“I’ve never seen anything so incredible,” Emily whispered.

Bering agreed, but he was watching her, not the deer ouside the cabin.

They stayed silent for a long time. He wanted to take her hand, to take her into his arms. Instead, he willed himself to get ahold of his emotions.

It was too late, he realized. He was owned by Emily Hollings, a smart city girl who worked for the enemy. He began to wonder about his resolution to remain only friends.

Was there some way he and Emily could be more than just friends? He wasn’t sure which to listen to—his heart or his head—but he knew he couldn’t touch her again until he had an answer to that question… .

Dear Reader,

This is my first novel. Not just my first for Mills & Boon, but my first published work ever, and I am so very excited that it’s a part of the Heartwarming series.

Growing up in a small town is truly life-defining. No matter where you go from there or what choices you make along the way, it just…sticks with you. And yes, there is much about it that is annoying—seeing the same faces day in and day out, unbearable people, gossip…. But there is also a lot that is wonderful about it—seeing the same faces day in and day out, incredible people, gossip…. But no matter how you look at it, when it comes right down to it we love our small towns—just as they are.

So what happens when the face, the very character, of one special small town in Alaska is threatened irrevocably? I know you’re thinking “This is a romance—it’s love that happens,” right? Eventually, yes, of course. But not without a rousing battle of wills and wits between two headstrong rivals complete with all the fun that the advantages and frustrations small-town life can bring. I hope that you are as taken with the charming little town of Rankins and its inimitable characters as I have come to be.

Thanks so much for reading,

Carol Ross

Mountains Apart

Carol Ross

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROL ROSS

lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two dogs. She is a graduate of Washington State University. When not writing, or thinking about writing, she enjoys reading, running, hiking, skiing, traveling and making plans for the next adventure to subject her sometimes reluctant but always fun-loving family to.

For Paul,

My champion—I will miss you always.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

SOMEONE NEEDED TO invent a new word, Emily decided as she stared out the window, glaring really, at the three-foot-long icicles hanging from the eaves. Cold just didn’t cut it. Cold was “don’t forget your jacket because a chilly wind is picking up.” Cold was that bite in the air that made you wish you were wearing jeans instead of a skirt. This place was so far beyond cold that not even freezing, frigid or icy could do it justice. Chilly, nippy, cool—what a joke.

She’d read one time that Alaskan Natives have numerous words for different types of snow, so maybe they could just borrow one of those. Whichever one referred to the eyelash-freezing, nostril-frosting, step-outside-at-your-own-risk-because-you-may-die-of-hypothermia type would be perfect. Although to be fair, Emily wasn’t actually cold now. Nope. In fact, she was currently sweating like a flyweight boxer in the middle of the tenth round.

It was approximately ten degrees below zero outside, and in between appointments she was running around in bare feet and a thin skirt and tank top. Because, like every other piece of equipment in this run-down, antiquated, tin shack that was currently serving as her office, the thermostat was on the fritz.

To make matters worse, a skull-splitting headache had begun to form directly behind her eyes and the pressure was now so intense. She tipped her chin down and pressed the heels of both palms hard against her eye sockets for several seconds.

She removed her hands and spotted the pills that her assistant, Amanda, had dropped off at her desk earlier. She scooped them up, peered at the tiny yellow tablets nestled in her clammy palm and wavered for a few seconds. Normally she didn’t like to take medication of any kind, but Amanda had insisted that these would knock her headache clear to Skagway, wherever that was. She had no clue. With a grimace, she tossed the pills into her mouth and gulped them down with what was left of the tepid water in the now-soggy paper cup Amanda had deposited along with the pills.

Just then Amanda’s voice came on the intercom along with a healthy dose of static. What Emily heard was “Misst ollinsss, your nexx ssex appointment issst ere.”

She reached down and hit the call button only to be met with a loud, static-filled shriek. “Amanda?” She pounded on the speaker and fiddled with the buttons. She leaned over and shouted her name again. “Amanda!”

“Hey,” Amanda said, poking her head into the office. “Did you get that?”

Emily nodded and smacked the now-buzzing intercom, which was already dented on the top from, she assumed, the last frustrated owner who had finally had enough and heaved it against the wall. The faded drywall opposite her desk had a conspicuous indentation that appeared to exactly match its dimensions.

Emily answered, “My afternoon trick has arrived?”

Amanda cocked her head, amusement splitting her lips into a wide grin. “What?” Amanda enjoyed Emily’s hilarious impromptu interpretations of the static-prone intercom.

“My next sex appointment is here?”

“Exactly,” Amanda confirmed with a smile. “Do you need any help getting ready?” This induced a full-blown bout of laughter. She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.

Emily attempted to grin as she yanked some tissues out of the box on her desktop. She wiped her brow and then mopped at her cleavage. She pulled her suit jacket on over her clammy shoulders. “Yes,” she said, adjusting her lapels and straightening her shirt, “but it’s becoming increasingly clear that I need help of the kind that only a skilled mental-health professional can provide. But for now, could you please see if you can get something even remotely resembling a copy out of that...that...machine in the corner? I can’t get it to do anything but light up like a Christmas tree, and I didn’t make enough copies of the report, although how I was to know that every local yokel from the neighborhood barbershop, Laundromat, karaoke bar and pool hall was going to come straggling in and ask for a copy of it is beyond me. I swear I’ve never seen anything like this town in my entire life....”

She continued muttering as she turned toward the vintage-looking behemoth that was supposed to be acting as her computer and began banging on the keys. An error message, approximately the seventy-eighth one of the day, flashed across the screen. She exclaimed loudly.

Amanda threw a startled look her way. “You okay, Em?” She walked over and hit the escape key, then rapidly tapped several keyboard commands, causing the screen to dutifully display the document Emily had been seeking. Emily then watched, amazed, as Amanda turned toward the copy machine and effortlessly print out page after page of the requested proposal and then began to efficiently staple the crisp pages together. Emily had also tried to use that implement earlier and would have sworn it was out of staples.

Amanda, in direct opposition to Emily, was already in love with their “Alaskan adventure,” as she’d fondly dubbed their pseudo-exile to these ice-encrusted ends of the earth.

“Yes, I’m fine, Amanda.” Emily tentatively pressed a couple buttons on the keyboard and watched as the screen went black again—and then promptly remained that way. She thumped loudly on the side of the computer and this time added a colorful string of frustrated protestations.

“Moose what?” Amanda asked with a bark of laughter.

“Nuggets,” she repeated in a tired voice. “Moose nuggets.”

“Wow. Nice,” Amanda said.

“Thank you. At least I’ve managed to pick up some of the local vernacular. It’s charming, isn’t it? How long has he been waiting?” She gestured toward the door, where she knew yet another irate citizen was waiting to verbally abuse her.

“Only a few minutes, and he knows he’s early.”

“Good.” Emily looked down at the papers in front of her and could not for the life of her remember what she’d just been looking for. “What am I doing? It’s so hot in here. And this headache...” She began absently patting at her desk hoping to somehow solve the mystery.

“Emily?” Amanda said.

Emily looked up. “What? Oh. This Mr. Bearing is another business owner, right?” she asked.

“Um, yes, but actually, it’s Mr. James.”

Emily’s face twisted with confusion. “What?”

“James,” Amanda repeated. “Your appointment is with Mr. James.”

“What do you mean James?” Emily looked down at her planner and back up again. “I have Bearing written down here. He runs a guide and outfitter service?”

Amanda nodded. “Yes,” she said. “That’s right, but his last name is James. His first name is Bering—Bering James.”

