Mountains Apart

“Wow...I imagine it was hard work.”

His tone was filled with admiration, and for some reason Emily felt herself warm at the quasi-compliment.

“It was.”

“Where did this take place?”

“Texas,” she said.

“I thought you were from California.”

“I am. But I worked summers in Texas oil fields to help pay for college.” She left out the part about her stepfather setting up the jobs for her so she could learn everything about the industry she would eventually be a part of. She’d even worked a stint in one of their mines.

“Is that how you became interested in the oil industry?”

“Basically,” Emily said, and hoped he’d leave it at that.

“Where were you born?”

“Crescent City, California.”

“But now you live in San Diego?”

“Yes, I moved there when I was young.”

“Hmm. What kind of food do you like to eat?”

She answered even as she wondered at the subject change. “The dessert kind,” she said.

Bering grinned. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth myself. Chocolate?”

“Sure. And pastries and pretty much anything with frosting.”

“Dogs or cats?”

“Oh. No. Please don’t tell me you eat those here, too?”

He laughed, and she said, “I like them both, but I don’t have time for pets.”

“Favorite color?”

“Red.”

“Brothers and sisters?”

“One brother—half brother.”

“Were you close growing up?”

“Yes, as close as we could be. He’s three years older than me. We had the same dad, different moms. So we didn’t grow up together—he lived in southern Oregon with his mom and I grew up in San Diego with my mom and stepdad. We did see each other, though, as often as we could. Aidan’s mom was great about arranging that.”

“Where does he live now?”

“Um, Oregon, when he’s not traveling for work.... Why are you asking me all these questions?”

“I’m curious.”

He flashed her another smile, and the thought popped into Emily’s mind that she liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. Curiosity, huh? What did that mean? She knew she couldn’t get involved with him, so why she was even speculating, she didn’t know. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. And, she reminded herself, either way, it was not professional behavior and certainly not professional thinking. And more than likely he was trying to learn about her for the same reason she planned to learn about him....

“Oh, um, why?” she asked, forcing herself back into the moment.

“Because you’re new in town, and here in Rankins we are known for our hospitality toward newcomers?” he jested.

Emily made a snuffling sound of amusement and disbelief. They both knew that the welcome she’d received as a representative of Cam-Field had been anything but hospitable.

“Okay, maybe not so much in your case. But I do know that we, meaning you and me, didn’t get off to the best start, so I was thinking maybe we could start over.”

“Why?”

“I get the feeling that you could use a friend in this town.” he suggested.

“Right,” she returned sarcastically, “like we could be friends—me working for Cam-Field and you...well, not.” But she had to admit that he did seem a lot different than the hostile man she’d first encountered. Had she dreamed up the fierce opponent who had confronted her in her office a few mornings ago? He was clearly a kind, compassionate and thoughtful guy, as evidenced by his behavior toward her the past couple days. And she had been dehydrated, drugged and delusional, and he seemed so harmless now. She met his eyes again and felt a jolt of awareness course through her. Okay, maybe “harmless” was understating the matter slightly. She recalled the passion he had displayed for this town a few mornings ago and his ultimate intentions where Cam-Field was concerned.

“I don’t see why it has to be a problem,” he said.

“Again, in case you missed it the first time, we are clearly on opposite sides of a very tall fence here.”

“But that’s just business.”

“Just business?”

“Yes, business—it’s not personal.”

Emily flicked her eyes toward the ceiling.

Bering chuckled. “What?”

“People always say that and it’s just such nonsense.”

“What?”

“That business isn’t personal, but that’s really just a way to explain away actions that otherwise would make them feel uncomfortable. The truth is that business is personal. It’s one and the same.”

“You’re joking, right?”

But Emily wasn’t joking. Her work was her life, and she’d been working her entire life. As a child she’d begun doing yard work and other odd jobs for money. By the age of twelve she’d had her own paper route, at thirteen she’d begun working with the janitorial staff at Cam-Field and at fourteen she’d landed a job in the mail room. And on it had gone: from assistant roustabout to training coordinator to her eventual position in Cam-Field’s upper management. She’d never stopped working.

