Hot Snow

By Jerry Byrum

HOT SNOW sizzles with an unlikely mix of passion-filled men and women, and one lovable dog. Caught in the middle of a chilling snow storm, emotions churn, suspense swirls and their lives will never be the same again, and neither will the holiday-decorated, quaint little town of Hellgate Gorge. Twenty-eight year old Dakota Blackstone, fresh out of prison, vows to build a new life as a quilt shop owner and never return to prison. But the runaway winter storm dumps frigid snow, mystery, and swirling hot passions. Having lost the love of his life, Dakota is now faced with finding her or spending the rest of his life behind prison bars. Hope is thin until an unknown renegade arrives in town. But the risks are plentiful, and hidden agendas bring new fuel to the tangled lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jerry Byrum
• Release date: Jun 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301101702

Jerry Byrum

Jerry Byrum is a native of North Carolina and a graduate of High Point University, and East Carolina University. After service in the U.S. Army, Jerry taught public school science six years, and served as a science consultant four years. He enjoyed a 25-year career as a national representative of the American Federation of Teachers, with assignments in more than 30 states. His passions are his family, writing, reading, teaching, speaking, and quilting. He writes and relaxes from the mountains to the coast of the variety vacation-land, North Carolina. He enjoys writing edgy contemporary romance with strong female protagonists and other runaway characters usually on a mission to satisfy their passions. Jerry writes complete, stand-alone stories, and you may read them in any order. He is a member of the Romance Writers of America.

Book preview

Chapter 1

January 4

Dakota Blackstone stood ramrod straight, a little over six feet tall, staring at the closed gray door marked WARDEN in black letters. Blackstone was flanked by a guard on both sides and one behind him.

The bald, uniformed man seated behind the gray reception desk placed the black phone in its cradle, and gave a blank nod to the fourth guard standing at the door.

He opened the door and the prisoner was ushered into the warden’s office promptly at 10:00 a.m.

Dakota’s eyes swept three sides of the room. Gray walls, with one large curtain-less window behind the warden’s desk that overlooked the empty prison yard. He could see in the distance the jagged security wire running the perimeter, broken only by armed tower guards.

Two large bookcases framed the window. Books neatly lined the shelves. A shiny laptop computer hypnotically displayed its screen saver on the otherwise squeaky clean desk. A nearby laser mouse waited for the next click.

Gray walls, but the left wall was covered with bright rock concert posters including Mick Jagger, Pitbull, Rihanna, Bob Seger, Lady Gaga, and an assortment of country western entertainers, all autographed. The right wall had one small framed Christian cross.

I’m Warden Mel Daggert. He extended his hand. Pleasure to meet you Dakota.

Dakota gave him a wary handshake. Same here, sir.

You can drop the ‘sir.’ I’m Mel. He motioned with his hand. Have a seat. The warden took a straight-back wooden chair on one side of a low wooden coffee table.

Dakota nodded, feeling cautious, but took the opposite chair.

The warden poured two mugs of steaming coffee. One choice of coffee; Starbucks, black. Add your own cream and sugar. He leaned back and took a swallow from his mug, eyeing Dakota.

The coffee aroma began awakening Dakota’s gray world he’d been in for the past two years. And the smooth taste of real coffee was an even greater transformer. He’d forgotten he had taste buds that could reach that far into the universe. The coffee was liquid manna.

The warden was a lean man, with a hard jaw, and aging crew cut. He stared over his mug at Dakota. You’re the most puzzling inmate that’s ever been through this prison. Why are you even in here?

Dakota cast a hard look. I was guilty.

The warden gave a wave of his hand. I know what your records say, but the victim was not harmed, he lost nothing, and he got punitive damage money. But you ended up with two to five with time off for good behavior. He took another swill of coffee.

From what I could tell, you didn’t put up much of a fight in court. I don’t get it. He paused. And you’ve been a model inmate…a better citizen than most people on the outside walking the streets.

Dakota thought a moment. Have some new issues come up regarding—

The warden cut him off. No, no, nothing has come up; you’ll be released on schedule tomorrow. I’m revising a textbook on prison perspective and I’m just curious. Thought a conversation with you might be helpful to me.

Dakota’s blue eyes widened.

