78 "the weight of his name"

The Capitol building felt too big for my breathing.

Every step echoed—heels against marble, my pulse against my ribs. I smoothed my hands down the front of my dress for the hundredth time, nerves crawling under my skin like ants. This place smelled like polish and paper and power. None of it felt like it belonged to me. I wore my hair long and wavy. Blonde and pure. I wore black. I figured it was the most respectable. I was so very self conscious. I felt I didn't belong. I found the door at the end of the hall."GOVERNOR JOHN DUTTON" said the golden plaque on the door I lifted my hand. Hesitated. Then knocked.

"Come in," my father's voice called.I pushed the door open.He was standing when I walked in. So was Beth. And sitting off to the side, calm and unreadable, was the previous governor—her name already on the tip of my tongue before John said it aloud.

"Willie," John said, loud and proud. "You remember Governor Lynelle Perry." Oh yes..my father's lover... his first love so he would tell me when he was drunk as a kid. The air left my lungs when my father crossed the room and pulled me into his arms.He hugged me tight. Not polite. Not political. Real. "There's my girl," he murmured into my hair. I swallowed hard. "Hi, Daddy."

Lynelle  stepped forward next, offering a warm smile. "It's good to see you. Your father speaks highly of you."Beth, meanwhile, looked like she might choke."Oh please," she muttered, folding her arms. "This is nauseating." John ignored her."Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. "All of you."I perched on the edge of the seat, hands folded, spine straight. Beth slouched like she owned the room. Lynelle  leaned back, observant.

John cleared his throat. "I'll get right to it. Loyalty matters to me. Always has. And appreciation—" his eyes flicked to me "—that matters too."Beth scoffed. "Oh no."John continued, unbothered. "I need someone I trust. Someone who knows the ranch, the people, the stakes. Someone who isn't afraid of hard work."Beth laughed sharply. "You can't be serious.""I am," John said flatly.He turned to me. "Willie, I'm offering you a position as my assistant."My head snapped up. "Your... assistant?"

"You'd manage my schedule. Meetings. Calls. Travel. You'd be in every room I'm in."

Lynelle nodded. "It's not a small job."John added, "It pays well. Very well."My heart started pounding."Well enough," he said carefully, "to cover college. All of it."The room went quiet. College.The one thing I'd ever asked him for. The one thing I'd begged for through slammed doors and long silences. Veterinary school. The dream I'd tucked away and pretended didn't hurt anymore.Beth exploded out of her chair.

"You've lost your damn mind!" she shouted. "She'd destroy you. She ruins everything she touches."

John's jaw tightened. "Sit down, Beth."

"No," she snapped. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to hand her your career on a silver platter."She turned on me, eyes sharp as knives. "Or have you forgotten what she did?"My stomach dropped."She killed our mother," Beth said sweetly. "Remember that, Daddy?"

I went still.

I always did.

The room felt colder. Smaller.

John didn't raise his voice. He didn't even look at Beth at first."That's enough."

"She deserves to hear it," Beth pressed. "She always hides. Always lets you clean it up."John turned then, slow and dangerous. "You were there too, Beth. And you've carried that weight long enough to know better than to throw it like a weapon."Beth scoffed. "She never says anything."

"She doesn't need to," he said. "Because I remember."

He looked at me.

Not accusing. Not angry.

Just steady.

"You were a child," he said. "And you paid for that day more than anyone ever should."My throat burned. I stared at my hands.John straightened. "This offer stands. Take it or don't. But it's mine to make."Silence fell heavy.I took a breath that felt like it scraped my lungs."I'll do it," I said quietly.Beth's head snapped toward me. "You shouldn't."I met her eyes for once. Just once."I know," I said. "But I will."John nodded, satisfied. "Good. We start tomorrow."

Governor Lynelle stood, extending her hand again. "Welcome to politics, Willie."Beth shook her head, disgusted. "This will end badly for you. "Maybe it would.But for the first time in my life, my father had chosen me—not out of guilt, not out of obligation, but because he trusted me.

