“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. The
y 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! Anyhow, 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 worried about. I’ve got to get up there. Tonight.”
“Tonight?” Dora echoed.
Wes took a glance out the living room window. “That stuff is still coming down, Dutch. Thicker than before.”
“No need to tell me. I’ve been driving in it.” Every outdoor surface was now coated with ice. There was no sign of letup in the precipitation, and the temperature continued to drop.
“How do you propose getting up there, Dutch? You can’t drive on that road up to your place. Even your four-wheel is useless on solid ice.”