“Oh, my—” Emily said with a groan as she reached over and whacked the intercom, which had started buzzing again. “You’re kidding me. Where do these people get these names for their children anyway? Already today we’ve had a Grizzly, a Rock, a Scooter and a Bean. And now Bearing? What in the world kind of a name is Bearing? Where does one come up with a name like Bearing, I wonder? Like, ooh, watch out, there’s an iceberg bearing down on us.” Emily gestured wildly and continued with her rant. “His mother is probably one of those iceberg-crusher boat captains, or whatever they call those barges that break through the ice. Ha! Yeah, and she probably wears an eye patch and curses like a sailor.”

Amanda arched her brows in surprise at Emily’s emotional, and very uncharacteristic, outburst. “Actually, Em, it’s B-e-r-i-n-g, Bering, like the sea.”

“Bering, like the seeaaa, he-he-he.” Emily repeated the words with a weird, mental-patient kind of cackle. She scowled at the now-fizzling intercom and then turned around and tugged the cord out of the wall.

“Um, Em, are you sure you’re okay? And you should know that Mr. James is a very influential figure here in Rankins.”

“Pfft...” Emily spit out the noise and took a swipe at her desk. “I’m not scared.”

Amanda chuckled. “I know you’re not scared, but you don’t seem to be completely on your game here, either.”

Emily shrugged and made a face.

“Seriously, why don’t you let me reschedule this one? You, uh, you don’t look very good.”

“Who cares? These people don’t exactly stand on ceremony, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“No, I mean you don’t look well. You look ill, actually. Like you could pass for Morticia’s little blonde sister. Your skin is as white as that snow falling out there.” She pointed out the window.

“Hmm. Well, pale is the new tan. Did you know that? I just read that the other day. People are embracing their natural skin tone these days.”

“Ok, but—”

“I’m serious, Amanda. That’s a quote. And personally, I think it’s great. This skin-cancer thing has nearly reached epidemic proportions. I’m in style without even trying.” She pointed at her face and smiled happily.

Amanda looked dubious but said, “Okay, sure, you’ve convinced me—pale is in vogue. But what I’m saying is that maybe you and your fabulous vampirelike complexion should go home and get some rest.”

“Home? Home,” she repeated. “Oh, I’d love to go home, Amanda. And I’m not talking about that igloo that we are currently camped out in. Nope, I’m talking about my brand-new town house back in San Diego that I’ve slept a total of, what, six nights in? But then again, there’s nothing really there for me, either, is there?”

“Emily, I...”

Emily inhaled a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “I don’t expect you to answer that. And no, I don’t want to re-skoodle,” she slurred. “I mean re-sched-ule,” she enunciated carefully. “Just send him in so I can get it over with.”

“O—kay, I’m going to tell him to come on in, and then I’m running down to the café to get some coffee. Do you want some?”

“Coffee? Gads, no, I’m burning up. How about an iced tea? No, no, make that a slushy—you know those kinds you can get from those machines in the mini-marts? I like blue raspberry.” She grinned goofily up at Amanda and then frowned down at the floor as she wiggled her sticky feet into her expensive beige pumps. She shuffled through the messy stack of papers on her desk, looking for the report that she’d had Amanda copy only moments before. The papers swam before her eyes and she blinked hard to clear her vision.

She pinched her fingers over the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for what she thought was just a few seconds. But when she opened them there was a very large man standing very quietly in front of her desk. He was tall and so broad-shouldered that Emily took a second to wonder how he’d managed to fit through the doorway. His dark brown hair curled on his forehead and around his ears. He had a sprinkling of stubble on his strong square jaw, and Emily stared up into his brown eyes just long enough for an awkward moment to coalesce. He cleared his throat, which finally prompted her to rise clumsily to her feet and extend a sweaty hand. She tried inconspicuously to blot her palm on her skirt before offering it again.

She swallowed, or tried to anyway, because...

What in the world was wrong with her tongue? It felt absolutely enormous in her mouth, which had suddenly gone dry.

“I, uh, hello, Mr. James? I’m Emily Hollings. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Uh, have a seat.”

He nodded and smiled a stiff greeting that didn’t even come close to dampening the intensity shooting from his eyes. His handshake was firm but quick. He lowered himself into the chair directly across from her, leaned back, folded his arms over his chest and then didn’t utter a single word.

Oh, great, another hostile, Emily thought dejectedly. She didn’t know if she had the strength for yet another confrontation. Ever since she’d arrived in Rankins, she’d been met with fierce resistance and resentment from the local community. In spite of the huge opportunity for economic growth that Cam-Field was offering this little town, a vocal and powerful coalition of the local population appeared to be staunchly opposed to the development of the oil and gas deposits hidden beneath the waters offshore. She’d fought some tough battles during her years with Cam-Field, but she had a feeling this one was shaping up to be one of the most contentious. And normally she would relish the challenge, but right now she just wanted to get through this meeting.

She stiffened her spine and said, “Okay, then, Mr. Buh, er, James, let’s just jump right in here, shall we? I’m assuming that you are going to want a copy of the economic projections as well as a summation of the estimated environmental impact of the potential oil extraction and pipeline infrastructure—”

“You’re assuming wrong, then, Ms. Hollings,” he interrupted smoothly. “We both know that that report is completely disingenuous.”

“Excuse me?” Emily replied, trying to sound surprised, even though she knew very well where the conversation was now headed—due south. Come to think of it, that was where she should be—south, way down south, all the way to Mexico. Warm sun, white sand, cold, fruity drinks—now, that was where ice really belonged, in a blender with fruits and juices....

“You heard me,” he said. “That report is dishonest, deceitful and embellished. It means nothing to me and to the rest of the community, for that matter.”

Emily furrowed her brow as if thinking hard about what he’d said. In reality she was stalling, trying to gather her thoughts and her argument—Cam-Field’s argument—together for the development of this little Alaskan village. But for some strange reason, she was finding it rather difficult. Emily excelled at her job as vice president of North American operations, and this was her element, normally anyway. And she should have had this presentation memorized by now. But... And why was it that she couldn’t seem to keep a thought in her head?

She attempted another swallow, but there was now a large lump in her throat, a perfect match to her oversize tongue. Amanda was right; she didn’t feel good. She probably should go home and...and...get these clothes off. Yes, definitely! She would feel so much better if she could just cool off. She was literally burning up....

Mr. James shifted in his seat, reminding her that in order to do that she first needed to deal with this combative man perched in front of her.

“Um ...what?” she asked.

Bering leaned forward and placed his forearms on his knees. The movement seemed to bring him about ten feet closer but Emily resisted the urge to scoot back in her chair. What was that old saying about never letting them see you sweat? Well, that might not be literally possible for her at this moment, but she certainly wasn’t going to act intimidated. She steeled herself and tried to concentrate on the subject at hand.

“That report is gibberish—it’s bogus, crap, bunk. It’s not worth the paper it’s printed on. I take that back—Tess down at the Cozy Caribou is making targets for the dartboards out of them, so I guess they’re worth, what?” He answered his own question with a careless shrug. “About two cents a sheet.”

“Is that why everyone and their uncle, or some other shoestring relation, has come into my office over the last week requesting a copy?” Emily countered smoothly, relieved that she’d managed such a snappy retort.

“Probably,” he shot back. “The old targets had so many holes in them you could barely see the bull’s-eyes anymore.”

Emily smiled faintly and then met his eyes, and the sarcasm in his tone. “Well, Cam-Field is eager to help the community in any way we can, Mr. James, even its most desperate of dart-throwers. But what I really meant is, if the report is so worthless, then why is everyone so eager to read it and then discuss it with me?”

Emily saw a muscle twitch in his jaw and guessed that Mr. James was struggling to keep his anger in check. He was obviously passionate about this quaint piece of primitive hinterland. He could have it as far as she was concerned, but of course that wasn’t the position that she’d been sent here to advocate. Which reminded her, she also wasn’t supposed to get into a verbal sparring match; her job was to win him over.

