Solomon's Decision (8 page)

She welcomed him, telling herself that she would allow only this pale imitation of
what they both wanted. Soon she would stop him, tell him they'd gone far enough.
Soon.

Her heart pounded in her ears, growing louder as Erik explored her mouth, as his
hands stroked along her spine and framed her waist, shaped her buttocks, relearned the
lines of her thighs.

Louder and louder, until Erik ended the kiss with a soft curse. "It's the helicopter,"
he said, framing her face with hands that almost seemed to tremble. "It'll be here any
minute. Get dressed."

Quickly he rose to his feet and reached for their clothing, draped on branches and
shrubs all around them. For a moment Madeline sat, stupidly staring, still hearing the
pounding of her heart.

"Madeline! Get dressed. Hurry." Her jeans, still almost dripping, hit her in the
face.

The shock was enough to bring her back to reality. The helicopter. Of course. She
forced her feet into the clinging denim, shivering again as it robbed her legs of their little
warmth. Her shirt was somewhat drier, but still damp enough that the wind made it feel
even colder and clammier.

"Keep my shirt," Erik said, taking the sodden sweatshirt from her. He twisted it
until trickles of water ran out.

"And what'll you wear?" She'd give anything for the warmth of the wool, but
having him cover his broad chest and wide shoulders was more important. Now that she
was shocked back into common sense, she didn't want anything to distract her from her
resolution. "I'm fine," she insisted. "Once we get into the helicopter, I'll be warm as
toast."

He didn't argue, and was decently covered and kicking dirt over their fire when the
'copter finally set down in the meadow.

* * * *

Madeline heard that he'd left town early the morning after their adventure and
hadn't come back for a week. In the interim, she'd refused to allow herself to think about
him and had almost convinced herself that her lack of willpower had been due to incipient
hypothermia.

The Garnet Falls grapevine, that since his return he'd been holed up in his
apartment, making long distance calls and pacing the floor. At the Grade School Spring
Program on Wednesday, Sandy Oliverio mentioned that he had a fancy laptop hooked to a
printer/scanner/fax combination, and papers were scattered everywhere. "He told me not to
touch anything," Sandy complained. "How does he expect me to clean the room when I
can't ever dust or make the bed? It even had papers piled on it."

Since he hadn't come in to her office, or called her at work or at home, Madeline
figured he was as embarrassed as she at what had almost happened at Wounded Bear
Meadow. She hoped so, because she didn't want to have to keep pushing him away all the
time he was in town. Sooner or later, she was afraid, she'd forget to push.

Erik's voice from her door called her away from her computer screen Friday
afternoon about three. "Do you ever do anything but work?"

For an instant, before she resolutely told it to behave, her heart leaped in
excitement. She kept her smile impersonal. "All the time. My children and I spend every
weekend playing."

"
Your
children?" His eyes flicked to her left hand, still poised over the
keyboard.

"My children. I have twins, Kyle and Virginia. They're in first grade." As always,
when she spoke of the children, she let more than a little joy creep into her voice. They
might not be Jesse's biological children, but they were the son and daughter of his
heart.

They were all she had left of him.

His mouth was grim. "What about their father?"

"He's dead. A long time ago." Strange how it didn't hurt any more to say that.

"I see." He stepped into her office and set a file folder on her desk. "Here's a
memo to your commissioners stating my preliminary conclusions. It looks like Wounded
Bear Meadow is a candidate for purchase by NWT, but I want some more information
before I make a definite recommendation to the Board. I'll send a final report and our
decisions as soon as they're compiled."

The shift from friendly bantering to business caught Madeline by surprise, but she
ignored it. She preferred the business. It didn't threaten her equanimity or test her
resolve.

"I'm sure the commissioners will be pleased you've finished so quickly." She
fiddled with her pens, straightened the papers in the folder beside the computer. "You're
leaving, then?"

"For now. I'll be back if we decide to make Zenger an offer, but I'm not usually
involved in the in-depth studies." His tone said,
Thank God.
She suspected he was
far too important to waste his time on checking out insignificant little marshes out in the
wilderness.

