A/N: Updates will come a little faster now that I have the end in sight (keeping the chapters short helps, too). There will be more from this series in the future, but I plan to keep the stories light so I can branch out with new ideas! Thanks to all who read and/or review! Enjoy!
Chapter 46 – Decompressing
"One measure of leadership is the caliber
of people who choose to follow you.
~ Dennis A. Peer
Drake couldn't recall the last time he disappeared in the wilds for a primitive hunt, but his passion for the sport hadn't diminished. Hazzard County's rugged terrain re-awakened skills inherited from his forefathers and he prowled out of the trees to leap on a large boulder, innately confident, secure in his power. Poised with the rifle propped on his hip, he swept a critical eye over the area.
Polecat Creek stretched out in a silver swath before him, shimmering in the sun and gushing between stepping stones of granite worn smooth by time. The crisp smell of pine and the rushing sound of the current invigorated him, bolstering the excitement that came with a challenge. He could track anything, anytime, anywhere. Wade was no exception.
Drake studied the far bank, his body thrumming with life, willing the earth to give up her secrets. As if nature responded to his command, his keen green eyes fell on the overturned stone.
"Foolish bugger." He leapt to the next rock, making his way over the natural crossing with sure-footed grace.
Despite a few errors, Wade was proving to be a worthy opponent, covering his tracks and repeatedly doubling back on his trail. Reaching the far shore, Drake clenched his fist in anticipation, hoping the man resisted being taken to the authorities. Shards of glaring injustice stabbed at his conscience as he wrestled his feral instincts. Killing the man in a wild rage wasn't allowed.
He shifted his weight and mentally reprimanded himself. Vengeance was a messy and dangerous thing, avoided whenever possible, but not easy to ignore at present. Last night's whiskey had loosened Jaxon's tongue and the ghostly look clouding his brother's eyes remained fresh in Drake's memory. Jaxon spoke of the months lost in Monroe's unjust custody. He was beaten, drugged and starved, emotionally tortured until he had long conversations with their deceased Gran. Wade was one of the main culprits.
With an angry growl, Drake crouched to study the disturbed ground. His radio chirped. "Highland 80? It's Bo Peep! MirrorImage is- Hey! Give that back!"
"Daisy? What's wrong?" Every muscle went rigid. "Answer me, girl. What's happened to Jaxon?"
"He's under arrest." Parks replied, his voice tinny and filled with venom. "Bring Ian to me by sundown. I'll make it easy for you and advise the law not to act if they see you. I'll be waiting at the Courthouse. If you fail to show, Jaxon goes to the detention facility in place of your father. You'd be wise to heed my warning. Is that understood?"
"Aye, you're a right nutter. The CIA had an agreement with my father."
"Yes, but that's over. Your father is compromised, Drake. You know what that means."
"It means I take control of the Bridge until he's back on his feet. It's my birthright and I willnae give it up. I could destroy the data, but that isnae necessary. I'll settle for destroying you."
"Don't threaten me. I've already taken this up the chain. The director isn't concerned with my social indiscretions, so I have nothing to be afraid of. Bring him in."
"I'll be there." To watch your career go up in flames, Drake thought, unruffled by Parks' confidence. "Mind yourself, Lyle. If ya harm my brother, I'll give ya a right thumping that'll leave ya touched in the head." He turned off his radio and yanked it from his ear to spew a few choice oaths into the trees.
This meant trusting the FBI to catch up with Wade, or at least keep him contained until he could return. It would take a little longer to rectify the situation with Parks and would begin with a call to an old family friend.
Drake made the long trek back to the Range Rover and arrived at the Stump Creek gate to find a small crew of workers with heavy equipment. Dump trucks brought in dirt and pea-gravel to level the drive and an excavator puffed black smoke into the trees. Its mechanical jaw clawed at the earth, preparing washed out areas for new tinhorns to handle the runoff. After a brief conversation with the supervisor, he drove to the clearing and parked at the construction trailer.