“Because, Ms. Hollings, it’s the only thing they can think to do. This community feels threatened, and don’t think I don’t know exactly what Cam-Field’s strategy is in handing it out so freely. By issuing this report, Cam-Field is trying to make people think that they have some control over the situation. It’s an illusion created by you, by Cam-Field, to pull the wool over our collective eyes. You will say and promise anything necessary until the town council passes your resolution and then you will do whatever you want—including destroying the environment and this town along with it.”

Emily plastered on a benign smile and said calmly, “Come on, Mr. James, don’t you think you may be overreacting a bit here? Cam-Field only wants what’s best for the citizens of Rankins. And we—”

Bering interrupted with a snort of disbelief. “No. And I mean no to both of those ridiculous statements. What Cam-Field wants is what is best for Cam-Field—money. You may be able to bamboozle a few ignorant fools and some desperate souls around here with the sheer abundance of dollar signs in that report, but just so we’re clear here, Ms. Hollings, it’s my mission to get the facts across to the good people of this community. And by the time I’m through, you—and the rest of your Cam-Field crew—will be nothing but an unpleasant memory that we’ll all shake our heads and share a chuckle over.”

Emily had heard similar arguments before and she automatically opened her mouth to deny the accusation. But for some reason, this time the words wouldn’t come; she knew that what he said was largely the truth.

Cam-Field’s operating strategy was, essentially, just as Mr. James said: to get the community on board for their development projects with help from a carefully executed marketing plan. They would send in a “landing party,” in this case her and Amanda, to feel out the local opinion and ingratiate themselves into the community. Their usual procedure included holding and attending public meetings, issuing informational brochures and reports about the exciting improvements Cam-Field would bring to the community, outlining exciting job opportunities, and quoting generous estimates of the amount of money that would be poured into the economy. If things proceeded well, the communities would be nearly begging for Cam-Field to come in and “save” them. If not, as appeared to be the case here in Rankins, it took a bit more convincing. And while the economic projections were essentially accurate, it was true that after Cam-Field was through, Rankins as it currently existed would cease to exist.

Emily raised her brows in a maneuver that she’d perfected during her long tenure with Cam-Field. The gesture was intended to express concern and convey empathy—and innocence. “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting exactly, um, Mr. James?” she said, but she was having a hard time keeping her thoughts focused. “And please, call me Emily.”

Bering rolled his eyes. “I’m not suggesting anything, Ms. Hollings,” he replied, pointedly ignoring her attempt at informality. “I’m stating it outright. Cam-Field has skewed that report, emphasizing the positives and completely and purposefully understating the negatives. But you’re in for a big surprise here because you’re going to find that Rankins is different than other places. Money doesn’t mean so much here, Ms. Hollings. Not like it does to you city slickers anyway. Here it means a roof over our heads, food on the table and coats on the backs of our children. You know, not everyone who lives here does so because they don’t have any other option. We have a quality to our life that is unmatched anywhere in the nation—probably the world, for that matter, certainly as far as most of us are concerned—and which I’m sure that you and your Cam-Field cronies know nothing about. We’re more than just a community—we’re a family. We choose to live here, and I will not sit idly by and watch while Cam-Field Oil & Mineral destroys what we, and our friends and family before us, have built over the last one-hundred-and-some-odd years. So you’d better come to your little town-hall meeting with a whole lot more than what you’ve got in that report because...”

Emily tapped a finger to her chin and tried desperately to concentrate on his words. But her head felt as light as the cottonwood down that used to blow from the trees and float through the streets of her childhood home. She almost grinned as she pictured it in her mind, her head floating up, up, up and away like an errant helium balloon. She resisted the urge to reach up and pat it to make sure it was still securely anchored to her neck; she entwined her twitchy fingers tightly on the desk in front of her.

She forced her eyes to focus on something, and for some reason they landed upon the deep cleft in his chin, which was slightly off-kilter, she noticed, and yet not...unattractive. It was a physical trait that she’d always found appealing in men...

Emily felt the fog closing in around her again, stealing her attention, until finally it seemed as if she had come loose from her moorings and really was floating. She looked down and saw a smartly dressed, albeit rather rumpled and inattentive, corporate executive being lectured by a burly outdoorsman who didn’t seem to adhere to the popular rule of watching his tone in front of women. In her experience, country boys were usually rather careful when speaking to the opposite sex, but Mr. James was now delivering his speech with ever-increasing volume, although like a gentleman he’d yet to throw in any profanity. She should share her moose nuggets with him, she thought, and fought the urge to giggle again—wait, maybe she was giggling a little bit. She definitely needed to stop that. She did her best to compose herself; she pressed her lips together and sat up straighter in her chair. But now her head felt really heavy, so she rested her chin on her intertwined fingers.

He certainly was eloquent; she was sure of that even if she wasn’t quite getting the gist of what he was saying. And he really wasn’t bad-looking, either. In fact, he was quite good-looking, she thought, or he could be—with a shave, a haircut and a change of clothes. A nice Italian suit or maybe even some pressed silk trousers—anything but this denim and flannel that these people seemed to think was fashionable for absolutely any occasion...

“Would you agree with that assessment, Ms. Hollings?”

Silence ensued as Emily found sharp eyes piercing hers. She almost flinched, or maybe she did flinch.

“Um, what?” She’d missed the “assessment” completely, but it wasn’t her fault, really; it was getting impossible to think in this...this sauna. She grabbed another tissue and flattened it against her brow. She pulled it away and stared down at it. Strange, she thought, that it didn’t appear to be damp with sweat. How could that be when she was so hot? She dabbed it on her forehead and looked at it again. She patted it with her other hand—dry. Huh. Weird.

* * *

“THIS IS RIDICULOUS,” Bering said crossly. He stood to leave and then added, “I can see that I’m wasting my time here.”

And he was perturbed. The woman was clearly and deliberately tuning him out. And now she was just sitting there spacing out. He’d known when he’d been out in the waiting room that it was probably going to be a waste of time, but he’d also known it was a necessary first step to meet with Cam-Field’s representative. And he had to admit that he’d been hoping he could have a reasonable conversation with this Emily Hollings because he knew exactly what Cam-Field was going to do to this community—his community— if they won approval for their proposed “oil extraction and development project.” And he knew the long-term dangers such development would bring with it.

He had been a young boy when the worst oil spill to ever hit Alaska’s coast had occurred. His dad, uncle and several other family members had dedicated months of their lives assisting in the cleanup. Bering had grown up hearing the stories about the devastation and the impact it had had on Alaska’s coastline, marine animals and the state’s fisheries. An environmental disaster of that nature would have a similar impact on his business, not to mention his quality of life and the lives of the entire community.

As a result, it had become an important part of his life’s work to prevent that sort of destruction from happening again anywhere in Alaska, and especially right here in his hometown. But he could see that discussing it with their front person wasn’t going to do a bit of good. The woman was obviously incompetent. Bering turned to go, but her bizarre question managed to stop him.

“Why aren’t you sweating?”

“What?” he snapped.

“Why aren’t you sweating? Aren’t you hot? I mean, you’re wearing that fuzzy shirt for goodness’ sake, and you’re just standing there like it doesn’t even faze you. And I’m...so...so hot.” She tugged on the lapels of her jacket. “I’m burning up!” She squirmed in her seat and continued mumbling incoherently.

Bering thought he heard the words moose and beach and smoothie, but he couldn’t be sure. He watched as she then shrugged out of her jacket and dropped it on the floor. Her tank top was nothing but a flimsy scrap of silk and Bering could clearly see the outline of her bra underneath. What in the world was she doing? Was she out of her mind?

Bering answered himself with a definite yes, as she then swiveled in her chair and kicked off her shoes. They twirled through the air and thudded one at a time against the wall behind her desk. She turned back toward him and he watched transfixed as she reached up and with one fluid movement stripped off her top.

