A Matter of Trust (3 page)

This time, Jack chuckled and shook his head.
He didn’t sound at all pleased, though, and Ben wondered if that
was because of him or the crowd. Somehow, he thought it was him.
“The people here aren’t too charitable to your kind,” Jack said.
“That was a peaceful welcome you got. Don’t know what you’re
thinking of saying to these folks that will make them happy or
change their minds.”

Peaceful? A woman had spit in his face! He
glanced back over to Jack, who didn’t seem interested in talking.
Ben stared out the passenger window at the passing trees while
trying to figure out the best approach for this community. These
were the kind of people who wouldn’t fall for some big fluff
campaign or slideshow with a bunch of fancy words. He needed to
figure out right quick how to speak straight in a way that would
matter to them, in a way they’d understand—a way that would reach
them. It was then that it came to him, the phrase he’d grown up
with:
Be honest. That’s always the best approach
.

He could see the coastal shoreline in the
distance, with rocks and boulders and houses crammed together. The
man drove through the small town, with average small homes, faded
paint. A lot were worn down, worn and torn. Some places were
boarded up. Jack waved at someone walking by and then flicked his
signal light on, turning down a gravel road. Ben glanced over again
at the stone-faced man, whose eyes were glued to the road as if
this was a duty he was determined to finish. Ben wondered what kind
of reception he’d get from Jack’s wife.

“Let’s be clear: The only reason I agreed to
rent one of the cabins to you is that tourism here has really
declined. The economy, you know,” Jack said. “I don’t want trouble,
and I’m worried about how some folks will react to me renting out
my place to you.”

So he could talk, after all. Ben faced Jack
and wondered if he’d say more. Something was worrying the man, and
Ben felt bad. He knew all too well that, sometimes, communities
could turn their back on their own.

“Well, I’m hoping that after I speak to the
people here tomorrow, I won’t be seen as quite the enemy I am now,”
he replied. “I’m not a bad man, and what my company is proposing is
going to do so much for this community—”

“Stop,” Jack said, lifting his hand from the
steering wheel in a hard, sweeping motion before putting it back
down. “Don’t try to sell me. I retired from an oil company, and I
know all about your spin on everything. This is all just about
getting your oil and the billions of dollars your company stands to
make. Your company will do anything to make sure it gets every last
dime. I’ve done my share of things that I’m not proud of, and I
know all too well that the real answers are never shared until
something bad happens. The oil spills, the environmental
contamination…you know folks get sick because of that?” He sighed.
“Don’t waste that slick PR stuff on me. I lived the spin for too
many years. I like it here, I like these people. You get my
drift?”

This time, Jack did look his way, and what
Ben saw was a man older than his years, someone who had seen too
much of the dirty side of life.

“Yeah, I get it,” Ben said as they pulled
into a dirt driveway that led to a sprawling log home between
rolling green hills. From what Ben could see, they had four or five
horses corralled there, with cabins off to the right in the same
style as the main house. Everything looked nice, well
maintained—welcoming.

Jack drove past the house and parked in
front of the first cabin. It was charming, with a small front
porch. “This one’s yours. The wife has it ready for you,” he said
as he slid out.

Ben followed, reaching in the back for his
bag. Jack opened the door to the cabin, and Ben was surprised at
how modern it was, with a wood floor, a large queen bed, an easy
chair with an ottoman, a fireplace, and another door leading to the
bathroom. There was a gift basket or something on the table. Ben
set his bag on the bed and unzipped it, pulling out his laptop case
and setting it on the small table by the window.

“The wife has dinner for you in case you
didn’t eat,” Jack said.

Ben hadn’t expected that. It would have been
easier to say no, but he was hungry. He had planned on ordering
something from a local restaurant and then getting to work on his
presentation for tomorrow, but, then again, he was way out here in
the middle of nowhere. If he wanted to eat, better not to decline
their hospitality. “Actually, I am starved,” he said. “I wouldn’t
mind dinner, if it’s no trouble.”

“Well, come on, then,” Jack said.

Ben realized, as he followed him out and
closed the cabin door behind them, that there was a lot more to
Jack Richardson than met the eyes.

