Yolo County Administration Building
Woodland, California
In mid-October, less than two weeks before the election, Dan Rawlings was visited by three members of the board of supervisors. It was not unusual for supervisors to drop in to visit or to promote a particular agenda item, but Dan was immediately cautious regarding their intentions.
“So, Dan, how’d your weekend go?” Charlie Paulson asked.
“Fine, Charlie, just fine. And you?”
“The usual. Football games, family sports. Listen, Dan, we’ve come to discuss a sensitive issue, and the others. . well. . the others sort of asked me to be spokesman.”
Marjorie Tomkins and Harold Hawkes sat quietly on the couch in Dan’s office. Dan noticed that Marjorie was fidgeting and Harold wouldn’t hold Dan’s eyes. Jack Rumsey, in one of his never-ending homilies, had warned Dan that if a man wouldn’t hold your eyes, at least for a moment, watch out.
“Charlie, I’ll help any way I can. You know that.”
“Of course we do. Dan, we. . that is, the board, feels you’re doing a bang-up job, and of course, the land reform issues have been, well, have really caused us a lot of grief, what with those dead-set on development and the old timers wanting to keep the farms intact.”
Dan could see that Charlie was having a hard time getting to the point of their visit, and he wasn’t certain if this deputation was representative of the full seven supervisors or just the three now before him.
“Charlie, you know I love this valley as much as anyone, and the land development issues are certainly divisive. But is that what you actually came about today?”
“I guess. . well, not really, but it does affect the valley. In fact, Dan, it affects all of California.”
Secession.Well, I expected it sooner or later, Dan thought. “California’s a big issue, Charlie.”
“Yeah, it is, Dan, and we. . that is, Marge, Harold, and me, we came to see how you felt. We’d like to know where you’re gonna stand, so to speak.”
Dan rose and moved to the window where he did most of his contemplation. Dan saw the reflection of his three visitors in the glass as they quickly stole looks at each other while they thought he was looking away. He waited until they stopped exchanging nervous signals and slowly turned around, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Charlie, what’s the collective board’s official position on the secession of California?”
Dan was calling their hand, blunt and forthright. He figured these three hadn’t actually polled the full body, and the issue had not, at least officially, been brought to a vote before the board in public session. A majority of California’s other counties had already officially addressed the secession-some against, but even more in favor.
“Well, we haven’t talked with all the supervisors, but us three, we wanted to get an idea of where you were gonna stand-what you were gonna recommend to the board. Have you thought about that yet? You know we can’t put it off much longer. Many of the counties have already taken a stand, and in a couple of weeks, we’ll all have to vote. It looks like, well, at least the polls say the referendum will pass again. We’ve got to decide how we’re going to go.”
Thought about it! Dan reflected. Little else had been on his mind since the two previous elections had passed so overwhelmingly. That in itself had been a shocker and had even confused the pollsters, some of whom had predicted a narrow defeat while others had predicted a passage of the issue based on their pre-election voter sampling.
“Charlie, you know that on most issues before the board, I offer a recommendation, since that’s my job. This issue, however, is one of conscience and one that each supervisor will have to decide for themselves. In fact, each Californian will have to make that decision as well. It has a finality to it. You know, we can’t really be opposed to the secession and go on about business as usual if the secession passes. Even the Tories who remained in the colonies after the Revolution found it hard to continue their lives and their business. No, Charlie, I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to make a recommendation to the board.”
Dan thought Charlie looked deflated at not having pulled out Dan’s position.
“But you have a position on it, don’t you, Dan? I mean, you’re a Californian-have always been, along with your family.”
Dan turned again to look out the window at the budding trees struggling to overcome the cold late autumn snap. He’d known for months what his decision was, although it had seemed easier not to acknowledge it. . even to himself. But here they were, pushing for a declaration. Delay wouldn’t serve any purpose, and the necessity of a formal venue, such as a board of supervisors’ meeting, was not a proper place for the appointed administrator to announce his position and surprise everyone. No, Dan thought, the year was about to turn, the upcoming court-ordered special election was at hand, predicted by most pollsters to be an overwhelming “yes” vote in favor of secession. No confusion about the fact that he might lose his job over this issue. . that had always been a distinct possibility. Better to play his hand, as Jack would say, and turn his hole card up.
