Keeping Council Part 4

"My daddy was a cowboy though. He worked on ranches in Montana, Northern California. He's a good guy, my dad. My mom too. She was a waitress for a long time. Both of *em worked real hard."

"Are they still working?" Comfortable now in the dark with him, Tara moved around and closer.

"Nope. They were pretty old when they had me.

Retired now. But my dad's still a cowboy. Taught me to love the life.

Music especially. I do so love that music. Everyone's so darn sad and strong in those songs. Don't you think? Especially the women. On their own, men leavin', men cheatin', and they just go on. Keep all that hurt inside.

d.a.m.n, those are sad songs." He jumped down from the fence and examined the palm of his hand as if he'd picked up a splinter. Just when she thought to help him, his eyes flicked her way, his grin almost hidden by the angle of his head.

"Strong women. Like you, I guess, huh?"

"And Donna," Tara reminded him.

"Naw. Donna's the soft one. You're the strong one. That's what she tells me, but I could see it myself. You may live quiet, but I wasn't fooled. Not like Donna, who lives big but needs things at home that belong to her. That little lady thinks the world of you, you know."

Bill Hamilton began to walk, tracing a path toward the river. Tara joined him. They turned and headed toward the house, only to stop near the cottonwood where she'd found him. Sweet talk rolled off his tongue like sap down a wounded maple.

"We've been friends a long time. Donna and I."

"I know. She's told me every story about fifty times. Wish I was buddies with someone the way you two are."

"Looks like you've found one now." Tara c.o.c.ked her head toward the guest house. He followed her gaze and she swore his eyes softened almost to tears.

"She really saved me. That's one special lady."

He collected himself and reached down for a pebble.

He looked at it closely and then gave it a snap.

It danced over the ground and they picked up the pace again.

"You had something you needed to be saved from?" Tara asked.

Too personal. She could see it in his eyes. Before Tara could make light of it, he went on to something else.

"Donna says you're a good lawyer. One of the best."

"I don't know how she'd know, but I appreciate the accolades." She smiled, pleased with the compliment.

He could charm the rattles off a snake, or even turn Tara's head, without a problem.

"Only speakin' the truth the way I know it." Another kick and a pebble went flying. Ten yards and not a word was said.

"What kind of law do you do?"

"General practice. Civil, some criminal," Tara answered.

"This isn't exactly a big city. It's difficult to specialize. I've got some corporate clients who make me comfortable. With those fees I can afford to help people who need a voice in the system. You know, just like Joan of Arc or Susan B. Anthony. I'm right up there." Tara chuckled and walked slowly. In the morning she would thank Donna for bringing Bill Hamilton, for talking to her, for making her see that it was time to enjoy for the sheer sake of enjoyment.

She would put an ad in the paper. Wanted: One good-looking cowboy to make me feel like a very special woman. They'd double-date.

"That's good. I like that. You really help the folks who come to you, even when they aren't rich?"

"I try. Sometimes I can't help. Most often I can."

"I bet you manage better than you know." He twirled in front of her.

Tara stopped. He looked toward the guest house.

"You'd talk to anyone who needed help, wouldn't you?"

"Sure. Can't hurt to talk. If I couldn't handle the problem, I'd refer it to someone who could," Tara said, realizing the tone of the conversation had changed.

"Do you know someone who needs to talk to a lawyer?"

"I do. Yes ma'am." They faced each other square, Tara almost as tall as he. Between them was something, a field of antic.i.p.ation so palpable that Tara swore she could reach out and touch it. But this thing had nothing to do with charm; this was no feminine short circuit. She looked at him curiously now, seeing beneath the brightly lit eyes, something she hadn't noticed at first. A seriousness, an intelligence and intensity that made him all that more compelling.

"I need to talk to a lawyer, Tara, and I was hopin' you might consider being the one to help."

"Nothing serious, I hope?" She put out professional feelers, but nothing came back. No dread, no fear, no nothing. She breathed easy.

"Got me, but I know I need a lawyer. I'd like to hire you." His hand was on her shoulder, and Tara was almost sure that when he removed it, the imprint would remain.

