Chapter 25 Sierra #2
“Rumor is that you and Logan LaSalle are back together.” He smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Does he fuck you the same way you said you liked it in your statement? No? Logan might find inspiration by listening to the recording. I bet other people would find it fascinating too.”
I shrink back against the far wall. The hallway is lined with picture frames comprising every major milestone of Logan and his family’s lives: vacations, anniversaries, birthdays, and graduations. Things I have never experienced. A mosaic of a full, happy life.
Dawson sees where I’m looking. “The LaSalles are good people,” he says. “They’ve done a lot for Sagebrush.” His silence finishes the thought: Unlike you.
“They have.” That much we can agree on.
He steps closer to me, crowding me. My head hits the edge of a picture frame, and it knocks it off the wall with a clatter.
“Do you know anything about the Sierra Trust? Yes, Logan LaSalle named it for you, the sap. It’s the money they designated for Sagebrush.
Funny thing about that, they intentionally left out the town marshal’s office from receiving any portion of it.
It’s a shame. They could do more for Sagebrush if they changed the conditions of the trust.” He smiles.
“For all your whoring around, I think you see where this is going, don’t you? ”
“Change the conditions of the trust, and you’ll delete the recording?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“Oh, that’s cute. No, I will never delete it.
I’ll just keep it to myself. At least for now.
But yes, that’s the gist.” He lowered his head closer to me and murmured, “If you tell anyone, there will be consequences. And you’re a little too easy on the eyes to thrive in prison. Enjoy the party, girl.”
I stumble outside as fast as I can. I make a beeline for the chicken coop. It doesn’t smell great, but I know it’ll give me some privacy. The chickens peck at the ground and cluck softly, and something is mesmerizing about them as I finally force myself to think.
To remember the After. Dawson had been a deputy at the time. He picked me up from school to take my statement. Logan’s mom offered to come with me, but I turned her down. In my humiliation of her finding out what I had done, I said some nasty things to Jules, horrible things.
Once we left school, Dawson told me that instead of going to the station, we’d go to his house, where I could be “more comfortable.”
It wasn’t comfortable. He sat me down at a dusty card table in his garage, the lights dim except for one bright overhead bulb. The smell of gasoline made me nauseated and dizzy.
The interrogation lasted for hours. He kept pausing the recording, saying with gentle pity in his eyes that I needed to provide all the lurid details—for the investigation, of course.
Where John touched me. How he touched me.
How he fucked me. Hours upon hours, drawing out the humiliating details little by little.
And when all the details were finally recorded, he paused the recording again.
“He usually bought you dinner after he fucked you, didn’t he?” he asked. “And it seems he gave you some money too?” That same gentle pity filled his voice. “Do you know the legal definition of prostitution, Sierra?”
I couldn’t stop crying. A prostitute. Like mother, like daughter.
“Prostitution is a felony. Prison. And when you get out, it’ll be on your record, following you for the rest of your life.
It never goes away, Sierra. What you did.
And I’ll have to submit this recording for evidence.
It’ll be reported on by local newspapers, and everyone will know all the shameful things you did. It’s a small town.”
I let out a sob.
“But…” That one small word was a lifeline—and he knew it.
“We can keep this between us. John has generously offered you some money to start your new life.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket and pushed it across the table.
“I’ll give you a ride to the bus station.
Think of it as a fresh start. But you have to leave everyone behind. Now hand over your phone.”
“I can’t keep my phone?”
“You have text messages, pictures on here, don’t you? I have to confiscate this for evidence. Tell me your passcode.”
“It’s my birthday,” I whisper. All my photos of Logan and me, the phone numbers I never bothered to memorize, because I always had it saved. Gone. “But…”
“If you contact anyone in Sagebrush, I’ll have no choice but to prosecute you.”
“I don’t want to contact anyone here ever again,” I blubbered. I handed him my phone, and I let him turn it off.
“Perfect,” he said, pocketing my phone. “Let’s go catch that bus in Payson.”
If I hadn’t been so young and frightened.
If I hadn’t given that invasive, painful, humiliating statement.
If I had somehow known I’d spend the next couple of months homeless—on the streets, hungry and scared and alone, missing Sagebrush and the people there and the little stability they gave me so much I could scarcely breathe at times—until a charity helped me into transitional housing so I could start again… would I have gotten on that bus?
I don’t know.
And now that recording is back. I was so foolish to think that it wouldn’t resurface. But it was a nice fantasy, to be here with Logan, at least for a while.
I could convince Logan to leave Sagebrush with me. It sounds so perfect, tears come to my eyes. I can see it now—hitting the road in a refurbished Clunker, climbing by day, making love by night. He is always so serious; it’d be good for him.
I spot Logan from my hiding place, and of course, he’s breaking my heart right away.
I see him completely in his element, laughing with his brother Cole, then turning to discuss something with Mayor Ortiz, his face intent on what seems to be a lengthy story.
This is his home, his sanctuary. He’s become who he was meant to be and shaped Sagebrush to fit him perfectly.
