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Part 5
Sally left Wilson in her kitchen to fill out the paperwork for his employment and entered her office to call the number he gave her. His parole officer, a Joshua Barker, out of Kansas City, Missouri. Checking her watch, she hoped Mr. Barker didn’t mind the late call, but Wilson assured her that he wouldn’t.
“Josh Barker speaking,” a man’s voice came through the line.
“Mr. Barker, I’m Sally Sanborn, from outside of Little Rock, Arkansas. I have a man here applying for a job, and he told me I needed to contact you. Wilson is his name?”
A chuckle sounded in her ear. “Oh, yes. Wilson. I take it he didn’t give you his last name?”
“No, he did not,” she answered, feeling a little put off by that fact. What was with the secrecy? It’s just a name.
“Well, it’s Wilson Martin, ma’am. And I’m glad you called right away. Wil told me this morning where he was, and I’ve been waiting for someone to call. Now that I know exactly where he’ll be staying, I can contact an associate of mine to keep an eye on him.”
Wil. She kind of liked that. The nickname suited him -- short, sweet, and to the point...well, except for the short part. Sally cleared her throat. “Is there anything you need for me to know?”
“Did Wilson tell you about his conviction?”
“Only a little,” she admitted. “That he was imprisoned for negligent homicide. Is that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am, it is. However, if you want to know the details, you'll have to ask Wil. It's his story to tell, but I’m sure he’ll explain if you ask real nice.”
“Oh,” Sally said, hoping she'd get some answers out of Mr. Baker. “Unfortunately, Wilson doesn't seem to be the story-telling kind of guy.”
Mr. Baker hummed for a moment, hearing the plea of interest in her voice. “Well, it was a sad affair. All I can tell you is that he pleaded guilty without contest at his trial, and he served two of his four years at the Western Missouri Correctional Center." He made another humming noise. "And well, Missouri's prisons are overcrowded, so good behavior is rewarded diligently around here. The remainder of his sentence will be served on parole, as long as he abides by the rules.”
“There's rules?” Sally hated rules of any kind. She liked flexibility in her routines, which was one reason she waited this long to finally hire someone to help her out. It'd be too difficult to teach a routine and then expect her employees to drop everything and adapt as the circumstances demand.
“Don't worry too much about it,” he said cheerfully. “There's not a whole lot to it. I’ll send you a detailed list, but basically, he’ll need to call in every week, and if he forgets or skips a week, you’ll be receiving unexpected visitors. I don’t foresee that happening. Wil’s a good man, despite his recent history.”
Sally heard the familiarity and respect in the man’s voice. “Have you known him long?”
“All my life,” he answered with another humming chuckle. “We practically grew up together. I’m sure once he gets over his shyness, he’ll tell you all about the time we got ourselves lost during a Boy’s Scout hiking trip.”
Sally considered the comment on Wilson being shy. That, she’d never have assumed. He didn’t seem shy, just aloof. “Well, what do you need from me?”
“If you’ll give me your fax number or an email address, I’ll send the forms to you. It’s pretty much straightforward. If you ever have any problems, you’re to call me or another parole officer straight away. Is there anything else you want to know?”
She picked up a pen on her desk and drew circles on a notepad. “Yeah, there is. Why is it he can leave the state of Missouri, and can he be around children and schools?”
Mr. Barker’s reply said he smiled into the phone at his end. “Wilson’s behavior and good-standing as a convict allowed him to travel, just as long as he follows his parole limitations. And as far as children go, he’s good to go. He’s not a sex offender, you know. He’s just a man that made a terrible choice and it cost the life of someone dear to him.”
Sally paused. “I thought you wouldn’t tell me any details.”
A sound, like a throat clearing, preceded his words. “Then forget I said anything.”
She laughed. “I’ll do that, and I’ll keep in touch.” She gave him her email address and made her parting remarks. Hanging up the phone, she considered the extra information Mr. Barker unknowingly shared with her. She cocked an ear to listen for Wilson in the kitchen. Then she turned on her computer and Googled Wilson Martin.
Immediately, a press release popped up on her screen. She scanned it quickly, not learning anything more than what Wilson or Mr. Barker told her, except that a young woman died. But one thing in particular caught her attention, the name of a ranch. Recalling that Wilson told her he’d been a foreman for a ranch, she entered the name, Martin Meadows, and clicked on the website. It was a horse and cattle ranch, flanking much of Ray County, northeast of Kansas City. As she read through the bio and list of operations, she soon realized that Wilson was way over-qualified for her small farm. The man had managed a multi-million dollar outfit, and now he was nearly penniless and practically begging to live in her twelve-foot, decrepit camping trailer.
