Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
The morning came in slow and easy, the kind rising that made Trent forget, just for a minute, that the world outside Mallor's Landing had any problems. He had always loved how the sun lazily burned off the haze.
Where the gators floated in from the bay and circled the moat, checking out the surroundings.
Trent sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in his hand, his father across from him, and a plate of half gooey, half burnt muffins that Dove had made.
It was strange that something he'd imagined ten thousand times over the last two decades could feel, in the actual living of it, more ordinary than he'd expected.
Not less meaningful. Just ordinary. Like the man had simply returned after having been away for a while, and here they were—coffee cups between them and the Glades doing its morning thing outside the window.
"You want to know what I thought about every single day for twenty years?" Jack wrapped both hands around his mug. "Your mother's biscuits." He glanced at Dove. "No offense."
"None taken.”
"She made biscuits that would make a grown man weep." Jack shook his head slowly. "I had a dream about them once. Woke up angry."
Dove laughed. “My mom’s not the greatest cook. She tried, and we tried to be supportive, but a few times she got it so wrong, my dad would have to order pizza. I'm not much better than her, unfortunately.”
“My mom loved your soup.” Trent reached out, took her hand, and smiled.
“My dad taught me how to make that. It’s not hard when you toss everything in one of those InstaPots.”
"You know what he used to do?" Jack pointed at Trent with one finger. "He used to sneak down before sunrise, snag half the fresh biscuits, and bring them upstairs and eat them. Then he’d come skipping downstairs, and his mother would wave a spoon at him and ask him where they went, and do you know what this little firecracker had to say?”
“I can only imagine.” Dove leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.
“He would try to tell his mother that one of the gators or other wild animals must have snuck in and got to them.”
“I was six, and I was hungry," Trent said.
“You were a biscuit bandit, is what you were.” Jack leaned back.
“But your mother thought it was so cute that she would always get up, make an extra batch just for Trent.” Jack ran his fingers across the table.
“When he’d come down for his actual breakfast, she’d make a big deal about how Old Pete must have snuck in again. ”
“Old Pete?” Dove asked.
“A fifteen-foot gator that circled the moat for years,” Trent said. “He died about ten years ago.” He glanced at his dad. “I had to put him down. A fungal infection.”
“That’s too bad.” His father shifted his gaze toward the window. “I see there are a lot of gators that have come and gone. “You’ve kept Mallor’s Landing in good shape.”
“It hasn’t always been easy. I’ve hit bumps in the road, and I haven’t always done the right thing.” Trent didn’t like admitting that to his father. However, his mother had told him that his father had always valued honesty above all else.
“Neither did I, and if your mom didn’t tell you that, well, I’d be surprised.”
“She told me about a few blunders in your youth.”
“Linda always had a way of making dumb mistakes seem like nothing.” His dad lifted his mug in salute before taking a sip.
“Agreed.”
Dove's phone buzzed on the table. She looked at the screen, then looked at Trent.
"That's Buddy. I need to go." She pushed back from the table and stood.
“We’re meeting Easton at Harvey's Cabins to go over everything Slade had.
Figure out what's strong enough for the feds to use.” She tucked the phone in her pocket.
"Dawson and Lach are going to try to get the ME to hold off on releasing his statement about the remains.
Buy us a little more time before this goes public. "
"How long do you think they can hold it?" Jack asked.
"A day. Maybe two." She grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair. “But even if they can’t, the worst that happens is it makes Dutton nervous. But he won’t show it. He can’t afford to look guilty.
Besides, I doubt it would change what Courtney and Sovereign Resources are doing.
It might make them a little less vocal, but pulling out would be stupid on their part. At least, right away.”
“Be careful out there,” Jack said.
“Always.’
“I’ll walk you out.” Trent followed her to the porch door.
The morning was already warm, the sun up and committed now, the kind of light that hit the water in the moat and turned it gold. Somewhere along the far bank, Dolly was making her slow morning patrol. “Dolly’s gonna do her thing when you cross the bridge," Trent said.
Dove looked at the moat and then at Trent. "Define her thing."
"Roll around a little. Maybe bellow."
"Why?"
"Because she likes you. I told you. It's how she says hello and goodbye."
"She's a gator."
"She's Dolly. And contrary to popular belief, alligators do remember. They’re smart. And they have feelings.”
