Homestead

Chapter Nine

The crackle of gravel crunching under the tires of Clay’s SUV quickly faded away, leaving Tess alone in the silent house. She stared at the plain manila folder Clay had left on her kitchen table without touching it. If she didn’t touch it, didn’t read it, perhaps it wouldn’t be real. Even as she avoided it, she knew she was only fooling herself. Trouble didn’t disappear just because she closed her eyes, any more than the rain fell or the crops came in strong when she whispered a prayer to make it so. If what Clay had said was true, she had a whole lot of trouble coming her way, and she preferred to meet it head-on. Whatever had to be done, she would find a way to do it. She wasn’t helpless, she wasn’t without choices or friends. And she knew how to fight.

Squaring her shoulders, she walked into the mudroom, pulled on her chore boots, and headed out to help with the milking. Three hours later, the day was almost gone and heavy twilight blanketed the fields, the heat still lingering close to the ground, enveloping Tess in air so thick she could almost hold it in her hand as she trudged back to the house. Inside, shadows cooled the corners of the big kitchen, and Tess worked in the near dark, brewing a cup of tea and assembling a sandwich out of the previous day’s roast chicken. When she was done with the preparations, she switched on the old chandelier that hung over her big oak table and sat down. The folder hadn’t moved, still sitting squarely in front of her plate like a coiled snake ready to strike. Rolling Hills Farm was written on the tab in neat black letters. She wondered idly if Clay had written that. Probably not. More likely someone in an office far away who had no idea what the name stood for, no clue of the land and the life that went with it.

She slid the dozen neatly typed and stapled pages from the folder and started to read what Ray had done. By the time she’d digested the words, her tea was cold and her sandwich uneaten. She tried to find excuses for him, some explanation as to why he had made these decisions without telling her. She’d always thought they had a decent relationship—she couldn’t say she loved him the way she had loved her mother, but he had been a part of her life for a long time, and though they shared little that was personal, she’d thought they had shared a love of the land. She couldn’t square that belief with his signature at the bottom of a lengthy contract agreeing to allow NorthAm access to his land—her land—for money. A lot of money. She didn’t know if he’d been paid, but she’d have to find out. If he hadn’t been, if things hadn’t gone that far, it might be easier to somehow undo the contract. Because one way or another, she had to. She wasn’t going to let NorthAm violate her land, no matter how much money they offered her or how persuasive Clay might be.

Clay closed her laptop, her eyes aching, and surveyed the lovingly restored room at the inn. Any other time she might have admired the authentic tin ceiling tiles and gleaming hardwood floors, but tonight the beauty was lost on her. The dull pain in her chest had nothing to do with the hours she’d spent poring through files or her missed supper. Thoughts of Tess plagued her, undercutting her concentration, tugging at her conscience—and her heart.

She needed some perspective, but first she needed a diversion.

Briefly she considered asking Ella if she’d eaten and decided against it. She didn’t really want company. She wasn’t feeling sociable. Less than sociable—more like she wanted a fight and hoped one found her. She grabbed a denim jacket from the clothes Doris had sent up and went out to see the town.

Choices were limited. The sign in the diner window said they closed at nine, and she’d just missed that. The convenience store on the corner of the one and only major intersection in town sold ice cream, hot dogs, and microwave burritos, none of which appealed to her, although each of them had been dinner on more than one occasion. Drawn by the murmur of voices, she continued across the street to a tavern where a few people congregated outside on the steps, smoking, watching the traffic, talking. They parted to let her in, questions in their eyes.

Inside, the one big room was divided into a dining section with a half dozen tables in one half and a long bar in the other. Men and women, drinks in hand, squeezed in between the bar stools, all of which were occupied. Clay had her choice of tables and sat down at one in front of the big plate-glass window and scanned the single page of a laminated menu. The TV over the bar showed a baseball game, the sound lost in the layers of conversation that flowed over the room. A few minutes later a waitress in jeans and a yellow T-shirt ambled over.

“How you doing?” the thirtysomething brunette asked.

“Not bad,” Clay said, giving the friendly lie.

“Something to drink?”