Ben woke to bright sunlight streaming
through the window. The red checkered curtains fluttered from the
fresh breeze through the screen—which he was glad for, considering
the mosquitoes that had come out the night before. He glanced at
his watch and took in the time, 7:10 a.m. It was late, and Ben
wasn’t one to sleep in. Then again, he’d stayed up until after two
in the morning, trying to outline a presentation that would reach
the folks here in Kit Cove and hopefully win them over.

“Ugh, this is going to be tough,” he
muttered.

His thoughts kept turning to that fiery
blonde who had spit on him with such hatred in her eyes. She had
been too young to carry that kind of hate, he thought. He didn’t
know what it was about her, because even though he had walked away
from her yesterday at the airfield, that spitfire’d had the nerve
to invade his dreams last night. Everything about her irritated
him, and he wanted—no, needed to see her again and change her mind
about him. No woman had ever hated him! He always kept things
civil, light, and they always parted friends. He wasn’t a bad
person, Ben told himself. He was honest. He had integrity. Why
couldn’t she have seen that? He didn’t even know her name, that
tiny woman in sneakers. The top of her head had reached just past
his chest.

“Enough!” he snarled as he tossed back the
duvet and slipped out of bed. He was naked, and he reached for his
jeans and slipped them on in the morning chill. He liked the cabin,
although it had no heat other than the fireplace. This time of
year, early fall, the mornings up here were chilly.

He began to make his way to the bathroom
when he heard a vehicle outside, and he parted the curtain to see
Jack’s truck pulling up. He reached for his coat and shrugged it
on. Barefoot, he opened the door.

Jack rolled down his window but didn’t get
out of the running vehicle. “Wife wanted me to check and see if you
were coming for breakfast!” he called. Exhaust steamed from the
tailpipe in the frosty morning air.

“Yes, sorry. I was up late, working. Let me
grab a quick shower and I’ll walk up,” Ben said, watching his host,
a very complicated man, behind the wheel.

“See you up there,” Jack said before rolling
his window up and circling around to drive back to the house. Ben
could see it from his cabin, a ten-minute walk, and the fresh air
would do him good—clear his head.

He was showered and dressed in five minutes,
and was shrugging his coat on when his cell phone buzzed. He
checked the screen--Verna, of course. “Hey, Verna. You’re calling
awful early. Trying to escape that brood at home again?”

She laughed at the other end. “Ha, ha--very
funny. You know I love my family. Mark my words: One day, when you
settle down and have a bunch of screaming brats of your own, you’ll
understand the need for…space. Besides, I wanted to check in and
see if you made it okay and if everything’s all right with your
accommodations.”

Verna could be like a mother hen, but Ben
supposed that was just one part of her that made her the best damn
secretary ever. “It’s nice and quaint, quiet. Good job, by the way,
since I’m pretty sure no one else in this town would have rented me
a room. How’d you swing it?”

“Oh, you know. I had to rent all of the
cabins for the week. Besides, they seem like nice people,” she said
on the other end. A sudden silence lingered, which was so unlike
Verna. Ben wondered if there was more to her call.

“You okay, Verna?” he asked as he zipped his
coat up and stepped outside, starting the walk up to the house.

Verna sighed. “I saw it on the news last
night, your arrival in Kit Cove. That was quite the welcome you
got. I was just worried, is all.”

The media had been there? Someone really had
leaked his arrival. “Hey, Verna, you didn’t by any chance tell
anyone when I was coming?” he said, knowing before he even asked
that she wouldn’t do something like that.

“Ben, I would hope you’d know me better than
that. I would never leak that kind of information. No, the only
ones who knew were the folks where you’re staying--Kit Cove
Wilderness Lodge. I gave them the company credit card and asked
them to pick you up. I did also ask them not to mention to people
that you were staying there or when you were coming in.”

He wondered last night if it had been Jack,
but there was something about the thought that didn’t sit right.
Jack and his wife, Alice, didn’t strike Ben as the type to pull
that. “Sorry, Verna. I should have known better than to say
anything to you. I know you wouldn’t do that. Must’ve been Jack and
his wife.”

There was silence again on the phone, but it
was different this time. He recognized by the way she was breathing
that she was mad. Verna was one of those women who’d hold on to
things forever and suffer in silence. “Verna, seriously, I’m sorry.
I know you wouldn’t say anything. I’m just trying to figure out how
someone could pull together that kind of welcoming protest—and with
the media, too. I think maybe I need to have a talk with old Jack
here just so I don’t arrive back to my cabin to find a bunch of
journalists parked out front.”