Reaching the top stair, Drake paused, allowing the elation of freedom to wash over him. There would be no more looking over his shoulder. Monroe's deadly pursuit was over and he could go on with his life. Daisy was at the center of his plan. He would make her his wife and build a tradition family between these ancient hills. Drake's heart swelled in his chest. This was his little corner of the world…his land.
The house looked worse now than when the crew began, but in his mind's eye, Drake saw the future that was his to command. A home with bright shutters, painted whatever color Daisy's heart desired, and gleaming windows adorned with fluttering curtains made by her hand.
Most of the details were strictly for Daisy's benefit. The addition of a large family room would accommodate the baby grand piano he had on order. In the winter months she could spend hours reading, or writing songs, curled among silk embroidered pillows in the window seat he planned for their bedroom. Even the kitchen would have all the special touches she complained of having to do without at present. There was a lot to do, but it would be a labor of love.
Drake's domain, his personal man cave, would be the new barn with fine redwood stables. He made a mental note to approach Gus and Enos. He wanted to purchase a few broodmares and the big black stallion, Joe. He would wait and let Daisy pick a horse of her own. He'd have to get a dairy cow, several chickens and a couple of pigs or sheep. He'd already picked a spot near the old water pump for Daisy's vegetable garden. By the time he was done, they'd be a self-sufficient family. He sucked in a deep breath of fresh country air and smiled with genuine pride.
A ringing phone broke his thoughts and he hurried to unlock the trailer, stepping through the door just as the fax machine picked up the call. He looked around skeptically, sniffing the air like a hound on the hunt. Someone had been in here. Drake examined the lock, but found no damage. His eyes darted across the interior for any signs of theft…not that there was much of value to steal.
The trailer was small, eight feet by twenty, with a small bathroom in the corner. At the end of the room, a small metal stool sat before a built in table. His makeshift desk was piled high. Catalogs and engineering books sat in tilting towers, crumpled bills of lading were pressed beneath an oval blue-glass paperweight, and sticky notes papered the half-buried desk blotter.
On the adjacent wall, corkboard hung above a worn leather couch, displaying blueprints and various photos taken for inspiration. Nothing was missing, disturbed, or out of place. Perhaps the trailer just needed a good airing. He opened one of two small windows to let in the breeze.
The fax machine gave a sharp beep to announce the new arrival and Drake grabbed the document from the tray. He grinned devilishly. Daisy had sent her response…in the form of another fax…to Mr. Youngston. He flopped down on the couch with unabashed confidence. His secret was safe. She failed to comply with his terms.
The letter was dated yesterday and neatly typed. Drake's assistant had written a note across the top in fat marker. Underlined three times, it screamed off the page: "READ IT AND CALL ME!"
"Subtle," he mumbled. Drake stretched his long legs across the floor and began.
Dear Mr. Youngston,
I was a bit surprised by the tone of your letter, but I understand that someone of your standing might have grown skeptical of people less fortunate. I assure you we are decent folk. We work hard, pay our taxes, and bathe regularly. We are not criminals, sir. I'm sure you'll come to that realization on your own.
Because my Uncle raised me to be an honest woman, I need to tell you about Drake's recent arrest for bootlegging. Please understand, it was all a big mistake. Even if he was guilty, which he isn't, he did his time on the chain gang. I'd be most appreciative if you could overlook this tiny little indiscretion. These local sheriffs have nothing better to do.
I promise you, he will not use the house for a nip joint. We don't see him most of the time anyway (he's a bit of a hermit) so Loch Delany won't have to worry about its pristine image. Drake really does love Stump Creek. I can't think of a better reason, or person, to unburden you from your tax write off.
It was a real pleasure to speak with you today…
Drake choked. An outright gag on the knot that had coiled in his esophagus. He hacked and coughed until the knot was free and blurted, "What the bloody hell?" He read the remaining words with his face twisted in consternation.