“Charlie,” he said without looking back, “you’re right. I’ve always been a Californian.” He paused momentarily and then turned to face his visitors. “But I’ve always been an American, too.” He took several steps closer to the three supervisors, at which Charlie stood, more from nervousness than anything. “This is a personal opinion, even though I might not have admitted it to myself these past few months, and it’s not an official recommendation to the board. It’s quite separate from my political responsibility, but I’m personally opposed to secession. Please understand me-that is not, I repeat, not my recommendation to the board. I don’t feel it’s my place to make such a recommendation on such a personal issue, especially one with such widespread government implications. You’re the elected officials,” he said, looking at all three in turn, “and I’m your appointed administrator. I follow your direction, unless, in good conscience, I can no longer support your actions.”
Harold stood up beside Charlie, as did Marjorie. “Dan,” Charlie said, “I think. . we think you should try to see the California side of the issue. We need to be united. You know the Woodland city manager, Roger Dahlgren-he came to see me, and he feels strongly. He thinks you should feel strongly, too, Dan, and his group. .” Charlie paused, groping for the words, obviously nervous about discussing the Shasta Brigade. “Well, Roger says we should be united here in Yolo, and that it’s in our best interest to listen to Senator Turner. He’s only thinking of California and what’s best. Dan, you’ve been doin’ a bang-up job, like I said, and we’d like to keep you on, but, well, this issue is. .”
There it was-on the table. That was the impetus of this visit. Dan had heard that Roger Dahlgren and some of his Shasta Brigade boys had been talking up support for Senator Turner’s stand, visiting many of the local businessmen. Some even went so far as to call it intimidation. But it was hard to oppose or interfere with a group of citizens who were only voicing support for the state’s U.S. senator. No bones about it, this was a not-so-subtle first approach from a segment of the board of supervisors telling Daniel Rawlings, Yolo County Administrator, where he was expected to stand on the issue of California’s secession from the Union.
“Charlie, are you telling me my job’s on the line if I don’t support that bluster being put out by Roger and the militia?”
Charlie and Harold looked at each other and began to back slowly toward the door.
“I don’t know. I mean, I can’t speak for the whole board, but we, us three, I mean, feel you need to seriously consider your viewpoint. It’s not just bluster, Dan. Our United States senator has put his full weight and support behind it. You need to consider that. Besides, as Roger said, you’re a California guard officer. You owe your allegiance to the State of California. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yeah, I think I’m beginning to. Anything else I can help with today?” Dan said, inching the group toward the door.
“No, no. Thanks for your time. See you at the board meeting Thursday night.”
“Right. See you then. Thank you. Bye, Marjorie, Harold,” he said, shaking each hand as they departed.
“Bye, Dan,” Marjorie said meekly, obviously embarrassed by the visit.
Dan closed the door and turned once again toward the window. With Thanksgiving and then Christmas approaching, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant holiday, he felt. Not by a long shot. And if history served, the spring and then summer would be even longer and hotter. At least for the inner cities, it would potentially be a cauldron of violence.
Dan picked up the phone on the third ring when he remembered that Pat had stepped out to the post office.
“Good morning, Yolo County Administration, Dan Rawlings speaking.”
“Hi, Dan. This is Jean Waters. Bet you thought I’d forgotten about you.”
Dan immediately recognized the name of his literary agent, even though they had only spoken once since she had agreed to represent his manuscript. “Good morning, Jean. No, I’ve had you on my mind, but we’re pretty engaged out here at the moment.”
“How’re things in the Republic of California?”
Dan laughed. “This could well be an international call in a few months.”
“That serious? Well, that’s actually what I’m calling about. I waited until I found the right market for this unique story, and in October I offered Voices in My Blood to three of the larger publishers. They’ve been having a read for the past couple of weeks. Dan, if it will improve your day, I’m happy to advise that we’ve had offers from all three, and they’re hot. Since you added those closing chapters about the California secession, they want to move fast to be ready to respond in time for the elections. As it is, they’ll be several months behind the issues at best. They’ll have to jump their list and put Voices in My Blood in front.”
“Jean, I’m. . well, I’m. .” Dan hesitated, silent for a few seconds. “Actually, I don’t know what I am. I’m floored, that’s what I am.”