There was a lot more to this story than Wilson had told her. For one thing, his last name was the same as the name of the ranch. So, did that mean he'd been more than just a foreman? And who was the girl…someone dear to him…? Turning off her monitor, she braced her shoulders and left the office. Oh, she’d get it out of him, if she had to tie him up to the side of her barn and use him for target practice. She offered him a job and a home. The least he could do was come clean about his past.
*****
Sally had been gone for a while. Wilson got up from the kitchen table and paced out into a narrow hallway. An entry way to the front of the house veered off his right, a dining room lay across the hall from the kitchen, and a staircase ran the length of one wall. He walked toward two more rooms, wincing as his socked foot stepped on a loose floorboard. He felt weird not wearing his boots, but tracking dirt in a lady's home was the easiest way to get his backside swatted. He felt even more out of sorts exploring a single woman's home, like he was there to steal something.
At the foot of the stairs, a black, coarse-haired dog lifted its head and stared at Wilson. Some watchdog, he mused and continued down the hall. If he were here to steal anything, he'd be in and gone in no time flat. Sally didn't lock any of her doors. Several windows were thrown up, letting the brisk evening air in, and even her dog had no qualms about a strange man being in the house. Sally trusted too easily. She trusted him, and that didn't set well on his stomach.
She had a nice house, he thought...a little girly in its way, with all the flowery wallpaper and neat, white chair rails capping the top of white bead board in nearly every room so far. The rugs were braided and displayed every color of the spectrum, and lace curtains covered most of the tall, country-style windows. The appliances in her kitchen were the trendy retro kind and sported an avocado green exterior, and her furniture had that fragile, dainty feel to it. Wilson had been wary, sitting down at her kitchen table, for fear that the spindly chair wouldn't hold his weight.
On the flip side of the home's décor, Sally personal touches demonstrated just how odd of a female she was. In the hallway, framed photos of carved pumpkins and lighted jack-o-lanterns lined the space between doorways, and rusty, iron boot pulls anchored down the back corners of every exterior door. In her dining room and kitchen, of all places, she hung deer antlers, stuffed ducks, and hunting paraphernalia. Most women he knew wouldn't have allowed such things in their houses, much less in the rooms where food would be present, reminding everyone exactly where meat came from. Wilson wondered if she killed all those animals herself. It wouldn't surprise him.
Pausing at a half-closed interior door, he looked through and saw Sally talking on the phone with her back to him. It took a second, but he soon figured out she was speaking to Josh. She laughed at something Josh said, and Wilson frowned, moving away from the door. His friend had that effect on women. They were always falling over themselves with laughter whenever he was around. It irritated the crap out of Wilson. Stepping into another larger room, he halted and counted...one, two, three...four, five, six, seven...
His eyes couldn't keep up with the numbers rumbling through his head. Nineteen firearms graced two large gun cabinets, three wall racks, and one opened, hard-shell carrying case. A twentieth rifle lay in pieces on newspaper in the middle of Sally's coffee table and half-way through a thorough cleaning, all of which told him she knew how to use every single weapon in the room.
Holy shit. Who the hell was this woman? Back in prison, his cellmate had this thing for women and guns. Zee kept these pin-ups above his bed...sexy, curvasous women in skin-tight leather holding shiny, bulky handguns in provacotive poses. Visions of Sally cradling that Remington rifle against the crook of her neck hit him between the eyeballs.
Crazy. That was the only word to describe himself at that moment. All he could think about was that blond-haired lady farmer in cut-off jeans, a tank top, and cowboy boots while stuffing a cleaning rod down a gun barrel. Jesus, even the innuendo of that thought made him ache, which was stupid. He'd bet his left nut Sally slept with a pistol under her pillow. Oh yeah, she'd trust him with her life. If he came anywhere near her with a threat -- or a proposition -- she'd shove the closest twin barrel up his nose.
Going back to the kitchen to wait on her, he shook his head at his luck. After two years of living amongst murderers, thieves, rapists and evil men of the worst kind, the first female he'd made any kind of personal contact with turned out to be the modern-day version of Annie Oakley. He remembered that morning, three weeks ago, when he emerged from the outer gate of the correctional facility and took his first solid breath in seven hundred, thirty-eight days. Like most men that surfaced from a cell block in one piece, Wilson's first thoughts of freedom included three things: a T-bone steak, an ice cold beer, and a warm woman...in that order.
Josh bought him the steak and the beer, but the woman...memories of Macie ruined that objective. He might have entertained more random thoughts about Sally, but Wilson knew he'd never act on them. Too long without sex would fry any man's brain, he'd admit that. Wilson just held on better than others. If he landed this job, he'd have to take part of his first paycheck and visit the nearest singles bar. Working around a tempting, kindhearted female was the closest thing to physical torture a sex-deprived, ex-convict could endure.
A female with a gun collection that could hold off a small army from her upstairs windows beheld a whole different set of tortures. Wilson had a feeling that by the end of the month, when Sally signed over his paycheck, one of them would be a little too trigger-happy.