Next, she stood abruptly and kind of lurched to one side before clumsily regaining her balance with the aid of the desk in front of her. She reached her hands behind her, unzipped her skirt and began wiggling her body in an effort to loosen it from her hips. It fell to the floor with a quiet swoosh. She stepped out of it, leaving her in nothing but a lacy pink bra and matching panties. And Bering could only assume that eventually she would have ended up stark naked—if she hadn’t passed out first.

CHAPTER TWO

BERING QUICKLY DIALED 911 and waited impatiently at Emily’s side for help to arrive. His cousin Tag was a paramedic and Bering knew he was on duty. The minutes seemed to crawl by until he finally heard a noise in the entryway. He yelled, “Tag, in here!”

“Emily?” a voice called from the next room. “What’s going on?”

Bering looked up to see Ms. Hollings’s assistant standing in the doorway, an insulated drink cup in each hand.

“What are you doing to her?” Amanda demanded.

Bering saw it through her eyes: a strange man crouched in front of her nearly naked boss, who didn’t appear to be moving at all. He hoped she wasn’t packing. It was not at all unusual for women he knew to carry a handgun with them at all times. He rushed to explain, “I’m... She—”

“What have you done to her? Get away from her, you freak!” Amanda shrieked. “I’m calling the police.” She plopped the cups down on the desktop and reached for the phone.

“An ambulance is already on the way,” Bering replied calmly. He gave Amanda time to absorb the scene, hoping she’d note that while Emily was only partially clothed, he was completely presentable. He reached out and placed two fingers on Emily’s neck, feeling for her pulse. Was it his imagination or did it seem kind of weak and thready?

He glanced at Amanda and met her worried eyes. Judging by the expression on her face, she was getting it.

“Oh,” Amanda said, dropping the phone back onto the desk. She sank to her knees next to Emily’s limp form. “What happened? What’s wrong with her?”

“I’m not sure.” He pinched Emily’s arm. “I think she might be dehydrated, though. Has she been sick?” Bering inched closer and was alarmed anew by how soft and shallow her breathing seemed.

Amanda began shaking her head. “No, not that I know of...I mean, she said she had a headache today. And she really hasn’t been herself lately, but she hasn’t been sick. Did she faint or something?”

Bering nodded, but never took his eyes off Emily. “She started acting really weird. She said she was hot and then she, uh, she began taking her clothes off, and then she passed out. It scared the heck out of me. I... Where in the world is Tag with that ambulance?” Bering put his fingers on Emily’s neck again, the weak, faint thud of her pulse causing his own heart to leap and then thump heavily in his chest.

“Oh, no!” Amanda cried suddenly, springing to her feet. She crossed over to the desk, and as she frantically searched through the messy pile, she let out an anguished groan.

“What is it?” Bering asked her.

“I gave her some pills earlier for her headache. But I told her to only take one or even a half to start with, but it looks like she took them all. They’re prescription and they’re really strong, and I don’t think she’s eaten anything all day. She hasn’t eaten much at all since we’ve been here, actually, and...” Amanda was rambling now as she rushed back toward Emily. “Like I said, she really hasn’t been herself. She’s been through so much and she...” Amanda broke off with a sob, dropped to her knees and grabbed one of Emily’s limp hands. “Emily, honey? Wake up, Em, please,” she pleaded. “Wake up.”

Bering heard the ambulance crew bust into the reception area. “Finally,” he muttered in relief and then shouted, “Tag, in here.” The paramedic team came charging through the door and Bering had never been so glad to see his cousin in his entire life.

* * *

“I FEEL SO SILLY,” Emily said much later as Amanda helped prop her up against two wonderfully fluffy down pillows. She’d awoken and oddly enough hadn’t been all that surprised to find herself in the hospital. She had vague and hazy recollections of an ambulance ride and voices coming from very far away. There were also remnants of vivid dreams swimming in her head, of strong hands running a cool cloth over her skin, and warm fingertips caressing her face and hair. But of course that was crazy. She’d obviously been delusional.

Amanda’s face split into a wide grin. She set the paper bag she’d been holding on the bed beside Emily. “I’m just glad that you’re going to be okay. What did the doctor tell you?”

Emily made a face. “That I was dehydrated, undernourished, exhausted, anemic and stressed-out, and on top of all that I was then, apparently, drugged.”

Amanda winced. “I’m so sorry about the pain pills, Em. I should have only given you one.”

“Amanda, clearly it wasn’t your fault. I was out of my mind. The doctor also said I am overall generally unhealthy.” She scrunched her face into a doubt-filled expression and asked, “Do you think I’m unhealthy?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly.”

Amanda began ticking things off on her fingers. “You don’t get enough sleep. You don’t get enough exercise. You work all the time. You never eat very well—I’ve been telling you that for years. So, yes, I’d say it doesn’t surprise me that the doctor says you’re unhealthy.”

Emily shrugged and said defensively, “I don’t have time.”

Amanda looked at her doubtfully. “You don’t have time?”

“To eat healthy and stuff.”

“You have just as much time to stop at Whole Foods in the morning as you do the bakery. You have just as much time to eat a banana or some oatmeal as you do an apple fritter. You have just as much time to walk through the salad bar at Trader Joe’s as you do the drive-through at Chicken Little.”

“I don’t like hummus,” Emily said with a curled lip. “Or wheat germ.”

“No one is suggesting you eat hummus, and I would be willing to bet you couldn’t identify a germ of wheat if your life depended on it.”

“That’s probably true,” Emily conceded with a grin. “But you know what I mean—I don’t like slimy, wheat-germy-type things.”

“Wheat germ isn’t slimy. But look, Emily,” Amanda said and then took a deep breath. “I know you don’t like to talk about this, but ever since the promotion-Jeremy thing, you haven’t been taking very good care of yourself at all—worse than normal. All you do is work. All you talk about is work.”

Emily folded her hands neatly in front of her. “Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Amanda, I know I’ve probably been awful to work for—”

“No, no,” Amanda said, “you are, and always have been, the best boss in the world.” She reached down, took Emily’s hand and squeezed it. “But right now I’m talking to you as your best friend. You need to pull yourself together. You need to start taking care of yourself and thinking about yourself first, before your job—before even your stepfather and your mother, and definitely before that worm Jeremy.”

Emily bobbed her head agreeably. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m going to. I will.”

“I’m sorry, Em, if I sound harsh, but you have no idea how worried I’ve been about you.”

Emily felt a surge of guilt well up within her. How selfish of her not to realize what Amanda had gone through, too.

“Oh, Amanda, I’m so sorry.” She reached over and enfolded Amanda’s hand in hers. “Yes, I promise I will get my act together. I will get better and healthy and eat raisins and vitamins and do yoga and become a hummus-eating vegan. And you know what? I’m thinking about starting my training for a triathlon the minute I get out of this hospital bed.”

Amanda let out a bark of laughter. “Let’s not get carried away here. It’s important not to set our expectations too high.”

“You’re right. I won’t, because I’m not eating any raisins. I’m not eating anything that looks like a dead bug. And I’m really not a strong swimmer, so that triathlon thing might be a tad unrealistic.”

“I’d settle for a brisk fifteen-or twenty-minute walk on the treadmill.” She let go of Emily’s hand and then reached into the brown paper sack sitting on the tray table and pulled something out. She placed it on a napkin and set it on Emily’s lap. “Here, try this. It’s one of the most delicious things I’ve ever eaten.”

Emily grimaced at it. It was some sort of biscuit covered with purplish-brown polka dots. “What is it? Wait, Amanda, is that a raisin?”

