Conflict of Interest (The Walker Five Book 1)

by Marie Johnston

  Relief poured through her until giddiness pushed out a chuckle. She laughed and laid her head back down on his shoulder.

  He dropped a kiss into her hair. “I’m still holding out hope for you,” he whispered.

  Tilting her face to peek up at him, she was unsure of what to say, other than me, too. She wouldn’t have had the chance anyway. He captured her mouth in a hot kiss.

  Her first thought beyond “at last” was that he tasted like sweet tea.

  “God, Elle. I dream of you every night and wake up so hard my water bill has tripled from my long showers.”

  She could relate. She’d had her own moments in the tub, and the desire she fought off then came roaring back. “My bedroom. Now.”

  He picked her up and carried her toward her room. Laying her down on the bed, he stretched out on top of her.

  Yanking his shirt up, she had to work around his hands lifting hers up to her neck. He ripped her bra down, cool air tickled her breasts. His teeth snagged one nipple while he massaged the other breast. Her hands devoured his broad back and shoulders, elated at being able to touch him again.

  His erection pressed into her, she arched her hips up into him. She wanted him inside her, cursed herself for using precious time to go to the bedroom. Up against her front door would’ve been just fine.

  Leaving her breast, he kissed up her neck. Their mouths crashed together, tongues demanding hard strokes between licks and nibbles. He pushed his hands under her pajama pants. Rolling her hips up, she encouraged his progress with whimpers to hurry up.

  Abruptly, he raised his head and stilled. She was left panting and wanting, his hand resting on her pelvis.

  “Did you hear that?” he hissed.

  Mystified, she listened. “Someone’s driving by?”

  “No.” He got up, grabbed his shirt and tossed hers to her. “An engine’s idling close by. I need to make sure it’s not the same guy. Do you have your phone?”

  She reached for the nightstand. It wasn’t there. “I dropped it in the guest room when you got here.”

  He pulled his out of his pocket and tossed it to her. She sat up and straightened her clothing as he rushed out of the room.

  “Dillon,” she whisper-yelled.

  “Hey!” His shout came from her front door.

  She raced to the door while dialing 9-1-1. The pickup had parked at the end of her driveway running but with all its lights off. Dillon tore across the lawn after a large figure darting back to the truck.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

  Elle stifled a yelp in fright when Dillon tackled the man. She spilled every detail possible and rattled off her address.

  Knuckles cracked among the growling and wrestling men. She stepped outside, but not any farther. She sniffed. What was that smell?

  Gasoline. Dillon’s pickup sat in her driveway with a red gas jug tipped over behind it.

  Bodies rolled across the driveway. The men grunted, fists hitting flesh smacked through the quiet night. None of her neighbors had noticed, all the houses remained dark. Someone should wake up, help Dillon, but none of them had the experience Dillon had. They’d only get hurt; the same rationale kept Elle planted to her front steps. With a final heave, Dillon pinned the intruder underneath him.

  “Elle, did you call the police?” Dillon sat astride the kicking, snarling man, but the guy couldn’t break Dillon’s hold.

  Sirens echoed. Oh thank God.

  Two patrol cars turned the corner, flying down the road. They screeched to a halt and the officers jumped out, hands hovering over their weapons.

  “This guy was pouring gas all over my truck. He’s been stalking Elle.” Dillon remained coiled, like he was restraining himself from mashing the intruder’s face to a bloody pulp.

  “Get up, Dillon,” ordered an officer. Elle recognized him from when she’d picked Dillon up from the jail. “Back away with your hands raised. We’ll take it from here.”

  The second officer drew his gun and trained it on the stranger, while the first officer inched forward, instructing him to get up with his hands behind his head.

  The man dragged himself to his feet, his nose dripping blood, one eye already swelling shut.

  “Jesse,” Elle breathed.

  “Do you know this guy, Elle?” Dillon asked.