“Well, Mr. Daniel Rawlings, you’re about to become Waters amp; Hobson’s newest author. I told you that this book was compelling. Simon amp; Schuster has the best offer. Actually, they’re all pretty close on money, but S amp;S offers several advantages. First, they want to hit the streets as soon as possible, and second, they’re prepared to offer you a two, or, if you can develop a sequential story line, a three-book deal. Dan, they’ve offered four hundred twenty-five thousand just for Voices in My Blood. I believe we can get an advance in the neighborhood of one point two million for the three books, with staggered payments, of course, based on the strength of the subsequent outlines.” Dan was silent as Jean waited for his response. “You still there?”
“I don’t think so, Jean. I’ve just gone numb.”
“Ha,” she voiced, “this is the kind of news I love to deliver. Tell you what, I’ll fax the details and you consider them for a day. Don’t tarry, Dan-I need to get back to them tomorrow, so call me first thing in the morning.”
“All right. I’ll stand by the fax if you can transmit now. I want to keep this confidential for awhile.”
“I understand. I’ll send it right now. And, Dan, my sincerest congratulations. I think you’ve just entered a new phase of your life. I’m pleased to represent you. Just to add to your confusion, the moment we sign with S amp;S-if that’s what you decide-I’m going to send the manuscript to an associate in LA. Movie rights are the next consideration. This could become a whirlwind and if so, it will all happen very quickly, so stay sharp. I’ll get the fax out right now. Have a good day, Dan.”
“Thanks. Oh, and Jean?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you, sincerely. I really appreciate all your efforts. This wouldn’t have happened without you.”
It was Jean’s turn to pause. “Thanks. That was considerate. At this stage, some authors wonder why the agent gets such a large cut. Thanks for understanding our worth.”
“No question about your worth. We’re a team in this, aren’t we?”
“Absolutely. Talk to you tomorrow, Dan. Bye.”
“Bye,” Dan said, as he replaced the receiver.
He leaned back in his chair and swung around to look out the window at the small park surrounding the building where people were beginning to appear as the lunch hour approached. What a day! A threat to his job by some of the supervisors, and then this. Dan found himself thinking of Rumsey Valley and the Almond Festival, a resplendent time of year with the almond trees in bloom throughout the length of the valley. California was his home and he was a Californian. How was he going to take a stand against all those people he’d grown up with, gone to school with, fished with, and cared about? With pressing and disruptive issues to deal with and the board of supervisors’ apparent split over the upcoming vote, this was actually a bad time for outside distractions.
He rose and stepped closer to the window, watching as Pat walked across the grounds, returning from the post office. Then, slowly, he began to laugh. How could any time be a bad time to sign a million-dollar contract? He was interrupted by the ring of the fax. Pat entered the office just as Dan retrieved several pages from the machine and started back for his office, still chuckling softly.
“Anything I can help with, Dan?”
“No, thanks. I’ve got it. Just some personal stuff. Think I’ll head for lunch and see you about one-thirty.”
“Good. Oh, Dan, I’ve got a dental appointment at four.”
“Fine. We’ll cover; no problem.”
“Thanks. You okay?” she asked, noticing his faraway demeanor.
Dan stopped before entering his office, glanced back at Pat, and smiled. “I’ve never been better,” he said, reaching behind the door for his coat. Then, stepping quickly to her desk, he bent down and kissed her on the cheek. She sat there, astonished at his unusual behavior, as he whistled his way out the door.
After lunch, Dan closed the door to his office and picked up the telephone, dialing the information operator for the 415 area code.
“Operator. What city, please?”
“San Francisco. A business listing for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“Thank you, sir. One moment.” Dan waited several seconds until the computer voice provided the number, which he dialed and waited once more.
“Good afternoon. Federal Bureau of Investigation. How may I direct your call?”
“Special Agent Bentley, please,” Dan said.
“One moment, sir.”
Again Dan waited while his call was transferred, wondering how to initiate the conversation and feeling foolish, remembering his note which had gone unacknowledged. He momentarily considered hanging up, but then Nicole’s voice sounded, calm and professional.
“This is Special Agent Bentley; how may I help you?”
“Good afternoon, Agent Bentley. This is Daniel Rawlings in Woodland.”
Not missing a beat, Nicole responded. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rawlings. How goes our local government?”
“Well,” he laughed. “Some supervisors would say I’m still wet behind the ears, and I’d better wake up and smell the coffee.”
