. I didn’t want to impose.”

  “Elle, it’s okay to ask for help.”

  “I moved us to town. I can move dad across the nursing home to the assisted living wing.”

  He pictured her wrestling the mattresses out of the door and into a moving van. All. By. Herself.

  Stubborn woman.

  “Elle, go to bed early tomorrow night, get some rest. I’m coming to help you Saturday. Then I’m taking you out. Somewhere nice. I’ll be there by nine.” That should give her some time to sleep in. She took a breath that sounded like a sigh, probably ready to argue. “I’m down to one bar for reception, I’d better go. See you Saturday.”

  “Dil—”

  He tapped the angry red button on his phone. Or maybe he was the angry one. More like frustrated. On Saturday, he needed to know where he sat with her. Using him for his body would be fine if he didn’t want so much more from her.

  ***

  The excuse of I’ll burn it all off moving was enough for Elle to pick out two pints of ice cream. The real stuff. The hold-no-fat-and-calories-back kind that cost double what any other pint did. What else went with a Friday night where she’d turned down the guy that made her toes curl?

  While waiting behind two heaping-full shopping carts to check out, a deep, familiar voice said her name.

  “Elle, right?”

  She spun around, a flare of excitement bubbling up before her brain could register that it wasn’t Dillon. Jesse stood holding his own carry-basket full of dude food like cans of beef stew and soda. Wearing grease-marked clothing with a tab that indicated he worked as a mechanic, he still turned a girl’s head.

  “Hi, Jesse.”

  “Wild Friday night, eh?” He nodded toward her basket of ice cream and more ice cream. And bananas because she was always responsible.

  “You know it. Same goes for you?”

  “A guy’s gotta eat.” He smiled, his gaze unwavering.

  The intense scrutiny should be flattering, but years of sitting in a small office with people with mental disorders gave her an acute awareness of when someone was “off.” Jesse…she wasn’t sure.

  The line moved and she shuffled forward.

  “A girl’s gotta eat, too.” He moved with her. “Can I take you out for some real food tomorrow night?”

  “Thanks for the offer, Jesse, but I have plans.” Tell him you have a boyfriend! But the words didn’t come. What else was Dillon to her?

  “I can get your number so we can plan another time.”

  “I’m sorry, Jesse. I’m seeing someone.” There! She’d said it.

  “Ah, thus the plans.” His grin was friendly, but his gaze held a touch of coolness. From her rejection? “Can’t blame a guy for trying. You’re a beautiful woman.”

  “Well, thank you. Hope you can run into another lady who’s not taken,” she said lightly, referring to how they’d met.

  A hint of smugness lit his dark eyes. “Running into stuff isn’t my problem.” He jutted his chin to the moving line behind her. “You’re up, Elle. Don’t want you wasting time on me while your ice cream’s melting. That’s the high-octane stuff, right there.”

  Nervously laughing at his comment, she dropped her groceries on the belt and tapped her foot while they were rung up.

  She grabbed her bag and shot Jesse a departing smile and received a stiff smile in return.

  Her night afterward was uneventful.

  The odd interaction had been the first thing on her mind when she woke, but in true Dillon fashion, he soon dominated her thoughts. No point staying in bed; it was the last place safe for daydreaming about Dillon.

  She jumped out of bed and gobbled down breakfast. Next up was choosing clothes to haul boxes and furniture in. She threw on a pair of yoga pants and a plain yellow shirt that would pick up every speck of dust but was comfortable and didn’t show her ass when she bent down.

  Her dad didn’t need a lot of possessions, but she’d stripped his bed and cleaned and packed all the bedding earlier in the week. Then she’d finished packing the rest of his clothing that he hadn’t needed in the nursing home. Those boxes, along with bins of his knickknacks and books, sat in the garage. She’d cancelled the moving van since Dillon had so graciously demanded to help her move.

  Other than the bed and another chair to add to the one they would move from his current room in the nursing home to his new one in the assisted living wing, her dad had a folding table. She’d find him a real table, a small round one that’d fit better in the small apartment.

  With Dillon’s help it wouldn’t take long. Then she’d be with the farm boy the rest of the day. Her stomach flipped in anticipation.

  One last look through her dad’s things to make sure she’d gathered everything for him. Her garage was chilly, but not unbearable and she wasn’t going to be long. She toed a box. Books. Another box. More books.

  Huh. She didn’t remember her dad reading so much. Would he want these? Should she buy him new ones? What did he read?

  She didn’t know what her dad liked to read. Scowling at the boxes, she shoved them over to get at the lighter boxes. In hindsight, she should’ve wielded a sharpie and done some labeling.

  She flipped open the lid on one and froze.

  Pictures. Framed pictures, loose pictures, newspaper clippings. Pulling one into the light, she read through the stats and found her name. Third place in the freestyle at regionals her junior year of high school.

  Her dad had saved all these? He’d clipped them in the first place?

