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Her expression tells me she’s confused, but thankfully, she doesn’t question me. “Sure, let me see if he’s available.”
She walks back to his office, then comes back out to me. “He said you can come on in.”
I guess being known in this town does have its perks. I doubt he’d see just any random kid who walked in off the street.
I walk through his office door, and he stands.
“Dalton Wick.” He holds his hand out to greet me. “How can I help you?”
He motions for me to take a seat, and I do.
I explain the situation with every detail, making sure he understands our parents’ history and why Natalie feltso strongly that she had to hide our relationship. Most importantly though, I explain how this is all wrong and how, really, it’s my dad using his power in this town to get Randy in trouble.
“Okay, so how can I help? I’m a little confused as to why you’re here,” he asks.
I sit up straight in my chair. “I want to hire you to represent Randy and help get him out of jail.”
“Now, son, I appreciate your willingness to help, but I’m sure Randy has his own attorney.”
“Has he contacted you?” I ask.
“Well, no, not yet.”
“Who else would he contact? I know they are strapped financially. I don’t want him sitting in there until a public defender gets him out.”
“And you want to pay for his counsel?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes, but there’s one catch. I have a trust set up that I got access to when I turned eighteen. I can do whatever I want with the money, but it takes a few days to process the paperwork. You know I’m good for it, so I’m asking that you take on this case now and I can pay you by next week.”
Mr. Diaz sits back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I appreciate your gusto. I’ve known Randy Spencer for years, and I know he is well respected in this community. Let me make a call to the judge and see what I can do. Then, we can discuss things moving forward from there.”
I stand up and hold my hand out to him. “I’d appreciate that. Please keep me posted if there’s anything I can do to help.”
He shakes my hand. “I will. Make sure you giveyour information to Linda, my receptionist, and I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome, son.”
After giving Linda my phone number, I leave and send Natalie a text message.
I’m trying to figure this out, I promise.
I don’t expect her to answer. Shit, I don’t even know if she’ll ever talk to me again, but at least I’m letting her know that I’m not just walking away. I will make this right.
I go home, only because I know my dad’s gone and my mom’s off doing whatever she does all day. There’s no way I can just sit here, so I do the only thing I know how to do—I run.
As I head out the door, thoughts of these last few months wash over me, and all I can think about is how it started with this run. I loved the way she pushed me to go harder and faster and how she pushed herself to keep up. She challenged me in all the ways, and it opened my eyes to the idea of what a partner in life really meant.
I run so long and so hard that by the time I get back to my house, my legs are shaking, but my mind is still a jumbled mess.
As I slam a bottle of water, my eyes drift over to the fireplace, and an idea hits me. Without overthinking it, I rush to the drawer to grab a book of matches, then to the garage to grab a bucket. If my dad wants me to prove I was on his property, then I’ll take a page from his book and prove I was there.
Once I’m down at our property line, I cross the river and fill my bucket with water. I walk about ten feet up onto their property and dump the water on the dry brush that covers the property. After doing that a few times and making sure a circle about fifteen wide and long, coming out from the river, is nice and damp, I fill my bucket one more time to have it sitting next to me and stand back to take a breath.
I turn to look at the ranch that’s empty land as far as I can see. Then, I notice the barn that sits dilapidated with burn marks, which I now know came from my father. I guess I am more like my dad in this case. The only difference is, I’m doing it to help the ranch, and he did it to destroy it.
“Thanks for the idea, Dad,” I say under my breath as I strike a match and light the brush on fire.