No, I’m not going to quote you or any other inmate. It would be unethical for me to use you or any information about you in a book. My writings are strictly general perspective based on observations after twenty years in this business. There’ll be no personal references. No need to worry.

Silence filled the room.

Dakota said, "The Company I worked for continued to have several thousand dollars on the books that sat idle for months. My co-worker and I decided to make fast turn-around stock investments and replace the money week after week. The major owner never looked at the books, except for a couple of times; that’s when he noticed some withdrawals and deposits. We were caught.

It’s true the owner lost nothing. But he claimed that he’d planned to make a company expansion, but couldn’t because the day he saw the books the cash cushion had been withdrawn. Therefore he claimed he missed a lucrative financial opportunity. The jury agreed.

Dakota paused a moment, took another swallow of coffee.

My co-worker and I had gained almost a hundred thousand from the investments. The court, after court costs and attorney fees, awarded the rest in punitive damages to the company.

The warden rubbed his thumb across his chin. Are you bitter?

No, not one bit. Dakota gazed out the window at the gray winter sky. "I don’t like how my attorney represented me or how the court rendered a decision, but they are not to blame. I was guilty of using someone else’s property without their permission to create gain for myself.

Although we replaced the company’s money, what we did was wrong. He paused. The courts wouldn’t let a bank robber get away with claiming he was just borrowing the banks money for a while and would pay it back later. Another swallow of real caffeinated coffee. I was guilty. I was convicted. I’m beyond that."

The warden exhaled. Like I said, you’re a puzzling individual. You’re the first prison inmate I’ve ever met who admitted guilt; most declare their innocence. He chuckled.

Stone-faced Dakota said, Some are innocent."

The warden hesitated a moment. Do you have any final comments to make about the shower incident the day you arrived here?

Dakota placed his mug on the coffee table. Is that what this meeting is really about?

No. The warden stared at Dakota. But we still don’t know who shoved the bar of soap down the deceased inmate’s throat. Thought you might’ve remembered something.

Nothing other than what I stated back then. Dakota felt a growing inner tension.

Well, I hate to see anyone lose their life, but Stickly was the meanest s.o.b. to ever pass through here. He should’ve never been sent to a medium security prison. He was hard and should’ve been in max. His death sure saved me a lot of trouble.

The warden glanced at the cross on the wall. That’s crass of me, but it’s true. He paused a moment. "How ever the incident happened, I’d show my appreciation if I knew how."

Dakota decided to change the subject. Tell me about the two walls, concert posters and the single framed cross.

A small grin passed over the warden’s face. These are some of my favorite musicians. I’m about the same age of some of these people. Some are younger. I like their music, but they represent chaos. There are so many scattered messages in their works. He gestured toward the cross. On the other hand the cross represents certainty, salvation, stability, security.

The warden looked at Dakota and gave a low chuckle. You probably think I’m a puzzling warden.

Not at all. I like the contrasting walls.

Are you religious, Dakota?

Trying to be. My mother and father taught me.

You’re not a hundred percent whi—

Dakota cut him off, blue eyes showing a glint of fire. I’m one hundred percent American. My mother was Cherokee, my father was white. DNA is mixed, but U.S. citizenship is a hundred percent pure. I’m more native American than you are warden. There was a bite in his words.

The warden gave a chuckle. Didn’t intend an insult, Dakota. I respect you as a hundred percent man and I like that you’re proud of who you are. He let the air settle a moment. What are your plans after you’re released? You going back in the financial field?

Probably not. I think I’ll try something along the lines of art or carpentry.

The warden processed that.

Aren’t those areas a little shaky in this economy?

Maybe, but I’m not worried. I’ll give it a try. I really got hooked on the quilting class you approved a year ago.

Both took another slug of coffee.

Do you have a woman waiting for you when you’re released?

Dakota took and exhaled a deep breath. Thought I did, but I’m not sure at this point. You probably know how these things work better than I do. His eyes shot to the gray winter sky again, through the lone window. Thinking. Thinking about what he’d find back home, already bracing himself.

The conversation wound down and the warden stood, extending his hand across the table to Dakota. Enjoyed talking with you. Take care of yourself, and don’t come back here again. He gave a short grin. You can leave the door open when you leave.

Thank you, sir. Dakota walked to the door, stopped and turned back to the warden. Just how serious are you about showing your appreciation regarding the shower incident?

Very.