“Those are huckleberries. It’s a huckleberry scone. Just try it,” Amanda coaxed in a motherly tone. “Stop looking at it like that. I swear they aren’t raisins and there’s no wheat germ or anything healthy in it. I don’t even think it would fall into the ‘healthy’ category at all.”

Emily looked skeptical. “I’ll try it later, okay? I’m really not hungry right now. Now tell me exactly what happened after I passed out.”

Amanda ignored her attempt to change the subject. “Emily, you just told me you were going to do better. You promised. And the doctor says you have to eat if you’re going to get out of here today. And judging by your tray, you skipped breakfast.”

Emily crinkled her nose at the congealed cheese-and-smoked-salmon omelet and slimy canned fruit that lay untouched on the cart next to them. An apple fritter sounded good, or even a couple Oreos.

“Just try a bite,” Amanda encouraged.

“Fine, if it will make you happy.” Emily nibbled on the edge of the flaky biscuit and was immediately overwhelmed by its luscious texture. She took a real bite. Sweet, fluffy dough met tart berry in a delectable combination. Her stomach lurched painfully and then growled in anticipation of more. She took another bite and this time she savored it.

“That’s really good. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.”

“You haffen’t” came the muffled reply as Amanda’s mouth was now also stuffed full of scone.

“What?” Emily answered. “I had that candy bar, let’s see, when was it? Yesterday morning? I guess it has been a while.”

Amanda shook her head and swallowed. “Nope, that was the day before yesterday. You’ve been asleep since Friday.”

“What?”

“Today is Sunday. You were out of it all day yesterday.”

Emily stared down at the scone in her hands and reeled over the fact that she’d lost almost two whole days out of her life and hadn’t even realized it. She thought hard for a moment. The last thing she remembered was a meeting with a Mr. James. She’d had a terrible headache, and she’d been really hot and...and he’d seemed angry with her—the memory of his deep voice reverberating in her brain made her cringe—and then she’d...

“I wouldn’t eat all of that if I were you,” that same voice suddenly called from the doorway. Emily shot a startled glance at Bering James as he strode into the room. She definitely remembered that voice. His hair was too long and rather unkempt, she thought, but he looked and smelled freshly showered, Emily decided as a few more steps delivered him right beside her bed. Her body tingled in memory of...what? Possibilities sent a shiver skittering uncomfortably across her skin.

It was just his close proximity making her feel overheated and self-conscious, she decided, pulling the sheet up to her chin. Bering ran one hand over his mouth and it looked to Emily as if he was smothering a chuckle. What was funny, she wondered irritably, and what in the world was he doing here?

“Your stomach might tell you it wants all of that,” he said, gesturing at the scone in her hands. “But if you eat that much, it might turn around and change its mind on you. It’s awfully rich.” He smiled at her, and Emily had the distinct feeling that he was going to reach out and touch her. But he didn’t.

“I’m glad to see you’re finally awake, Ms. Hollings. How are you feeling?”

“I, uh, I’m fine, I guess, Mr. James. Thank you so much for stopping by. If you want to talk to Amanda here, she can reschedule our meeting. I really have to apologize. I’m afraid I don’t remember most of our first one.”

“Emily,” Amanda began, “Bering hasn’t—”

“It’s okay, Amanda,” he said, cutting her off. “I would be happy to reschedule—but later. The doctor is going to be in to see you again in a few minutes. But first, here you go. Drink this.” He reached into a pouch on the side of the backpack he had slung over his shoulder and removed a plastic bottle filled with a thick liquid. He inserted a straw and placed it in her hands.

Emily held it up—it looked like a smoothie. She hadn’t had a smoothie in so long that the mere thought of it caused her mouth to water. But she had to ask, “It’s pink—please don’t tell me it’s some kind of liquefied salmon drink?”

“What?” Bering said with a surprised chuckle. “No, it’s peach.”

She took a sip from the straw and the taste of fresh peaches drenched her taste buds. “Mmm, oh, my goodness,” she said with a groan. “This is even better than the scone. It’s the best thing I’ve tasted since I’ve been here. Where did you get it? Because I know there is nothing even resembling a proper juice place in this town.”

Bering grinned at her. “I made it. And my mom made the scones, and I’ll be sure to tell her that you think my smoothie is better than her scones. The smoothie is very healthy. So drink it, and I’ll see you later.” With that he turned, his long strides carrying him swiftly from the room.

Emily gaped toward the door and then gaped at Amanda. “Amanda, what the...?”

Amanda patted her mouth with a napkin and Emily was struck with the notion that she was swallowing a chuckle, too.

Several minutes later, she decided that that was exactly what she’d been doing, as had Bering James. As Amanda filled her in on the details of the past couple days, she knew it wasn’t the richness of the scone that had her feeling nauseated. She pulled the cool sheet up to cover her now-flaming face.

Amanda seemed to be enjoying her mortification, however, and continued torturing her with more details.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” she finally said, lowering the sheet enough to reveal her eyes. “I had some kind of psychotic break. I just haven’t been hungry since we’ve been here. All this seafood...” Emily scrunched up her face distastefully. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “I’ve got to get out of here, Amanda.”

“The doctor said he’s going to release you today. But you have to take it easy, get some rest and eat something. You need to get your strength back. You’ve got your first presentation in two days, but the town-council vote isn’t until the twenty-third, so that still gives us over a month to prepare.”

A month suddenly loomed before her like a giant and hulking mountain, and just the thought of trying to scale it was exhausting. She wished she could curl up and rest somewhere for a while, somewhere warm and preferably for the rest of her life.

“No, no, I mean I’ve got to get out of this place, this backwoods...frozen...wasteland.” Emily felt her lashes thicken with moisture. “I want to go home.” A single tear broke loose and trickled slowly down her cheek. “I hate it here, Amanda.”

“Emily, listen to me. You can’t quit now. We can do this. We can. We’ve faced worse. Remember that weird town in Northern California that everyone said was impossible? We did it, remember? And what about that ranching community in Texas? We had death threats there, but we won them over. Oh, and who could forget that little Molotov cocktail thrown through our window in Oklahoma? They almost burned down our house. Come on, Em, this place is going to be a cakewalk compared to some of the jobs we’ve been on.”

Amanda took a deep breath and continued, “I know you’ve been struggling and I know you haven’t wanted to talk about it, but I think you need to hear this. You need to be successful on this job, Em. It wasn’t right that Franklin promoted Jeremy over you, but you did the right thing by breaking up with him. The guy is a leech. He would never have gotten the job if it wasn’t for you, and now you need to show Franklin what a colossal mistake he has made. This is your opportunity to prove how valuable you are to this company. Without Jeremy here stealing your thunder, Franklin will have no choice but to see it. So, we’re going to do this, in your kick-butt efficient and effective Emily Hollings manner—just not at the expense of your health.”

Emily snuffled into a tissue and then wiped her eyes. Amanda was right. This was what she did—no one did this job as well as she did. She really didn’t know what it was about this place that had her so out of sorts. It was just so cold and isolated and wild and...intimidating. Kind of like Bering James, she decided. Yep, the man personified the place. She was suddenly struck by an image of him hovered over her and holding her hand. Oh, no...

“Amanda, was Bering James here at the hospital earlier?”

Amanda leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “He stayed here the entire time. I mean, he barely left your side until this morning. You came to really early and the doctor said you were going to be okay, so he went home to take a shower, and apparently whip up a little peach power drink, and hightailed it back here. He was gone for maybe an hour, tops.”

Emily’s cheeks grew warm again. She cooled them with the smoothie, holding the cup against one cheek and then the other. “I wonder why. I mean, why did he stay?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he was hoping for a repeat performance of your impromptu striptease?” Amanda teased.

“Very funny.”

“Emily, he was worried about you, obviously. And I was worried, too. And to tell you the truth, it was really a comfort having him here.”

