Homestead

Chapter Six

Clay held the door for Ella as they left the diner.

“You really should let me know when you’re going out,” Ella said.

“I hardly think I need protection around here.” Clay gestured to the mostly empty streets on the short walk back to the small lot behind the B&B where Ella had parked the SUV.

“I know you can take care of yourself, but you underestimate your own importance. And if you’re not worried about yourself, just consider what happened to Doug in London last year.”

“I know, I know,” Clay said. Doug Hedley, NorthAm’s UK division head, had been mugged and his briefcase stolen along with some important merger papers. The theft had seriously compromised the final deal. They’d never been able to determine if the attack was specifically targeted or random, but industrial espionage and blatant strong-arm tactics were becoming commonplace in the highly competitive world of international fuel acquisition. Add to that her father’s high profile and substantial wealth, and Clay was a potential target for kidnapping or attack. She didn’t like the lack of privacy that went along with personal security, but she wasn’t consciously trying to make Ella’s job harder. “I was going to call you at a decent hour.”

“I was awake.” Ella unlocked the SUV with the remote.

“Well, you obviously knew where I was.”

“Knowing where you are isn’t good enough. I need to be with you.” Ella paused, regarded the Harley next to the SUV, then eyed Clay. “Is that by any chance—”

Clay gave her the smile that usually got her one in return—with most women. “Guilty.”

Ella shook her head. “Just be careful—and stay in touch with me. The diner felt decidedly cool this morning.”

Clay sighed. “I have some work to do.”

“Well, you’ve had practice. You’re good at putting things into perspective for people.”

“Thanks.”

“I still want you to keep a low profile for a while.”

“I’ll try to behave,” Clay said.

Ella nodded, looking skeptical. “That should be interesting.”

Laughing, Clay settled into the passenger seat and opened the briefcase Ella had brought along, content to let Ella drive. Ella was a good driver and Clay needed the time to review the specs on the job. When her cell phone rang, she checked the readout and answered. “Hello, Dad.”

“How’s the weather?” Her father’s deep baritone resonated even with a sketchy connection. He’d always been able to command a room with just a look and a word.

“Hot.”

“So I hear.” He said something in a low murmur to someone else and then came back briskly. “You’ve got some loose ends up there that need immediate attention. Millie will email you with the details on the acquisitions still in the works. You’ll want to sew those up as quickly as you can.”

“What do you mean, acquisitions? I thought Ali had that all taken care of.”

“We didn’t expect to green-light this project so quickly, and Ali hadn’t pressed to close the deals. We need to have unrestricted access to all drill sites to determine the optimal locations. Let’s move this along before someone in the legislature changes his mind again. Once we’re drilling, forward momentum will make it impossible to stop us.”

“What kind of budget—”

“Whatever you need. Take a look at what we negotiated originally and work from there. You ought to be able to handle negotiations with a bunch of farmers.”

Clay bit back a retort. Arguing with her father had always been an exercise in futility. Thinking of Tess’s opposition and the resistance she’d heard that morning, she suggested, “Maybe we should back off a bit and do a little more advance work. There’s a fair amount of opposition—”

“And that’s exactly why we need to move faster. We’ve got a toehold—now I need you to expand it. I’m confident you will.”

“Right. I’ll look over Ali’s paperwork as soon as I can. Then I’ll set up meetings with the landowners.”

“I trust you won’t complicate issues with old history.”

Clay squeezed the phone hard enough to make her knuckles ache. “The past has nothing to do with what’s going on here now.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. I’ll expect a report tomorrow.”

“All right, I’ll do what I ca—”

“And don’t forget Annabelle’s birthday celebration. You’re expected.”

“On my calendar.” Clay’s stepmother number two was a younger version of stepmother number one and, while pleasant enough, was essentially a stranger. “Wouldn’t miss it.” She disconnected and slid the phone into the front pocket of her pants. She looked out the window, the blaze of her temper blocking out the scenery.

“Problem?” Ella asked quietly.

