Chapter 5: Bourbon, Burdens, and a Plan for Idaho

Spring in Boise was still chilly. I grabbed two bottles of good bourbon and headed to Lane’s place.

The Capitol lawn was patchy with frost. I pulled my scarf tighter, feeling the bottle knock against my coat—a small reminder of the world I’d lost, and the bridges I still wanted to build here.

Lane was already prepping for the Northern Initiative. I’d asked to join him several times, always got shot down.

I tried again. "Senator, why do you care so much about the Northern Initiative?"

He blinked. Good question. Was it loyalty to the late governor? Or chasing his own Hamilton-and-Lee dreams?

I poured us each a bourbon. Lane tossed his back and said, "First, I owe your dad. Second, Idaho needs to come back. That’s it."

"But Professor Waters said you found your calling, just not your time?"

Lane grinned, a little sad. "A man’s gotta stand by the folks who believe in him. Sometimes you just gotta do the hard thing, even if you know you’ll fail. What else is there to do?"

I stared at him, thinking about all the chaos Idaho had seen and all the people who’d suffered. Couldn’t help but feel something shift inside me.

Lane almost never drank, but tonight he had four, maybe five glasses. He started to slur. "All I want is to see Idaho fed and clothed. If I can take Jackson for you in my lifetime, I’ll die happy. The longer we wait, the harder it gets."

"This old senator… can’t keep up…"

Lane’s voice faded as he slumped into sleep.

I looked at his tired face and thought about all he’d done, and all the darkness still out on those plains. I hesitated, hand hovering for a second. This man had been my rival, my mentor, maybe the only real family I had left in this world. I grabbed a thick blanket and covered him up.

"In this life, just be a steady senator. Let me handle the rebels and the chaos."

What had to come would come. I felt a wave of doubt wash over me. My words still didn’t carry the weight Lane’s did. Even John West, Don Young, and Larry Lane treated me like a kid.

Couldn’t blame them. I hadn’t earned their trust yet.

This time, Lane split his army: the main force out of Red Rock, Wayne’s troops as a decoy at Silver Gulch.

I saw the flaw right away. With Idaho’s current strength, even if we took Jackson, we couldn’t hold it. If Mark Summers didn’t lose Junction Point, it would only delay the inevitable. Once Carson’s army pushed through Silver Gulch and Lane couldn’t take Red Rock, the result was the same.

If defeat was coming, better to save the army and not lose the people.

On the eve of Lane’s campaign, I sent three velvet bags—one for before battle, one during, one for retreat—with strict instructions for the staff to open them at the right times.

Lane found it funny. Usually he was the one handing out velvet bags, not the other way around. But I was the governor, so he played along.

General Wayne also got a velvet bag: "Open when you meet Carson…"

Outside, the wind rattled the windows, but inside, two stubborn souls plotted the fate of Idaho, the bourbon burning away old doubts.