Dakota thought a long moment and said, Then make sure my friend, Joshua Bankwell is released safely. I’ll know if he isn’t.

Is that a threat, Dakota?

No. Just my way of saying I trust your word is equal to mine, Mel.

The warden nodded. Fair enough.

Dakota opened the door and the three guards walked him back to his gray cell for the longest day of his life.

Chapter 2

6:10 p.m.

Dakota moved down the food line as he prepared to eat his last prison meal. The food odors hadn’t changed a bit in two years. All 2,190 meals had melded into a memory of one giant pile of tasteless mush. Maybe he could stomach one more.

The inmates on the serving line plopped pasty looking mixtures on his tray.

He grabbed a drink, and moved over to one of the tables, taking a seat across from his good friend. Hey, Josh, the last gourmet dinner before getting some real fast food on the outside.

Joshua Bankwell shot him a hard look. Don’t rub it in, pal.

Just joshing you a bit. What’s the latest on your case?

You know the story by now. Same old ‘wait till you hear back from us.’ So I’m waiting. But the Innocent Investigative Project is the best hope I’ve got.

Don’t give up man. You’re close and I know you’re innocent.

Josh stuffed another forkful of food in his mouth. Well, of course. You’re the only guilty one in the whole damn prison. He laughed. We’ll see how everything works out. He gulped some tea. Just don’t you forget that I’m left behind in this stink hole.

Dakota looked at his friend with medium chocolate skin and premature graying hair He was only 36. Josh, I’ll never forget you. I’ll keep in touch and I’ll expect you to do the same. I’ll let you know where I’ve located and you’d better show up there when you get out.

After ten years, hope is wearing a little thin around here. Josh stared down at his tray.

What’d I tell you about hope? Hope is fickle; hope will flirt with your mind. Determination is your friend. Don’t turn loose of that, ever. Dakota nudged Josh’s shoe under the table. You listening to me?

I know, I know. You’re like a damned head doc with all this feel good advice. He shoved the last bite of biscuit in his mouth. But you’re the best friend I’ve ever had Dakota. How can that be; a half-breed Indian and a black man? Hell, we’re supposed to be fighting each other, not being friends.

Dakota chuckled. Well, don’t tell anyone we’re friends. We wouldn’t want to disappoint society.

Josh picked up his tray. Gotta run. Got some duty. Catch you later before you leave. He ambled off across the cafeteria filled with prisoners hunkered over tables, as they ate.

Dakota wondered about the future of his good friend, Josh Bankwell.

Chapter 3

3:13 a.m., January 5

The guard handed final paper work to Dakota. Good luck. Don’t want to see your face around here again. You can do better with your life.

Thanks, I’ll remember that.

Dakota walked out into the winter night and took a seat on the gray prison bus, lettered in black with Starlight Prison, operated by a private company. He stashed his duffel bag under the seat and looked out into the cold darkness. Snow was swirling. The weather forecast called for one to two inches. But nothing to be concerned about in upper Illinois.

The driver gave a few basic instructions and then took his seat at the wheel and the bus grumbled off through the main prison gate jostling eight men free of prison life, at least for a while for some of them.

Dakota stared into the silent darkness as the bus sped for the first stop for two of the men, a bus station in a small town 20 miles from the prison. Another half-hour’s drive and three more men got off at another town.

As the bus pulled curbside at Chicago O’Hare International Airport, it was almost 6:00 a.m. The morning sky showed only a tinge of eastern light. The wind was still whipped with snow. Dakota and the two other ex-cons hurried inside.

Once inside Dakota gave each a handshake. Take care guys. Stay out of trouble.

Yeah, Dakota, that sounds like good advice coming from a guilty man, said one.

Look at it this way. I was guilty so I got exactly what I bargained for. You guys were innocent, or so you say, so you got cheated these past six years. I can understand why you weren’t happy in prison. Me? I was happy. I got full value for my crime. He gave a broad smile, and shrugged.

Come on Joe, let’s catch our plane, said the other inmate, casting a cautious look at Dakota.

Take care. Dakota’s parting words.

As the men walked away one said to the other, The dumb shit. He’ll probably be back in prison before we get to California.

The other one laughed. I need a couple of beers before I get on that plane.