  “We kept running into each other. I thought it was coincidence, but it wasn’t an accident, was it?” She wanted to look Jesse in the eyes, but his glare remained steady on Dillon.

  Jesse spat a mouthful of blood onto her lawn. “I wanted to take everything that fucker had.”

  “Me?” Dillon’s shook his head in disbelief. “What did I ever do to you? We’ve never met.”

  “All that land you sit on should be mine. The fancy shit you drive, the nice house you live in, it all should’ve been mine.”

  Dillon snorted with derision. “That land’s been in my family for generations.”

  “Not always.” Jesse spat again, a bloody glob landing at Dillon’s feet. The officer jerked him away to load him in the back of the patrol car.

  They drove away, but the second officer, who appeared to be around Dillon’s age, stayed behind.

  “Hey, Dillon. I need to talk to you and Miss Brady. It might be better if you both come in to the station with me.” He jutted his chin toward Dillon’s gasoline-drenched pickup. “You can’t drive that until it gets washed. Let me call the fire department to see if they can help out.”

  “Thanks, Scotty.” When the officer rolled his eyes at Dillon, he corrected, “Scott. Officer—”

  “Anything but Scotty, dude. We aren’t in high school anymore.”

  Elle wrapped her arms around her stomach, her adrenaline crash leaving her sick to her stomach. Dillon strode toward her, a hitch in his step.

  “Are you hurt?” She met him halfway, probing his torso like she knew what she was doing. She didn’t.

  He winced. “I feel fine, but tomorrow I may answer differently.” He gave her a lopsided grin, raised a hand to stroke her cheek. “I love you, Elle.”

  Scott discreetly worked his way to the other side of Dillon’s pickup as he took pictures and wrote notes. Elle appreciated the modicum of privacy. If she had been speechless when he answered the phone before, those three words wiped her mind of anything coherent to say. She went from a hopeless, depressed mope to having the man of her too frequent naughty dreams declaring his love on a cool May night in her front yard after a fight.

  But then the breakup had been her decision. A decision she’d stood by at the time, but now…

  He was the first one she’d wanted to call for help. And he’d come immediately, just like her first instinct had told her he would.

  Dillon cleared his throat, looking away. “There’s no pressure. Honestly. If you want to take it slow, that’s what we’ll do. If you want to end things,” his throat worked, “I—I’ll understand.”

  Over his shoulder, Scott had finished up with his notes and waited awkwardly for them to finish their discussion.

  She grabbed onto that and took the coward’s way out. “Let’s concentrate on cleaning this mess up before we…” deal with our mess. Just because he’d been civil with Cash didn’t mean he’d actually changed. If he hadn’t, and she gave them another chance, it’d end the same way, and she didn’t know if she could recover again.

  He gazed deep into her eyes as if judging how she felt about him. He kissed her forehead and murmured, “Whatever you need.” He called over his shoulder. “Scott, can I call my cousins in? I think this might involve them.”

  “Have them meet us at the station. Oh, and the firemen are willing to hose your truck off if, I quote, ‘there’s a Walker quarter of beef in it for us.’”

  Dillon grinned. “Cash will bring some down next week after we butcher.”

  From a fight on her lawn to bartering beef, it all was beyond her realm of experience. Like her relationship with Dillon.

  ***

  Scott sat at his
desk, watching Dillon expectantly. It was well after midnight by now and Dillon would rather be in bed. But what Scotty had said temporarily distracted him from the relief that the vandalism was over, there was no more danger toward Elle, and…Elle.

  One more minute alone together and he’d have been inside of her. An experience he feared he’d never have again.

  When she had been in danger, she’d called him, even thinking he had a new flame.

  There was still hope, and he’d hang onto it like a capsized boater hung onto a life raft. The what-ifs plagued him. What if he hadn’t been in town? What if that man had tried to get into her house? What if Dillon hadn’t been in recovery and had passed out on his couch, completely useless?

  “Dillon?” Scott broke in.