“Ugh,” Emily bemoaned, “I can’t believe that that man saw me almost naked.”

“Don’t worry about it. He wasn’t the only one. But hey, between him and that cousin of his—I would let either one of them see me naked.”

“Cousin? What cousin?”

“Oh, man, Bering’s cousin is the paramedic that brought you in. And phew, talk about a hottie. I have half a mind to strip down later and fake passing out.” She tapped a finger thoughtfully against her pursed lips and then asked, “How do you fake a heart attack, I wonder? I should probably be wearing something lower-cut, right? Maybe instigate a little wardrobe malfunction?” She tugged down on the collar of her shirt. “Whaddya think? Would that be too much?”

“Amanda, be serious.” Emily winced. “So, there were actually two men that saw me in my, um, semi-dressed state, then?”

“No.”

“Thank goodness.” Emily breathed a sigh of relief and then realized that couldn’t be true. “But wait, you said—”

“It was more like six or seven if you count the doctor, the nurses, the ambulance driver and the other paramedic guys. The whole crew, they were all men—how weird is that?”

“Oh, Amanda, what am I going to do?”

“Quit worrying about it. I’m sure it’s routine for these guys. They see naked people all the time. They probably didn’t even notice, really....”

* * *

BERING COULDN’T GET Emily Hollings out of his head. He’d come home, returned several phone calls, attempted to catch up on some paperwork and then decided to take a quick nap before he went out to meet Tag for dinner. It was like the lost-puppy syndrome, he decided, as he stared up at the cedar-planked ceiling in his bedroom and thought it over.

Granted, it had only been a matter of hours since he’d left the hospital and he was tired and his brain was thoroughly scrambled. But sleep was out of the question—he could see that now—because Emily Hollings looked so much different than a puppy. But it wasn’t her partially clothed state that had him out of sorts, although he didn’t think he could ever get tired of looking at her....

There was a vulnerability about her that spoke to him. He was drawn in by it, and he couldn’t shake the sense that she needed help. What kind of help, he didn’t know, but for some inexplicable reason, he wanted to be the one to give it to her. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He obviously needed to get a grip. He needed a distraction, something to take his mind off her.

But what was a woman like her doing working for Cam-Field Oil & Mineral anyway? She certainly didn’t seem like the kind of executive they would send to do a job like this. She didn’t seem as if she could handle the kind of intense pressure such a job would entail.

Although, to be fair, he hadn’t really met her under the best of circumstances. And according to her assistant, she really hadn’t been herself. And now that he thought about it, Amanda had mentioned that several times over the past two days. Now Bering couldn’t help but speculate as to what she meant. What was Emily Hollings really like? And he knew, even as his good sense warned him it was a bad idea, that he was going to find out.

* * *

BERING STROLLED INTO the Cozy Caribou an hour later and spotted Tag already sprawled out in a booth at the back of the restaurant. The Cozy Caribou was more than a restaurant; it was a family-oriented establishment and an unofficial gathering spot for the community. There were booths running along both sides of the wide building with tables scattered between. The place was essentially two sections divided in the middle—one part restaurant one part bar. Huge chunks of a spruce tree—cut, sanded and polished smooth, then formed into a U-shape—served as the divide between the restaurant and the bar.

A wide doorway complete with a set of antique saloon-style swinging doors led into the back, where alcohol was served. Stools carved from the same spruce trees were set into the floor around the bar, one side for diners and the other for drinkers. It was Tess’s rule that drinkers could dine but diners couldn’t drink. She was very strict about this and didn’t even allow drinkers to use the same door as diners.

“So, you finally came up for air, huh?” Tag asked as Bering slid into the seat across from him.

“Mmm,” Bering answered vaguely. He took a sip of the water that was already waiting for him.

“How’s the patient doing?”

“She’s going to be fine. Or she will be if she starts taking care of herself. But after talking to her assistant, I have my doubts about whether that’s going to happen.”

“Man, she’s sweet, huh? No wonder you were holed up in that hospital all weekend.”

He scowled. “Yes, she’s beautiful, but it’s not that. Something’s not right. Emily is—”

Tag flashed his cousin a quick grin. “I was talking about her assistant. Amanda, right?”

Bering nodded absently. Funny, he couldn’t really even recall whether Amanda was good-looking or not. And then he remembered that he’d definitely thought so on Friday before he’d met Emily.

“Do you know if she’s married or anything?” Tag asked.

“No, Amanda said she was involved with someone fairly recently, though. I got the impression that was part of the reason she was here.”

The waitress appeared and delivered two heavy frost-covered mugs of root beer. They placed their orders.

“To see him?” Tag asked.

“No, to get away from someone or something...” He shook his head. “She wasn’t really clear on that. She seemed a little uncomfortable talking about it.”

“Do you think she’d go out with me?”

Bering choked on his swig of root beer. “What? Tag,” he sputtered, “I don’t think that’d be a very good idea. I don’t even know if she’s out of the hospital yet.”

“Amanda was in the hospital, too? What, was it something contagious?”

“Funny,” he said with a chuckle, finally realizing what his cousin was up to.

Tag let out a booming laugh.

“I don’t know, though, Tag. Something is wrong. I’m worried about her. She’s, um... I want her...”

Tag’s smile disappeared along with his teasing tone. “You want her?”

Bering looked annoyed. “I want her to get well, Tag, is what I’m saying. She needs help.”

“Well, you’re definitely not the one to give it to her, Bering. You know that, right?”

“I do. I know that, but I can tell she’s having a really difficult time here. If you’d have seen her, and Amanda said—”

Tag interrupted, “Bering, I did see her, remember? I was the paramedic who treated her. The woman was dehydrated. She was drugged and exhausted. But what does that have to do with you?”

Bering shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “Nothing, except that if you’d seen her in the hospital... There’s just something about her that I...”

“Bering, snap out of it, man. Need I remind you that this woman works for Cam-Field Oil & Mineral? You remember Cam-Field, right? The ‘corporation of environmental corruption,’ I believe I’ve heard you call it on more than one occasion. The fact that this woman is sad is not your fault, is not your responsibility and has nothing whatsoever to do with you.”

“Uh-huh,” Bering said absently.

Tag shook his head and said slowly, “Oh. No.”

“What?”

“You are asking for trouble here, Bering. Mark my words. Stay away from this woman.”

“Trouble, Tag? Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?”

Tag was frowning. “No, Bering, I don’t. It’s not your job to help her. And under the circumstances, I don’t even think you should go near her.”

Bering took another drink of his root beer and then plopped his mug down on the table. “Don’t worry, Tag, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE NEXT MORNING Bering ignored the twinge of guilt. He decided it wasn’t taking advantage of an unfair situation to visit Emily under these circumstances—even though she had just been released from the hospital and she was certainly not 100 percent physically. She probably wasn’t even thinking clearly. He reminded himself that it didn’t matter. What was at stake was what mattered: his livelihood, the livelihood of his community, the integrity of the environment and that people were counting on him. He also ignored the nagging curiosity that had him wanting to see for himself that she was going to be okay.

And maybe a more informal meeting could serve a double purpose: checking on her and talking some sense into her—into Cam-Field. He knew the latter was unlikely, but at least maybe he could learn something about what he was facing. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer—wasn’t that how the old saying went? He’d never heard anyone specify as to exactly how close but he’d figure that out as he went along.

He took a quick shower and then dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. He bundled into his down jacket, pulled on his boots and hat, and stepped outside. He started his pickup and let it warm up while he called the Cozy Caribou. He ordered two breakfasts to go, along with two large coffees.

He drove the short distance to the restaurant, picked up his order, then made his way across town and parked in front of the duplex where Amanda had told him that she and Emily were staying. He knocked softly on the door.