Dakota had a little over $1,200 in his prison account. He’d accumulated and saved as much as he could; purchasing only the basics he needed in prison. Toothpaste, other personal needs, clothing replacements, and a couple of magazine subscriptions from art and quilt publishers. He’d discovered that simplicity had a certain beauty to it. ‘Less was more’ as he’d read some place.

He knew he’d have more funds when he got to his destination. He and his girlfriend had setup joint checking and savings accounts four years ago before he took the job in Smootville, Illinois.

Both had made regular deposits into the accounts, while working. His girlfriend had continued working back home. They’d talked of marriage, but wanted to save up a good bit of money first. But he hadn’t heard from her in over a year. He didn’t know what all that meant.

He slipped his billfold from his jeans and stepped up to the ticket counter.

May I help you sir? said the attractive, wide-awake female agent.

Yes, I should have a reservation, one way to Asheville, North Carolina. The name is Dakota Blackstone.

Clickety click went her keyboard. Yes, as a matter of fact you do. Looks like you’ll be paying by cash?

Dakota already knew the amount. He peeled off the bills. The agent did a double count, tidying up the bills, and working with her computer again. Is Asheville your home?

No, but it’s as close as I could get.

Oh? Where’s home?

Hellgate Gorge.

You’re kidding, right? Is that really a place?

Sure is. A beautiful gorge deep in the mountains of North Carolina. Of course I haven’t lived there since I was in high school. But that’s where I’m returning.

She glanced up at him figuring correctly that he was about 28 years old. Where have you lived? Chicago?

The past two years I’ve lived in Starlight Prison.

The agent’s breath had a short intake. Are you…I mean—?

Yes, I was a prisoner until about three hours ago. I’m a free man now. He smiled.

But you weren’t…did you—

I was guilty of stealing, but don’t worry I didn’t kill or hurt anyone.

Looking bewildered the agent said, But why wouldn’t you hide something like that. I mean why are you so open about that to…to…a stranger?

He studied her a moment. I guess I’m as open about being in prison as you are about the heart tattoo on the side of your neck.

Blushing, she said, Oh, that. I wish I’d never gotten it now. She placed her hand over it.

Well, it’s sort of attractive, maybe while you’re still in your 20s or 30s. Learn to live with it. Don’t let it ruin your day or your life. He smiled.

Luckily no other customers were waiting in line because she was enjoying talking with him.

I’ve never met a real…a real—

Convict. The correct word is convict. I’ll carry that label the rest of my life just like you’ll carry that tattoo the rest of your life.

She looked at him and exhaled. I’ve just never met anyone like you before. You’re puzzling.

He had a quick idea. Let me have one of your business cards.

She handed him one, looking a little uneasy.

He scrawled on the back. Convicted, Dakota Blackstone. Underneath he added: I’m free! He dated it, then slid the card to her. A real autograph of a real convict. Just like a celebrity. He smiled, watching her closely.

Oh, my. Thank you, I guess? You are really an interesting person.

Dakota picked up his duffel bag. You take care and good luck to you. He headed for the gates, feeling freer by the minute.

The agent looked at the card again, looked at his tall frame striding off. She half whispered, Good luck to you, and a good flight.

Dakota feasted on a breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, juice, fruit, coffee, and anything else that looked good to him in the food court. He took his time eating, while watching the early morning travelers grabbing their first cup of coffee.

On his way to his departure gate he picked up a couple of newspapers and another cup of coffee from the Starbucks kiosk. He sat, savoring each swallow of coffee as he scanned the papers.

He was finally beginning to feel relaxed. He put the papers aside, folded his arms across his chest, lowered his head and stared at the carpet in front of the row of seats across from him.

He sat just thinking, letting his thoughts drift. He was oblivious to the woman who walked up and took a seat across from him.

He wasn’t sure if he dozed off momentarily, but he became aware of a repetitive movement in front of him. What the hell, he thought; I’ve been staring at some woman’s legs. He raised his head slightly and let his eyes slowly travel up her shapely calves.

When his eyes got to her knees she slowly uncrossed, and crossed her legs again. Am I dreaming, he thought, as she flashed him an inner peek half way up her thighs.

No one else was seated around, so he let his eyes slowly journey up the rest of her body. It took some visual effort for his eyes to surmount her adequate breasts straining at her blouse. He lifted his head slightly and was looking into the mischievous grin of an attractive woman.