  One thought of Elle and Dillon’s attention had veered off. His mind spun, recalling what they’d been discussing. “I don’t know Scotty—sorry, Scott. The land has always been ours. My Grandpa Walker never mentioned otherwise. I know where I live is one of the newly developed sections, but I assume it was purchased with the rest. I’ll have to see what Gram says.”

  “She never mentioned being married before she met your grandpa?”

  Dillon shook his head. They’d always referred to the land as one giant chunk that’d always been in the family, farmed from the very beginning. Their family history had deep roots in Moore.

  “I’ll visit Gram later today. How many Rodriguezes live in Moore?”

  “One family, no relation, but he claimed his grandma’s maiden name was McKenzie. That’s a common surname around here. Jesse said his great uncle and your grandma married, but he’d passed away within the year, leaving everything to your grandma. Agnes never signed the land back over, despite their requests. They were married, he died, it was hers.”

  “And Jesse said his grandma and her parents had to leave the county over the feud?”

  Scott nodded and steepled his fingers over his desk. “His mom married a Rodriguez. Claims he’s the only remaining heir.” He spread his hands. “No matter how destitute his family became after moving away from Moore, the land was Agnes’s, and now it’s yours.”

  “Legally, he doesn’t have a hold on it?” Dillon and his cousins would fight tooth and nail for his property.

  “You’d have to consult a lawyer, but my guess is not at all.” Scott’s gaze landed over Dillon’s shoulder. “The rest of your crew is here.”

  Dillon turned to greet them. “We need to go visit Gram.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Elle sat in the rocker at her dad’s place, lost in thought. She hadn’t talked with Dillon since they separated at the station to give their reports. All his cousins had arrived, so when an officer offered a ride home, she gave in to her exhaustion and accepted.

  He’d tried calling on Saturday, but she’d been sleeping. Dillon had to be running on fumes. She doubted he’d stopped to get any rest, judging from the times of his calls. So on Sunday, instead of returning his calls, she’d cleaned up and driven to her dad’s. Turmoil tugged at her heart and she’d just needed a friendly shoulder. Since she had few friends, that left her father.

  “You gonna tell an old man what’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing, Dad,” she said absently.

  He blew a long-suffering sigh. “Peanut, you haven’t been the same for weeks. I might not be the most stable individual, but I’m still your father.”

  She wanted to talk to someone, but her dad was always the one she’d needed to talk to someone about. Confiding in him, even as a teenager, had never been an option. His life had been a mess, consequently affecting hers.

  As an adult, she’d been intent on earning a degree to build a better life. When her dad had gotten sick, it hadn’t mattered how long he’d been on the wagon, she’d still had to take care of him.

  He perched on the chair across from her, not as frail as he’d been months earlier. The consistent care and daily social activities in a controlled environment had done him good. Robust wouldn’t describe him, but he looked good. Healthy.

  His clear green eyes grew concerned. How long had it been since she’d viewed him as her father and not as a burden?

  Before she knew it, the whole story poured out. She held nothing back, stating her exact reasons why Dillon shouldn’t be in her future. Her dad remained silent, the pain in eyes obvious, but with no blame. Just regret.

  Tears rolled freely as she sobbed. Because she really, really wanted a future with Dillon. And she wanted her dad, needed him, because while she spilled her story, she remembered the boxes in her garage, especially the ones he’d stored all his pictures and those newspaper clippings in. He’d been there for her, too. In his broken way, as much as he was able to at the time, he’d always been there.

  Swimming tournaments, he’d showed for every one. Bleary eyed and hung over, but he’d never missed them. Graduation. The only pictures she had were the ones he’d taken. College graduation, there’d been no prouder father in attendance. She’d uprooted him from their home, dragged him to Moore “for his own good,” and he’d never complained.

  Whenever he’d tried to remain sober, it’d been for her. Not for himself, and that was why he’d failed until he’d gotten sick and staying sober had been his decision to live. Until then, he’d done everything for her.

  “I’m a horrible person,” she cried.

