“Shit,” Jackson muttered into her head.
As if on cue, Veronica jumped up and shouted at him directly. “Jackson Wolf, you’re a damn fool. Can’t you see these people are playing you? Why do you stand there in support of the Masters as if you too have taken to sleeping with one of them? I’ll bet you’re sleeping with one of the Bartel-Hamiltons too. Which one is it?” She shuddered in an exaggerated manner as she finished speaking.
Jackson said nothing beside Sharon.
She wanted to reach out to him. She couldn’t, but she wished she could pull him into her embrace and tell him how sorry she was he’d been dragged into the battle against his free will.
Free will simply didn’t have much of a part in this mayhem.
Melinda stepped into the room and scurried around the edge to reach Sharon’s side while the mayor tried to regain control once again.
“Sorry I’m late. What’d I miss?”
Sharon chuckled and muttered, “What didn’t you miss?”
Two men Sharon recognized stood side by side against the back wall. She’d seen them spying on the fracking site the night she went with Cooper. One of them stepped forward. “Mayor Cromwell, if I may, I’d be happy to explain what’s happening to the land. I’m not from this area. Perhaps your people and the people of Sojourn would find it easier to stomach the news if it comes from a stranger.”
Melinda leaned between Sharon and Jackson and whispered, “Those are the men Cooper and I met in the woods. That’s Isaiah Arthur.”
Sharon nodded. She didn’t care who it was if he could get these idiots to listen to reason. So far that seemed unlikely.
“Why the hell would we listen to you?” Pete Sandhouse shouted. “No offense, but where are you even from?”
The man with the short-cropped brown hair turned to face the Native American crowd. The man was not entirely Caucasian, but Sharon wasn’t sure what his mix of nationalities was. Who the hell cared?
“I’m from Tolecula, just north of here. Name’s Isaiah Arthur. This is my brother Wyatt.” He nodded beside him and continued. “We’re just as interested in making sure the land in this area is stable as the rest of you. And we’ve been keeping a close eye on what’s happening. If you’ll just hear me out.”
Sandhouse looked fit to kill. “Listen, asshole. No offense, but this is a town meeting for locals. We don’t need anyone from outside telling us what to do.”
Sharon’s gaze jerked to another woman who jumped to her feet near the front of the room. Jazmine Wolf.
Jackson stiffened beside Sharon. “Oh no. My sister isn’t known for holding her tongue when push comes to shove.” He stepped forward and froze.
Sharon followed his line of sight to an older couple near the front a few rows from Jazmine. “Jackson?”
“My parents.” His voice was clipped, even in her mind.
Jazmine stood tall, her chin high, her voice higher. “Pete Sandhouse, shut the hell up and sit your ass down. You’ve been nothing but a pain in the rear to most of the citizens of Sojourn and Cambridge for years. You’ve done nothing but abuse your power as deputy to terrorize people of all walks of life.
“At this point I don’t think you even know what the hell you’re so pissed about. You just like to be angry. Nobody takes you seriously anymore.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are, sister?” Pete retaliated with, his voice an octave too high.
Sharon flinched. Mentally she reached out to Jackson. “You okay?”
“Oh, yeah. This is a delight,” he added with sarcasm.
She glanced at him, but he looked like he was stable enough to remain in his spot.
Jazmine responded in the same calm voice she’d been using the entire time. Her words were pointed and specific. Her calm radiated from her small frame as if she felt every bit of it. “I am most certainly not your ‘sister’; that’s for sure. I’m embarrassed to share a race with you, in fact. You’re a bigot and an asshole.
“Everyone who matters knows you’ve had a hard-on for the Masters and the Bartels for years. You’ve been living on borrowed time, brother. So I suggest you shut the hell up, like I said, sit your ass down, and listen to reason. Our very existence depends on it.”
“What do you care, bitch?” Sandhouse shouted back. “You sleeping with some white man or two? Jumping sides with the rest of these pale-face-loving fools? Is a white man’s dick bigger than your own kind? Is that it? Or do you just like the money that comes from sleeping with one of those pilgrims from Cambridge? Maybe you found yourself a white sugar daddy who covers your expenses, huh?”