Whew. I didn’t bounce her or adjust my position. At all. I was statue aunt.
Hope beamed. “See? Is that so bad?”
“Umm. No.”
“So, after me ’n’ Joy and Jake move out of the main house, are you gonna come clean about the guy you’ve been seein’ on the sly?”
“What guy?”
She smirked. “Nice try, but I even know who it is.”
I ignored the spike in my pulse. “Do tell, little sis.”
Hope whispered, “Bobby Sprague.”
“Eww. That’s gross.” Bobby Sprague was the fat, mean, stupid kid that everyone had hated. As an adult he was still fat, mean, and stupid, and I avoided him like Sophie’s bran-pumpkin muffins.
Joy grunted and wiggled. My pulse spiked again. “Umm, Hope? I think Poopy’s trying to escape.”
“C’mere, baby girl. We’ve taken up enough of Aunt Mercy’s time.” Hope plucked Joy from my arms. “And stop calling her Poopy.”
For the next hour, I paced, although it appeared I was mingling. My cheeks ached from smiling. Geneva and the election crew were falsely upbeat, so I suspected either Rollie or Kit had an inside source for the preliminary election results.
Things weren’t looking good for team Gunderson.
The ten o’clock news came on. Few elections were taking place in West River, so it wouldn’t take long to learn the results.
The room went still as the information scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
Winner, Eagle River County sheriff race: Mason Dawson def. Mercy Gunderson.
I lost?
The screen didn’t change.
Yes, I lost. In the county I was born in. In the county my father had served for two and a half decades.
Dawson won with a margin of 70 percent to 30 percent of the votes.
Disappointment floated around me so thick I could’ve choked on it. Any semblance of a smile was long gone-on my face and everyone else’s.
Don’t be a sore loser, girlie; he won fair and square.
Thanks for that pep talk, now, Dad.
I knew I’d have to call Dawson and concede, but why in the hell did I have to make the call in front of everyone? In the name of good sportsmanship?
Screw that.
I turned my back on the room-I didn’t care if they thought I was hiding my teary face-and flipped open my cell phone to text Dawson.
Congrats. You won. Don’t be a smug prick about it. Official phone call to follow.
My unofficial concession made me feel better, if nothing else.
His immediate answering text read: So noted, and so gracious.
I faced the campaign workers-my family, friends, and locals who’d pinned their hopes on me. I almost wished they’d berate me; it couldn’t be worse than the guilt I was heaping on myself.
Geneva approached me. “You all right?”
“What do you think?”
She leaned forward and whispered, “I think you did better than Bill O’Neil would’ve done.”
I stared at her. Hard. Then it hit me. “You didn’t expect me to win.”
“Of course not.”
“Then why did you-”
“Because the county needed a choice, Mercy. If Dawson had run unopposed, no one in the county would’ve respected him, or his authority, or thought he’d ‘earned’ the right to be sheriff for the next four years.” She squeezed my hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I would’ve loved it if you’d won. But I was looking at the bigger picture.”
“You sure you’ve never been an army war strategist?”
Geneva smiled. “I have six children. Knowing the right strategy is a necessity. Now that your guilt commitment is over, here’s some advice. Allow yourself to have something that doesn’t owe a damn thing to your father’s legacy, the Gunderson Ranch, or your military history. Dawson’s really not a bad guy. And now that I think about it, he is your type.”
“What type?”
“A cowboy in uniform.” She whistled to get everyone’s attention. “Listen up, Mercy is making the call.”
I started to call him but realized people might be suspicious if I had Dawson on speed dial. “Who has the number?”
Only I saw Geneva roll her eyes.
Kit handed me a piece of paper. “Here.”
I hesitated. “Look, I appreciate that you all put your trust and faith in me. I’m disappointed that I lost. But the voters of the county have spoken. Dawson won. So I’d appreciate it if you give Sheriff Dawson your full support so we can keep the county united and move on. I know I will be behind him one hundred percent.”
The clapping following my impromptu speech actually sounded genuine and not perfunctory.
I punched in the numbers and hit Dial.
Dawson answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Sheriff Dawson. Candidate Mercy Gunderson officially conceding this election and wishing you the best of luck in the next four years serving the community and Eagle River County as sheriff.”
“Thank you, Miz Gunderson. Your father would’ve been proud that you stepped up and filled in as a replacement candidate for Deputy O’Neil on such short notice.”
“Thank you.”
The conversation ended quickly.
My family and friends left without saying good-bye. Even the campaign workers were scared off by my don’t-fuck-with-me vibe, and I found myself alone with Leo as he locked up.
I trudged to the parking lot behind the building, feeling more melancholy than I imagined.
He won. You lost. Get over it.
Yeah, but I deserved to wallow for more than thirty lousy minutes, didn’t I?
I heard a noise and looked up from staring at my feet.
One sodium light flickered above where Dawson leaned against the driver’s-side door of my pickup.
He didn’t look thrilled for a man who’d just handed me my ass in my own damn county.
I stopped about ten feet from him.
“You didn’t pull a gun on me,” he said dryly. “I think that’s a first.”
“Geneva wouldn’t let me carry on election night.”
“She’s such a spoilsport.”
Silence.
“What are you doing here?”
He didn’t blink, or move; he just watched me.
“Shouldn’t you be whooping it up with your committee?”
Dawson kept his hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. He looked every inch the cowboy-new Wranglers, a gray pearl-snap shirt, a black leather vest, scuffed black cowboy boots. He wasn’t wearing a cowboy hat or championship belt buckle.
Shame, really.
“Dawson?”
“Yeah, I probably should be popping a top with the crew.”
“Then why aren’t you?”
A heavy sigh followed another pause. “Here’s the thing. I’m damn happy that I won.” His eyes searched mine. “But the truth is, you’re the only one I want to celebrate with, which sucks, since I suspect I’m the last person you want to see right about now.”
I studied him. A sharp ache-a combination of guilt and need-moved through me. Dawson could be anywhere, with anyone, and yet here he was. With me. Waiting on me. I shoved my hands in my pockets, mimicking his stance, unsure what to do.
“Do you want me to go?”
I shook my head, expecting he wouldn’t accept my silence. He’d verbally push me until my words erupted like a geyser. But Dawson just watched me patiently. That unnerved me even worse.
“You know what bugs me about this situation? Here it is, not even an hour after I lost, and I’m not all that upset that you beat me. I’m… relieved. And that pisses me off. It pisses me off that I’m not spitting nails at you for winning.”
“Why?”
“Because… fuck, I don’t know. Maybe it was all about the competition. Maybe I was trying to live up to expectations that aren’t mine.”
“Sounds like an excuse, and you ain’t the type to Monday-morning quarterback, Mercy, so try again.”
“Fine. The truth? My dad picked you because he trusted you.”
“And?”
I struggled, trapped by the weight of my pride. “Despite claims to the contrary, if my dad was alive, I believe he’d still consider you the better candidate. He’d back you for sheriff, even against me, his own daughter.” I laughed. “Took me a while to realize this, and even longer to admit it, but the crazy thing is? I do trust you, Dawson. You are qualified, immensely so, and the comparisons I’ve made between you and my father aren’t justified and aren’t fair.”