She couldn't understand why she felt so...so let down. She'd known all along he'd
be leaving as soon as he did what he'd come to do. That was why she'd held him at a safe
emotional distance. Or tried to.

"I hope you'll cooperate with whoever we send to continue the studies as fully as
you have with me."

Frowning at the lined-up pens, she pushed a memo pad beside them. "Of course.
Anything I can do to help...."
Well, not quite anything. I won't fall in love with your
replacement.

Where had
that
come from? She hadn't...she
wouldn't
fall in
love with Erik Solomon, or anyone else. Her life was fine just the way it was. She was glad
he was going away. Glad!

"Assuming you don't change your mind and your Board accepts your
recommendation, what will be the next step?" She wasn't really trying to postpone his
departure. She just wanted to know what to expect.

"Getting funding for the purchase. Usually we have more time than Zenger gave
us and can plan ahead. This time we'll have to get pledges for the entire amount over and
above our annual acquisitions budget."

Madeline sensed rather than saw him checking his watch.

"Look, I've got to go. Take care of yourself, okay?"

Finally she allowed herself to look up. She wanted one last mental image, one last
memory of him. "I will," she managed to say, just above a whisper. "You too." Her throat
closed and no more words could escape past the threatening sobs.

He reached, then pulled his hand back before his fingers could touch her cheek.
The lines next to his mouth deepened.

He spun on his heel and was gone.

"Goodbye," she said to the empty space he left behind. "Goodbye, Erik."

* * * *

"I'm not surprised," Emaline said. "I've always thought those conservation
organizations were a lot of hot air." The County Treasurer wasn't much of an
environmentalist. Not only did her husband work at the sawmill, but their oldest son was a
logger.

"I expect they have to rely on contributions for their funding," Madeline said,
noncommittally. She was disappointed, and knew Jethro would be too. Last time she'd
taken the children out to the Z-Bar-Z, he had told her how much he'd liked that young fella
from the National Wetlands Trust. Would he wait, or would he sell Wounded Bear
Meadow along with the rest of the ranch? She was almost afraid to ask him.

"I think it's a damned shame," Eddie said, setting his Pepsi on Madeline's desk. "It
seems like there's always money to build fancy houses and buy big new cars, but nobody's
willing to spare a few dollars to save the nation's resources."

"Oh, come on, Eddie, don't make me vomit." Emaline cupped a hand over her
mouth. "One little swamp isn't anywhere near 'the nation's resources.'"

"If everybody thought that, pretty soon we wouldn't have any wetlands or forests
or anything left." The young planning intern's voice rose and his ears grew red. "Erik
said...."

"Stop it, both of you. I've got a headache." Madeline found she tightened up inside
every time Eddie went into his
Erik says
routine.

That was the problem with being young and idealistic. Your heroes were
perfect.

Then you got older and more worldly wise, and discovered your heroes were
nothing more than ordinary human beings.

She had to admit she was as upset as Eddie was that NWT wasn't able to fund the
purchase of Wounded Bear Meadow right now. Erik's letter had arrived yesterday by
courier and as soon as the commissioners were all notified, they'd converged on the
courthouse. Soon its contents were common knowledge, as was the news that Erik
Solomon would be returning to attempt to put together some sort of alternative deal with
Jethro.

That was, she realized, when her headache began.

Eventually she managed to push both Emaline and Eddie from her office so she
could get some work done. Not much though, for it seemed like everyone in the
Courthouse dropped by to comment on Erik's report.

"I've been up there," one of the fellows from County Roads said, as he leaned
against her doorframe about two, "and I don't see what makes it so special. Not even a road
in."

The mayor's secretary stopped by shortly after. "My husband's going to be really
disappointed. He loves to camp up there come elk season. I'll bet whoever buys the place
from Jethro won't be so hospitable."

"I doubt NWT would welcome hunters either," Madeline said. "Erik said they
operate their preserves like wildlife refuges." Good God! She was doing the "Erik says"
thing too.

There was another letter from Erik waiting when she got home. It was totally
impersonal, entirely concerned with the meadow. "...understand you've been his friend for
a long time. I was hoping you could convince Mr. Zenger to postpone a decision on
Wounded Bear Meadow for a reasonable time--perhaps until September--so we can
explore some other avenues of funding."