“Nothing more than usual.” Clay clenched her fist on her knee. Her father still assumed he could direct her private life as well as her professional one, maybe because she let him.

“Can I help?”

“No,” Clay said softly. “This one’s on me.”

Tess reached Albany with ten minutes to spare and parked on Lark Street around the corner from the address Leslie had given her. Climbing the wide stone stairs to the three-story brownstone, she was reminded of how it felt being the girl who came to work at the resort rather than one of the girls spending the summer there vacationing. But Leslie hadn’t really been one of those privileged girls, either. She’d been the daughter of the resort owner, and there had been plenty of days when she and Tess had worked side by side when things got busy. By the time Tess pressed the brass doorbell next to the wide walnut doors, she’d forgotten past insecurities. She wasn’t that girl anymore and hadn’t been for a long time.

A female voice came over the intercom. “Yes?”

“Hi, I have an appointment with Leslie Harris today.” Tess automatically glanced up at the camera tucked into the corner of the alcove and smiled.

“Of course. Come right in.”

The lock buzzed, and the ornate brass doorknob turned in her hand. The foyer was as elegant as some living rooms she’d been in—old slate squares on the floor, dark walnut wainscoting, and above that, wallpaper in a muted floral print Tess guessed was original. She followed the winding mahogany staircase upward to the second floor where a discreet plaque announced Leslie Harris Attorney-at-Law. She entered a waiting room with a thick Oriental carpet and dark wood trim where a woman in a pale-green linen dress that complemented her auburn hair and moss-green eyes sat behind an old-fashioned cherry desk.

“Tess?” the woman said.

“Yes.”

“Estelle Clinton, Leslie’s paralegal. She’s just finishing up a phone conference and will be with you in a minute.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you need anything while you’re waiting? Sparkling water? Coffee? Tea?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” Tess said again and sat in one of the casual chairs arranged in a small seating area in front of the windows. Watching people walking by, she tried to remember the last time she’d been in the city. Two years? Three? In the last few years, more and more of the farm work had fallen to her, which provided a convenient excuse for her progressively hermitlike life. She hadn’t dated anyone after a few casual relationships during college that were more friendly than passionate, and though she detected some interest in a few women she bumped into regularly in the village and at Grange meetings, she always managed to sidestep any possibility of intimacy. She was tired of disappointing the ones who hoped for something more—something she seemed unable to give and had forgotten how to feel. She told herself she was too busy for a relationship, and that was partly true. The other part she didn’t want to look at too closely.

A door opened behind her and she turned, grateful for the sound of footsteps dispelling her self-analysis. Leslie looked exactly the same, a more sophisticated version of the girl Tess remembered. About Tess’s height, Les was blond and willowy, with ocean-blue eyes, a classic heart-shaped face, and arching cheekbones. Dressed in charcoal pinstriped pants with low black heels and a crisp open-collared blue shirt, she managed to look totally professional and incredibly attractive at the same time.

Tess stood and held out her hand, refusing to think about how she appeared in her yellow cotton shirt, brown pants, and loafers. “Leslie, I—”

“Tess!” Leslie folded her into a hug and squeezed. “It’s great to see you.”

Leslie smelled like almonds and vanilla, just like always, and her slightly husky voice was as warm and friendly as Tess remembered. A lump formed in Tess’s throat, and for a second she had trouble getting the words out. “You smell the same.”

“And you look terrific.”

“I’m so sorry I waited so long,” Tess whispered.

Leslie held on to her shoulders and leaned back, her eyes glowing. “That doesn’t matter. You’re here now and I’m so glad. Are you hungry?”

“I’m starved,” Tess said, laughing.

Leslie looped her arm through Tess’s and tugged her toward the door. “Come on, then. Me too. Estelle, I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“All’s quiet here.” Estelle waved a hand. “Have a good time.”

Leslie took her to a small, unassuming bistro around the corner where they were seated right away at a round table for two near the front window.

“It’s not fancy,” Leslie said, “but they bake their own bread and their sandwiches are great. Salads are good too, if you’d prefer.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” Tess said.