“Whatever beer you have on tap would be fine.”

“Know what you’re having?”

“A burger sounds good—medium, with the works.”

“You got it.” The waitress smiled and left without writing anything down. Sometime later she returned with a tall mug of ice-cold beer.

Clay nodded thanks and sipped. Good beer. She slowly drank, letting thoughts of yield projections, ROIs, and budgets slowly drift away. Eventually, her mind was quiet for a minute or two before the conversation at Tess’s hijacked her mind. She didn’t hear the words—all she could see was the unhappiness in Tess’s eyes, the pain she’d helped put there. Again.

The last person she ever wanted to hurt was the one she kept making unhappy. She might have been only the messenger this time, but Tess wouldn’t see it that way. Tess hadn’t known about Ray Phelps’s arrangement with NorthAm. The shocked betrayal in her face was clear. Tess had worked the farm for him, put her heart into it, and he hadn’t even bothered to tell her what he was doing. Even though Tess’s stepfather had been the cause of Tess’s pain, Clay had been the one to bring the reality of what Phelps had done into Tess’s world. Tess probably blamed her as much as she blamed Phelps right now. Clay couldn’t argue—she was guilty by association.

Clay tapped her fork on the tabletop, frustrated and more than a little angry. Tess’s unhappiness wasn’t her concern, couldn’t be her concern—her responsibility was to secure the drilling rights they needed so the project could go forward as quickly as possible. She wasn’t doing anything illegal, nothing she hadn’t done a hundred times before. This time, though, what had always been routine had become personal, and she couldn’t let it be. She rubbed her forehead as if to purge the self-recriminations, muttering her thanks when the waitress slid an enormous burger with fries in front of her. The place was filling up, and the noise level rose—a typical Friday night after a long workweek, everyone wanting to unwind. Clay couldn’t unwind the steel spring ratcheted tightly in her chest, but she managed to fill her head with the cacophony of voices so she didn’t have to think about what she had done or might need to do.

When she heard Tess’s unmistakable rich, faintly throaty voice, she thought she was imagining it again—reliving the conversation in the kitchen—until she glanced up and realized her mistake. Tess stood at the bar, her back to Clay, talking to a big man in work clothes. He gripped her arm loosely, looming over her, their heads close together. Tess didn’t look happy.

A surge of possessiveness Clay hadn’t experienced in years pushed its way into her throat, reverberating there like a growl waiting to erupt. She swallowed down the ire, pushed the remains of her burger aside, and drained her beer. She needed the support of these people, and Tess was not hers to claim. Neither rationalization helped counter the acid eating at her insides. Tess was hurting and Clay was helpless.

“Ready for another beer?” the waitress asked.

“Yes, thanks,” Clay said, not taking her eyes off Tess. While she watched, Tess glanced toward the door and smiled. Her face lost some of the worry lines that had been etched across her forehead and the corners of her mouth, and Clay automatically searched out who had put that look on her face.

Ella wended her way through the crowd and up to Tess, who said something to the man she was with and turned to face Ella fully, her fingers lightly grazing Ella’s forearm. Clay wanted to look away but couldn’t. Even seeing Tess with another woman was better than not seeing her at all. Ella laughed, nodded, and bent her head to murmur something into Tess’s ear. Tess smiled at whatever Ella had said and looked younger and more carefree than Clay had seen her all week. She wanted to be the one making Tess laugh, bringing pleasure to her face, and knew she’d lost that chance a long time ago. Abruptly, she stood, yanked her wallet from her back pocket, pulled out bills, and left a handful on the table. Unfortunately, she had to walk past Ella and Tess to get to the door.

With her uncanny sixth sense, Ella looked in Clay’s direction before Clay had gotten halfway across the room. Tess followed her gaze and the laughter left her eyes.

“Good evening, Ms. Sutter,” Ella said smoothly as Clay stepped up to them. “I was just saying to Ms. Rogers that this seems to be the place where all the important work is being done, and apparently that’s true.”

“I’ve got a few things to do yet tonight,” Clay said, practically shivering from the chill in Tess’s gaze. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to do them back at the inn.”