“You’re not alone, Mr. Rawlings. I just might have some of that attitude around here as well. By the way, I meant to respond to your kind note last month, but one thing or another. .”
“I understand, Ms. Bentley. I’m sure it was a very trying time for you. How are you doing?” Immediately, Dan felt like a fool, and he grimaced into the phone, hoping she wouldn’t be offended by the personal nature of his question.
After a slight pause, she responded. “I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”
“Great.”
There was another awkward pause.
Nicole broke the silence. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Rawlings?”
“Well, uh, yes. The reason I called is. . I was wondering if you might, uh, be free for dinner.”
“When?” she asked.
“Uh, tonight? I mean, tonight,” he said, wondering why he was having such a hard time doing such a simple thing. “I know that’s short notice, Ms. Bentley, but, well, it’s been one of those days. I’ve had an absolute low, followed by an absolute high. I was hoping you might be willing to be a little spontaneous, and that I could conclude the day with some very pleasant company for dinner.” He grimaced again, feeling completely foolish. “How about it?”
Dan felt certain that Nicole knew he was as nervous as a young schoolboy.
“I don’t know. I’d hate to give the impression I don’t have anything to do. I mean, I do have a life, you know,” she parried. “Let me think about it for a moment.”
Silence.
“Ms. Bentley?”
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. I need to ask you two questions. First of all, if I go to dinner with you, will you call me Nicole?”
“I can do that. What’s the other question?”
“Are you buying?”
“I’d planned on it,” he said, a smile beginning to cross his face.
“Then you’ve got a date.”
Dan made a fist, punched the air in front of him and mouthed a silent yes. “Great. Would you like me to meet you in the city, or is there somewhere more convenient?”
“I’ve got an appointment near my residence this afternoon. Let me give you my address in Walnut Creek. Where did you want to eat?”
“There’s only one place suitable, in my humble opinion. In Chinatown. The Empress of China.”
“I love Chinese. I’m at the River Oaks Apartments, Unit Esperanza, off Sycamore Street in Walnut Creek. We can take BART into the city and then walk to Chinatown. Seven-thirty too early?”
“Seven-thirty’s fine, Nicole. See you then, and thanks for allowing spontaneity to prevail.”
“Seven-thirty, then.” She gave him her phone numbers in case he got held up. “I’m looking forward to it, Dan. Bye.”
“Thanks, Nicole,” Dan replied, replacing the receiver, leaning back in his chair, and locking his fingers behind his head.
Dan had no trouble finding the River Oaks Apartments, which mirrored the thousands of other Spanish architecture apartment complexes scattered throughout California cities. It was nestled in a grove of Manzanita trees and surrounded by a high-security fence veiled in foliage. The rustic wooden sign out front advertised a pool, spa, training room, tennis courts, and even an on-site film viewing room with a large screen.
After his car was cleared by the security guard who checked Dan’s name against his list of expected guests, Dan read the unit names on each of the buildings and parked the car next to the one marked Esperanza. Nicole answered Dan’s buzz almost instantly, smiling warmly and offering to shake his hand. She closed the door behind her, and together they descended the one flight of stairs and walked toward his car.
Like a schoolboy getting ready for his first date, Dan had wondered what he ought to wear. He and Nicole hadn’t discussed it, and he hoped his slacks, sports coat, and buttoned-up, open necked shirt wouldn’t be too casual. He was relieved to find Nicole informally dressed as well, and pleased to see that she apparently knew the vagaries of weather they might encounter in the city, since she was carrying a jacket on her arm.
Remembering her in a navy-blue business suit from their first encounter under the bridge and her professional demeanor, Dan now saw her in a different light, relaxed, jovial and in fact, beautiful. Since their previous meeting, Nicole had cut her dark hair and was wearing it in an attractive, shorter style that flattered her face. Flat shoes, for walking, he assumed, and a long-strap purse completed her outfit, which Dan found flattering to her athletic body. While opening the car door, Dan caught a whiff of the pleasant, subtle fragrance she was wearing and wondered what it was called. He stifled a passing thought. Beautiful or not, does she carry a pistol in her purse?
It was only a six-minute drive from her apartment to the BART station, where, after a short wait, they caught the next train to San Francisco. At eight o’clock in the evening, the commuter rush was over, and the train was nearly empty with only two other couples sharing their car. Initial chitchat consisted of comments mainly about Nicole’s apartment complex and Dan’s condo in Davis. They were silent as they passed though several above-ground BART stations on the Oakland side, with passengers entering and leaving at each stop. Dan watched Nicole’s reflection in the train window until her reflection smiled at him, and he became aware that she was familiar with his surveillance technique.
