“The guy’s shady,” my lawyer, Stephen, confirmed on the phone. “He wanted to rob her blind.”
“But it’s done?”
“You made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
“Greedy little fuck.” I flicked a paperclip off my desk. It crashed into the wall, then fell to the floor. I’d like to do that to Lymon Culpepper. I didn’t like giving that slimy rat money, but honestly it wasn’t much to me. And it got the job done. He was out of the picture, effective immediately.
“It’s all taken care of. Money wired into his account. And I’ve arranged to have the deed delivered to her by courier, as you requested,” Stephen continued.
“When will it arrive?”
“End-of-business day today.”
I exhaled with frustration. Stephen knew me well enough to understand without my saying. I wanted it there sooner.
“It’s a long ways away, Declan. Even five o’clock is a stretch.”
“Yup.” I knew it was true. She lived out in the middle of nowhere. But I wanted that piece of paper in her hands. I couldn’t rest until I knew her anguish was eased.
“And my name?” I asked.
“Kept out of it entirely.”
“Good man.”
As per my instructions, my attorney, Stephen, had purchased the property under the auspices of an anonymous buyer. There was no need to put my stamp on it, get involved personally. My name wasn’t on any of this.
I wasn’t a good man. But for once in my life I could try. I could attempt to do something selfless, not take credit, not grab the apple from the tree but let it hang there to ripen full. I knew she’d suspect I’d done it, but I didn’t want to take credit. That’s how the good guys did it, wasn’t it? They made the rescue happen, but didn’t need to have their photo front and center in tomorrow’s papers.
Lord knew I was no good guy. I was a dark beast of a man. But I was a dark beast who’d at least seen movies about good guys. I could copy them, imitate that kind of selfless altruism. Even though deep inside I wanted to pedal-to-the-metal all the way to Kara’s, grab her and shout “mine!” I wanted to tell her I’d rescued her, given her everything she’d wanted, and drag her off to a cave. But that was the selfish bastard in me.
I wanted to keep at her about Courtney, too, keep insisting she was wrong. The fact was she hadn’t seen what she’d thought she had. She was wrong about Courtney. But she was right about me in general. I didn’t keep it in my pants. I’d licked, sucked and fucked countless women, many whose names I didn’t know, sometimes multiple girls at once. It didn’t matter that now I felt different, that now monogamy appealed in a way I’d never understood before. It sounded like bullshit even to me, even when I knew with certainty at the core of my being that if I had the chance to bury myself in Kara every night, I’d never want anything more.
But there was a time for beating someone down, a battering ram forcing submission. And a time for big, showy displays, for bowling someone over with jewelry and designer dresses and nights on the town. I’d tried both already. Now it was time for a different approach.
This time, I’d show restraint. I’d do a good deed and leave it at that. If you loved someone, you were supposed to set them free. I’d always hated that sappy song by Sting. But that was what she’d asked from me. So now I’d try to stay away from her, let her be free of me. She’d have her ranch. I’d let her go.
She might respond to me with her body—and hell yes I liked the way she did—but I honestly couldn’t do it to her if she truly didn’t want me to. All the protesting and restraints only worked, only got me hard if she felt real desire on the other end.
Last night, she’d looked me clear and strong in the eyes and told me to leave her alone. She didn’t want what I offered. And I didn’t blame her. She had a kind, generous, sweet heart. I preyed on people like her. I plundered, pillaged, raided, scanned others for weaknesses and opportunities and then took full advantage.
I had it in writing. I’d had it told to my face. She didn’t want me. I knew what I had to do.
§
At six o’clock that night she called. I let it go to voicemail. I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t been sure she would try to get in touch. I’d made certain that my name wasn’t associated with any part of the real estate transaction. She’d never know for sure it was me who paid for and gave her back her ranch.
Now that she had called, I felt confused. If she asked me had I done it, should I tell her the truth? Or should I lie? I had no rulebook, the good guy’s code of conduct. This was all new to me.
Stephen, my lawyer, called to confirm that he’d spoken with her. He’d simply identified himself as an attorney and told her that the terms of her property transaction had changed. She was now the full owner of her ranch, paid off completely. The deed had been delivered to her by courier and she’d signed her acceptance.
“How did she sound?”
“Excuse me?” Stephen wasn’t used to that kind of question. Terms of agreements, i’s dotted, t’s crossed, that was his comfort zone. Emotions didn’t factor in for him, nor did they usually for me.
“Did she sound happy?”
“Well,” he hesitated. “It took a few repetitions to make her understand. And then she started crying.”
“Happy crying?”
“It was on the phone.”
“I know, but could you tell?”
“No, I could not.” He paused and I could almost hear him thinking ‘what the fuck?’ in the silence. But he didn’t say it out loud. He was too professional. And I paid him too well. “I’d have to guess yes, wouldn’t you?”
I went to the gym. Seven o’clock she called again but I let it ring through. I had boxing gloves taped to my hands. That would only last so long, though. Sooner or later I’d have to answer it.
Eight thirty. I’d jogged back to the condo and showered off. Drink in my hands, Kara called again. This time, I picked up.
“What did you do?” She sounded breathless, elated. My hand clenched on the phone. I wanted to see her like that, the light in her eyes, joy in her heart.
“What do you mean?” I cleared my throat.
“The ranch!” she exploded in delight. “I know you did it! I have the title in my hands!”
“I’m happy for you, Kara.”
“Declan!” She laughed, maybe cried, I couldn’t tell, just that she sounded happy, so overwhelmed with happiness. “I can’t believe it.”
I didn’t say anything, just listened to her delight, taking it in, letting it wash over me. No one did happy like Kara. She brought it right up to the top, overflowing, and I could feel it through the phone.
“Thank you,” she murmured and I could tell she said it smiling, suffused with emotion. I nodded though she couldn’t see me, neither confirming nor denying. She knew I’d done it. Though I supposed I could still take some pride in the fact I hadn’t taken credit, hadn’t immediately shot my hand up in class waving it and shouting, “Me, me it was me!”
“I don’t know what else to say,” she sighed, satisfied. “Guess I’ll just go with good night, Declan. And thank you.”
The call ended. She hung up. I stood there like a wooden statue—man with phone at ear.
What would a good man do? Probably, that would be it. He’d put down the phone and not call back. He’d go about his business, respecting the distance others requested. That would be what a good man would do.
I wasn’t a good man.
Ten o’clock and I’d made good time. I only had another couple of hours before I got to Kara’s ranch. And it really was her ranch this time, not Harlan’s, not Lymon what-the-fuck’s, not a bank-owned property. She owned her ranch and I loved that, hoped she felt the true freedom and gift of independence. I remembered how it felt to own my first property, the American Dream come true.
I wasn’t going there to take credit. I swore I wasn’t. I was going to see Kara to say one last thing before I walked out of her life forever. There
was one thing remaining, one last piece of unfinished business. Then I’d turn away and leave for good this time.
It had to be close to midnight when I turned into her property, the dust pluming out behind the wheels of my truck. It hadn’t rained in over a week, hot as hell, and the crickets greeted me loud and insistent as I stepped out.
Hand up to the door, I paused, realizing I’d likely be waking her. Other people slept. In my exhausted state, I’d managed five hours last night, but some people slept eight hours every night.
Then the door opened as I stood there, hand hovering in a loose fist. She looked radiant, her hair down in golden waves over her shoulders. She wore a simple t-shirt and shorts, nothing fancy, but I wouldn’t want her any other way. Not a hint of makeup, glowing and perfect, standing before me in the entryway.
“Sorry to wake you.” My voice sounded gruff, awkward.
She laughed, musical and light. “I wasn’t asleep.”