Bright red finger nails, styled dark hair, heavy makeup for a morning flight, but the full Chicago works. Not exactly what he needed to be looking at, after not having seen an attractive woman in almost two years. He’d only had a couple of pictures of his fiancée to look at, while in prison.

Her smile broadened as she said, Hi there.

He shook his head slightly. Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare at you. I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable.

Apologize for what? You ain’t done nothing…yet, said with the mischievous grin and a giggle. She watched him a moment. I’m Tracie. What’s your name?"

Dakota.

Dakota, you didn’t offend me or upset me. I’ve been watching you since I entered the gate area. I could tell your thoughts were way off somewhere. I noticed you thumbing through the papers in a hurry, and I thought to myself, nobody can read that fast.

She smacked her chewing gum. Somehow I know your looking at me was innocent. Believe me; I know the difference from the men I’ve known… Her voice trailed off. She was quiet for several moments as her face saddened.

Dakota studied her. What do you do here in Chicago, and are you on this flight?

No, not this flight, I’m just killing time until I meet my girlfriend up the concourse in about half an hour. Taking a deep breath, What don’t I do would be a better question. Look, I don’t really know you, but I know you’re not from Chicago and you’re not an undercover cop, so I’ll tell you what I do.

OK. He was a little surprised at how she’d sized him up.

Let’s just say my girlfriend, GG, and me are in the entertainment business, you know like social entertaining, uh…like party stuff.

So you have a party planning company?

You really are innocent, aren’t you? Look, we sort of work for a social service agent; we go out with men and help them sort of party while out of town. Understand now? She winked, chomped her gum.

He wasn’t sure what he understood, but he thought he’d figured it out. After a pause he asked, Do you like what you do with the…social entertaining?

No, I mean yes, well sometimes, I guess, well when you’re making money, I guess that means you’re supposed to like what you’re doing, or no that might mean…look I don’t know what I’m trying to say.

She tilted her head back. Why are you asking me questions like that? I don’t even know you. Maybe you are an undercover cop after all, she said becoming agitated.

GG—

That’s not my name. GG is my girlfriend’s name. My name is Traci Green, she said quickly.

Sorry, I got you mixed up, Traci. I think your first answer of ‘no’ was probably true, and I don’t believe money and happiness are always connected. The reason I asked you questions is because we were just…talking… He gave a slight shrug.

Tracie chewed at her bottom lip a bit. You’re a puzzling man. Are you married?

No.

Are you available? Tracie’s eyes brightened innocently.

The best answer would be that I’m not married. Available? I’m—

Ladies and Gentlemen, Delta Flight 539 to Asheville, North Carolina is ready for initial boarding. The standard announcement blared on, interrupting their conversation.

Dakota stood, tossed his coffee cup and newspapers. Enjoyed meeting you and talking with you. He paused a moment, thinking, what the heck, I’m going to ask anyway. I’d like to ask you to do something as soon as you get a chance.

He quickly pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. "The name I’m writing is Freedom Lifestyles. I’ve heard they’re a good organization. They’re listed in the phone book. The organization is located somewhere in Chicago, and it was founded by two women who were victims of domestic and sexual abuse. They have a program for women who want to make a lifestyle change. They offer job training, some legal assistance, but most important they offer caring and emotional support for women.

Since you seemed uncertain whether you like what you do, think about it and give them a call. Don’t be afraid to look for what really makes you a happy person in life. He wasn’t sure how she’d react. He didn’t have time to give her a long explanation that he’d learned about Freedom Lifestyles from some of the sad experiences fellow inmates had related to him.

Tracie was half listening. In a high school-ish way she stood up and opened her arms wide and said, OK, let me give you a send-off hug, and then put her arms around him. He immediately felt her clinginess, as she nuzzled her head just under his chin and whispered, Don’t leave me. I need a man like you, Dakota. I can just tell you’re different.

Her warmth charged through him like a jungle heat wave, something he hadn’t felt in over two years. But he knew he didn’t need this with a perfect stranger.

He spoke softly as he leaned back slightly, and gently separated from her hug. You and all of Chicago will be stuck with me, if I miss my flight. I don’t know your friend, but tell her I said ‘hello’ and both of you take care and be safe. I’ll say a prayer for you. Got to catch my flight. He snatched his duffel bag and headed for the gateway, waving back as he disappeared.

