again."
"You know what your problem is?" he asked angrily. "You don't
have
enough to do, that's what. You sit around all day, watching those
male-bashing talk shows on TV and applying every flaw they discuss to
me
.
Then you dream up these crazy scenarios that are never going to happen
to our family. My daddy was hard on me, and I turned out all right."
"Do you love him?"
"Who?"
"Your daddy."
"I respect him."
"You
fear
him. You're scared shitless of
that mean old
man."
Wes tossed down his spoon and stood up suddenly, his chair
scraping
loudly against the floor. They faced off across the table for several
tense moments. Then he smiled. "Gee, Dora, I love it when you talk
dirty."
Giving him her back, she faced the sink and turned on the
faucets.
Wes moved up behind her, reached around her, and turned them
off.
"The dishes can wait." Placing his hands on her hips, he drew her back
against him. "You've given me a hard-on that can't."
"Take it somewhere else, Wes."
He snickered with contempt and dropped his hands. "I do."
"I know." She turned the water taps back on.
Dutch knocked several times on the Hamers' back door. Through
the
window he could see into the kitchen, where all the lights were on, but
there was no sign of anyone.
Stamping his feet with impatience and cold, he knocked once
more , then opened the door and shouted, "Wes, it's me, Dutch."
He stepped inside, frigid air sweeping in along with him. He
closed
the door, crossed the kitchen, and peered into the living room. "Wes?"
he called in a voice that he hoped could be heard above the bass thrum
of rock music issuing from somewhere toward the back of the house,
presumably Scott's bedroom.
The door connecting the kitchen to the garage came open behind
him.
He turned in time to see Wes clump through it. Seeing Dutch standing in
his kitchen, Wes laughed. "So you came after all. Figured you would
once you'd had time to think about those X-rated videos. I've been
putting antifreeze in Dora's car. Cold as it is—" Then his
smile
dimmed. "Something the matter?"
"Lilly had an accident."
"Jesus. Is she hurt?"
"I don't think so. I'm not sure."
Wes wrapped his hand around Dutch's biceps, guided him into
the
living room, and pushed him down onto the sofa. Dutch removed his hat
and gloves. His boots had tracked a sludge of melting ice and mud onto
the rug, but neither noticed. Wes poured a shot of Jack Daniel's into a
glass and carried it over to him.
"Take a slug of that, then tell me what's happened."
Dutch tossed back the shot of whiskey, grimaced, then sucked
in a
deep breath as a chaser. "She left a message on my cell phone. I was
talking to the Gunns and didn't answer the call. Goddammit! Any-how,
there was some kind of accident as she was coming down the mountain.
Hell, man, when I left the cabin I thought she was right behind me. I
should never have left ahead of her. The road was already getting icy.
I guess she spun out, something, I don't know. Anyway, she said she'd
made it back to the cabin, and that Ben Tierney—"
"Tierney? The—" Wes pantomimed typing.
"Yeah, that guy. That adventure writer or whatever the hell he
is.
Lilly said he's hurt."
"Did their cars collide, you think?"
"All she said, all I could understand because the cell
reception was
for shit, was that they were in the cabin, that Tierney was hurt , and to send help."
"What's happened?" Dora appeared, wearing a high-necked robe
belted
tightly around her waist. Her expression always reminded Dutch of a
tightrope walker who's just realized she's made a misstep.
Wes gave her an abbreviated account of the situation. She
expressed
her concern, then asked, "Did Lilly tell you anything about Mr.
Tierney's injury or how bad it is?"
Dutch shook his head. He extended his empty glass to Wes, who
refilled it. This time Dutch took a more prudent sip. "I don't know if
he's got a scratch, or if he's in critical condition and barely
clinging to life. Frankly, I don't care. It's Lilly I'm
"You know what your problem is?" he asked angrily. "You don't
have
enough to do, that's what. You sit around all day, watching those
male-bashing talk shows on TV and applying every flaw they discuss to
me
.
Then you dream up these crazy scenarios that are never going to happen
to our family. My daddy was hard on me, and I turned out all right."
"Do you love him?"
"Who?"
"Your daddy."
"I respect him."
"You
fear
him. You're scared shitless of
that mean old
man."
Wes tossed down his spoon and stood up suddenly, his chair
scraping
loudly against the floor. They faced off across the table for several
tense moments. Then he smiled. "Gee, Dora, I love it when you talk
dirty."
Giving him her back, she faced the sink and turned on the
faucets.
Wes moved up behind her, reached around her, and turned them
off.
"The dishes can wait." Placing his hands on her hips, he drew her back
against him. "You've given me a hard-on that can't."
"Take it somewhere else, Wes."
He snickered with contempt and dropped his hands. "I do."
"I know." She turned the water taps back on.
Dutch knocked several times on the Hamers' back door. Through
the
window he could see into the kitchen, where all the lights were on, but
there was no sign of anyone.
Stamping his feet with impatience and cold, he knocked once
more , then opened the door and shouted, "Wes, it's me, Dutch."
He stepped inside, frigid air sweeping in along with him. He
closed
the door, crossed the kitchen, and peered into the living room. "Wes?"
he called in a voice that he hoped could be heard above the bass thrum
of rock music issuing from somewhere toward the back of the house,
presumably Scott's bedroom.
The door connecting the kitchen to the garage came open behind
him.
He turned in time to see Wes clump through it. Seeing Dutch standing in
his kitchen, Wes laughed. "So you came after all. Figured you would
once you'd had time to think about those X-rated videos. I've been
putting antifreeze in Dora's car. Cold as it is—" Then his
smile
dimmed. "Something the matter?"
"Lilly had an accident."
"Jesus. Is she hurt?"
"I don't think so. I'm not sure."
Wes wrapped his hand around Dutch's biceps, guided him into
the
living room, and pushed him down onto the sofa. Dutch removed his hat
and gloves. His boots had tracked a sludge of melting ice and mud onto
the rug, but neither noticed. Wes poured a shot of Jack Daniel's into a
glass and carried it over to him.
"Take a slug of that, then tell me what's happened."
Dutch tossed back the shot of whiskey, grimaced, then sucked
in a
deep breath as a chaser. "She left a message on my cell phone. I was
talking to the Gunns and didn't answer the call. Goddammit! Any-how,
there was some kind of accident as she was coming down the mountain.
Hell, man, when I left the cabin I thought she was right behind me. I
should never have left ahead of her. The road was already getting icy.
I guess she spun out, something, I don't know. Anyway, she said she'd
made it back to the cabin, and that Ben Tierney—"
"Tierney? The—" Wes pantomimed typing.
"Yeah, that guy. That adventure writer or whatever the hell he
is.
Lilly said he's hurt."
"Did their cars collide, you think?"
"All she said, all I could understand because the cell
reception was
for shit, was that they were in the cabin, that Tierney was hurt , and to send help."
"What's happened?" Dora appeared, wearing a high-necked robe
belted
tightly around her waist. Her expression always reminded Dutch of a
tightrope walker who's just realized she's made a misstep.
Wes gave her an abbreviated account of the situation. She
expressed
her concern, then asked, "Did Lilly tell you anything about Mr.
Tierney's injury or how bad it is?"
Dutch shook his head. He extended his empty glass to Wes, who
refilled it. This time Dutch took a more prudent sip. "I don't know if
he's got a scratch, or if he's in critical condition and barely
clinging to life. Frankly, I don't care. It's Lilly I'm
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