Chapter 33 Sierra
Thirty Three
Sierra
The place is a zoo. Can one call a cave a zoo? A subterranean habitat, maybe?
Either way, Blackstone Cave is. It’s packed with locals and out-of-towners here for both the open mic and the very rare acoustic performance from Futon Drift.
I can’t tell whether it’s good or disastrous that we didn’t insist on limiting tickets. The last event was quieter, more romantic. This one is chaotic, buzzing with people eager for their moment in the limelight under the limestone.
“Do you think it’ll be too loud for my phone to pick up our voices?” I ask Seth nervously. We practiced on the drive back to Sagebrush together, both our approach and with my phone tucked into my bra to see if the sound would be clear enough.
“Try to get him to a quiet corner?” Seth says. “If it’s too loud, we can’t try another ambush another time. We probably only have one shot at this.”
Mayor Ortiz is already on the makeshift stage, giving the opening address.
“It’s my honor to open up this event,” Mayor Ortiz says.
“We want to thank Compass Mountain Tours for hosting it and generously donating fifty percent of the proceeds to the Sagebrush restoration project. We’re almost at our goal of excavating and restoring our most famous—or rather infamous—brothel, an important landmark—”
“Sierra! Seth!” Emily somehow spots us in the crush.
She stands in front of me, for probably the first time, utterly speechless. Then she grabs me and crushes me in a hug. “You little bitch! Leaving me to pick up the slack over the past week!” But she doesn’t sound or look angry; instead, she hugs me again. “Does Logan know you’re here?”
“Not yet. Where is he?”
“No idea. It’s crazy in here, right? Who knew my dumb brother had an eye for what bougie people like?”
Nearby, the designated stage area is brightly lit and equipped with a small sound system. Cole helps Mayor Ortiz off the stage. For a moment, I wonder if something is going on between them—they spent a lot of time together at Scott’s party too.
Then I have no time for idle gossip. Emily hands me a stack of notecards with a speech—one I wrote over a week ago—written on them.
“Anyway,” she says, “Logan chickened out on emceeing this thing. He wants me to introduce the participants, but that’s my personal definition of hell. If you want to make it up to me for dropping off the face of the earth, you can go up there.”
“It would certainly get Dawson’s attention,” says Seth. “We may never find him if we lie low.”
Dawson and everyone else’s attention. I’ve slunk around the town a couple of times and went to Scott’s party, but this is the most exposed and vulnerable I’ll be yet: on stage, everyone recognizing me and recalling all my mistakes.
Jules and Logan seem to think I’m brave. But am I brave enough to do this?
Yes, goddamn it. Live fast, die young, Sierra.
Nerves race through my veins as I step onto the stage. I lift the heavy microphone. It’s cold and smooth, and it feels foreign in my hand.
I clear my throat. “Hi, everyone. I’m Sierra.”
My whole body is as attuned to him as ever. I sense instantly where Logan is the moment he hears my voice. He stands in the back right corner, stiff as a post, frozen before he slowly turns toward the stage.
“We’re going to start with the poetry tonight,” I continue.
“Poetry might seem like an odd choice if you’re not familiar with the history of this cave or the man who stored his loot in it 150 years ago.
Billy Blackstone’s poetry to the love of his life, Lula Maude, was discovered here.
All of which seemed to be returned to him right before his death.
His loss is our gain, for now we have pages and pages of beautiful—and, yes, sometimes salacious—poetry to enjoy, written by this complicated man.
“He had one poem he was in the midst of writing to her, one he never got to send.” My eyes find Logan’s in the darkness.
“It’s a letter any of us could have written.
I could have written,” I add, off script.
“It records his grief for the love he lost, his regret for the choices that broke them apart, but mostly his love for the one who completed him. It ends with hope and promises that, once they’re reunited again, the past can stay in the past. Because their love could be bright enough to carry them through the pain and the darkness—one bright flame in the undulating dark. ”
I clear my throat and look back at my cards. “The Sagebrush Bank thanks our poets in advance for not continuing all of Blackstone’s legacy tonight.”
A few chuckles bolster me, but when I look up, the spot where Logan stood is empty. Instead, I see Marshal Dawson moving toward the front of the crowd.
I flip to the next card, my hands sweating. “Before we present our poets, please join me in welcoming the Sagebrush Bank manager, Candice Farnsworth, for more information about the brothel excavation project.”
As I climb off the stage, I turn away from the audience so I can press record on my phone and shove it back into my bra.
