“They medevaced him to Rapid’s cardiac care unit late last night.”
“Any word on how he’s doing?”
“Nope, but I’m sure someone who comes in tonight will know more.”
Clementine’s was hopping with new customers. Old customers. Package sales customers. Being busy meant time sped past, although I was glad the place emptied out at eleven-thirty.
I groaned when the door opened again at eleven forty-five as I finished closing duties. But my “We’re closed” response dried up when Geneva strolled in.
“Hey. I never thought I’d see you in here.”
Her wide-eyed gaze lingered on the bar’s back shelves, which were lined with liquor bottles. Most bar’s back shelves were mirrored, but John-John had learned the hard way that mirrors, glass, and volatile tempers were a dangerous combination in a joint like this.
“Can I getcha something to drink?”
“Diet Coke.”
As I waited for her to explain why she’d shown up at Clementine’s, the door opened again. Kit McIntyre headed toward us, followed by Rollie Rondeaux. Deputy Kiki Moore brought up the rear. A motley group. None of them were friends with one another, and chances were slim they’d become drinking buddies.
My heart damn near stopped. Was Kiki here on official business? Had she called Geneva and Rollie because I’d need support from my friends when she delivered bad news? “What happened? Is Hope okay?”
“Everything is fine with your family, Mercy,” Kiki assured me. “But we need to talk to you about something else.”
“What?”
Once they’d seated themselves on the bar stools next to Geneva, they all looked to Kit.
The white-haired pain-in-my-ass was their leader? Not good.
“As you’ve probably heard, Bill O’Neil suffered a massive heart attack. He’ll recover, but not in the time frame needed to continue his bid for sheriff. According to state and county regulations, if a serious health issue or death prevents a candidate for running for office, the candidate’s proxy can choose a substitute to run in his or her place.”
“And this concerns me… how?”
“As Bill O’Neil’s campaign manager, I’m his proxy.” He preened a bit. “We’re asking you to be Bill’s replacement candidate, Mercy, and run for sheriff.”
My jaw nearly hit the counter. “You cannot be serious.”
“We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t.”
“No.”
“But you haven’t heard-”
“I’ve heard enough. My answer is no.”
“Here’s your chance to help the community, Mercy, on a number of levels.”
I whirled on Kiki. “By running for sheriff? Need I remind you that my dad handpicked Dawson as his replacement? So I’d be running against my father’s endorsement? No thanks.”
Kit leaned in. “The only reason Wyatt endorsed Dawson was because he had no one else. It’d been a different story if Wyatt had known you were coming back to Eagle River County permanently. Everyone knows Wyatt would’ve wanted you as his replacement.”
Behind me, John-John asked, “Anyone want a drink?”
“No booze for these guys, since I’m pretty sure every single one of them is already drunk.”
“Four Diet Cokes coming up.”
I stared hard at Geneva. “So you’re supporting Bill O’Neil for sheriff?”
Geneva wrinkled her nose. “Better him than Dawson. That man… Jesus, don’t get me started on what’s wrong with him.”
Masking my response was second nature; still, Geneva’s intense dislike for the man I’d been spending time with for the last few months stung a bit. But like me, she questioned Dawson on a professional level, not on a personal one. “Is Dawson doing such a lousy job?”
“He arrested you last summer. He arrested Molly and her friends. And yet he looks the other way at other things going on in this county.”
“What other things?”
She waved off my question. “The point is, yes, I was supporting Bill. When Kit approached me today and brought up your name as Bill’s potential replacement, I was immediately on board with your running against Dawson.”
“Why? I don’t have the experience in law enforcement that Dawson has.”
“But you’ve got other qualifications,” Geneva argued. “You were in the army for twenty years. That right there says discipline and commitment. Plus you’ve got the community dedication covered with your generational ties to the area.”
Unbelievable. My head spun. How’d they come up with all this so fast?
“Can you just hear us out?” Rollie asked.
They’d hound me until I agreed to at least listen. “Fine. How would your campaign strategy for me differ from what you’d planned for Bill?”
“Besides the fact we might actually have a shot at winning?” Kit said.
Geneva hushed Kit. “The best strategy we have on the fly is playing on the fact that you’re a native of this area and Dawson isn’t.”
“That’s it? That’s your reasoning behind choosing me?”
“You are your father’s daughter, Mercy. That means something in this county. Don’t discount it.” John-John slid the lowball glasses across the counter and walked away.
Rollie’s shrewd gaze watched as John-John retreated.
Kit looked longingly at the bottles of booze behind me.
Geneva reached for a straw and stirred her soda.
I decided to pick them off one by one, choosing Rollie first. “Why are you involved? You and my dad weren’t exactly best buddies.”
“I ain’t best buddies with Dawson either. I don’t know him.” He offered me a challenging look. “But I do know you, Mercy. I know you have ability, and integrity, and, most important, roots here. You’d do a great job as sheriff. Not only would you try to live up to your father’s expectations, you’d live up to the expectations you’ve always had for yourself.”
Uncomfortable with any type of praise, I looked away.
Kiki fiddled with her glass and spoke without my prompting. “From the law enforcement perspective, I can tell you I loved working for Wyatt Gunderson. He taught me how to be a good, honest cop. He taught me pride isn’t a bad thing when it’s deserved. He was constantly striving to make us all better public servants because he never forgot who paid our salary. He was a tough man, but a fair man. He cared about people in the community. Being sheriff wasn’t just his job, it was his life.”
Murmurs of assent.
“I see a lot of Wyatt in you, Mercy. We all do.”
My hands clenched into fists, a little appalled they were laying it on so thick with the “your father” line of guilt.
“I’ve embraced Dawson’s way of doing things. Some I’ve agreed with, some I’ve disagreed with, though never publicly,” Kiki added.
“Why don’t you step up to the plate, Deputy Moore? You have the experience and community commitment.”
Kiki seemed shocked by my suggestion. “God, no. I’m a better Indian than a chief.” She turned to Rollie. “Umm. No offense.”
“Speaking of Indian… since you finally enrolled in the tribe, you’d get the Indian vote,” Rollie pointed out.
“Don’t discount all the people who listened to you lay into them oil people at the first town hall meeting,” Kit said.
Another situation I’d found myself in that was out of my realm. But the underhanded way Titan Oil set up the meeting with the affected landowners, during calving season, had made me see red.
And why had this call to duty happened now? Despite their claims that I’d be a chip off the Wyatt Gunderson block, Dad had never said he wanted me to follow in his footsteps for law enforcement. He’d wanted me to follow in his footsteps and keep the ranch alive.
He did both, why can’t you?
Could I see myself slipping on the uniform and the ugly hat every morning? Strapping on my gun and a set of handcuffs? Hadn’t I just left that regimented life?