Solomon's Decision (3 page)

She showed no mercy. He was barely within her when they both exploded into a
frenzied climax.

As he collapsed beside her, still holding her against his chest, still clasped within
her thighs, Madeline feared that once would never be enough. She still wanted him with a
barely quenched hunger.

As their breathing slowed, she felt him harden. Her inner muscles tightened in
response. This time the initial, terrible urgency was replaced by a languorous, delicious
sense of timelessness. His kisses still devoured her, but with a gourmet's delight, rather
than a starving man's hunger. Her hands still molded and smoothed his strong, lean body,
but slowly, carefully, as if memorizing every bone and muscle and sinew.

She met his slow, deep strokes eagerly, yet without haste, without the desperation
she'd earlier felt. As she made the slow climb to her peak, she sensed he was beside her,
matching her tension, her expectation.

At the last, ultimate moment, he matched her passion as well. "Madeline," he
breathed into her hair as he collapsed atop her. "Madeline," he repeated as he rolled to his
side, holding her still clasped in his arms.

Jesse
...She bit off the word before it could emerge. Gently she
disengaged herself and curled up just beyond his touch. "I probably shouldn't admit this,"
she said, to justify her movement, " but I can hardly keep my eyes open."

"I should go," he replied without moving.

"Probably," she agreed, her eyes drifting closed.

* * * *

When Eric woke, he knew immediately where he was and who lay in the bed
beside him. For the oddest moment he felt as if he belonged where he was, then his natural
aloofness returned. He rolled out of bed, knowing that the next few minutes could be both
embarrassing and uncomfortable. Probably both. Much as he regretted the necessity, he
would make sure she understood that he wasn't in the habit of one night stands, nor had he
any intention of making it a long-term arrangement. While Madeline Pierson had his
deepest sympathy, that was all he was able to give her.

When he came out of the bathroom, she slipped past him, head lowered. Neither
spoke. Eric dressed, then stood at the window, staring out into a typical November day in
Seattle--rainy. He heard her emerge from the bathroom, listened to the rustle of clothing as
she dressed.

"I suppose I should apologize for falling apart on you last night," she said at last.
Her voice wasn't quite steady.

"No apology needed. I hope you don't think--"

"What happened was my fault. I was...yesterday I..." He heard her take a deep
breath. "Look. Eric, can we just agree that we both made a stupid mistake, and not discuss
it?"

"Of course." Relieved, he turned around. The first thing he saw was the love bite
on the side of her neck, just above her collar. "Have you got a scarf?"

"Wha-- Why?"

He turned her around, lay a finger lightly on the dark smudge.

"Good grief! I'm glad you noticed that." She dug into her suitcase, lying open on
the bed. The fluffy scarf she pulled out was soft, clinging, and the exact soft green of her
eyes. With the bright pink blush in her cheeks, she was so lovely she left him breathless.
Involuntarily, he reached toward her.

She stepped back, out of his reach. "Would you mind letting me leave first?" The
bright pink in her cheeks intensified. "I don't want..."

"Go. And Madeline--"

"Yes?" The word was little more than a whisper.

"Thank you." He wanted to say more, but wasn't sure what, so he pulled the door
open and waved her through.

That afternoon, when he met her eyes across a room, he read understanding. She
knew, as well as he did, that their lives were separate, except for this one bright,
never-to-be-forgotten touching. She would go back to Garnet Falls, Idaho, and remember him as a
one-time anodyne for the awful emptiness Jesse Zenger had left in her life.

A familiar loneliness flooded Eric's mind, bringing despair so immense he almost
cried out. In the next instant, he banished all emotion to the deepest, darkest corner of his
mind.

"Now, let's consider the next scenario," he said to the workshop participants. "A
Utility has applied for a permit to construct a hydropower dam, but there's a major wetland
within the proposed reservoir area. Is exchanging a sedge-shrub marsh for a man-made
lake a conversion of one wetland class to another?"

Eight years later.