I really do feel better about things. As I mentioned, Drake is very capable of reading and writing. I'm handling this business because I didn't want to disappoint him if you were unwilling to negotiate. Now that I know that isn't the case, I can't wait for you to hear my proposal when you come to lunch Saturday!
I'll have all the documentation you requested ready for inspection. I'm not telling Drake you're coming to meet with us, so he's in for a big surprise! Oh, but don't worry. I'm sure he will be prepared to make a deal.
Thank you so much for agreeing to the trip. I know you won't let me down. My cousins will also be attending and Uncle Jesse will fix his best vittles. I promise to make sure Drake wears a shirt under his overalls and bathes a day early, too. Just kidding. He's really not a hillbilly.
Sincerely,
Daisy Duke
Drake roared with laughter over the first office prank to reach him in six months. Tracing her signature was a nice touch, too. He strolled confidently to the phone and called his assistant, Frannie Burke. After exchanging the usual pleasantries and excitement over the end of his life on the run, he dropped to the stool with a thud. All the air seemed to be sucked out of the room.
"H-how?" he squeaked.
"It was that male temp who covered for me yesterday! I've been putting out fires all morning!" Frannie paused to take a ragged breath. "The agency sent me some kid with black eyeliner, purple eye shadow and a matching Mohawk. I should've sent him back, but I was so sick that I just asked him to take off the make up. I wanted to get home, mind. He took it personally. Ohhh…the things he's done! He's so mean!"
"Mean?" Drake held the phone against his shoulder and crammed the fax into an overstuffed file, his confusion sidetracked by Frannie's demeanor. "Are ya going soft on me now, lass? Ya never let an arse like that get under your skin before."
"I am not going soft!"
"Okay. But how did the temp convince Daisy that I…that Mr. Youngston would come to Hazzard?"
"Who do you think played the part of Jacob Youngston? Drake, I think you're going to have to tell Daisy the truth."
"No! She cannae find out about the house! It isnae ready!" Drake swept a hand across his forehead. It was a simple fix. "Just call her and cancel the appointment!"
"Won't that make her suspicious? What if she gets angry and calls back? The little freak isn't here to impersonate!"
"Mac na bèiste." Drake puffed a long sigh. Daisy would call. If for no other reason than to chew Jacob out.
"Don't swear at me, Drake." Frannie scolded. "She might even go to Jacob's…your boss. Elise isn't in the mood for any nonsense these days. She's sure to tell her. It would be better coming from you."
Drake groaned. "Aye, we cannae risk that." Elise, his father's personal assistant, was quite the battle axe.
"What a mess." Frannie sighed. Drake could picture her sitting at her desk, tapping a pen mercilessly. "I don't care what the little snot thought of me, but he had no right to sabotage your plans, or my career! He completely wrecked my appointment calendar! I had to send a bottle of thirty year Macallan to old man Stewart. The brat told him we weren't accepting his calls! Kooky little twerp did all of this just to cause trouble!"
"Stewart?" A jagged line of dread slashed across his gut. The rumors of his father's demise had already caused a mini-panic through the shareholders. "That crotchety old goat is one of our biggest clients!"
"Don't you think I know that? If we lose his account, or any others…" Frannie sniffled and blew her nose. "I'm terribly sorry. I shouldn't have taken off during a time like this."
"Blimey hell! Are ya crying now?"
Frannie was reduced to sobs. "I-I c-can't help it! This week…h-has been…t-t-terrible!"
Frannie Burke had been with the company since it began and Drake had never heard her cry. "Poor wee hen. Ya have no' taken a day off in years. No matter. Stewart will be right pleased with his whiskey. I'll just show up with a dozen roses and tell Daisy the truth a little early."
He heard the bitter disappointment in his voice. It matched the ache in his chest. Handling things this way was far less appealing than presenting a finished house with a sparkling engagement ring on the mantle. Then again, could he stand living apart from Daisy while he finished the house? The gate might not keep her away from Mr. Youngston's workers. It would take months of sneaking around to protect his secret. Months without her warming his bed.