“Of course. I’ll walk back with you.” Ella nodded to Tess. “I hope I’ll see you again soon.”

“Yes,” Tess said, carefully not looking at Clay. “I hope so too.”

“No need to leave, Ella,” Clay said. “You’re off the clock now.”

Ella smiled. “Thanks, but I wasn’t planning on staying.”

Clay knew Ella had come looking for her, but she wouldn’t say that in front of anyone else. “Why don’t you get something to eat first. I’ll wait while you order.”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Ella said. “I’ll get takeout.”

“Sure,” Clay said.

Ella slipped off in search of the waitress, leaving Clay and Tess staring at one another.

“She seems pretty extraordinary for just being your assistant,” Tess said, gesturing to the far end of the bar where Ella talked with the waitress. Soon the waitress was smiling and laughing as well.

“She is…extraordinary,” Clay said. “She’s also an exceptional assistant.”

“And what else?” Tess asked, annoyance prickling under her skin even as she spoke. She wasn’t certain what prompted the spurt of jealousy—that Ella was with Clay instead of her, or that Clay was with Ella. Ella was charming, and being around her for just a few minutes had sparked feelings Tess hadn’t experienced in a long time. Ella’s easy flirtations made her feel attractive and sexy, something she hadn’t realized she missed. Something she liked. But as soon as Clay appeared, Ella’s attentions had shifted. Clay had become her focus.

“She’s also security,” Clay said quietly.

“Security? You mean like a bodyguard?”

Clay shifted, looking a little uncomfortable and a little embarrassed. Tess couldn’t ever remember Clay being either.

Clay nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Company policy. All the upper-management people travel with security.”

“Are you in danger?” Tess asked, her earlier anger at Clay dissolving into concern.

“No,” Clay said dismissively. “Like I said, company policy. And besides, Ella really is my assistant, and she’s very good at it.”

“Oh,” Tess said, “I don’t doubt it. She seems very…capable.”

“Is that what you were thinking?” Clay asked. “That Ella is capable?”

“What else?” Tess blushed. She wasn’t about to discuss Ella with Clay, especially when she wasn’t even sure what she was feeling. “Well. I should be going.”

“Tess,” Clay said, reaching for her hand. “I know you probably haven’t had much chance to think about what we were discussing earlier, but if we could—”

The man Tess had been speaking with at the bar crowded in next to them, his hard gaze fixed on Clay. “Everything all right, Tess?”

“Yes,” Tess said quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

“You the person in charge from NorthAm?” the big man said to Clay.

Clay straightened. “That’s right. And you are?”

“The name is Pete Townsend.”

“Mr. Townsend,” Clay said, extending her hand. “Good to meet you. I’ve been looking forward to talking with you—”

“I’m not sure we have much to discuss,” Townsend said. “Unless you’re about to tell me you’re planning to pick up and move somewhere else.”

Clay let her hand fall. “I’m afraid that wasn’t my plan, no. Maybe I can drop by tomorrow—say eight a.m.?”

“It’s your time.” Townsend turned to Tess. “You’ll let me know about that other thing.”

“I will. Good night, Pete.” Tess waited until he was out of earshot. “He’s not a fan of yours.”

“I gathered,” Clay said.

“Tempers are running a little hot right now,” Tess said quietly. “Be careful.”

“I’ve been through this before, Tess, but thanks. I appreciate you worrying about me.”

“I’m not worried about you,” Tess said. “I just don’t want to see the community turned upside down by this.”

“Right, I should’ve known that.”

Ella joined them, a takeout bag in her hand. “Ready to go, Ms. Sutter?”

Clay looked at Tess as if waiting for her before answering. Tess cut her gaze from Clay to Ella and said, “If you really are interested in a tour of the farm, come by tomorrow morning.”

“I am,” Ella said warmly, “and I will if I’m free.”

“Good,” Tess said, ignoring the flare of heat in Clay’s eyes. She liked Ella Sorensen and she had every right to her feelings. The idea of spending time with an attractive woman who seemed interested in her made her feel good. For the first time in a long time, she was going to do something for no other reason than it gave her pleasure.