Tracie stood there for a moment and then her thoughts started multiplying faster than she could assemble them. Who the hell is this guy? Why am I so choked up over a 10 minute conversation with some strange guy? Ten minutes is about like a party fuck anyway. Why is he telling me about some damned freedom house? Hell, I’m already a free spirit; I ain’t married; I’m already free. And what’s this crap about a prayer? Is he some kind of religious nut? Yeah, he was a Mr. nice, goody two-shoes, full of bullshit questions, and apologies for looking at my legs, and then what does he do? Like all men, he leaves me standing here by myself. She was mad, sad, hurt, and a little bit hopeful all at once. She looked around and saw a fat, balding man drooling at her.

Her fury erupted. What the fuck are you looking at? Get away from me before I call security.

Damn lady, I’m married with five kids, and I’m waiting for my flight, the shocked stranger whined.

I don’t give a rat’s ass about your family or your flight. Get away from me you pervert! All you men are the same, a bunch of pigs! A few heads turned.

The man scooted down the concourse with his briefcase in tow, spilling coffee down his shirt and tie.

Tracie casually strolled to the garbage can to toss the scrap of paper Dakota had given her. She lightly ran her finger across the name he’d written, Freedom Lifestyles. She was about to toss the paper, paused, and then thought to herself, I’ll keep the damned thing and when GG and I return from Denver I’ll look them up and tell them where to stick their free style living.

She turned and noticed the plane Dakota had boarded was being pushed away from the gate. She walked over to the glass window and looked longingly at the plane. She thought what a nice man he seemed to be. Damn him, why is he leaving me? Then she decided that she needed a drink, one helluva drink, and with heels clicking, headed for the bar just up the concourse where she was to meet her best friend, GG.

Dakota had gotten settled in his aisle seat on row 13. He was rummaging around in his duffel bag to find one of his magazines and a tattered notebook, so he missed seeing Tracie standing at the observation window.

He looked over some of his notes and plans he’d jotted down for his future. He’d looked forward to the day when he could put them in action. Now that the day had arrived he was anxious to move forward. He felt restless. He put the magazine and notebook back in his bag.

After the plane lifted off the runway, he adjusted his seat a bit, closed his eyes and let his thoughts enjoy their rampant time as he called it, when he let his thoughts be as they are, as he freely examined each one for the hidden secrets of life. He’d done lots of that while in prison.

He said a small prayer for Tracie Green and her friend. He started wondering about her. She must be 30 or more and seems to be a complex mixture of confusion and insecurity? Probably been abused in more ways than one. How’d she and her friend arrive at this juncture in life with their involvement in this social party thing? What will they be like in ten or more years? What would it be like being married to someone like Tracie? Man, her body felt good next to me. But I’d better think about my own girlfriend back home…if I still have one. He sighed as he dozed off.

Chapter 4

9:20 a.m.

After Dakota’s plane departed Chicago O’Hare International Airport, Tracie was soon nursing her second bourbon on the rocks, while waiting for her friend, GG Kolowska, to meet her in the Up and Away Airport Bar.

Finally, you’re here. Order something to drink. Hey, GG, I just met the nicest man. You would’ve liked him. Hey, got your ticket yet? Oh, he was really handsome. Hey, did you bring me those extra G-strings? Traci rambled on.

Well, it’s good to see you also, said GG, half smiling. Tell me about the nice man, although I doubt there are any nice men anywhere.

Oh, he’s long gone, had a flight to Connecticut or Carolina or Canada or somewhere. I forgot exactly. I met him at the gate while waiting on his flight. Tall, handsome with thick, black hair and very athletic looking in his jeans, and blue eyes that seemed to look right into you.

GG huffed. He already sounds a little creepy with eyes that look right into you.

Damn, GG, are you in another one of your bitching moods?

Well, not exactly, but just talking about men in general will probably put me in a grouchy mood.

What has gotten into you? The last three out of town parties we’ve worked, you’ve been in a foul mood. Your mood pulls me down. Damn! Just what I need from you. Order yourself a triple shot of something before you ruin my day. I don’t want to fight!

GG took a deep breath. Tracie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. You know you’re my best friend, and I don’t want to fight with you either. She paused. "I guess I was just expressing how confused I’m feeling. About everything, these awful parties, my life in general, myself as a person, just everything seems to be closing in on me.