"Are you sure you want to do that, Drake?"
Drake felt his face heat. "Um…no?"
"I could try talking to Elise for you."
"Elise!?"
"Right, that's a bad idea. The old drill sergeant doesn't appreciate your sense of humor."
"What does my sense of humor have to do with-"
"Pay attention, Drake! Just let me tell Daisy's there's been an emergency and put her off. Who knows, maybe she'll call me to confirm before Saturday."
"Oh, aye. Saturday." Drake's skull felt like it was on fire. Maybe he was still hungover, or had been away from Daisy too long. "How can ya be sure she'll call back?"
"I can't, but if she does, I'll test the waters and see if I can back Mr. Youngston out of his obligation."
"I can always count on ya, Frannie. I'll be in Montreal for the next Board meeting now that Monroe is gone. Let me take ya to lunch and make up for lost time."
"That's a deal."
"How are communications? Are there any other pressing matters?"
"Mr. Kerr in risk management is having an aneurysm. Where's that note..." Papers shuffled in the background. "Here it is. He said, 'Two helicopters in one month is a...' Oh my. I can't say that. You get the idea."
"One and a half," he corrected. "Any word on Jenny and Enos's condition?"
"Not yet. Aiden says Ian is doing well though. They're set up at the new location. Cullen called about Parks taking Jaxon into custody. I hate thinking of that sweet boy locked up."
"Numpty will be fine. You'll see him at the end of the month. Can ya help me make a call through security?"
"Sure can. Tech re-routed the phone lines to get around the CIA's surveillance, but it sure took them long enough. Who do you need?"
"The Department of Defense. We're taking drastic measures with Parks."
A half hour later, Rosco sat behind his desk and cringed when Agent Simmons' voice boomed through the wall. Mitch Dalton was the first to suffer the Sr. Agent's wrath and was paying dearly for his involvement with the rescue mission. It might have been brave, but the act had probably cost the young agent his badge.
Turning back to his mission, Rosco opened his file drawer and the old metal tracks screeched in the process. Normally he wouldn't grant a prisoner the privilege of a pencil and his personal effects, but Jaxon didn't deserve to be here, unlike the other five men in lockup.
Rosco pulled Jaxon's leather bound journal from the drawer, which closed with another protesting squeak. He imagined it was even harder for the boy to be confined after the falling out he had with Katie. Rosco didn't have the heart to begrudge him such a simple request. He fanned the pages to check for the proverbial nail file when his mouth dropped open.
He held the book out and turned to the corner. "Flash! Would ya' take a look at that?"
Flash yawned and promptly went back to sleep. Rosco left the dog in peace, placing the open book on his desk to peer at the pages in awe. Jaxon had transformed blank paper into magnificent works of art. Each detailed image had been drawn with a simple pencil, filling the journal with his memories.
Rosco's secret love of painting was tweaked and he turned the pages with careful reverence, allowing each new creation to transport him inside Jaxon's world. He found mountain vistas, a lake dotted with islands and an ivy-covered mansion beside a copse of trees. A majestic iron gate stood open to visitors, bestowing access down a tree lined cobblestone drive. Stone pillars sat on either side, one of which announced The MacFarland Estate.
A plethora of candid portraits contained familiar, but younger faces. Jenny twirled across the stage with a group of little ballerinas and Drake stood proudly with his bow and arrow aimed towards some unseen target. In the more current images, Enos raced across an endless meadow on horseback, the animal's mane and tail rippling in the wind. Yet another portrait of Drake revealed a hidden talent as he held a fiddle under his chin.
Rosco smiled as he continued his journey through Jaxon's mind. He found Katie sitting among several large stones. Beneath the picture was written, My Katie, Tanner Fountain, Harvard 1984. A twinge of guilt whirled with his innate curiosity. Maybe he shouldn't be going through such personal memories. He wouldn't be happy if someone found his paintings at Boss's hunting cabin.
