Be Mine (2 page)

“I prefer to work only with the individual directly responsible, Mr. Peters.”

 He grinned, amused by her starchy reply. “Then it’s a good thing you came early . . . or you might not have caught me at all. Let’s go.” With that he set off at a ground-eating pace.

Sabina was accustomed to clambering over rocks, through mud, and up and down hillsides. Little conversation was necessary, since she knew what she was looking for. Normally, she enjoyed the whole process. Today, for the first time, she had to extend herself. Sure that Chad Peters was deliberately testing her, she allowed herself a grim smile and persevered. The surprised lift of his eyebrows when he discovered her close behind him was satisfying.

Secret amusement gathered inside her as time sped by. He spoke only in answer to her questions, offering nothing extra. If he thought his brusqueness would make her leave before she was finished, she had a surprise for him. “You don’t own Calico Mining, do you, Mr. Peters?”

The coffee-colored eyes darkened and his jaw tightened, then the expression vanished so quickly that Sabina wondered if she had imagined it. “I run the company for the family.”

She had no response to such brevity, but wondered what could have happened to cause the pain she had glimpsed. She was unfamiliar with family intricacies. Her own family wasn’t close, but she’d discovered in a very short time that in parts of Ohio it was not only close relations who mattered. Shirt-tail cousins and their connections were considered family, and each member’s problems were shared by the others. She thought it unfortunate they didn’t feel as strongly about the land as they did about each other. The earth before her was ravaged and bleeding.

The early sun had melted the frost from the banks of clay, from rocks, and from limestone wrenched loose and segregated into anonymous ridges. The very innards of the earth lay revealed.

The sight no longer made her physically sick. She recalled her first sight of an unreclaimed surface mine, doublespeak for strip mining. Tree roots had protruded from the mounds of torn earth flanking a vast, ragged gash. Deep runnels of acid-stained water had eroded each slope. The land had looked as if some immense, clawed monster had made a careless swipe with its paw.

She relived her outrage, then reminded herself that mine had been in another state. Working in Ohio made her grateful for the tough reclamation policies adopted by the state in 1977.

As she fell back a few paces, her attention fastened on the lean figure in front of her. Well-worn jeans clung to his legs, causing Sabina’s pragmatic side to wonder if he had been able to fit thermal underwear inside such snug denim. Probably not, which could be the reason he set such a brisk pace. Her less practical side was weak enough to savor the view.

A sleeveless down vest concealed the upper part of Chad’s body, emphasizing the width of his shoulders. His thick gray chamois shirt made no secret of the strength of his arms.

The response she’d felt when she first spied his figure swinging down from the cab of the massive piece of machinery returned. She’d been struck by a fleeting sense of recognition. She squashed the fanciful thought. Surely that initial awareness was a figment of her imagination.

Chad paused atop a rise, patiently waiting. When she reached his side, she had her first complete overview of the site. They stood at the southern end, the partially mined gash stretching away from them. “This area must have been beautiful once,” she said tightly.

“It will be even more beautiful when we’re finished.”

“Are you telling me you ravage the land and improve on God’s handiwork?” Sabina demanded.

“I’m saying we take the bounty nature put here for us and then put the land back in condition suitable for human use. And frequently we improve the looks. This particular site was an eyesore.”

Sabina’s set her jaw at an angle that mirrored her antagonist’s. “Before you ruined it, this was the way it has been since the age of the glaciers. Future generations should be able to see something that hasn’t been dug up, turned over, subdivided or paved!”

* * * *

Her voice shook with the force of her emotions, drawing Chad’s complete attention. His initial response to her had been a less than pleasant surprise. Since that moment he’d avoided thinking of the lady inspector as a person.

State employees came and went. Some were careless, some were overzealous, while others, he had reason to know, were simply dishonest. None had ever expressed a personal feeling toward what they were doing. He said gently, “You’re in the wrong line of work, Ms. Hanlon. You can’t become emotionally involved over a piece of land that was nothing but rocks and scrub timber. You’ll tear yourself up and burn out.”

“I’m not a bleeding heart, Mr. Peters. I just happen to feel the earth has been manhandled enough.”