“Right.” Dove pointed at him. "If I get eaten on the way to my truck, I'm haunting you for the rest of your life."
"You'd be the best thing that ever haunted this property." He took her hand and pulled her in. She came without resistance, which still surprised him every time. He cupped her face the way he had on the porch the morning before, her jaw fitting against his palm like it had always belonged there.
"I love you," he said.
She looked up at him. “You what?”
“I think you heard me.”
“I suppose I did.” She stuck her finger in her ear. “But you kind of just blurted it out like you say good morning.”
“I should’ve said I love you when we woke up, but someone distracted me.” He arched a brow. “Are you gonna leave me hanging? Or do you have a response?”
"I love you, too." She reached up ran her fingers through his hair. "Don't let your father go hungry. Don't be too hard on him. And don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."
"You sound like my mother."
"She was a smart woman, and she raised a really good son.” She stepped off the porch.
He watched her cross the bridge. Dolly surfaced as she passed, rolled once, unhurried and enormous, and bellowed low at the morning sky. Dove kept walking without breaking stride, but shoulders went up around her ears, and he laughed.
He stood there until her truck disappeared down the drive and the dust settled back onto the road.
“She’s a good woman,” his father said.
Trent jumped. “Jesus, you scared me.” He turned and went through the door his father held open. “Dove’s the best.”
“Slade couldn’t ever shut up about her. I used to get jealous because he’d come to see me, and all I’d hear was Dove this, and Dove that, and I had no idea what you were doing. Every once in a while, Slade would get me a report, but it wasn’t the same.”
“I spent twenty years watching my friends with their dads and being angry at everyone that mine had been taken away.”
“I’m sorry that—”
Trent held up his hand. “Yesterday, when I saw you, I was flooded with every emotion possible. Part of me wanted to throttle you for leaving me without a dad and honestly, I still do. But I didn’t consider what the last twenty years might have been like for you.
” He strolled across the kitchen and held up the coffee pot.
His father nodded.
Trent refilled both mugs and sat back down across from his dad, and for a few minutes neither of them said anything.
Just two men at a kitchen table with the Florida wilderness outside the window.
There was more to say—there were years of it, piled up like a traffic jam—but none of it was urgent right now, and they both seemed to understand that.
“Dove’s good for you," Jack said.
"I know."
“In some ways, she reminds me of your mother."
“That’s what Fallon says.”
"It's true." His father wrapped his hands around the mug. "Your mother never once backed down from a hard thing. She just faced it and figured out what to do next." He glanced toward the driveway. "That girl's the same way."
Trent opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of gravel crunching under rubber caught his attention.
“Are you expecting someone?” his dad asked.
“Nope.” Trent went to the window.
A black SUV, one he didn't recognize, pulled down his driveway like it had every right to be there.
He had his phone out before the vehicle stopped. He texted Dove and Buddy.
Trent: Vehicle coming down the drive. Don't recognize it.
Dove: Turning around. On my way.
Buddy: Heading to you now. I’ll see where Cullen is. Keep Jack out of sight.
Jack stood. “Why don’t you meet them outside?” He pointed to Trent’s weapon. “Maybe you should take that with you.”
"Don't come out. There’s a rifle in the closet.”
"Not my first rodeo, kid.”
Trent grabbed his phone off the table, holstered his weapon, walked out the side door, and made it halfway to the bridge before the SUV’s engine had been shut off.
Seconds later, Garrett Dutton stepped out of the driver's side with an easy smile, like he was dropping by for a visit.
Courtney Kirk came around the passenger side with a leather portfolio tucked under her arm, wearing heels that had absolutely no business on a gravel driveway, and yet she moved like the ground owed her something.
"Mr. Mallor." Dutton looked out at the property. “Wow. This place is breathtaking.”
“Thank you,” Trent said. "What can I do for you?"
"Mind if we come in?" He didn't wait for an answer. Just moved toward the wooden path.
Dolly didn’t much like that. She made herself known by opening her mouth. A few other gators flanked her, doing the same thing.
Courtney stumbled. “Oh my,” she whispered. “Can those things get to the house?”
“No ma’am. They can’t. But if they swim out to the bay, they can get up on the driveway.”
She gasped, clutching her portfolio and grabbing Dutton’s arm.
“I think he’s messing with you,” Dutton said.