A tired-looking Emily opened the door wearing only, from what he could see anyway, a very thin bathrobe. Memories of her scantily clad body swam before his eyes.

“I hope I didn’t wake you. I just thought I’d come by to see how you’re feeling.” He held up the bag he was carrying. “And I brought you some breakfast. The doctor said it’s important that you eat.”

Emily smiled warmly at him and Tag’s words of warning coalesced in his brain. But how could someone who smiled like that possibly be trouble? But as quickly as he wondered, an image of the Trojan horse flashed across his consciousness. Tag was right—he needed to remember that she might be a pretty face, but she was still the face of Cam-Field.

“And did the doctor also say that it was your responsibility to feed me?”

“No, but you said that the food here was terrible, so I thought I would see if I could prove you wrong.”

“You already have,” she said, “and I’m afraid I didn’t thank you properly the first time.”

Bering realized then that she was shivering from the cold, and it was no wonder what with that thin piece of silk that she was trying to pass off as a robe.

“If I could come in for a minute then I’d let you take a shot at that.”

* * *

EMILY HAD BEEN AFRAID he was going to say that, and she thought it was probably a bad idea. She took a few seconds to remind herself why it was a bad idea. First of all, the man had seen her naked (mostly naked, but still...) Secondly, he was clearly a part of the unswayable opposition in this town, and to socialize would only be a waste of time, not to mention the probable cause of further conflict and embarrassment. And third, he’d seen her mostly naked.

She felt herself blushing, and for the first time since she’d arrived in this stupid town she was grateful for the cold. Why was she waffling like this? She was never indecisive. She prided herself on always knowing what to do, but ever since she’d arrived in Rankins, everything seemed to be completely out of her control—including her emotions and, apparently, her ability to think rationally.

Her current predicament illustrated this point perfectly. Reading people had always been one of her strengths. It had served her very well in her tenure with Cam-Field. But right now she had no idea what was going on with this guy. What was he doing here? Probably trying to get information out of her, she told herself.

What other possible motivation could he have for being so nice to her? It was a little above and beyond professional courtesy.... It wasn’t as if he’d somehow caused her to pass out. In fact, if he hadn’t been there, she might have ended up even worse off than she had been. And why had he stayed so long at the hospital? More things that she should probably thank him for...and a reason to invite him in—that and the heavenly odors wafting out of the bag he was holding.

But she didn’t need to invite him in to thank him, did she? No, it was definitely not a good idea to invite him in. But it would be rude to refuse breakfast, wouldn’t it? Maybe she could take the opportunity to state her case—Cam-Field’s case. She had managed to win over some pretty tough rivals in the past. Shouldn’t she at least try to sway him, too? After all, that was her job. Now, that was a reason to invite him in. She ignored the niggle in her brain that suggested she may have tried overly hard to come up with a reason at all.

“Sure,” she said, standing back from the door to allow him in. “There are a couple things I’d like to talk to you about anyway.”

* * *

EMILY USED THE LAST bite of biscuit to sop up the last bit of the creamy sausage gravy. She stared at her plate and then looked up at him. “I can’t believe I ate all that. You were right, it was absolutely delicious. I had no idea there was food like this in this town.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“How did you manage to find something without fish in it anyway?”

“You don’t like fish?”

Emily crinkled up her nose. “I don’t like seafood.”

“You don’t like any seafood?” he asked skeptically.

“No, and this town of yours seems to be unduly obsessed with the consumption of sea creatures. I actually saw something called a razor clam on the menu at one of your restaurants. Now, tell me there’s not a warning in there somewhere?”

Bering laughed and handed her another biscuit, this one slathered with thick jelly. “Here, try this.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I can eat another bite...mmm,” Emily said with a moan as she took a taste of the fluffy bit of heaven. The jelly was tart and sweet and utterly divine. “Where did this come from?”

“The Cozy Caribou,” he answered and then took a sip of his coffee. “They make all their own jam,” he added proudly. “They also make their own root beer. They serve it cold on tap. It’s pretty popular.”

“Root beer, huh?”

“Yep. You should try it.”

“I might,” she said with an agreeable nod. “This is the establishment that is using copies of Cam-Field’s community-impact reports as dartboard targets?”

“So, your memory has returned, huh?”

“Somewhat,” she said, not quite able to meet his eyes. “Look, Mr. James, I really am sorry about all of this—”

“Bering,” he said. “Please, stop calling me Mr. James.”

“Okay,” Emily conceded. “Bering,” she said. It rolled off her tongue and she decided that in spite of her initial reaction to it, she liked it. Which was completely beside the point, but she found herself asking about it just the same.

“I was named after the Bering Sea,” he explained. “My father was a crab-boat captain. My mom was pregnant with me when he drowned there in a fishing accident.”

Emily stared, trying to take in the implications of such a life-shattering event. She had to ask, “Why in the world would she name you after such a tragedy?”

“She says it was the Bering Sea that brought her and my dad together in the first place. That’s where they met, that’s where they earned a living and that’s where they fell in love. She didn’t ever want to forget that.”

“What do you mean? How did they meet there?”

“She applied to work on his boat as a deckhand, which she did for quite a while—until they got married and she got pregnant with Janie. She claims she was the best deckhand he ever had. She didn’t want her memories of the Bering Sea to be filled with only sadness because it had brought her so much joy, too.”

He smiled at that, and even though it had been long ago, Emily thought she saw sorrow there, too. She smiled warmly in return, not wanting to be the cause of dredging up painful memories.

He looked away briefly before meeting her eyes again. “My entire life I could only imagine how difficult it was for my mom because I wasn’t even born yet. But I have a much better idea now because my sister, Janie, lost her husband six months ago—and she’s pregnant. With twins—that will make four for her.”

“Oh, my...but how will she manage—”

It was as if Emily’s words flipped a switch in him—from warm and open to solemn and stony in an instant.

“The same way our mom did—with the help of her family and friends. That’s how we do things around here, Emily. We stick together in good times, we offer support in bad and we’re there for all the challenges in between.”

The message was blatant, but he said it with such a tone of confidence that it almost made Emily envious. It must be nice to have that kind of support system, she thought bitterly—personally or professionally. She was suddenly aware of both his intense stare and the personal turn her thoughts had taken. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t let him play on her emotions and turn the tables like this.

“That must be really great,” she said. “But look, Bering, I invited you in because I feel like I should apologize for the circumstances of our first meeting and I really do want to thank you for...everything.”

He shrugged. “No problem.”

“Actually, it is kind of a problem.”

“How so?”

She smiled thinly. “I don’t think there’s any point in dancing around the issue of why you’re here or why we met in the first place, however unfortunate it turned out to be.”

“I don’t know that I’d call it unfortunate.” His voice was smooth, but his brown eyes danced with some kind of emotion that Emily felt it best to ignore.

“I would, because now I’m in the awkward position of being indebted to you while knowing that we’re at odds. And we both know that I’m here to change your town irrevocably. I plan to improve it, build on it, make it better, but I know very well that you don’t see it that way and that it’s your intention to try to stop me.”

“That it is,” he acknowledged quietly.

“But you can’t.”

“We’ll see about that.” His tone was almost careless as he picked up a biscuit and began to butter it methodically. He added a generous dollop of jam.

“We will indeed, and I’m afraid you’re not going to like the outcome. But if you would be willing to open your mind a little, you would find that Cam-Field is going to do some really good things here—”

“Not nearly enough to outweigh the bad.”

“But how do you know that? You haven’t even heard our plans—”

“I know,” he interrupted firmly.

“I understand that you’re scared—”

“Scared?” His brows danced up on his forehead.

“Yes, why else would you be here? You are here to try to get a feel for what I have in store for my, um...campaign so you can try to stop me in my tracks.”