While they waited for the food Leslie ordered, Leslie said, “Before we get too far into things, let me explain a little bit about what I do. You might want to talk to someone else.”

“When I said I wanted to consult you,” Tess said, “I don’t actually know if I need legal representation. Mostly I need an informed opinion, and I wanted one from someone who I could trust to give me straight answers. And confidential ones.”

“Good enough,” Leslie said. “My practice mostly deals with corporate development issues, particularly when environmental regulations and questions of compliance come up.”

Tess nodded. “So how much do you know about fracking?”

“A lot more than you might think.” Leslie waited while the waitress placed enormous sandwiches in front of them. “Dev is a researcher for the state Environmental Conservation Department, and her specialty, more or less, is water. Well, water and everything that’s in it, especially fish.” Leslie smiled as if thinking of some secret joke. “Believe me, that’s made for some interesting conversations around our house.”

Tess laughed. “I can imagine.”

“Dev has testified at a number of state hearings concerning the impact of deep hydraulic drilling and has compiled reports on the impact of fracking on the water table, aquatic life, and a lot of other things.” Leslie stopped, shook her head. “In fact, you probably should be talking to her and not me.”

“I might want to,” Tess agreed. “But they’re about to start drilling close to my farm, and I’m worried. I’m not the only one. Quite a few farmers in the area are opposed to the drilling, and I’m not sure anyone really has enough information to make an informed decision.”

“What did the representatives from the gas company say? They can generally project how deep they have to go, the proximity to the aquifer in your area, the composition of the propellant they’ll be infusing—and how all that could potentially affect surrounding terrain.”

“Clay just got into town yesterday,” Tess said, “and we haven’t really heard anything yet.”

Leslie tilted her head. “Clay. Not the Clay from the lake?”

“Yes,” Tess said.

“Wow. Talk about coincidences.”

Tess felt her face warm and looked down at her plate. “A surprise to me too.”

“So what do you want to do?”

That was the question Tess had been turning over in her mind since she’d learned about NorthAm. She took a breath. “Is there a way to at least delay them until those of us who might be affected can get a clear picture of what’s going to happen?”

“Probably. An emergency injunction could be obtained fairly quickly. It wouldn’t stop things indefinitely, but it would buy some time and give everyone the opportunity to discuss the issues. Perhaps there are alternatives to where they plan to drill or some information they can provide to help allay concerns.”

Tess nodded. “How would we go about that?”

“You need an attorney to represent you—or a number of landowners, if possible.” Leslie explained while they finished their meal. “Now, I’m simplifying some here, but a case can be made that the drilling presents possible harm to humans through water or other environmental hazards, and on that basis we could request a prohibitive injunction.”

“Doesn’t that require some kind of evidence?”

“Not necessarily,” Leslie said. “That’s the power of this kind of argument.”

“It all sounds so complicated,” Tess said.

“It’s possible that none of it will be necessary, and a few conversations will help put everyone’s mind at ease.” Leslie leaned back with a sigh. “That’s generally the best outcome—legal action can be long and costly and is often not necessary.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“So,” Leslie said, sipping the espresso she’d ordered, “tell me about Clay. You haven’t seen her since that summer at the lake?”

“No,” Tess said softly. “We…lost touch.”

“But back then, you were…?” Leslie’s brows rose questioningly.

“Yes, for a while,” Tess said. “You know, summer fling.”

“Sometimes those flings are the beginning of something a lot more serious,” Leslie murmured.

“You and Dev,” Tess said. “I knew you went to school together, but I didn’t realize you were involved.”

Leslie smiled. “For the longest time I didn’t know what was happening between us. I only knew I wanted to be with her more than anyone else. And then when I did finally understand, everything got so complicated, and…” She sighed. “Well, we both made some mistakes. But we figured it out.”

“You were lucky,” Tess said quietly. Second chances made good stories, but there was no way to turn back time. Once love was lost, it stayed lost.