In the end, he couldn't help himself. Rosco turned the next page and nearly swallowed his tongue. Gidget's smile leapt off the paper. She stood amid a lovely garden with a pretty gazebo in the background. He could almost hear her gentle laughter as she was held in the arms of a tall, and very handsome man. He turned back to the image of Drake with the fiddle and looked at the initials. Instead of DM, the letters read DA.
"Ian." Rosco muttered in disgust and snapped the book shut.
He gathered a few pencils as his anxieties bubbled to the surface. After all these years, it was nice to have someone special, a woman's tender affection. Rosco had grown attached to Gidget, enjoying every moment in her presence and the special smile reserved only for him. It bothered him that some topics were still taboo…like the details of her divorce.
Gidget took the news about Ian's shooting much harder than he expected. She was beside herself with grief and sobbed for her children until he thought his heart might shrivel in his chest. When Katie told Rosco that Ian was still alive, he had to tell Gidget. Now he wondered if the regrets she carried over leaving her children extended to their father.
Recently she voiced her desire to repair the damaged relationships with her kids. With nothing to fear from Wallace Monroe, would she consider reuniting with Ian, too? A small farming community couldn't possibly hold much appeal for a woman like Gidget. She'd traveled all over the world, lived in bustling cities, attended operas and ballets with names Rosco couldn't even pronounce. Perhaps she would want to go back to her flat in Inverness. A lead weight settled heavily in his stomach. Scotland. Overseas. Then again, her kids were here. Along with their father.
That lead weight heated until Rosco's stomach burned like he'd swallowed battery acid. How could he, the lowly Sheriff of Hazzard County, possibly compete with Ian MacFarland? Ian had everything he didn't; power, wealth and prestige. Height, he mused, bitterly, recalling the sketch. Ian had a history with Gidget that included offspring and probably didn't give a second thought to the state of his retirement fund.
Rosco stared at the chipping paint on the wall and frowned. The voters had disallowed his pension ages ago. Precious little progress had been made on moving the decimal point to the right of his double-digit savings. He had nothing to offer when it came to financial security. He didn't have a mansion. He owned fifty percent of the tiny house he shared with momma.
Would it be enough? Would he be enough? Could he make her happy? Gidget leaving Hazzard…leaving him…was the last thing he wanted. Something inside his chest twisted and rolled. What if all she felt for Rosco was gratitude? He didn't know what to do.
"See something interesting on that wall?" Daisy asked as she stood in the doorway. "You okay, Rosco?"
He grabbed the journal and scowled. "Daisy, what are ya' doin' in here? Ain't ya' supposed to be waiting your turn for a butt chewin'?"
"Yeah, but I wanted to thank ya' for letting us use the shower to clean up Edward. He's asleep in Jaxon's cell. Uncle Jesse called. Bo has a couple fractured ribs. Jenny and Enos are okay. They'll be here for statements as soon as Katie releases them. Gus and Emily are on th' way over, too." She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. Her cheeks flushed a little when she said, "Jenny's baby is fine. Must be a strong little guy. Just like his pa."
"B-baby. Yeah. Still not quite used to th' idea of that dipstick procreating. Let's hope th' little fella takes after his ma. It could be a girl ya' know. All sugar and spice, with ribbons and curls, and a little button nose like Gid-ghit ghit gyu… Daisy! I got more important things to do than to…to…wax phonetic about Enos's offspring!"
Daisy pressed her lips together, but the smile was tugging forcefully at the corners. She flipped her hair back and asked, "Do ya' mind if I use your phone before Parks comes back upstairs? I'll be real quick."
"Ya' ain't gonna get into trouble with Agent Parks?"
"Rosco, who am I gonna call? Drake ain't got a tree phone."
He glanced at the cluttered mess on his desk and tossed a hand in the air. "Oh, alright. Help yourself, but I want your report on my desk before ya' leave. Don't touch nothin'. I got a complicated filing system."