I can’t ask him to leave the place that gives him so much belonging and purpose.
If I want to be with Logan, I have to stay. I have to find a way to convince him to change the designations of the trust. Maybe Dawson will take it and leave me be. Maybe that will be enough.
“What are you doing, Sierra?” a female voice asks.
Two of Logan’s siblings—Ethan and Emily—appear around the coop. Each of them have bits of Logan in them: Jules’s eyes for Ethan, Scott’s cheekbones for Emily.
It’s the first time I’ve seen the eldest brother since my return.
He’s filled out into a broad, intimidating wall of muscle.
He and Cole always used to make me nervous.
Logan’s half-brothers were much older and decided to pursue careers in authority—law enforcement and teaching, respectively.
Ethan still makes me feel a little nervous, especially since he’s staring at me like he wants to peel my skin and skull away to look inside.
“Are you hiding?” Emily teases. She tosses a handful of kernels into the chicken coop.
“Maybe a little,” I admit once the chickens settle down their loud squawking. “There are so many people here.” Including people who like to threaten me.
“Yeah, that’s the only problem with Dad’s barbecues,” Emily says.
“He doesn’t allow alcohol to lubricate the social situation.
It feels a little too high school to sneak in a flask, but desperate times…
” She flashes a grin, then yelps when Ethan plucks the flask from her hand.
“Hey, don’t confiscate that! I’m an adult! ”
“Dad was clear—this is a family-friendly event.” He tucks the flask into his back pocket.
“That’s such an outdated view of alcohol. Doesn’t Dad remember what happened during prohibition?”
“Dad wasn’t alive then,” Ethan says dryly. “That was in the twenties and thirties. And no jokes about Dad’s age either, remember?”
“I didn’t mean he was… Ugh, never mind.” Emily groans. “Ethan, you’re such a stick-in-the-mud. You’re not even a deputy anymore!” She turns to me. “Come on, Sierra, we can take him. I’ll share half with you.”
I eye Ethan’s bulk. “I know when to pick my battles.”
“Please give it back,” Emily begs.
“Nope. As a wise band once sang, sometimes you can’t get what you want,” Ethan says sagely.
“How old are you? You’re too young to be quoting the Rolling Stones. But, ugh, fine.” Emily wrinkles her nose. “God, I can’t stand the smell of these chickens anymore. If we can’t drink, let’s go.” She loops her arm through mine and tugs me back toward the party.
Across the yard, Logan’s head is swiveling in all directions, his brow furrowed. When he spots me, his whole face lights up. I can’t help my reaction; his joy at spotting me lights me up too, until it feels like we’re just two beacons of silly, pure happiness in the middle of everything.
I hold on to that single, bright truth. I can’t let the town marshal, or my past, dictate how I feel.
Then again—who am I kidding? He said there would be consequences. You can’t chase love from inside a jail cell.
“So,” Emily says, “Logan says you two are dating now?”
I look up, and both of them steadily meet my gaze, assessing me.
“Yes,” I say.
Ethan frowns. “Listen, I don’t want to get involved in any of my siblings’ love lives—”
“Then don’t,” Emily says. “We’ve already grilled Logan about it. We don’t need to grill her.”
“I’m not going to grill her, I’m just…” Ethan studies me hard. “I just want you to be careful, Sierra. With Logan’s heart. It’s taken too much of a beating over the years. And you know why,” he says darkly. “That’s it. That’s all I’m going to say.”
I blush, mortified.
“What’s all you’re going to say?” Logan asks.
We all startle. He and Cole have come over to join us. Cole is the biggest of the four brothers, stocky, with a strong presence about him. His eyes are on me, carefully assessing me in the same way that Ethan and Emily were a minute ago.
I wonder whether spontaneous human combustion is real and, if so, how to trigger it. It’d be a very helpful skill right now.
“I was questioning her about how tired you look,” says Emily with a smirk.
“What?” Logan says, startled.
“Yep. Look at those shadows under your eyes.”
“This is just what I look like,” Logan protests, his hand raising toward his face where—Emily is right—he has darker smudges than usual.
“Em’s right. You look tired out,” Cole says with a smirk.
“Beat,” Emily offers. “No! Overstimulated.”
“Drained,” Cole decides.
They both snicker. I tilt my head, confused. At least, unlike Ethan and Seth, they don’t seem to hate the idea that Logan and I are together again.
“I hate you guys,” Logan mumbles. “Why do you have to make this weird?”
“Oh, my god,” I say. “Are you really teasing him about all the sex we’re having?”
A throat clears behind me. Aunt Lydia is back. And Logan’s dad, Scott. And right behind them, because of course, is Marshal Rick Dawson.
I silently urge the ground beneath me to open up and swallow me whole. It’s time to start my next life as a root vegetable.
Logan’s face is redder than usual, but he throws an arm around my shoulder and turns us toward the newcomers. Dawson’s eyes take in the possessive movement before smirking at me.
“Marshal,” Logan says, “You remember Sierra. My girlfriend.”