And that felt heavier than fear.Heavier than marble.Heavier than his name.

....

I didn't sleep.

Not really.

I lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying my father's voice in my head—You start tomorrow—like it was a sentence instead of an opportunity.

By the time the Capitol came into view again, the sun was barely up. The building looked different in daylight. Less ominous. Still not welcoming.Inside, a man in a pressed suit stopped me before I'd taken ten steps."You lost?" he asked, eyes flicking over my outdated heels.

"No," I said. "I'm... Willie Dutton."His eyebrows shot up. "Ah."That single sound carried judgment, curiosity, and annoyance all at once.He gestured down the hall. "Governor's office. You're late."

"I'm five minutes early."He checked his watch. "Then you're late."That set the tone.

John barely looked up when I walked in."You're here," he said. "Good. Coffee?""Yes, sir."He finally glanced at me. "Not sir. Don't ever call me that in here."

"...Dad?"

He grimaced. "Governor. When people are around."I nodded. "Governor."He slid a stack of folders toward me."Today you're shadowing. You listen. You don't promise anything. And if Beth walks in—"

"Asks me to kill myself," I finished.He almost smiled.

————-

By ten a.m., my head was pounding.Meetings blurred together—ranchers, donors, environmental reps who smiled with their mouths but not their eyes.One man leaned back in his chair and said, "Didn't expect a Dutton girl to be the one taking notes."I kept writing. "You're welcome to leave if that's a problem." My father stated without looking up.The man cleared his throat and shut up.Small victory.

Beth showed up at noon.She didn't knock."Well look at this," she said, scanning the room. "Daddy's little liability."John didn't even glance up. "Get out, Beth."She smiled at me. "You screw this up, it's on you. And you will screw it up."

I met her gaze. "Not today."Her smile twitched. "We'll see."She left like a storm—loud, destructive, and certain she'd be back.

⸻

Lunch didn't happen.

———-

At two, I handed my father the wrong folder—just once.He didn't yell. That was worse."Willie," he said evenly, "details matter here.""I know," I said. "It won't happen again."He studied me for a second, then nodded. "Good."———-By four, my hand cramped from writing. By five, my back ached from standing. By six, the halls were quieter—but my job wasn't done.

A woman from scheduling stopped by."You're the assistant?"

"Yes."

She handed me a calendar thicker than a Bible."Good luck."

⸻

When the building finally emptied, I slumped into the chair outside his office.

John stepped out, jacket over his arm.

"You survived," he said.

"Barely."

He paused. "You did well."

I blinked. "I did?"

"You didn't argue. You didn't flinch. And you didn't quit."

He hesitated, then added quietly, "That's more than most people manage their first day."

Something warm settled in my chest—dangerous, unfamiliar.

"Go home," he said. "Tomorrow gets harder."

I stood, exhausted to my bones. "I'll be early."

He nodded once. "I know."Outside, the sun was setting behind the Capitol dome, casting everything in gold.I leaned against my truck for a moment, breathing.I hadn't ruined him.I hadn't failed.

....

I stood where I was told—two steps behind him, off to the right. Close enough to be useful. Far enough to be invisible.

That was the goal, anyway.

Cameras flashed. Microphones crowded the podium. My father's voice was steady, practiced—answers rolling out like he'd rehearsed them in his sleep. Budget questions. Land use. Jobs. Montana-first rhetoric.I breathed through it. Counted the seconds between flashes. Kept my eyes low.Then it happened.A man in the second row leaned forward, voice sharp and curious in the way reporters get when they smell blood.

"Governor Dutton," he said, "a question not about policy—about optics."