"I never thought Jethro Zenger would sell out. His family's been there forever."
Emaline Cohoon, County Treasurer and Garnet Falls' unofficial news bureau, pushed a
stack of files aside and cocked her feet on the edge of her desk.

Madeline set her coffee cup on the wide windowsill and scooted up beside it.
"Neither did I, but Jesse once said both his brothers could hardly wait to get away. They
swore they'd never willingly come back."

"I wonder if Jethro'll have trouble finding a buyer. With cattle prices what they
are, I can't imagine how anyone could run the Z-Bar-Z Bar at a profit, not if they pay
anywhere near what it's worth," Emaline said.

It was a few minutes after five on a Friday night and the entire courthouse staff
was still reeling under the news that one of the area's oldest ranches was for sale. No one
could imagine Jethro Zenger in any other environment, or doing anything but cattle
ranching. Especially not living in a condominium in Phoenix and chasing a little ball
around a golf course, which was what the grapevine said [his wife] wanted to do.

"You know what really gets to me, Em? The Zenger kids have this wonderful
heritage, have marvelous, loving parents who would welcome them home with open arms.
Jethro likes to rant and rave about them forgetting their roots, but even before Jesse died,
he was planning on making sure all his children were treated fairly." Madeline sighed, half
in envy. "Jesse told me once it nearly broke his folks' hearts when the other kids left for
good."

"Jesse's death kinda took the starch out of him, didn't it?" Em's voice was gentle,
as if she were at a funeral.

Madeline sometimes wondered if people actually believed she still actively
mourned Jesse, after almost eight years. "No more than losing any of his children would
have. Jesse might have been the one who loved the ranch, but he and Jethro were on the
outs with each other as often as not."

The door opened. Eddie Webster, Madeline's young and very eager intern, stuck
his head inside. "Hi, ladies. Goin' to the Wooden Nickel tonight?"

"Not me. I'm scheduled for a decadent evening letting my kids beat me at
Monopoly," Madeline said, hopping down. She stretched, working the stiffness from her
shoulders. She'd spent the better part of the afternoon searching through old records for
some early property ownership maps of Mica City.

"Me neither," Em said. "It's our anniversary and my sweetie's taking me out to
dinner."

"See you Monday, then." Eddie started to close the door, then stuck his head back
in. "Hey, Madeline, didn't I hear there's a humongous wetland on the Zenger place? We
could have some real excitement around here if whoever buys it petitions for a zoning
change." Again he disappeared, slamming the door behind him.

"Excitement?" Em sounded puzzled.

Madeline didn't answer. She was remembering a talk she'd heard, a long time
ago--and trying to forget the speaker. "The Responsibility of Local Regulatory Agencies in
Wetlands Preservation." Sunset County had been relatively free of the
environmentalist-developer conflicts that plagued much of the country recently. So much of it was National
Forest, and there were no major lakes or rivers, no outstanding scenic areas within its
boundaries. The occasional tourists who strayed off US 95 soon went back to its wide,
well-designed curves, for Idaho's second smallest county had little to distract them for
long.

Jesse had taken her up to Wounded Bear Meadow once. She remembered it being
one of the most beautiful, most untouched places she'd ever seen.

"This is what my great-grandfather must have seen," Jesse had said, gesturing
widely. "We've never run cattle here, never wanted to. It's sort of a family tradition that we
keep this one place like it was in the beginning, just so we'll appreciate what we've
got."

And now there was no one but Jethro left to do the appreciating. What a shame it
would be if someone came along and drained or dammed the meadow. With a little
luck--all bad--she could find herself smack dab in the middle of the kind of battle there'd been in
the White Clouds, back in the Seventies.

Excitement? Madeline hoped not. "Never mind, Em. Eddie likes to over-dramatize
everything." No sense in borrowing worry. The Z-Bar-Z would always be a cattle ranch.
What else could it be? "Have a good weekend," she said as she followed Eddie from Em's
office. "And don't celebrate too wildly tonight."

On the way home she did her best to banish once again the memory of the man
who'd spoken so eloquently on what she might be facing if Wounded Bear Meadow ever
came under her department's jurisdiction. It had been quite a while since Erik Solomon had
invaded her thoughts and, as always, he did so with devastating effect.