“Caught me.” He laughed. “But I presume, based on your acceptance of this dinner offer, that I am neither a suspect, a material witness, a person of interest, or even an investigative source any longer.”
Nicole looked at Dan for a moment, a smile growing on her face. “Whether you are a suspect, or just suspect, has yet to be determined. I seldom make snap judgments, Mr. Rawlings.”
“Nope, you agreed. It’s Dan.”
“Okay. So, Dan Rawlings-Rumsey Valley, Woodland High School, UC Davis, and Stanford Law-with honors, no less. Very impressive.”
Dan looked at her with surprise, and Nicole smiled all the more. “I confess, I’ve done my homework. All in the performance of my professional duties.”
“Of course,” Dan allowed. “Reciprocity, if you please,” he prodded.
“Norwalk, Connecticut; a B.A. from Vassar in English literature; an M.A. in psychology from Northwestern, and then Columbia Law. Straight into the FBI afterward.”
“That’s a rather impressive bio, Nicole. But why-”
“Why the FBI?” Nicole interrupted, then snapped, “Why not?”
Taken aback, Dan retreated. “Excuse me if I was intrusive; I didn’t mean to be.”
Dan could see Nicole was embarrassed by her sharp response to his question.
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I just hear that question all the time. In one fashion or another, it’s ‘Why would an intelligent, attractive woman choose the FBI?’ and I guess I’m tired of it.”
“I can understand that.” Dan laughed. “The intelligent, attractive part, I mean.” The lights on the train flickered briefly as they entered the tunnel, and their ears popped as the train dropped down under San Francisco Bay.
Nicole continued, changing the subject. “When I was first assigned to work in San Francisco, I was told that the minutes spent under the Bay while commuting to work were the most dangerous I would encounter. I guess that’s right. If the so-called ‘Big One’ were to occur while we’re under here, there would be no hope of getting out alive. I kind of count the minutes I spend under the Bay as the sacrifice I make for being able to live in such a beautiful place.”
Dan thought of the newspaper report he’d read of her instant response to the hostage situation, feeling that being in the line of fire from bank robbers was certainly more dangerous than riding BART under the Bay.
“Have you seen much of California?” he asked.
“Mostly the cities, and usually on business. Al and I. .” she paused and lowered her eyes. “. . Al and I used to take turns driving to assignments so the other could take more time to view the scenery. Al was from Iowa, and while he’d been with the Bureau for fifteen years, he’d only been in California about six months longer than me.” After a pause, she added, “He used to beg me to get take-out when we were out of the office so we could sit in the car by the ocean while we ate lunch. He was awed by the majesty of the ocean.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence until the train exited the tunnel on the San Francisco side of the Bay and stopped at the Embarcadero Station. At the Beale Street Station they got off and made their way up to Market Street, beginning the fifteen-minute walk to Chinatown.
At The Empress of China, on the sixth floor of the building, the maitre ’d found Dan’s reservations and seated the couple at the table Dan had requested, overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. Full dark having descended over the city, the lights on the bridge glowed brightly over the dark expanse of the entrance to San Francisco Bay. It was a spectacular view, and Nicole and Dan gazed at it without speaking while a cadre of waiters scurried about, working to change the settings on the table.
When he could do so unobtrusively, Dan continued to steal glances at the very attractive woman seated across from him. He hadn’t noticed it before, but she was wearing a pair of small silver earrings and a matching thin necklace. The jewelry caught the light from the candle on their table, and the glint framed her face nicely as she sat looking out the window, resting her chin on her folded hands.
Dan was taken-not only by her beauty, but by the way she carried herself. At their previous meetings-at the murder scene, the National Guard Armory, the funeral, and the restaurant-she had been thoroughly professional. Cordial, maybe, or perhaps a bit aloof, especially in General Del Valle’s presence, but each time professional. So far this evening, she had been considerably warmer and more open. He was intrigued by her personality in that she was very self-assured but not arrogant. It was a combination Dan found fascinating. It was very pleasant to sit across from her and to contemplate having her for a dinner companion. He congratulated himself for acting on the impulse to telephone her.