He wanted to groan in frustration. He’d offered sympathetic advice and she’d responded with a blind argument that never failed to inflame him. “Did it ever occur to you that reclaimed land can be more useful, more beautiful? That hundreds of families have roofs over their heads and food to eat because mining provides jobs? Don’t condemn an entire industry because of a few careless operators. Some of us love the land as much or more than you do.”

“I haven’t met anyone like that yet,” she spat back, refusing to be pacified.

Chad’s temper rose. “You wouldn’t recognize him if you did.” Her earnestness was at least honest. He turned on his heel, retracing their trail, and threw over his shoulder, “It’s time for lunch. You’re welcome to eat lunch in the shack with us — if you don’t think you’ll be contaminated.”

Unaccustomed to having someone walk away from an argument about the sensitive subject, Sabina remained in place, still furious, but with no one to vent her anger on. She called after his retreating back, “Thanks for your gracious invitation. I prefer to eat in my car. Alone.” Looking down, she discovered Sock poised beside her. He looked from his retreating master to her, as if urging her to follow and apologize.

“Sock!” The angry call confused the animal further, and he whined softly. A second summons prompted another whine, but a shouted “Socrates!” eliminated any indecision. He loped after the receding figure, his head ducked apologetically.

Head high, Sabina followed, maintaining a generous distance from the figures ahead of her. She needed time to cool her temper. During her time with the department, she had yet to see any beautiful reclamation. Nor had she seen land use that showed any signs of creativity. Each site had looked like a sheep which had just been sheared with dull clippers.

A sudden gust of wind penetrated the layers of her clothing, reminding her that she was dawdling. She hurried toward the welcome shelter of her car. The prosaic comfort of the contents of her thermos, a wine-kissed beef soup she’d made over the weekend, would calm her down.

She needed to regroup. Why hadn’t her boss warned her that Chad Peters resembled an illustration from a volume of Norse legends? He’d treated her as if his veins were filled with water from a Norwegian fiord — not that she expected anything else. Sabina made a face at herself in the rear view mirror as she settled herself. The man was an enigma, and she had no time in her life for enigmas, no matter how attractive they were.

CHAPTER TWO

The fare in the shack was somewhat rougher, but Chad paid the knowing smirks he saw on the faces of the men gathered there little heed. Their silence at his entrance indicated a considerable shortening of the odds. The lady from the state had a clear, carrying voice, so her knowledgeable questions and insistence on details hadn’t gone unnoticed by the observant crew. He was also sure their argument had been overheard and duly reported.

“She goin’ to find anythin’ wrong, Chad?” queried Moogie Burns, a grizzled man in his fifties.

“She’ll find we exceed all the standards, just as always.” After this morning, he agreed with the scuttlebutt; her knowledge of mining laws and the technical aspects of the industry was excellent.

The men who worked for Calico took pride in their work. Chad knew there wasn’t one who cut corners, even during his absence. The betting on the collision of wills between the inspector and Calico’s manager offered an entertaining diversion from a winter that had seemed to linger forever. Chad had become aware of a subtle shift in the odds just before the muddy state car had floundered into view.

In spite of his annoyance at Sabina’s peremptory manner, her sharp intelligence impressed him. What unnerved him was his instant recall of the way her dark lashes fanned her cheek as she bent over the clipboard she carried — of the throaty timber of her voice. He had no business noticing the attractiveness of a representative of the state.

“Any word from that foreigner who wants to buy Calico?”

Returning to the present and a change of subject took effort. “Which one? Last time I checked, there were offers from consortiums in three different countries and an American oil company. They want all the mineral rights they can get, Moogie, and we have a nice selection of contracts in the office files.”

He felt every gaze in the shed focused on him. Although he knew they trusted his judgment, each man was aware a change of ownership meant the possibility of layoffs.

“You gonna sell?”

“It’s not my decision. Calico and her contracted mineral rights don’t belong to me. I’m just the manager.” That wasn’t the complete truth. He had the authority to sell — and occasionally he was tempted. Sometimes he was so tired he could drop.