She’d worked all through high school and college until she’d graduated at the top of her class. And then, while earning her MBA, she’d begun climbing her way up Cam-Field’s corporate ladder. She’d nearly reached the top, too, until Jeremy had begun climbing and elbowing his way upward, and as with any good ladder, there’d only been room for one person at the top. Which was why she was here and Jeremy was in San Diego lounging around in her corner rung, er, office.

In spite of her stepfather’s wealth, working hard had been the best way of gaining and then maintaining his approval. The only people she’d ever really had relationships with, friendships or otherwise, had been people she worked with. Even Amanda, whom she considered her best friend, was also her assistant.

Now she stated simply, “No, I’m not.”

Bering was quiet for a moment before he finally said, “Well, then, Ms. Hollings, I think it’s time someone finally showed you the difference.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“EMILY, THESE ARE AMAZING. You’re like a real artist, you know that?” Amanda was busy flipping through some sketches Emily had done. Since her laptop was still down, she couldn’t generate any computer models, so she’d spent a good part of her last two doctor-ordered recuperation days drawing up some illustrations of Cam-Field’s proposed development of Rankins. Amanda had emailed Jeremy another request for an arrangement of stock photos they sometimes used in their presentations but she hadn’t heard back from him. Emily knew that Jeremy had them on his computer, because she had put them there herself. She had a speech to give the next day to the Chamber of Commerce and she needed something to show them.

She smiled at Amanda’s compliment. “I wouldn’t go that far, but thank you, Amanda.” She did love to draw. It was her one indulgence.

“I love this one of the town and the bay that you did from above. It looks just...idyllic,” she said wistfully. “Like a place where anyone would dream of living.”

Emily peered over her shoulder to look at the sketch. She had drawn it after a stop at the museum, where she’d learned about the town and its fascinating history: Theodore Rankins, an enterprising businessman, had come to the area during the early gold-rush days. He’d constructed a large rough-hewn cabin and hung a sign above the door that read simply Rankins. He set up shop and the miners who flocked to the area soon came to rely upon Rankins for needed supplies. It was probably inevitable that the town itself would come to share his name, as well.

Theodore had chosen the location wisely. The bay was relatively protected by several small outlying islands yet the deep water allowed access for trading ships, and marine life seemed to be thriving in the cold, nutrient-rich waters. The Opal River carved its way through the rugged mountains that served as the town’s backdrop. The river slowed and widened before emptying into the waters of the bay, creating marshy wetlands that provided prime moose and waterfowl habitat. The land reaching inward toward the mountains was richly forested with spruce, hemlock, cedar and hardwoods, interspersed with lush meadows making it a haven for wildlife.

With mining claims widely established in the surrounding area, Rankins became an essential outpost. Homesteaders moved in and began to utilize other resources that the area had to offer—trapping, hunting, fishing and logging. The settlement continued to prosper and grow into the quaint and picturesque town that it was today.

In a burst of inspired spontaneity, Emily had attempted to capture some of the charm of the historic town with her pencil and paper. She was strangely happy that Amanda could see it, too.

“Unfortunately” Amanda added, “it is totally not useful for our purposes here. This really is a beautiful little town, though.” She gave the sketch another admiring glance before setting it aside. She picked up another. “But this one of the community center is perfect. The mom with the kids out front—nice touch. It really humanizes the scene. We can use this.”

Much of the initial groundwork had been laid for this project in advance of their arrival, including obtaining federal and state offshore approvals. It was now their job to secure a majority vote from the town council for the remaining permits for the necessary construction within Rankins. After this final step was achieved, Cam-Field would come to town in force: build an offshore oil platform, pumping facilities, a pipeline, oil storage tanks and support structures in the town.

Because of Rankins’s unique location, bordering both the river and the bay, all onshore facilities would be constructed within the city limits. The pipeline itself would not only travel through the town but would also transverse the entire length of the valley before eventually connecting to the Alaska Pipeline.