I just turned 26 and I’m beginning to feel tense that I have no future. No future at all other than another out of town sex party subjecting myself to sleazy men who toss money at us, but treat us like dirt. She paused.

I’m just feeling very, very low right now, but I don’t want to pull you down. Please believe me; I don’t want to make you feel bad. I just don’t have anyone else to tell my feelings to. Her voice cracked.

Tracie drained her drink, then fished around in her purse and slid the crumpled piece of paper across the table that Dakota had given her.

What’s this?

"The nice man I met gave it to me, said something about a place in Chicago that helps women or some crap like that. Maybe you need this. I almost tossed the paper, but then stuck it in my purse because I was irritated that a strange man would have the gall to suggest that I might need some kind of wacko help from some do-good outfit. Shit!

Do I look like I need help? She blew an angry puff of air. Hell, I might call them anyway and tell them where to stick his paper and their help.

I’m confused, Tracie. I thought you said he was a nice man. Now you sound like you could tear his head off.

He was nice, but then he left. When men leave, they are no longer nice, she said with a little slurring and a mellowing tone.

Tracie sighed deeply. "I feel down sometimes too about life, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m 32 and don’t feel good about that either. GG, I don’t want to get old; I can’t get old. I have too many bills to pay. I didn’t come from a rich family. Hell, I’m like you; I didn’t have much of a family either. I just try not to think about it. Some people have got it made, and some of us don’t.

I kind of liked school, but I wasn’t too good with studying and stuff. You know what I mean? I guess I learned that I had to use my tits and what I had between my legs to survive in this world, you know? I’d like to have nice things, house, husband, family and stuff, but somehow that just doesn’t seem in the cards for me. I guess I’ve come to accept the way things are.

GG handed Tracie a tissue to wipe away the tears trickling down her cheeks. GG’s eyes were beginning to water also.

Tracie brought them back to their immediate reality. So are you going on this trip?

After a long moment, GG said, Yes, what other choice do we have? I wouldn’t cancel this late with the goons we associate with. They’d probably kill us. But I do dread the annual winter party coming up in December. I despise the men we get booked with. I could vomit just thinking about it.

I know, I know, I don’t like the ones we get booked with during holidays either, but I do like their money, and then added, I guess you packed plenty of protection? asked Tracie.

Oh, yes, I’ve got a suitcase full of condoms, if that’s what you mean. She pondered a thought. I want to tell you something that I’ve never told you before. I use birth control pills just like you do, but I’ve always made the men wear condoms. I’ve always made that very clear when these party arrangements are made. The truth is I’ve never had sex with a man without a condom.

GG paused, staring down at the table. I’ve wondered what sex would be like with someone who loved you, and you loved him. She paused. Something else, I’ve not been kissed on the mouth since high school. That’s another thing that I’ve always made very clear; no kissing. I’ve also wondered how it would feel to be kissed by someone who loves you as a real person. Do you ever wonder about these things, Tracie?

Yes, and you’re about to talk me out of this trip, if you keep talking this sentimental crap. Right now I’ve got bills to pay, and we’re going to make a ton of money on this party. Come on, let’s do Denver like Denver has never been done before, Tracie half laughed, as they gathered their purses, and dropped twice the bar bill as they signaled the waiter.

GG and Tracie headed for their departure gate with heavy hearts and mixed feelings about their lot in life, as they separately thought that the only thing they had to accomplish in the next four days was to be the life of someone else’s party.

Chapter 5

11:45 a.m.

The flight to Asheville was uneventful, and Dakota was soon on the Hellgate Mountain Express, with the tagline One Hell of a Ride painted on the sides of the fiery red bus. The express was a regional shuttle that made stops in small mountain towns north of Asheville, with the last stop being Hellgate Gorge, his home town. About an hour’s drive.

A mild snow front had dusted the chain of mountains the day before, and a few flurries lingered. The snow covered landscape brought back memories of a childhood filled with the outdoors and happiness. He loved the mountains. He felt at home in the hills, and more Cherokee than he did white.

After the last passenger got off the shuttle in Falcon’s Peak, Dakota moved to the front and took a seat behind the driver. It’s about time you moved to the front of the bus. Welcome home, said the driver.

"Good to be back, Melody. I recognized you