"Of course. I wouldn't have you go anywhere else. I'll help if I can." She moved out of touching range. He took no offense and fell in step with her again. They were headed back toward the house now, river sounds serenading them. It was time to sleep.

"I've got a hearing in the morning.

I'll be in the office about ten. Ask Donna. She'll tell you how to get there."

"Sounds good. I'll be die re We'll do it." He did some finger popping and put one hand over the fist he made with the other.

"I'll see you then." He turned toward the guest house then pivoted back, "Oh, I know you're pretty high priced. I just want you to know I'm good for it. Don't you worry. I got money, Tara."

r "Didn't cross my mind. Good night, Bill. I'll be honored to help you out." Tara gave him a nod.

They parted only for Tara's professional curiosity to get the best of her.

"Bill?"

"Yep?"

"I'll need some idea of what it is we're going to be discussing."

Tara's words bolted into the air, froze, and rang in her ears. The silence stretched into a thin, cold line and finally, through the dark, he spoke.

"Summer," he said. Tara beetled her brow and shook her head though he probably couldn't see.

"There was a big to-do out at a Circle K on the highway."

"Yes?" Tara waited for an explanation.

"I'd like to talk about that," he called back, and Tara could see he was grinning. He was still grinning when he shut the guest house door behind him.

"I wondered when you'd be back," Donna said.

Alert, Bill stood quietly in the dark. Without moving, he surveyed the scene, his demeanor snake-like, slow-moving as he positioned himself for a strike.

There she was. In this dark room she almost vanished in the big bed.

She was talkin' like she deserved to have an att.i.tude.

"I thought you'd be in there awhile," he said, taking a step toward her, turning his head, indicating the bathroom door.

"Cold porcelain holds no allure on a night like this. It's freezing in there. Freezing outside, too."

She smiled, a little sourly.

"Were you stargazing?"

Bill chuckled, low and deep and a little mean.

"Ah-ah-ah." He waggled a finger, keeping time with it as he walked her way.

"You're jealous. You think I'm chasin' tail, don't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped, but her voice was a whisper, almost as lost in the dark as she was in her need to keep him.

"Naw, naw, naw." Bill was prancing now, having fun. His right hand pulled at one side of his shirt, his left the other. He bared himself while he danced, just that little bit of skin, a little teasing song. He was a lean machine, a man on the move. He was the Marlboro man. Oh, if she only knew.

"You can't fool me, you little bit of nothin'. You can't. You can't."

The man's fingers were on his fly. Down went the zipper. An inch. He was close enough now and Donna could see his tongue snake out and roll around his lips. Not for the first time she understood there were some things she didn't like about him. Some small and base things that bothered her to no end. Down that zipper went another inch, then two, the metallic grate background music for his striptease. His tongue disappeared and he was right by the bed now looking down on Donna. She saw him in his best light, shadowed and softened.

The fine set of his lips, the thick lashing of those sharkskin eyes. She could have died for looking at such a beautiful face, or turned to stone, or lay down at his feet and let him step right on her.

Now she was looking at his bared chest. Somehow he'd managed to unb.u.t.ton that cowboy shirt of his. Her hand shook. She reached out and touched the precious line of fine hair that ran down from his navel, disappearing into the denim that hung on his slim hips. The dp of her nail touched that s.p.a.ce, the flat of her hand was itching for the feel of flesh, when her wrist was wrenched back, her arm angled sharply away so that her body followed suit. Donna grunted, surprised by the sudden attack. Not really afraid. Not really an attack because now he lay her hand back where she had wanted it in the first place.

He just wanted to be the person to put it there.

He spoke to her sweet.

"You're not thinkin' I'm after Tara out there, are you?"

"I saw you," Donna said, her voice shaking, tentative in her reproach, unsure of him when he should be the one worried about being ditched.

She had the money. She had the house. She had the prestige. But he had the power and he used it now, pouring it over her like honey, licking it off with every word he spoke.

"Aw, baby, baby. Shh, you sweet thing," he purred, his fingers still tight on her wrist.