He still owned a piece of her heart, even after eight years. And she never wanted
to meet him face to face again.

* * * *

"This one has the potential of getting nasty." Walter Thomlinson tossed a file
folder on Erik's desk.

Turning from the window, where he was contemplating the wall on the other side
of the airshaft and wondering how long it would be before he went insane from lack of
fresh air and sunshine, Erik slipped his reading glasses back on. The first letter inside was
a photocopy, and the stylized sunset, which on the original must have been in bright
pastels, obscured some of its first paragraph.

Sunset County, Idaho. What was he supposed to remember about Sunset County,
Idaho? He knew he'd heard of it before, but when? The memory eluded him.

He read. A local ranch had recently been put up for sale and a consortium of
developers had indicated interest in purchasing it for a planned recreational community.
The county planner knew there was a large wetland on the ranch and was asking for advice
from a more knowledgeable planner in the state government. What should he--Erik
glanced at the signature--what should she do first, to ensure that all the right actions were
taken?

He was halfway through the next paragraph, which described the wetland, when
the signature penetrated his consciousness.

"Madeline Pierson, City/County Planner."

No! Coincidences like this just didn't occur.

Erik turned again to his view of the airshaft and stared into infinity. He hadn't
thought of her for quite a while. There had been a time when thoughts of Madeline Pierson
had intruded on his every activity, a time when he could hardly manage ten minutes
without remembering her piquant expression, her sweetly curved mouth that always
seemed to be promising laughter.

It would have been so easy to go back, to find her. But he hadn't. Once the
urgency of his need for her faded into a memory of heaven touched but not grasped, he'd
realized she was all wrong for him. Madeline Pierson had been very young then. She
would have wanted all the traditional trappings of marriage and babies, something he
wouldn't--couldn't--give her.

Was her hair still a short, curly mop framing her pointed face? Were her eyes still
as green as spring leaves, as deep as the sky just before dawn? His fingers curved,
remembering how her breasts had filled them, and his body awoke, also remembering.

With a snort of self-disgust, Erik tossed the photocopy aside and read the letter
from the state planning office in Boise. Wounded Bear Meadow--
I love
it!
--sounded like a perfect candidate for purchase by the National Wetlands Trust. Staff in the
state office often alerted conservation organizations like NWT and The Nature
Conservancy when likely property came on the market. Idaho might not always be able to
commit public funds to preserving natural resources, but there were people who made
certain that someone did it.

Erik had known the planner who'd forwarded the letter from Sunset County in
graduate school. He trusted her judgment. When she said she seconded Madeline's opinion
that the wetland was worth a second look, he took her seriously, even as he snorted at her
handwritten postscript.

"I'm hoping Erik will investigate this one. It's high time he got out into the field.
The last time I talked to him, he was crosser than the old bear the meadow was named
for."

He was tempted. Not because of Madeline, but because he was getting stale. The
Trust's senior associates spent their time testifying as expert witnesses, lobbying for
wetlands protection, and pursuing funding for future purchases, not doing on-site
evaluations. He picked up his phone.

"When do I leave?" he said, when Walter answered.

* * * *

Madeline looked up as her door opened.

"He's here!" Eddie said, sounding awed.

"Who's... Oh. The man from National Wetlands Trust." She laid her pen down as
she sighed. Her colleague in Boise had warned her that NWT would probably send a
young and idealistic staff member to do the initial evaluation. That probably meant he'd be
in her hair all summer, despite NWT's assurance that he'd cause very little disruption.
Madeline didn't believe that. All consultants, by definition, got in your way. Those doing
the baseline work for the reopening of the Styx Valley Mine were already causing her
more trouble than enough, and they'd barely begun. "Well, you might as well bring him
in."

But Eddie only pulled the door closed behind him. "They must really think the
meadow is important, Madeline. Wait'll you see who they sent!" His whisper was loudly
theatrical and, she was sure, carried throughout the old courthouse.