His lips twitched but Emily couldn’t tell if it was from anger or amusement. She guessed it was the latter. She didn’t think he was taking her seriously quite yet. And who could blame him given their awkward introduction?

He took a bite of his biscuit and swallowed it. “Maybe I stopped by to see how you’re doing.”

She scoffed at that. “You’re not my mother—a simple phone call could have accomplished that.”

His grin made her uneasy. “That reminds me,” he said, “my mother is a schoolteacher. She decided she should stick to dry land after she had Janie, so she got her teaching degree.” He devoured half his biscuit in one bite.

“Oh? That’s nice. I’m sure it must be a very rewarding profession.” She smiled politely and took another healthy bite of her own biscuit.

“Not a ship captain.”

“Huh?” she said, even as the biscuit slowly turned to sand in her mouth.

Bering smirked. “Yeah, and just for the record, she has perfect twenty-twenty vision—in both eyes—and I’ve never heard her so much as mutter a curse word.”

Emily bent her head. “Oh. No. You heard that?”

“I did,” he said. “You have quite an imagination.”

“Of course you did—that stupid intercom. Nothing in that junk heap of an office works properly. Bering, I’m so, so sorry. I can’t believe I insulted your mother. That’s not... And I’m not... And she made those delicious scones...”

Bering chuckled. “I think you can be safely excused under the circumstances. But what do you mean nothing works properly?”

“Just one of the many problems we’ve had since we arrived in this town. We thought we were all set up with an office but when we got here nothing was like the property manager claimed. The place is a complete joke. The computers are ancient—seriously, they look like some kind of practical joke—the printer doesn’t work, the phones are outdated. And we really need the phones—our cell phones work only intermittently. Of course you know how spotty cell-phone service is, since you live here. Even the copy machine is a piece of junk. And to make matters worse, my laptop came down with a virus the first day we were here, so all my software and work files are inaccessible. I have to use that dinosaur to even get my email. And I can’t find anyone in town who can work on it or my laptop. We can’t find anyone to fix anything, actually. But it’s the heating system that’s killing us. There are exactly two settings—iced-over or sauna. And I really can’t tolerate iced-over, so...”

Bering rubbed a hand over his chin. “Hmm. Buster Bradbury owns that building, right?”

“That’s what we’ve been told. But we’ve never spoken with him. He is, apparently, somewhere in Florida this time of year. We’ve dealt with his property manager, a guy named Oden Franks. He’s based out of Anchorage, so there’s not much he can do, either, supposedly. He claims he’s been making calls and he can’t figure out what’s going on. The place was supposed to be state-of-the-art. He claims it is—that he personally had it set up for us. But obviously standards are a bit different here.”

Bering nodded, his face an unreadable mask.

“If I was a paranoid sort, I’d say we were victims of sabotage.”

“Hey, that’s my hometown you’re running down here, you know.”

“I do, and it’s unfortunate if you take it personally. But Rankins isn’t special....”

Emily saw the narrowing of his eyes, the subtle clench of his jaw, and was reminded once again of the irritable mountain man she’d encountered in her office a few days ago.

She rushed to explain, “I’m not saying that your little town isn’t special. I’m sure it is—to you and to others who live here. What I mean is that I’m no stranger to opposition like we’re facing here in Rankins. This is my job. This is what I do. So on the level that my behavior was unprofessional, I am sorry—especially for the intercom thing. In spite of the fact that it doesn’t work properly, I should never have said those things.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I am worried about it, because I would probably be fired on the spot if my...” Emily was always hesitant to voice her familial relationship with her stepfather boss. It wasn’t relevant, other than it colored people’s perceptions of her and her job. And nepotism had certainly never played a role in her position within the company. No, that was exclusively Jeremy’s department. “...boss knew that I had said that and...done that.”

She had volunteered for this assignment, and even though she hadn’t thought it through completely, or had the time to prepare as thoroughly as she normally did, she certainly wasn’t going to watch it all crumble down around her because of her own imprudent behavior. Her primary goal had been to get as far away from Jeremy as she could. And securing Cam-Field’s first holding in Alaska would serve the additional purpose of showing Franklin what an asset she was to the company.

So far she’d managed only the distance part, a feat that could have just as easily been accomplished by a vacation to the South of France. But now that she was here and finally feeling better, she was determined to succeed. Not that Franklin would ever fire her, probably, but it certainly wouldn’t be beneath her stepfather to replace her on an assignment.

“Listen,” she finally said, “all I can say is that I really haven’t been myself lately, although that’s beside the point and doesn’t excuse my bad behavior. But like I mentioned earlier, the, uh, the heat isn’t working in the office, which partially explains my, uh, um...” Emily met his curious gaze.

“Clothing removal?” Bering suggested politely, but Emily could see the humor in his eyes.

Now he was having fun at her expense. She countered in a tone of mock sincerity, “You mean my recent medical emergency? Yes, it probably does.”

“Emily, I’m sorry. I—”

She didn’t know if his look could be considered contrite, but it was close enough for her. She grinned and said, “I’m kidding. I should have known it was coming. I’ve suffered from dehydration before.”

“Really?”

“Yep, as a teenager—I think I was seventeen or eighteen. I was an assistant to the roustabout on an oil rig and I—”

“You were what?”

Bering looked both intrigued and doubtful. She wanted to assure him that she was no stranger to hard work, but she knew better than to tip her hand in that way. It had been impulsive to share that much with him as it was. She rarely talked about her personal life, unless she could see it as a direct benefit to the job. And intuition told her that there wasn’t anything personal she could relay to this man that would change his mind about the job she was here to do.

“The roustabout is the maintenance person who keeps things clean and running smoothly on the platform. I worked for him as an assistant. The pay was good, but it was hot and busy and I forgot to take my breaks. I ended up dehydrated and I passed out then too.”

She wanted to laugh at the look of shock on his face.

“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.

In her place was a charming and professional, confident and articulate executive from Cam-Field Oil & Mineral. And it struck him right then and there that he’d vastly underestimated Emily Hollings on the professional front. If he didn’t know better, he would think he’d been good and thoroughly snowed. Bering felt a shift in his entire being; a knot formed in his stomach as Tag’s words of warning came back to him. For the first time since meeting her, he wondered if he really might be in trouble after all.

As she wrapped up the last of her speech, which had come off like more of a fireside chat, Bering knew without a doubt that Emily was a great deal more than good at her job. He was watching men and women he’d known all his life eating out of her hand like ponies at the petting zoo. She was charming and witty and, worst of all, full of statistics and dollar signs and promises of high-paying jobs and “community improvements.” And she’d pulled the hospital card. Rankins was in desperate need of updated medical facilities, and she’d basically just promised a few million of Cam-Field’s pocket change to the cause if the permitting process was successful.

And while Bering was relieved and, he grudgingly admitted to himself, impressed, he was also terrified. It was as if he’d been deluged by a bucket of ice-cold water. What was wrong with him? What had he been thinking?

Tag was right—Emily was Cam-Field in the flesh, and in spite of whatever personal concerns he may have had for her as a woman, the executive was going to have to be stopped. Cam-Field still had to be stopped. As the crowd began dispersing, Bering stood up and slipped silently from the room.

He looked from one end of the empty hallway to the other and quickly walked to the receptionist’s station, which currently stood empty. He plucked the telephone off the desk and rapidly tapped out a long-distance call.

“Jack? Hey, it’s me, Bering. Listen, I’m calling about the situation here in Rankins.... Uh-huh, yeah, I think we may have vastly underestimated the, uh, threat here....”

CHAPTER FIVE

THE MEETING WITH the Chamber of Commerce had gone unbelievably well. It had resulted in several appointments with community members and invitations to numerous social events. She’d scored an invitation from the mayor himself to attend the Rotary Club fund-raiser, which she’d learned was unequivocally the social event of the year in Rankins.

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