"You just saw me and Ms. Limey doin' some business. Remember what I told you? I got some old business and she'll clear it up for me." Bill pushed her hand closer to his crotch, but not close enough for her to find out if he thought her interesting in the least.

"What kind of help? I could do it for you," Donna breathed, her fingers jerking as he held her tight.

"Nothin' but my business, man's business." Bill pushed farther and Donna moved closer, the covers falling off her naked body. Bill's eyes flicked over her. She had no idea whether she pleased him or appalled him. He was such a hard man to read. She had to hear words, she had to know.

"That's all?" She shook him off, no longer willing to be directed, and put her hands on his hips.

Quickly, Donna pushed away the denim and the cotton beneath until there was nothing left to push away and she found what she wanted.

"Do you care?" Bill asked, gently, softly, like a man talking to a child, a lover talking to a beloved.

She didn't hear all those things in his voice, nor did she answer his question, which was just as well.

Just as G.o.dd.a.m.n well as far as he was concerned.

"Hey, I'm not going to stand up here and spout all that stuff about honesty and integrity. You've seen my track record. You know me. My wife's family has lived in New Mexico since before it was a state. I don't like rhetoric. I'm just going to tell you straight. I want to be your governor because I want to make sure New Mexico doesn't become California. I don't want our schools at the bottom of the educational barrel and I don't want us living on top of each other. We shouldn't wonder if our neighbor will lend a helping hand or cut ours off when we reach out. I'm ready to be your governor.

I'm ready to follow through on my promises now!"

Woodrow held up his hands as if the crowd in the high school auditorium had raised their voices in a collective roar of approval, instead of putting their hands together in a polite acknowledgment that he had finished speaking. Harriet Klinger got up from her seat, shook Woodrow's hand, and gave him back to Charlotte, who looked at him adoringly as he took his seat beside her.

"Well?" he whispered through clenched teeth.

"You did fine. So well." Charlotte's a.s.surance came through a brilliant, unmoving smile.

Their attention was fixed on Harriet.

"Thank you, District Attorney Weber. We appreciate you coming here tonight to talk to us about your views." Harriet was addressing the crowd.

Woodrow grasped Charlotte's hand while he nodded to their hostess, who had looked back at them briefly.

"Are there any questions for the district attorney?"

Harriet waited an excruciating ninety seconds before announcing, "Fine. There are cookies and coffee in the back of the room. You'll have a chance to mingle with Mr. Weber and his lovely wife in a more relaxed atmosphere."

Cla.s.s was dismissed and Woodrow mingled with Charlotte in tow. He munched on cookies and drank red punch and made polite conversation.

Charlotte pa.s.sed him twice, giving him a minimal roll of the eyes. One of those signals. Things were a little better, but on the whole the evening hadn't gone well. They'd been off by a beat all night for some reason and the crowd sensed it. But then this audience was older and few cared about education when their children had been out on their own for twenty years. They might worry about overdevelopment, but that was a toss-up. They probably worried about crime, but the cops did a decent job. Woodrow needed a s.e.xy position on something and he needed it soon, though the campaign was young. In the meantime he'd smile and munch and shake hands.

Then he saw something he didn't like at all. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a younger face, a woman's face and a familiar one at that. He couldn't remember her name, only that he had felt uncomfortable in her presence. But another voice called to him. His smile was back and he leaned into the greeting, giving the caller his full attention. Still, the little niggle of worry stayed with him for a good long while.

"Hi, sorry I'm late."

The woman had the kind of style that doomed her to anonymity. Her hair was dirty blond and hung to her shoulders. She never cut it, though it never seemed to grow any longer. Despite her comely features, without makeup she was undefinable. Her clothing was clean and old enough to show some wear, her shoes were low, her skirt too long. In short, she was ordinary. She had chosen her outfit deliberately. She hadn't wanted to come to this place, but the man had insisted he had no time to make other arrangements. Besides, Weber wouldn't remember her. It had been too long; she had been too minor a player. Perhaps the man was right, but she'd caught Woodrow's eye and now wasn't sure. She wanted this over with as quickly as possible.

The man she came to see was easy to identify.