Chad’s thoughts returned to the deputy inspector. He looked forward with great pleasure to showing her his before and after color prints documenting the quilt-like fall color scheme of turning leaves and the summer prairie grasses and spring wildflowers growing on landscapes he and his family had restored, to pointing out the wide-ranging present use of the land.

Chad brooded over his coffee mug, his hands wrapped around it for warmth, unaware his absorption was causing comment among the crew crowded into the makeshift lunchroom.

“D’you s’pose he’s figurin’ out a way to do her in?” said the burly dragline operator.

“Naw, he’s considerin’ how to make a pass without getting kicked in the shins,” jibed another. “Figures he don’t want to limp the way Bobbie did this morning.”

The ribald laughter at Bobbie Russell’s expense broke into Chad’s reverie, bringing him back to his surroundings in time to hear Bobbie’s defensive response to the good-natured ribbing. “She’s a tough one. My shins ache like fire.”

“I came close to firing you this morning. When you’re on my time, you keep your hands to yourself. What you do after you leave here is your own business,” Chad said sternly. “If she gets her back up, she’ll find fault where there isn’t any. Leave the lady to me. I’ll take care of her.”

* * * *

Sabina arrived outside the shack just in time to hear the last sentence. “Take care of me, will he!” she muttered to herself. She hated the chauvinism of the industry. Then out of the blue came a vision of herself with the blond mine manager in a social setting. Her knees went weak. What on earth was wrong with her?

As a gust of wind struck her back she stiffened and thrust out her jaw. “We’ll see who takes care of whom.”

Sabina’s peremptory knock on the metal door brought silence within. A silence finally broken by Chad’s voice, heavy with command. “Tom, I want Jonas out here by two o’clock.”

As the door swung open, Sabina stood her ground, keeping her eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond Chad’s shoulder. “Hadn’t we best be getting on with the inspection, Mr. Peters?”

Chad favored her with an equally frigid stare, whistled to the dog, and set out. As if frustrated that he hadn’t tired her with the swift pace of the morning’s inspection, he walked faster. She could have assured him his unreasonable hope that he could prove she hadn’t the stamina for the job was a hollow gesture; instead she kept up with him uncomplainingly.

 “All I see in the topsoil are roots. Where are the trees?”

“We logged before we dug. What good lumber there was we sold and the rest went as firewood,” he replied.

“That took time. Why did you bother?”

“Many people around here still heat with wood. We gave it away.” His said with detached amusement. “We have the men and the equipment. `Waste not, want not,’ as my grandmother said.”

“Just how many businesses do you run, Mr. Peters?” Sabina asked suspiciously.

“Enough to make a living.” He turned to lead the way.

She had no choice but to follow. His lithe movements distracted her, just as they had earlier. Normally, she had no difficulty concentrating on the business at hand. Sabina reconciled herself and enjoyed the view.

“Chad! Ma’am!” The call came from the elfin figure trudging up the slope, and Sabina recognized the rosy cheeks beneath the yellow hard hat as those of the avuncular old man from the mining office.

Chad’s voice was bland, as if Sabina were a tiresome duty to be shed. “Jonas will take over, Miss Hanlon. I can’t be late.”

Refusing to show how much the casual dismissal annoyed her, Sabina asked neutrally, “Shall I meet you here tomorrow?”

Chad paused in midstride. “No. I’ll see you at the office at eight. You can inspect the paperwork.”

He walked swiftly away, and Sock, who obviously knew the source of his nightly meal, followed him.

* * * *

Even though Jonas set a more leisurely pace, he was more loquacious than his boss, and Sabina was exhausted by the time she parked in front of the address the little old man supplied. At least the house looked welcoming.

His directions hadn’t been hard to follow. The little town had only two main streets that crossed each other a the single stop light. “A big white house with gingerbread around the porch, just north on Center Street. It’s on the left, between two brick houses.”

Resting her head on the back of the seat, Sabina visualized a huge, claw-footed bathtub and a thick layer of jasmine-scented bubbles. She wondered what time her hostess served dinner. She opened the car door, wrestled her luggage from the trunk and trudged up the crazy-paving walk. The front door opened before she could pull the burnished brass bell handle.