In an effort to make all of this construction more palatable to the townsfolk, Cam-Field would implement “community-improvement projects” in the form of new and improved infrastructure, parks and attractive buildings like the community center she’d drawn, which was slated to include a state-of-the-art gym, rock-climbing wall and competition-size swimming pool.

“Yeah, but I wish I had some real photos to show,” Emily said. “Do you think it could be Jeremy?”

Amanda executed an innocent one-shouldered shrug. “I would go so far as to say that old Jeremy is undoubtedly having one heck of a time trying to get anything accomplished right now.”

“Amanda...what did you do?”

“What? Me?” she replied innocently.

“Amanda—”

“Oh, Emily, don’t worry. I didn’t have to do anything. The entire staff can’t stand him and it certainly isn’t my fault if they’ve rather suddenly and collectively come up with a bad case of incompetence.” She shrugged again and suggested, “I hear it’s contagious. I would even be willing to bet that they caught it from him.”

Emily stared at Amanda for a few seconds, eyes wide, mouth agape. Her lips were forming words of disapproval, but instead she burst out laughing. She had gotten tired of constantly holding Jeremy’s hand herself; she could only imagine how the busy, mistreated staff at the home office felt.

* * *

JEREMY STRATHOM WAS PACING in his office, back and forth, back and forth across the two-hundred-dollar-a-yard pressed-wool carpet. Normally he’d be concerned about the destructive impact of such an action upon said carpet and vary his path to avoid an obvious wear pattern, but not now. Not today. His future was at stake here and it was a future which had taken him nearly two years to carefully scheme and meticulously craft.

And now it seemed as if it was all about to tumble down around him like a house of cards in an unguarded sneeze. He walked over to his desk and opened the drawer, extending it nearly to its full length. He stared down at the small velvet-covered box. He’d nearly had everything. He still didn’t understand how this had happened. What he did know was that somehow he needed to get Emily back—back into his arms—and more importantly, back into the office.

He’d had no idea that his getting the promotion over her would result in this silly, impulsive breakup. He’d certainly never anticipated her taking off for places far-flung and nearly unreachable. It was unacceptable. The consequences of her actions were nearing disastrous proportions. She wasn’t answering his texts, his calls were going straight to voice mail and her emails were strictly business-related.

Jeremy slipped out the door and walked toward his uncle’s office. He’d always enjoyed the sound that his handcrafted Italian leather loafers made as they clicked on the marble floor of the hallways at Cam-Field headquarters. And never had he enjoyed it more than the day, a few short weeks ago, that he’d been made senior vice president. But the fact had not escaped him that at some point during the past week the sound had begun to get on his nerves. Clack, clack, clack—it now seemed as if even the floor was mocking him.

“Jeremy, I’ve heard it through the grapevine that you haven’t yet sent the simulations to Emily for her first presentation in Rankins. It seems they are having some equipment trouble up there and she needs them ASAP,” Franklin Campbell barked as Jeremy entered the man’s huge corner office. Franklin leaned back in his chair and tapped the fingers of one hand on the scarred oak desk in front of him. The man seemed to constantly be in motion and apparently never ran out of energy, a trait he’d noticed that, in spite of there being no common DNA between them, Emily shared.

Jeremy crafted his face into a look of bafflement. “She hasn’t received them yet? I asked Kim to email them,” he lied smoothly. How did his uncle figure this stuff out all the time? Did he have spies everywhere in this place? Cameras? Bugs? Access to email accounts? What? “Maybe they didn’t go through. The internet has been a little unreliable up there, too, from what I understand. I’ll be sure to check on that again today.”

The truth was the photos hadn’t even been put together yet. He’d asked someone in the graphics department to compile them, but no one seemed to know what it was he was asking for. These people were idiots. Not for the first time he wondered how Emily managed to get any work out of them at all, much less the abundance that she did.