After placing their order, they sat in silence, continuing to admire the view. Finally, Dan said, “So, where did you grow up?”
“New England. My father was a captain in the Connecticut State Police. When I was fifteen, he was killed by a young kid with a shotgun who was trying to rob a bank. Dad was only forty-three and had a wife and three children. The kid got five to twenty and was back on the street in seven years. I hadn’t even graduated from college yet, and he was out, doing his thing again. He was killed two years later in a drug deal-ironically, by a shotgun wielded by one of his partners.”
Dan listened quietly. Following her explanation, Nicole unfolded her napkin and laid it in her lap. Reaching across the table, Dan gently placed his hand over Nicole’s, and she turned her palm up, underneath his hand, clasping his fingers as she offered a small smile. With their fingers interlocking, Dan briefly remembered that despite his wife’s death-a fact he felt Nicole’s background check must have disclosed-one outward symbol of his previous life remained: his wedding band was still on his finger. They sat for a moment, each looking at their clasped hands, until they were interrupted by three waiters, a particular affectation to the Empress of China, which made their establishment present a restaurant of first order.
Dan spoke. “Have you eaten here before?”
“I’ve had several Chinese dinners in town, but not here.”
“Well, then, Nicole Bentley, this will go into your journal, if you keep one. You’re about to experience the finest Chinese food in San Francisco. . in my humble opinion, of course.”
“Great-I’m starved,” Nicole said.
Dan was pleased to see that Nicole ate with good appetite. When she was finished, she pushed her plate away, emitting a small exhale to represent satisfaction with her meal. Surveying the mostly empty serving platters, she said, “Well, I made short work of that. Did you eat anything, Dan? I didn’t notice.” She laughed.
He grinned and patted his stomach. “I’ll say I did.”
Smiling, she stared into Dan’s eyes, holding his gaze longer than was comfortable for him. When she saw him become nervous, she began to laugh.
“What?” he finally asked.
“What, indeed. What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“C’mon, Counselor. You’ve got my Vitae. Let’s hear a bit about you.”
Nicole continued to look softly into Dan’s eyes, her face framed by her dark hair and highlighted by the reflection of the candle on the table.
Dan looked out the window at the Golden Gate Bridge, remaining quiet for several long moments. Not once since the accident had he confided to anyone the details, or even the generalities, of Susan’s death-especially not to a woman he was dating. But the memories were always there, close to the surface, and even after two years, still painful. The awful scene flashed through his mind-the bright-green ski jacket, the red hair flying as she danced through the moguls, the sudden veering off into the stand of trees-and the hideous aftermath.
“We married after I finished law school,” Dan said softly, “and I took a job as deputy county attorney in Susanville, up in the mountains close to Nevada, because Susan loved to ski, and she still had dreams of making the Olympic team. We were married for about a year and a half when she was killed in a skiing accident,” he said.
Now it was Nicole’s turn to reach for Dan’s hand across the table. “I’m sorry, Dan,” she said tenderly.
“It’s been over two years, but. .”
“I understand,” she responded softly.
The train ride home was filled with quiet, continuing conversation about jobs, families, and California’s secessionist movement. Neither of them felt up to any further in-depth conversation about the tragedies in their lives.
“When you called, you mentioned that today held a high and a low point,” Nicole said.
“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” Dan responded. “I thought it was a high-until tonight, that is.”
“Oh, Mr. Rawlings.” She laughed, turning her head toward the roof of the train car and rolling her eyes. “Methinks thou serves it up well.”
Dan laughed out loud, prompting the only other passenger, a black woman in a nurse’s uniform, to glance up briefly to see what caused the commotion.
“Well said, Nicole, well said. The low,” he began, “came early this morning when three of the county supervisors visited me to determine for themselves where I stood on the secession issue. They were none too subtle, and I got the point. Roger Dahlgren, Woodland’s city manager, has been talking to many of the businessmen in town about standing up for Senator Turner and his secession mania. Rumor has it, Roger’s also a captain in the Shasta Brigade. But then, you probably know that already. Anyway, it was clear that Roger put these board members up to the visit. They intimated that my job could be in jeopardy if I didn’t take a public stand in support of secession.”
“I take it, then, that you’re against it?” Nicole queried.
Dan looked out the window of the train as they surfaced near Oakland. “Nicole, my family has been in California for over a hundred and thirty years, but we’ve been in America nearly four hundred.”