Marshal Dawson steps directly in my path. “Sierra,” he says. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
I tilt my head toward the entrance of the Blackstone gold cavern. Dawson smiles grimly, but to my surprise, he follows me into the separate space. We ignore the blockade that was put up and walk inside.
It’s eerily quiet, the noise outside deadened completely by the limestone.
I look around the familiar space, my heart hammering with nerves.
I see the cot, the fake gold-filled canvas bags.
The intimate experience Logan and I shared here flashes through my mind.
Last time, I was too cowardly to bring up what happened with Marshal Dawson, but now…
Now I’m going to face it head-on.
I take a deep breath before slipping into a damsel-in-distress persona. As much as it embarrasses me now, I’ve been helpless and terrified in his presence every time we’ve crossed paths, and I need to keep it up, so he doesn’t suspect what I’m up to.
“Have you released the recording yet?” I ask, biting my lip in what I hope reads as fear.
I can tell the moment he falls for it, because he instantly smirks. Even though I want him to relax, it’s still infuriating that he seems to get off on my terror. I ignore the urge to whack him on the nose with the prop packet of letters.
“Not yet.” He saunters over to lean against the large barrel.
“Please don’t,” I plead. “I know it didn’t work with Logan last week, but you still got a lot of mileage out of the recording.”
He tilts his head, his movements snakelike. “What do you mean?” he asks, almost indulgently.
I pretend to look confused. “That’s how you became marshal, right?”
His smile sharpens. “Clever girl.”
Oh, fuck this guy. I’m not a velociraptor. Still, I give him my most flattered smile as my mind races. I had hoped that would get him talking and admitting something concrete.
“Not as clever as you,” I say breathlessly. I don’t even have to fake my winded delivery. Adrenaline has my lungs working overtime. “You were so quick. How did you do it? Were you already looking for a way to blackmail John, or did you put together the plan on the fly? I’ve always wondered.”
“John was the one who called me,” Dawson says.
Now I’m genuinely curious. “Why?”
“We had an…arrangement,” he says vaguely, still smirking like the cat who got the cream. “It wasn’t the first time I helped the councilman out of an awkward situation.” He frowns at my clueless head tilt. “You really had no idea he had a drug problem?”
Ah ha. Now we were getting somewhere. “I didn’t! How did you help him out of that one?”
“I made it go away,” he says. “Same as with you.”
Damn. Still too vague. I shift to a more direct approach. “Did you threaten someone else with false charges, like you did to me?”
He snorts. “No. Yours was more involved than simply not arresting him for drug possession.”
“Oh.” I let disappointment soften my voice, then pivot. “I guess…I always thought you were a mastermind. An evil genius pulling all the strings in Sagebrush. But the way you describe it, it sounds more like luck. And small-time, petty stuff.”
He stares at me coldly. “It wasn’t luck. And there was nothing small or petty about it.”
I give him my best skeptical look.
“You were easy,” he snaps. “I’ve framed people far smarter than you without breaking a sweat. It was embarrassing how quickly you folded.” His gaze drags over me. “How easy you still are. You don’t want this recording out? What are you willing to do to keep it silent?”
“Nothing,” I say sincerely. “I recognize when I’ve been beaten. But it still won’t get you what you want from Logan. He won’t change the trust.”
“He will,” Dawson snarls. “I haven’t even started yet.
” His lips curl. “How’s this for a mastermind move?
Would your boyfriend change the trust to get your drug charges dropped?
You look like a girl who dabbles in paraphernalia.
I’ve got some meth at the station; it’d be easy enough to make it yours.
If that doesn’t motivate him, a couple of years in jail may do you some good. ”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Logan step through the narrow entrance.
“How do you feel about spending a couple of years in prison, Marshal Dawson?” Logan says.
“Logan,” I say, my heart in my throat.
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look at me. His eyes are spearing Dawson, and Dawson alone.
“Are you threatening me again?” Dawson shakes his head. “You didn’t learn your lesson the first time? Need a few more nights in jail, hmm?”
“We all heard,” Logan says, gesturing behind him to where his brothers and sister, along with Mayor Ortiz, appear around the edges of the cave entrance, their faces serious.
“Gabby,” Dawson sputters. “It’s… I didn’t—”
“I’ve never seen anyone turn puce before,” Seth remarks. “I can see the headlines now: ‘A Puce Town Marshal Dawson Resigns After Being Caught Threatening to Plant False Evidence.’”