I cocked my brow He didn't wait for permission."Why does your assistant, the woman who follows you everywhere, have a face like that?Why is it so horribly scarred? What happened to her?"The room went dead quiet.I swear I felt the sound drop out of the air.Heat rushed my face. My heart slammed so hard I thought I might pass out. I took an unconscious step backward, like distance could erase me, like I could fold into the wall and disappear.Every instinct screamed hide.I stared at the floor. At my heels. Anywhere but the cameras that were already shifting—lenses turning, zooming, hunting.I heard a murmur ripple through the crowd.My father didn't answer right away.When he did, his voice was different. Lower. Dangerous."You don't get to ask that."The reporter blinked. "Sir, it's a fair—""No," John said sharply. "It isn't."He turned slightly—not toward the press, but toward me."She's my daughter," he said. "And her face is none of your goddamn business."A few gasps. A few scribbling pens froze mid-word."She was hurt," he continued. "Like a lot of people in this state have been hurt. And if scars bother you that much, I suggest you stop looking for them."The reporter tried again, weaker this time. "So you won't comment on—"

"I'll comment on this," John snapped. "That question tells me everything I need to know about you. And nothing about her."

Silence.

My throat burned. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until my chest started to ache.

John faced forward again.

"Next question."

No one spoke for a full five seconds.

When another reporter finally raised her hand, my father answered like nothing had happened. Policy. Numbers. Calm.

But I couldn't move.

My hands were shaking.

When the briefing ended and the room cleared, John turned to me.

"You okay?"

I swallowed hard. "I didn't expect that."

"I did," he said quietly. "This world looks for soft spots."He paused, then added, "You handled it."I shook my head. "I stepped back."

"And you didn't run," he said. "That matters."I nodded, even though my eyes stung.As we walked out, I caught my reflection in the glass—my lip, the scar I'd learned to live around, not through.For years, it had been the first thing people saw......

I didn't wait long once I was alone.

I ducked into a quiet hallway, pressed my back to the cool stone, and called the only number that felt safe in my bones.He answered on the second ring.

"Well hell," Walker said, voice warm and teasing, like he'd been smiling before he even picked up. "There she is. Miss Capitol Building herself."I huffed softly. "You watched it?""Every second," he said. "Hard not to when the prettiest woman in Montana's standing right behind the podium."I scoffed, rubbing at my forehead. "You're ridiculous.""I'm serious," he replied easily. "You looked real good, blondie. Strong. Like you belonged there."My throat tightened."Did you... hear the question?" I asked quietly.There was a pause. A long one."The one about your face?" he said, voice losing its playfulness. "Yeah. I heard it."I swallowed. "I didn't think anyone would say it out loud. Not like that."

"They shouldn't have," he said firmly. "And your dad shut it down the right way."

"It still—" My voice cracked. I stopped, took a breath. "It still hurt."

"I know," he said softly. "Come here, sweetheart" he mumbled. "I wish I could be there mama. If I could."I smiled despite myself. "You're terrible at long-distance comforting."

"Lucky for you, I've got backup," he said, and I heard shuffling on his end. "You wanna know what your kid did today?"I sniffed. "Always."

"She tried to convince Gator that pancakes should be a dinner food," Walker said. "Told him—and I quote—'rules are just ideas.'"I laughed, a real one, the kind that loosened something in my chest. "That sounds like her."

"And," he continued, clearly enjoying this, "she put my hat on Cash. Horse wasn't impressed. She was."I shook my head, smiling wider. "I leave her alone with you for one day."

"Hey, she's thriving," he said. "Come here, dove."There was a rustle, then—"Momma!" Patsy's voice burst through the phone, bright and happy.My eyes burned instantly. "Hey, baby."

"Did you hear about my dance?" she asked excitedly. "Daddy said I was the best dancer in the whole ranch."

"You are," I said, smiling so hard it hurt. "I wish I was there."

"I miss you," she said simply.

"I miss you too," I whispered. "So much."

"You okay?" she asked, her little voice suddenly serious.I closed my eyes. "I am now."Walker came back on the line. "She's fed, clean, and asleep in about twenty minutes, I'm betting."

"Thank you," I said softly. "For everything."

"Always," he replied. Then, lighter again, "You hurry back mama. This ranch is a little less bright without you."I smiled into the phone, heart finally steady."Goodnight, Walk."

"Night, blondie girl."