“That puts your family in New England with the early colonists,” Nicole said.
“1630 in Fairfield, Connecticut.”
“Hey, that’s my old stomping grounds, although a bit before my time,” she laughed.
“Anyway, my grandfather, Jack Rumsey, is a grandson to the first family member to come west-the one who settled Rumsey Valley right after the Civil War. Jack’s as much as told me that my ancestors, to use his words, ‘would rise up and stomp me, if’n I ever forget that I’m an American.’”
“Sounds like a great guy.” Nicole chuckled.
“Usually,” Dan said with a laugh, “but the jury is still out among most of Yolo’s residents, and he’s lived there over eighty years.”
“Have you taken a stand, Dan?”
“It’s going to be impossible not to, I think. As I said, I’m an American, and if that requires that I oppose some of my lifetime neighbors. . well, so be it. It’s a choice we’re all going to have to make, isn’t it?”
“I can see it’s not an easy decision either way. I’ve been looking at it from a visitor to California’s perspective-sort of an ‘I-was-there-during-the-earthquake’ frame of mind. I haven’t thought of it as a decision to be made. I’ve lived somewhere else all my life. So, what will you do?”
“I know where I stand, but I haven’t yet decided what I’ll do about it.”
“And the high?” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“The other end of your day. . excluding this evening’s dinner, of course,” she teased. “You said there was a ‘high’ to your day.”
Nicole had a radiant smile, and Dan had been fascinated all evening by the woman behind the FBI agent. It was as if two personalities existed within the same body.
“Right,” Dan laughed again. “You know, you’ve allowed me to laugh quite a bit tonight, and there hasn’t been much cause for that for awhile. The high, you say? Well, I received a call from my literary agent in New York this morning. She’s sold my first novel to Simon amp; Schuster.”
“No! You’re a writer? What genre?”
“Historical fiction, following an American family through multiple generations.”
“Any particular family?” Nicole asked.
Dan nodded. “Guilty. I read somewhere that most first novels are largely biographical.” He smiled. “This family might bear some slight resemblance to the Rumsey line, with some embellishment, of course.” Dan could see that Nicole became more animated while discussing literature, which pleasantly surprised him. It was something else they might have in common.
They located Dan’s car in the train station parking lot, and the short drive to her apartment went quickly. Dan parked and walked Nicole to her door.
“Thanks for accepting on such short notice. You know, if you haven’t had the chance to see much of rural California, I’d love to show you the hills around Rumsey Valley. The upcoming season is beautiful, but the valley is especially beautiful during the Almond Festival in February when all the orchards are in bloom. I’d love to show you my home grounds over the next few weeks. That is, if you’re not otherwise committed.”
Nicole looked at Dan and then, momentarily, down at her feet. “I was involved with someone,” she said, “a CPA with an international accounting firm. But he couldn’t take going with a woman who ‘kills’ people for a living, as he put it,” she said quietly.
“I’m sorry, Nicole. It was none of my business,” Dan said, embarrassed.
“No, that’s all right. It’s history now.”
Picking up his lead, Dan pressed. “And the Rumsey Valley. Is that part of your future?” he asked.
“That’d be great, Dan,” she said, turning to unlock her apartment door.
“I’ll call you,” Dan said.
“I’d like that, Mr. Rawlings. I’d like that very much.” She started to step through the door, but hesitated and turned once again to face him. “As I said, I’ve just ended a relationship I thought was growing nicely. But I discovered long ago that I don’t like the give and take process by which relationships usually progress.”
As Dan’s brow furrowed in confusion, a big grin crossed Nicole’s face.
“I know that sounds formal, but what I mean is, I don’t feel comfortable playing the games people use in the dating scene. You know-pretending you don’t like someone until. . well, you know. Do you understand?”
“I do,” Dan replied, reaching slowly to touch her cheek, then sliding his hand around behind her neck. He gently pulled her toward him and softly kissed her lips, lingering just long enough to receive a response from her as she placed her hand on his shoulder. “I will call, Nicole. And I do like you, no games required.”
“At the same time, Dan, that doesn’t mean-”
“I understand,” he interrupted, holding up his open hand. “No games and no intrusions. Let’s just see where it goes.”
She nodded. “Goodnight, Dan, and thanks.”
“Goodnight, Nicole.”