Paradise Valley

“Money,” he said with a shrug. “It was for the money.”

“Do you regret it?” Paul asked.

Dan Brady paused a long moment before he said, “I have a list of regrets about a hundred miles long. That would fall in there somewhere. At the time, I needed the money. Times were hard.”

“Are times still hard?” Paul asked.

“Those times are past. Oh, I still need money, but it’s all different now. Prison changed a lot of things, believe me.”

“Says here you do just about everything—drywall, texturing, painting, plumbing, wiring, counters, roofing—”

“Roofing—there’s that high-up thing again. Sorry, you have to know the truth, my unsteady leg can take me by surprise. I’ll do anything, but you should have the truth about that for both our sakes. One, I don’t want a broken back, and two, you don’t want an injured jobber on your insurance.”

“When was the last time you took a fall from that leg?”

“Well,” Dan said, scratching his chin, “a couple of years ago, I fell in my mother’s upstairs bathroom, and that wasn’t even high beams. I didn’t hurt myself much, but one minute I was standing up, the next I was on my ass. Like I said, I could get up there on the roof, if that’s the price of getting the job, but I’ve made it a policy to stay close to the ground if at all possible. In case.”

Paul laughed. “How’d you like the Marines?”

“The truth? I think I was a decent Marine, but I didn’t love it. I got mostly shit assignments. I went to Iraq right off the bat, when things were as bad as they could get. When I was discharged, it was one of the happiest days of my life.”

“I did my four and joined the reserves and went back to Iraq a second time. One of us was smarter. I vote for you. But that felony thing—”

“I understand….”

“What if I give you a shot? Think I’ll regret it?”

“Nope. I’m good in construction. Before I started doing it for a living, I helped my dad build our house. And I’ll pee in a cup for you. I don’t steal or get in fights. But if I were you, I’d keep me close to the ground. I’ll get a lot more done.”

Paul smiled and put out his hand. “Well, what the hell, Dan. You paid your debt. But I am going to check in with the parole officer, just to get another read on you.”

Dan put out a hand. “Knock yourself out there, sir. He thinks I have potential.”

“Then we’re off to an excellent start. If you have any talent, you’re coming on at a good time. This company is young and growing.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.”

Dan Brady worked the rest of the week for Haggerty Construction. He was moved around so Paul could see his work. He did some drywall and texturing, hung a couple of big, carved front doors with leaded-glass windows, spackled, fitted countertop, even helped with some wiring. “Do you do everything in construction?” Paul finally asked.

“Just about,” Dan answered with a shrug. “I started when I was fifteen, trained by the toughest boss in construction. The man was a tyrant.” Then he grinned proudly.

“Your dad,” Paul said.

“You work for him, too?” Dan asked facetiously.

“Tell you what, you stay out of trouble, you might work out.” Then Paul slapped him on the back.

Dan worked on Saturday as well; they were pressed for time on the big house. But the crew supervisor told everyone to knock off at two in the afternoon and be back Monday morning bright and early.

Dan had less than forty-eight hours to get a few things done. He had to do some laundry, buy some nonperishable food he could keep in his camper shell, and he should see what he could find out about renting a room, apartment or small house. But first, he was due a beer. He might be able to accomplish more than one chore by stopping in that little bar in Virgin River. The guy who owned the place might know if there was anything to lease in the area. Just on principle, Dan didn’t want to ask his new boss.

He walked into the bar and a couple of seconds later Jack came out from the back.

“Aw, Jesus Christ,” Jack said. “You again.”

Dan took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Nice to see you, too.”

“Aw, man—you’re the one. Paul hired you!” Jack stepped up behind the bar, hands on his hips. “He said he hired a big guy who wore a funny-looking cowboy hat. Guess he doesn’t know a Shady Brady when he sees one.”

Dan just shook his head and gave a half smile. “You hold some kind of grudge or something? What’d I ever do to you?”

“Just seems like when you’re around, there’s some kind of trouble.”

“Yeah, and sometimes when I’m around, someone needs a lift. Didn’t I pick you up off a dirt road in the middle of a wildfire? Jesus, some people have no gratitude. Can I get a beer or are you going to glare at me all day?”

“You got clean money this time? I don’t take money that smells like fresh-cut cannabis.”

“Didn’t you get the word? I’m rehabilitated. I work construction, and that’s all.”

Jack lifted one eyebrow. “You went to jail?”

“For a while, yeah. Paul didn’t tell you?” Jack shook his head. “How about that,” Dan said. “He’s a gentleman, too.”

Jack pulled a cold Heineken out of the cooler, remembering the man’s preferred brew, popped the cap and put a chilled glass on the bar. “Listen, he’s a good man. He works hard, he’s honest, he treats people right. He’s a family man and has good friends around here. Real good friends. You better not screw with him.” Jack nodded at the beer. “You need a Beam to go with that?” It was usually a boilermaker—Heineken and Jim Beam.

Dan smiled. “No thanks, this is fine. Look, buddy, all I want to do for your friend is construction. He gave me a job. I need a job.” He put out his hand. “Dan Brady.”

“Brady?” Jack asked with a laugh. “Had to be Brady.”

“Interesting, huh?” He put the hat on the bar. “My signature.”

Jack hesitated a moment before he put his hand out and shook Dan’s. “Jack Sheridan.”

“Yeah, I know. Now, can we move on? No reason we have to go head to head every time we see each other. I’m hoping to live here. At least for a while.”

“Why here?” Jack asked suspiciously.

“I’m not likely to run into any old business associates in here.” He grinned. “The bartender won’t take stinky money.”

“You saying we understand each other?” Jack asked.

“I never had a problem understanding you, pal. Fact is, if this were my bar, I wouldn’t have taken my money either. But that’s all in the past. And I need some information, if you have it.”

“We’ll see,” Jack said.

“First of all, I’m bedding down in a camper shell and it’s fine, but I thought you might know of something to rent around here.”

Jack knew of a number of possibilities. Luke Riordan had six cabins on the river, recently updated. There was a couple in town who let out a room over their garage from time to time. And Jack had his cabin in the woods. But there was a vast difference between giving the man a job and watching him work and inviting him to spend the night. “Sorry,” Jack said. “That’s the thing about these mountain towns. Rentals and property sales come up so seldom, Paul’s company is doing well. People have to build from scratch or remodel.”