  He pulled a chair next to hers. She collapsed into him, he rubbed her back. “No one could’ve made me prouder than you.”

  She sobbed harder.

  “Your mother met someone new and left us. I blamed myself for so long. For driving your mother away from you.”

  Wiping her eyes, she remained in his embrace, but calmed herself. He spoke so softly, she could barely hear him.

  “When I got sick and finally quit drinking, my thinking cleared. A woman who could walk completely away from her child is more mentally disturbed than I could ever be. I failed you over and over again. I can never make up for it, but I don’t have to go back to that behavior.” He squeezed harder. “I thanked the doctor last week after the check-up on my hip. Told him I was grateful he discontinued the pain meds.”

  She sat up, surprised. She’d thought the leukemia was the only reason he quit drinking, that it had given him no choice if he wanted to survive. But he still had a choice and was actively seeking recovery every day.

  He handed her a tissue. “As for Dillon…I don’t know what to tell you. He seemed like a nice kid, works hard for a living. You glowed around him. But…you gotta do what’s best for you.”

  “I kept pushing him away.” Blowing her nose, she attempted to hold the tears back.

  “Because you of all people know how it can escalate from there. But Dillon’s not me. He has a strong support system, surrounded by people who care for him. He sought help for his problem early, even if it wasn’t his idea. Will he continue to struggle?” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Perhaps. Or…he may not.”

  Elle groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’ve been terribly judgmental.”

  “You’ve been cautious,” he amended. “For good reason.”

  “I’ve been miserable.” The last few weeks had been the worst of her life.

  “You’re smart, beautiful, ambitious. It’s my job as a father to point that out. Another man may come along who has his life together, takes care of you, and you might find happiness again.”

  “You’re not making me feel better,” she muttered.

  “Exactly. I think you already know what you want to do, but you’re making yourself dismal resisting. You might get hurt giving him another chance,” he smiled, “but it might be worth it.”

  Sitting back with a sigh, she stared at the ceiling. “When did you get so smart, Dad?” Words he’d always said to her. When did you get so smart, peanut? Another thing she’d forgotten in her resentment. She was resilient and driven because he never let her think otherwise.

  “Wait until I cook you some spaghetti. You�
�ll marvel over my new kitchen skills.”

  They ate together and she enjoyed her time with her dad for the first time in over a decade.

  ***

  Dillon and his four cousins walked into Gram’s room for their routine Sunday visit.

  She glanced up from the blanket she crocheted, a broad smile spreading across her wrinkled face. “Oh my, what a surprise. I’m afraid the nurses are going to get awfully envious of me again. A few of them would kill to be in this room right now.”

  His lips twisted in spite of the situation. There weren’t enough chairs for all of them, so they all remained standing.

  His cousins were just as close to Gram as he was. Cash lived in the house her and Gramps had raised all five boys in. Aaron brought her flowers once a month. During the summer when cold and ice weren’t a concern, Travis brought her out for their grilling nights. Brock…well. He was Brock. His visits weren’t as routine, but he loved her fiercely.

  They all loved her, but today it felt like they were confronting her about something seedy in her past. It was Gram. The most devious thing she’d done were the plates of cookies she’d fed them before sending them home for dinner after chores.

  “Good news,” Dillon spoke first. “We found the guy who destroyed the shop and my pickup.”

  “Why, that’s good.”

  Travis cleared his throat. “The thing is Gram,” he squatted down in front of her so they weren’t all leering over her, “when the police asked him why he did it, he said it was because the land should’ve been his.” Gram’s expression turned questioning. “He said his great-uncle married you, and when he passed away, you kept the land Dillon lives on.”

  Blood drained from her face. Ashen, shaken, she clutched the afghan draped over her legs. “It’s preposterous he’d think the land was his.”

  Aaron finished the rest. “He claimed he’s the only one left on that side of the family. He’d grown up hearing about how much better things would’ve been if his family had stayed here, gotten back what was their son’s.”