“How is the job going up there anyway?” Jeremy asked, changing the subject and hoping that Franklin would say terribly, but knowing that Emily was handling it like she did everything—perfectly. The woman had always made him feel inadequate, and now that she was gone, instead of making it better as he’d hoped, it was worse—much, much worse. He hadn’t realized how difficult this job was going to be without her.

“Fine, just fine,” Franklin responded flatly, but Jeremy could sense the pride behind his tone.

“Wonderful! ” Jeremy said and nodded happily as if delighted by the news.

He caught a glimpse of something in his uncle’s eyes. Something, Jeremy thought, like confusion or skepticism. It dawned on him then that he shouldn’t have asked how Emily was doing in Alaska; he should have already known. Was that why his uncle was sitting there silently staring him down? What was the old man thinking? It was impossible to tell. Jeremy swallowed nervously as Franklin continued with his wordless scrutiny.

He finally shifted in his seat and his features seemed to soften slightly. Then he spoke. “You must miss her terribly.”

“Yes, yes, I do,” Jeremy replied soberly. You have absolutely no idea, old man....

“You’re sure she’s going to say yes?”

Jeremy smiled smoothly even as his stomach twisted and knotted painfully. His nerves seemed to have a direct link to his intestines lately. “Absolutely.” Another lie—they hadn’t ever talked about it, but he couldn’t imagine that Emily wouldn’t say yes. She had to say yes. He’d already assured his uncle that it was going to happen. And it would. As soon as he could get her back here...

His uncle’s tone was suddenly sharp as he asked, “You’ve got the projections ready for the meeting with Argot tomorrow, I assume?”

Jeremy shifted nervously. “Nearly there. Very close.”

“No problem generating the graphics, then?”

Jeremy nearly groaned aloud. Graphics? He hadn’t even managed to get the final numbers together yet. He had delegated most of it to two accounting people, but they obviously hadn’t communicated with each other, because what they’d given him seemed to be from two entirely different sets of data. And in total it appeared to him to be nothing more than a tidy summation of gibberish. Now he was going to have to find someone to stay late to do the graphics? He hadn’t been able to get the graphics department to do anything beyond making a new sign for his office door, which now read Jermy Struthorn. He figured that said it all.

* * *

EMILY WAS FEELING like her old self as she stepped into the meeting room where she was going to be giving her presentation to the Chamber of Commerce. It was her first official opportunity to try to turn the tide in Cam-Field’s favor. Amanda was right, she could do this. She just needed to get her head in the game. Just because she’d never been to Alaska didn’t mean that it was going to be that much different than any of the other scores of places she had worked before.

Her sketches did look good and she was glad she had done them. Her computer was still down and she had yet to hear from Jeremy, aside from some weird texts that had come through on her phone telling her how much he missed her, followed by a question about who her favorite employee was in the graphics department. Whatever. He could jump off a cliff for all she cared. She was starting to feel more like herself—much more confident and definitely more in control.

In addition to resting, eating the healthy food Bering had suggested she buy and sketching, she’d spent a great number of hours over the past few days on the telephone, which had miraculously started working to an adequate degree (although she still couldn’t put anyone on hold) trying to get to know some of the townspeople. She had purposely arrived several minutes early today so she could mingle and introduce herself in person.

She walked up to a handsome, athletic-looking man wearing dark blue jeans and a long-sleeved flannel shirt. It looked almost crisp and Emily got a kick out of the fact that it appeared to have been pressed. Perhaps, she thought wryly, an iron is what distinguishs everyday-wear flannel from the more professional for-the-office flannel. She extended a hand toward him and noticed that his thick black hair contained only touches of gray and, along with his trim physique, made him look much younger than he probably was. She’d noticed that wasn’t an uncommon trait among the men here.

“Mayor Calder? Emily Hollings. It is so nice to meet you finally. I’ve so enjoyed our phone conversations....”