He hadn't even signed his letter. She knew his indecipherable scrawl from a short
note requesting some information while he'd been in town. This neat, almost childlike
signature was almost certainly his secretary.

* * * *

"How come you're so set on me keeping the meadow with the rest of the ranch?"
Jethro Zenger leaned back in his easy chair and fiddled with his pipe. He hadn't lit it for
nigh on to twenty years, but it made a good gadget to hide behind when you were tryin' to
think what to say.

"Well, Jethro, it seems to me that anybody wanting the ranch would want all of it."
Charlie Bittenbusch smiled, showing every single one of his teeth.

Jethro wondered if the teeth were false. They were just too perfect. He never had
trusted a man with straight, white teeth like Charlie's. "Anybody wantin' my ranch is gonna
take what I'm willin' to sell." He wished Charlie would make his pitch and get it over
with.

"Don't be too sure of that. I know some fellows who want it all." With slimy pride,
Charlie leaned back in his chair and beamed some more. "They particularly want the
meadow."

"Ranchers?" Jethro knew the chances of Charlie knowing any honest-to-God
ranchers was pretty slim.

"Well, as a matter of fact, they aren't." He fidgeted. "You know that Sunriver
place over in Oregon?"

"Yeah?" Jethro laid the pipe aside. He didn't need the distraction.

"Well, these fellows are looking to do something like that. A planned community,
sort of, for people who want a summer home with all the amenities."

"What kind of amenities?"

"Well, a village with gift shops and clothing stores, maybe a bakery and one of
them fancy espresso bars. You know. Kinda like McCall, only smaller and upscale."

"Upscale! Shoot fire, Charlie, what kinda word's that?"

"It means fancy, Jethro. Expensive. My cli...uh, my friends want to appeal to
people with more than average money to spend." He rose to his feet and began pacing.
Shortly he had outlined his plans to Jethro, plans that would, he claimed, bring a lot of
outside money into Sunset County. Considering the state of the cattle and timber
businesses, that wasn't all bad, Jethro had to admit.

"And what would happen to my meadow?"

"Well, they'd probably make it the center of their development," Charlie said, not
meeting Jethro's eyes. "There was some talk of putting in boardwalks and maybe damming
one arm of the creek, so they could have a small marina." He paused and seemed to take
alarm at Jethro's frown. "For rowboats and canoes. No motor boats," he said, backing off
and making pacifying motions with his fat hands.

Jethro pushed himself out of his chair. "Now you listen to me, Charlie
Bittenbusch. Ain't nobody gonna turn my ranch into an amusement park." He aimed a
forefinger as Charlie backed away. "We Zengers have held this land for more than a
hundred years and we've used it in the way the Lord intended."

Charlie was backing toward the door as Jethro advanced. "Not an amusement
park," he protested. " A planned community, with houses and condominiums...."

"And streets and sidewalks and tennis courts," Jethro continued as he followed
Charlie out onto the porch. "Well, it may come to that for the rest of the land," he admitted,
"but the only way they're gonna put a dam in Wounded Bear Meadow is over my dead
body, Charlie." He stood on his porch as Charlie scurried toward his big, fancy Cadillac.
"And I plan on bein' around a good while yet."

Watching the plume of dust rise behind Charlie's car, Jethro hoped he wasn't lying.
It wasn't that he
had
to sell the Z-Bar-Z, but if he and the wife was to ever get to
Mexico and Hawaii, like she'd always wanted to do, he had to get rid of the ranch.

And he was tired. Dang tired. Man and boy he'd worked this land, and now it was
time to rest.

If only Jesse had lived, he'd have someone to pass the Zenger heritage on to, but
the boy was buried up there on the hill, alongside his great-great grandpa, who'd first
claimed this land back in 1874.

And the others didn't care. Of his four children, only Jesse had the love of the land
that could make ranching in this high and lonely land worthwhile. If he were to ask his
other children's advice, they'd tell him to take what he could get for the ranch and stop
being a sentimental old man.