"Yes sir. I see that." Daisy covered her mouth to hide the smile.
Rosco approached the door and paused to point a finger. "And stay out of my top drawer. I'm runnin' low on butterscotch candy. C'mon Flash, I'll take ya' to see Edward."
Flash gave an energetic woof and scurried out the door.
Daisy waited until Rosco was out of sight and waved Luke into the office. She took a seat on the desk and was dialing the phone by the time he swaggered in and closed the door.
"Daisy, are you sure this call should be made here? We haven't even been to the logging camp yet."
"I'm sure. I reckon there's always payday at the sawmill." Daisy said.
"That's right. Thursday." Luke shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. "Friday is payday at the rail yard, too."
"We'll find him in plenty of time, but it won't matter unless I have an answer. I gotta make this call." Daisy put the phone to her ear and said, "Maybelle? Would ya' charge this to th' farm? I need to make a long distance call."
"Sure thing, Daisy. Did ya' hear the latest? Everyone is so excited about th' FBI leaving town that there's gonna be a big barn dance. Want to join th' planning committee?"
"Sure, sign me up! Sounds like a great excuse to celebrate." Daisy had more reason to celebrate than most. Her heart beat a little faster knowing Drake would be in her arms tonight. She gave Maybelle the number and waited for the phone to connect.
"Good afternoon, Loch Delany."
Daisy exchanged a conspiratorial smile with Luke and crossed her fingers. "Good afternoon. This is Miss Duke. I called yesterday and was told Frannie Burke might be in today. Is she there?"
"Yes, Miss Duke. Let me see if she can take your call. Just a moment."
The phone clicked a few times and Daisy gave Luke the thumbs up. He leaned in to listen to both sides of the conversation.
"Hello, Miss Duke?"
"Yes, you can call me Daisy. Ms. Burke?"
"Yes it is. Hello, Daisy. I'm glad you called. Please call me Frannie." The woman had a kind, warm voice. "My temp left your message in my day planner. I read your fax first thing this morning. I'm terribly sorry I wasn't in yesterday. I'm afraid I have some disappointing news."
An uneasy shiver traveled along her nerves and Daisy twisted the phone cord to occupy her fingers. Perhaps this was a bad idea. Ian MacFarland's company was in an uproar over the events of the last week. This woman didn't strike her as the type to stand around the water cooler talking about the latest practical joke. She was probably too proper to pull one over on the boss.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I hope I haven't offended you, ma'am." Daisy's heart sank. Hopefully she'd get through the call without being scolded like a naughty child.
"Offended? Of course not! It's not your fault!" The woman clicked her tongue. "That Cullen MacRae…pipe smoking brute wouldn't take my ten pounds for the office pool. He said I had inside information and was tampering with the results. Stuffy old fart. I'll fix him when he gets back in town."
Daisy opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The woman prattled on, endearing herself in the best way she possibly could.
"I've been Drake's right arm since he began working for Mr. MacFarland. You could say I'm like an auntie to all the kids, but Drake's special. As you know, he can be a handful, but he's a dear boy. It's about time he met his match. You make sure he brings you up to see me soon. I'll take you to tea in Old Montreal and we can spend the afternoon in the boutiques. Now, about this plan..."
Frannie laughed. Had it been at Daisy's expense, it would've been scary.
Still chuckling, she said, "I've taken care of everything and Drake doesn't have a clue! Not to sound pompous, but I've outdone myself this time. If this works, I'm a shoe in for the Best Office Prank Award at the annual retreat."
"Y-you'll help me!?"
"My dear, I've already spun quite a tale. I'm surprised my nose hasn't grown too big for the lift. I'll fill you in on the details, but you have to tell me what else you're up to and promise to keep me posted."
"Yes, of course I will! Thank you, Frannie!" Unable to contain her excitement, Daisy leapt to her feet and gave Luke a high five. "Tell me your story and I'll explain the plan. Drake is gonna think twice before trying to snooker a Duke again!"
