Redwood Bend (Virgin River #18)(85)

Conner put his elbow on the bar and leaned his head on his hand. “I think I want to see this place.”

“Fine,” Dylan said. He smiled. “Summers,” he suggested. “Maybe every other Christmas.”

Conner just laughed. “You going to leave pretty soon? If she agrees?”

“I bought tickets. I took Katie up in a little plane and she puked, so I bought tickets. I think she’ll be okay on a jet. We’ll have to drive to Redding and fly into Butte. My best friend’s wife will pick us up. So…after I get back from L.A. in a few days,” he finished.

“A few days?” Conner asked.

“I’ll get back from L.A. Wednesday afternoon. I have tickets to leave Friday, be back Monday. Can you live with that?”

“We better have another beer. You can tell me more about your plans.”

Dylan smiled. “I guess we better.”

Dylan pulled into the clearing at the cabin and found that Katie was watching the boys on the jungle gym. She sat on the porch with her air horn beside her chair.

The boys ran to him, shouting his name, grabbing on to his legs. “Play catch?” Mitch asked. “No, soccer,” Andy said. “Or kick ball.”

“First I want to talk to your mom and put this dinner in the house, all right? Go play for a little while.”

They reluctantly let go of him. He grinned as they went back to the swing set. He couldn’t help thinking, They like me. He mounted the porch and bent to give Katie a kiss on the forehead.

“What in the world is going on?” she asked. “Having a beer with Conner? Leslie bringing the boys home? What are you up to?”

“Surprise,” he said. “I’ll tell you in a second.” He took the brown paper bag with Preacher’s fried chicken in the house and came back outside, sitting in the chair beside her. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and presented it to her.

She unfolded it—it was a ticketless travel voucher to Butte. “What is this?”

“Well, Katie, I want to take you and the boys to Montana. I want to try to show you what my life there is like. I want to introduce you to my best friend and his wife and kids. I want you to see the town. I think the boys would like to meet the animals.”

“Four tickets,” she said. “Coming back to California after just a couple of days?”

“I want to check on Lang and the company, too. I didn’t think you had anything else you had to do.”

“You have our names spelled exactly right for travel. The birthdates are correct. How did you know I was Katherine Marie Malone?”

“That was dicey—I had to look at your driver’s license. I figured if you caught me in your wallet, I’d get the air horn, or worse. And you keep the birth certificates in the trunk along with Charlie’s medals.”

“Hmm. And this has to do with Conner how?” she asked.

“If Conner and I are going to be friends, I didn’t dare take you out of town without talking to him—he’d have the Feds running me down. Here’s what I have to do,” he said, pulling out another piece of paper, another ticketless reservation. “I have to make a quick trip down to L.A. for a meeting with those movie people I’ve been working with. Jay Romney, the producer who made this offer, is an old friend and when he wants to meet, it’s the least I can do. The man has tried to help me in any way he can. One meeting—and it should be quick. I’ll be gone one night. When I get back, we’ll pack some bags. You won’t need much—the weather is about the same as here. And I can get booster seats and whatever from Lang.”

She got a worried look on her face. “Is your movie deal all put together?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

“Do you hope…?” she asked.

He gave her cheek a soft caress and smiled. “What I hope is that you and the boys have fun with me in Montana. I’m kind of proud of it.”

This time Dylan didn’t wear business meeting clothes to see Jay Romney in L.A., although he now had them. He did wear decent jeans with his boots, however. And he had asked specifically to meet in the office, not in a restaurant or at Jay’s lavish Brentwood home. He also asked if it could be just the two of them, sans directors, lawyers, agents or administrative assistants.

When he walked into the office at four in the afternoon, hopefully the last meeting of the day for Jay, he couldn’t help but appreciate the rich decor—the Moroccan leather furniture, the polished rosewood, the original art and the view—Jay sat on top of Hollywood, overlooking the lesser movie gods. It made him smile; there was a time Dylan aspired to something like this.

Jay stood from behind his desk. For someone who worked and lived in this modern opulence, Jay was a pretty simple man. He was the father of grown children, he was bald with a ring of brown hair around his dome and even though he surfed, ran and worked out, he had a bit of a paunch.

What the majority of the glittering city didn’t understand about Jay—he was a genuinely decent guy. That didn’t make him a patsy; he was a fierce negotiator. But he had unshakable ethics and his values ran deep—the only reason Dylan ever talked to him at all.

“Something about this meeting feels wrong,” Jay said.

“Not at all, not at all,” Dylan said, approaching, putting out his hand. “Good to see you.”