  Perching on a book box, she shuffled through the contents. A framed picture of her and her dad standing in front of a brick wall stumped her. She had no memory of when that had been taken, couldn’t guess where. An aquatic center, judging by the background, and she must’ve been—she squinted at the image of herself--fifteen. She’d been fifteen.

  She didn’t remember it at all, but her dad had gone as far as developing and framing the photo.

  She stuffed everything back inside, save the swimming photo, and moved onto the next box.

  Swim medals.

  Next box. She flipped the lid and slammed it shut again. A brief glimpse of her mother’s face left her heart racing.

  With extreme care, she peeled back the cardboard flap and stared at the happy family. The photo had been taken during a weekend of camping, and there in the campsite was a liter of cola and a glass bottle of whiskey.

  The couple who drinks together certainly didn’t stay together.

  She frowned as memories churned. Her mom sleeping on the couch with an empty bottle on the end table. An adult’s recollection of her childhood interpreted data differently.

  Another forgotten memory. Her mom used to drink as much as her dad. Did she still?

  Elle shook her head. She’d never know and she didn’t want to know.

  The doorbell rang. Everything was closed up and pushed back in place.

  She trotted inside, dropping the picture into a box to bring to her dad’s new place. Her discovery was dismissed as anticipation of seeing Dillon took over. She opened the front door to see him reclined against the railing, arms folded, cap pulled down. His gaze wary about the reception he’d get. Was a man who looked that good ever received badly?

  “Hi,” she greeted. “Come in.”

  He stepped in close to her. She made the first move, rising up to her toes to give him a kiss.


  His arms snaked around her and he immediately deepened the kiss. How easily she could blow off the whole day and spend it naked with him.

  Finally, he pulled away. “That’s a better welcome than I thought I’d get.”

  “You were a little bossy.”

  Blue eyes twinkled down at her. “I’m starting to wonder if that’s how I need to be.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  Laughing, he looked around. “Tell me what to move. I am at your service.” He winked. “All day.”

  Oh, she’d get to that. “Furniture first while we’re fresh, then boxes.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  They’d just brought the last of the boxes when Elle’s dad showed up.

  Dillon set his box down in the corner and shook Gary’s hand. Elle’s dad was a few inches shorter than him. Perhaps before the man’s health declined, he’d been more robust.

  Gary continued into the room, shuffling his walker in front of him. “Thank you for helping Elle. She’s so stubborn, I feared she’d try to do everything herself.”

  Dillon arched an eyebrow at Elle. “I know what you mean.”

  “Everything’s moved Dad,” Elle said, ignoring him. “We’ll run and stock you up on some groceries. Do you just want a sandwich for dinner?”

  “Oh, I thought you two might join me for—” Gary paused, eyeing the both of them. “A sandwich would be great. Don’t forget the chips.”

  “Of course.”

  Dillon followed her out. He hated missing the opportunity to get to know her dad, but dinner with Gary wasn’t a real date with Elle.

  Groceries were purchased in record time. Elle was quick and efficient, knowing exactly what her dad liked and didn’t like, and what he could have and not have. They unloaded and left with Elle promising Gary she’d pick up more food before she visited next.

  “Can I use your place to get cleaned up?” he asked as they were walking out for the last time that day.

  “Sure. I need to shower, too.”

  Thoughts of her in the shower, water sluicing off her satiny skin…they hadn’t done anything in the shower yet.

  He intended to remedy that.

  And he did, ten minutes after she’d entered the shower. He’d asked if she needed help reaching her back.

  She’d invited him in.

  Shower sex had been mind blowing. The chemistry, the connection between them, had heightened every sensation. The only reason he hadn’t carried her to bed and remained there all weekend was because he wanted his date.

  “Have you been to the Crazy Eights Tavern yet?” he called from the living room.

  “No,” she replied from her bedroom, where she was still getting ready.

  When she’d asked what to wear, he’d said dancing clothes. When she hadn’t quit staring at him, he’d been concerned he needed alternate plans.

  “What kind of dancing?” she’d asked.

  Like there was more than one? “Country.”

  It had been enough of an answer for her. She’d disappeared into her room for twenty minutes.

  As she emerged, he swallowed his tongue. Good god, the woman had legs. Toned and long, they made her skinny jeans look good, not the other way around. A gauzy, deep green belted shirt accented her hips and bust, while her boots made his mouth water.

  Boots like that were country boy kryptonite. Fancier than work boots, they had buckles that teased the imagination and rose all the way to her knees. He liked a challenge.

  Her hair hung loose, curtaining her face, adding a healthy dose of sexy on top of her knockout outfit.

  “Damn,” was all he could say.

  She flashed him a small smile. “Thank you. I’m starving.”

  Food wasn’t on his mind. Not enough blood remained in his head to think. He held an arm out, she snaked hers through, and he led her out to his farmer’s chariot.

  Striding through the tavern, he nodded at people he knew, keeping Elle tucked in close. Interest percolated in those who acknowledged him in return because he hadn’t been seen with a girl on a real date since before leaving for basic training. Elle was new to town and didn’t go out much. She was an enigma, and she was his.

  Once they were settled into a booth, he watched her peruse the menu. “What are you having?”