* * *

BERING WATCHED THE INTERPLAY between Emily and the mayor and was relieved. She really had bounced back. She looked great—stunning, actually—and she seemed well on her way to recovery. There were some smart, tough and stubborn men and women who belonged to the Chamber and he hadn’t been looking forward to seeing her get eaten alive. Now, however, that he could see her in full swing, a new kind of concern was creeping up on him. She was good at this, much better, in fact, than he had anticipated.

Which was a relief on one hand, because he could quit worrying about her, but on the other hand, he was beginning to speculate about what kind of fight he was really in for. He might have his work cut out for him after all. And to think, because of his apparently misguided concern, he’d already solved one problem for her....

Bering hadn’t thought she was being paranoid about her office sabotage. He’d had a pretty good idea who was behind it all. He was well acquainted with the Bradbury family. Buster Bradbury’s son, Brodie, often helped out Oden Franks by taking care of property matters locally, including his own father’s rental properties. He was also a well-known amateur computer hacker. And it was no secret which side of the issue the Bradbury family was on.

Brodie and his wife ran the hardware store, which also carried the bulk of the town’s office supplies. He’d inherited the business from Buster, and they were all terrified that Cam-Field’s development of Rankins would bring in one of those big-box stores and drive them out of business. Bering had quickly discovered that Brodie had taken it upon himself to do his part to prevent that from happening. Bering had convinced Brodie that those kinds of tactics could very well get him into trouble and really wouldn’t make a difference in the final outcome anyway.

Though the sensible part of him said that an uncomfortable Emily shouldn’t make any difference to him, could maybe even give him an edge, this level playing field somehow made him feel better about the battle he now felt certain was commencing. He absolutely wanted to win—he had to win. The alternative was unthinkable. This town, this valley, was his lifeblood. His living depended on the pristine wilderness—clean, pure water where the fish thrived and the unspoiled country where wildlife teemed. Sure, he guided fishermen to the best fishing of their lives and he helped hunters pursue their dream trophies, but he was careful to do it in a way that respected the ecosystem.

He’d gone away to college in Anchorage and majored in environmental science and business, and he had done so with every intention of coming back to Rankins. He knew how fragile the balance between nature and man could be. In addition to volunteering for environmental cleanups, he also contracted with the Department of Fish and Game for the surveying of big game and predator numbers and the reporting of any threat to them that might arise. Bering was convinced that he’d never seen a greater threat than Cam-Field.

His father and his grandfather before him had made their livings by fishing commercially, but Bering had possessed a different vision from a very young age. He had rebelled against everyone who had told him he could never make a go of a guiding and outfitter business in this remote of a location. But he’d worked hard and he’d done it. And in the process, the business that he’d created continually generated new business for the town. His customers shopped at the local grocery store, they bought gear at Les Hartley’s sporting-goods store, they ate at the restaurants, they bought art from local artisans to take back home and on it went. And when they returned to their own unique corners of the world, they talked about James Guide and Outfitter Service, and they talked about the hospitality and the accommodations they enjoyed in Rankins.

Bering had no trouble with outsiders—tourists were his bread and butter. But the kind of people he wanted to come to Rankins weren’t the ones who worked for Cam-Field Oil & Mineral.

Now he watched Emily working the room and felt his concern shift solidly back to where it belonged—to Rankins.

Emily—eaten alive? Yeah, right.

Bering stood back and half listened as Wally Crumrind, the town’s pharmacist, raved about his new snow machine. He watched from the corner of his eye as Emily approached a small group of Chamber members, a couple of whom also happened to serve on the town council. He thought about going over and smoothly weaving his side into the discussion, but before he could extricate himself from the conversation he was having, he realized that she’d beaten him to it. In fact, he soon saw, they were all talking and laughing as though they were old friends. What was going on?

As the event continued to unfold, Bering felt his concern solidify into something even more ominous. Emily had called it, but he’d been too blinded by something—concern, curiosity, his own confidence—to see it. He was scared. Gone was the inattentive and scatterbrained woman he’d first met a few days ago, gone was the vulnerable and lost girl from the hospital, and gone was the questionably capable business executive with the understated sexiness that he’d come to know in the past few days.