HEAT → INVENTORY → NOTHING ELSE MATTERS

Jimmy’s eyes opened.

Long black strands of hair lay across his face.

It was like staring through sheer silk.

The radiant heat inside Dakota’s adobe had started to fade in the early morning hours.

Last night it had been a furnace.

Now his only source of warmth was Dakota’s body intertwined with his beneath two Pendleton wool blankets.

Her Smith & Wesson .357 hung in its holster at the end of the bed.

Jimmy wasn’t going to disturb her.

Besides, he had no clue how to operate a cast-iron stove.

Yeah.

She could absolutely kick his flyboy ass in more ways than one.

· · ·

As he lay there, pieces of the night began racing through his mind.

“I want you.”

“I want everything you can give me.”

Dakota had been sharing.

Jimmy had been taking inventory.

She had opened her soul.

Now it was his turn to open the door—or keep it locked.

The question returned:

What do you owe someone whose potential you can see—but they cannot?

Honesty.

Loyalty.

Commitment.

Knowledge.

Jimmy stopped there.

He was ready to open the door.

· · ·

Suddenly, Dakota jumped out of bed.

She moved quickly across the 500-square-foot adobe.

Her slender build and the three pairs of ASICS by the front door now made sense.

Dakota was a runner.

Jimmy heard the toilet flush.

A metal door squeak.

Wood hitting cast iron.

A match struck.

Then the coffee machine.

A few minutes later, Dakota returned to bed and wrapped herself around him.

No words.

Just a vibe.

They were both a little hungover.

Two bottles of Orin Swift Mercury Head had disappeared sometime between the stars, the talking, and the lovemaking.

Dakota knew good wine.

Good bourbon.

Jimmy was learning that she liked the finer things too.

· · ·

As the adobe warmed and morning sunlight began filling the room, Jimmy got up.

Bathroom.

Coffee.

He looked toward the bed.

“Milk and sugar?”

Dakota barely opened her eyes.

“Black.”

He returned with two mugs.

He placed hers on the nightstand.

Eventually Dakota sat up and took a sip.

They were quiet again.

Both thinking.

· · ·

The silence changed.

Not uncomfortable.

Expectant.

Jimmy leaned over and pulled his iPhone from his jeans.

He powered it on.

Waited.

Opened Dropbox.

Scrolled.

Tapped a file.

Then handed the phone to Dakota.

She looked at him.

Jimmy said nothing.

Dakota began reading.

Slowly at first.

Then intently.

· · ·

For nearly five years, Jimmy had been writing his memoir.

Family had always told him he should write a book.

Little did they know what would eventually be in it.

The good.

The bad.

The ugly.

Every family had secrets.

Some darker than others.

Parts of Jimmy’s family history were pitch-black.

His parents.

His childhood.

The steel town.

The Air Force.

War.

Family.

Love.

Loss.

Ambition.

Success.

Failure.

The parts of himself that didn’t make it into biographies, résumés, or conversations with strangers at bars.

This was inventory.

His.

· · ·

Dakota knew a war story when she read one.

She kept scrolling.

Jimmy watched her face but couldn’t read it.

For once, that was probably the point.

Eventually, Dakota handed the phone back.

She remained silent.

Jimmy set it beside him.

Then spoke.

“I extended my stay.”

Dakota turned.

“What?”

“I have clients coming to Jackson next week.”

“What kind of clients?”

Jimmy looked at her.

“The complicated kind.”

Dakota waited.

“There’s a bit of a crisis.”

“Big egos.”

“A lot of money.”

She studied him.

“So you’re not leaving.”

“Not yet.”

Dakota nodded.

Jimmy wasn’t finished.

“And Friday, I close on a residence at the Amangani.”

Silence.

Dakota stared at him.

This motherfucker already bought a house.

“You bought a house?”

Jimmy smiled.

“Under contract.”

Dakota’s expression changed.

“When?”

“Before I arrived.”

She stopped.

That landed.

Dakota looked away for a moment.

Then back.

Jimmy had already chosen Wyoming.

She was the curveball he never saw coming.

· · ·

Dakota got out of bed.

Walked around to his side.

“Stand up.”

Jimmy looked at her.

“Stand up.”

He did.

Dakota kissed him.

Softly.

Then wrapped her arms around him.

Jimmy held her.

The embrace tightened.

He could feel her heart racing.

She could feel his beginning to pound.

Different heat.

Different warmth.

Neither let go.

· · ·

Eventually Dakota pulled back.

She looked at him differently now.

The memoir.

The clients.

The house.

The man.

Pieces were beginning to connect.

Jimmy had spent days reading her.

Now she had something closer to a baseline on him.

Not everything.

Enough.

Jimmy looked at her.

Dakota looked back.

Neither needed to say it.

The seed was planted.

· · ·

Metallica.

“Nothing Else Matters.”

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