  “Grilled shrimp. I can never cook it the way restaurants do. It doesn’t stop me from trying, but I love to eat the good stuff when I can.” She looked up, saw his menu closed on the table. “Let me guess. Steak?”

  “Ding, ding, ding.”

  “Isn’t that akin to heresy, ordering a steak that’s not from your ranch?”

  “Ordering a turkey burger would be wrong. Ordering steak is never wrong.”

  Her laughter chimed its way through him. It was good to be with her. Not just when naked, but hanging out. Talking.

  After they ordered, she twirled her straw in her ice water. He had ordered water out of respect for her. When their relationship grew, and she trusted him, he’d have a beer now and then.

  Pushing her water to the side, she settled back. “So what’s farm life like? I learned a little since I’ve known you, but what’s the daily grind?”

  Was there a simple answer for it? “Like military life in a way. Hurry up and wait. Long stretches of boring work with sudden bouts of excitement, not always the good kind. In the Army, we had to perform common task training every year. Farming is similar. It isn’t step one, do this, step two…like Army training, but I have machinery to maintain, equipment maintenance, manuals to refresh my memory on.”

  “I’d have never equated the two.”

  “Me, either,” he laughed. “My military buddies thought farming was in my blood or something. It is, absolutely, but there’s a lot of science. Economics if you don’t want to go bust. And the planning. Me and the guys meet once a month, have a real meeting.”

  “Really?”

  “We rent a meeting room, order lunch, bring our records and updates, so it feels all official.”

  “I thought you guys were always in contact.”

  “We are.” He snagged her hand, studying her fingers while he talked. “One at a time. Maybe a couple of us will hang out, but getting all five of us together takes planning. Organizing a meeting increases the likelihood it won’t get blown off because when we’re in our own space, we get distracted with repairs and chit-chat and whatever else comes up. We’ve got to make it feel legit. Then lunch is tax deductible.”

  She smiled, her gaze dropping to their intertwined hands. “How do you decide when to do stuff, like plowing and planting and harvesting?”

  “Plowing, if needed, in the spring when the snow melts and the ground thaws. Discing used to be done after to smooth it out for planting, which we’d do about the middle of May. But that’s old-school thinking. Most years, we don’t even need to plow. The stuff left over after harvest is good food and breaks down better without being plowed. Sometimes I still do it, it all depends. The summer is filled with haying, treating, and irrigating until harvest. Harvest is its own beast, but we’re already planning seed for the next planting season.”

  “What do you during the winter?”

  He leaned back so the server could set their plates down. “Everything else. After harvest, I help Cash work cattle, move them to winter pasture, stack hay. Equipment maintenance. You saw how we dealt with snow.”

  “That was a lot of snow.” She dug into her food.

  Dillon had schemed to get her talking before she asked him more questions. He didn’t mind discussing his life, but she used it to evade discussing hers. “Your turn.”

  “I already told you.” She went from chowing shrimp to pushing rice around her plate.

  “You gave me the Cliffs Notes. I want to hear about you.”

  She stalled with a drink of water before she settled back. “What do you want to know?”

  “What was growing up in a city like?”

  “What do you mean? Didn�
��t you live in cities when you were in the Army?”

  “I lived on base during my enlistment. Unless I was a tourist, I was at the bars conveniently located right outside of base.”

  “Ah, I see.” She frowned like she was trying to come up with an adequate description. “It was normal. I don’t know how else to describe it. Moore’s different, but it’s not. Stores aren’t open as late, there’s less variety in shopping, but I can still get what I need.”

  “How’d you get into swimming?” Dillon sensed if he didn’t ask questions, she’d offer nothing else.

  “My school had a swim team, and normally it’s an expensive sport because you’re paying for pool time, but they had hardship scholarships. I was a good swimmer so the school was happy to help me out. I swam until I graduated with my bachelor’s. After that, I was burned out, which was good because I couldn’t afford it.”

  She stated it so plainly. He knew guys who’d lost their whole identity when their football glory days were over. “How’d you pay your way through college besides the scholarship?”

  “Retail jobs on the weekends and evenings. When I got into grad school, I worked as a teaching assistant. And loans. More than a few, and they’ll be with me for a while before I can pay them off.”

  Again, she was matter-of-fact.

  “You’re paying for student loans, your dad’s living, and your house?”

  “I’m renting the house. When my loans are paid off, I can consider buying.”

  “Do you hear from your mom at all?”

  Her expression froze. “No.”

  “Is that all I’m going to get?”

  She gave him a hesitant smile. “It’s not something I like to talk about, but really, there is nothing to talk about. She left saying she couldn’t stand living with my dad anymore. He tried to hold it together after she left, but eventually—”

  “Well hello, Elle.”

  Both of them jerked their attention to the man who’d stopped as he was walking by. He was smiling, but his gaze was jumping between them.

  “Mr. Torkelson,” Elle sounded pleased to see the man, but her rigid posture said otherwise.

  “Rodney, please. Even at the office you can just call me Rodney.”