Ben kept walking and noticed a small compact
approaching down the driveway. That was one thing about open land:
You could see for miles on a clear day. The car pulled up in front
of the two-story house, and, as Ben stepped closer, he watched as
the spitfire blonde from last night’s protest climbed out and
darted up the steps, walking into Jack and Alice’s home as if she
lived there. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. He actually stopped
walking.

“No, you may not be yet, though I’m sure all
those women you’ve dated may believe you are,” Verna muttered on
the other end.

“No, Verna--one of the protesters from last
night, who spit in my face, just pulled up and walked into the
house as if she lives there. I guess I have my answer.”

“She spit in your face?” Verna yelled in
outrage on the other end.

“Yeah, listen, I’ve got to go,” he said. He
didn’t wait for Verna to reply as he pocketed his phone, started up
the steps, and knocked on the front door.

Carrie leaned against the square center
island in the warm kitchen. The wooden walls were a smoky amber
color and looked as if they had been freshly polished. She crossed
her arms over her light blue sweater, still irritated over the
balls of that oilman. What nerve he had to whoosh in on his fancy
helicopter, with all that wealth, thumbing his nose at the
community! What made him think he could just waltz in here and try
to shove this pipeline project down their throats? Didn’t he
realize that they were going to fight him tooth and nail? The
community had already said no, in one unified voice, telling KKO to
piss off and shove that project someplace the sun didn’t shine, but
they just kept coming.

Maybe that was why Carrie had lost it when
the oilman strode out of that helicopter, all tall and handsome,
most likely thinking he was God’s gift to women, too. Maybe he
thought he’d flash them that million-dollar smile and they’d all
swoon at this feet. She couldn’t believe she’d spit on him, though!
She had never done that to anyone. Even Rex, an elder from the
Native community who was also protesting this pipeline deal, had
said to her last night while shaking his head, “Carrie, that wasn’t
cool.” For Rex, a man who was quiet and didn’t pass judgment on
anyone, to say something to her…well, in the light of morning, she
felt she’d maybe gone too far.

“Here you go, honey,” Alice said. Carrie’s
stepmother was of medium height, with a trim figure and bright
auburn hair that came from a bottle of Clairol. She set a mug of
coffee on the counter—not just any mug but Carrie’s favorite, the
one with the faded picture of an old man and a dog.

Carried sipped on the strong coffee, taking
in all the food simmering on the stove: boiled eggs, sausages…even
muffins and homemade cinnamon buns. Her mouth was watering from the
heavenly smells, and she actually leaned down and sniffed the buns.
Alice didn’t make them often. These were her famous ones, which
were all gooey and tasted better than anything. They were still hot
from the oven. Carrie went to reach for one, and Alice slapped her
hand.

“Those aren’t for you!” she said with a
chuckle.

“Well, who are they for?” Carrie said,
wondering if it had come out sounding as pouty to Alice as it did
to her own ears.

“We have a guest staying in one of the
cabins. These are for him.”

“Seriously, all this for one person?” Carrie
said. “I can’t have…just one?”

Alice narrowed her light brown eyes and
pointed her spatula at her stepdaughter. “Just one,” she said.

Carrie didn’t wait for her to say anything
else. She leaped in and grabbed the biggest, stickiest one, taking
a huge bite.

“Use a plate!” Alice shouted, as if Carrie
were two years old.

There was a knock at the door, but Carrie
barely registered it. She was wrapped up in the explosion of
cinnamon fresh from the oven. The sweet, moist, yeasty roll was
heaven, and she wondered if her eyes rolled back into her head as
she moaned. In the background, she could hear voices, footsteps.
She shoved another bite of the soft, warm, sweet bun into her
mouth—and froze when a man she recognized from the night before
strode in and stopped a few feet away, narrowing his eyes as he
took her in. Her cheeks were puffed out from the last big bite, and
she stared into the most amazing deep blue eyes she had ever seen.
He watched her shrewdly, assessing. He was so tall—good God! He was
well built, and he looked amazing in blue jeans and a navy dress
shirt. His arms were solid, the kind a girl would love to lean
into.