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Bear of a Honeymoon Page 14
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"I guess I see." My visitor looked dubious. Then, after a pause, his expression turned to fatherly concern. "You gotta be careful, Taylor. I know it's not my place to interfere. But you don't have a papa to look out for you, so I'm gonna poke my nose right in. That Matt of yours is a real nice young fella. And you two seem just right for each other." I nodded, eyeing him questioningly. For a moment Walt seemed to hesitate. Then he plunged on. "Don't lose sight of what's important, young lady. Don't get sidetracked like Dan and Brooke."
So that was it. "You're worried about them, aren't you?"
Walt looked tired and sad and old as he spoke. "Real worried," he conceded. "They've hit rough spots before, like everybody does. But this time's different. This time they're in a real deep hole and there's nothin' I can do to dig 'em out," he said, sounding uncharacteristically helpless. "Everything I got from selling up the ranch is already invested here. Nothin' left to give 'em."
Now that was an interesting revelation. I'd had no idea Walt was a partner. If he'd poured his considerable assets into the lodge, that explained a lot.
"Sometimes I wish they'd just sell out," he said, shaking his head. "Max Edelman's interested."
"That's what I've heard. He seems to spend a lot of time here."
"Yup. Every two, three months he comes and stays a week or more. Flies here in that pretty little plane of his, rents a car, and drives all around."
"Why?" I asked, puzzled at this pattern.
"Scouting for properties. Thinks this area's going to be the next Whistler, I guess."
Maybe. Or was real estate just a cover for something entirely different? With nothing to go on but a queasy gut, I decided to let it slide for the moment. "Brooke's not keen on selling," I said. "How does Dan feel?"
"The same. And I can't say as I blame 'em. It's different for me. At my age, I should be thinking of retiring anyway." The comment made me smile. Most people Walt's age were retired, for years. "But they've got to make a living. And they've put an awful lot into this place."
I agreed. "Walt, why do you think somebody's trying to make trouble for them?"
"What do you mean?"
"The bookings mix-up and the attack on Reno."
"You think they're connected?" Walt sounded genuinely shocked.
The thought had plainly never occurred to him.
"Yes, I do. It's just too much of a coincidence that both things should happen when the travel agents were here. So much was riding on that being a success."
A light slowly dawned in the old man's eyes. "By thunder, Taylor. You may be right. But who would do such a thing?"
"How much does Edelman want this place?" I asked, voicing my growing suspicions for the first time.
Walt thought for a minute. "Pretty bad," he finally conceded. "He's been persistent enough."
"And he's got a connection on the inside."
"That young Rachel Van Brennen," Walt said at once.
I nodded, reiterating her access to both computer and stable.
"Though, in fairness," I concluded, "lots of others do, too. But who else has a motive?"
"I don't know," said the elder Craddock, rising from his chair and collecting the white Stetson from the dresser. When he turned back, his face was a mask of stubborn determination. "But I'm sure as blazes gonna find out."
Chapter Sixteen
I didn't quite know what to think of Walt's parting shot. But somehow it made me feel better to know he was looking out for my friends. And since there was little else I could do on that front for the present, I turned to Ben Palasco's courier pack.
From the thickness, it was obvious my new story had piqued his interest, although he must have felt guilty about invading my honeymoon or he never would have put an intern onto gathering all this background. Usually I'd be the one combing the newspaper archives and roaming the net. And I felt my own twinge of guilt over the amount of paper spread out around me when I could have found most of this stuff electronically. But geez, this was my honeymoon.
Whatever, it was here now and for a while, at least, I had nothing but time on my hands. Predictably, the sheaf of printouts contained articles from our own paper as well as a selection from other papers and online news services across the country. There was also a wad of items from environmental organizations and government agencies. I retrieved my laptop from the living room, plumped the pillows and set to work.
An hour later I'd compiled a long document filled with my notes, and reports of arrests and convictions were becoming old hat. It occurred to me that taken individually, as you would normally see pieces like this in the paper or online, many of these stories would attract very little attention.
HUNTSVILLE - Michael James Wang, 42, was fined $7,000 yesterday on two counts of purchasing black bear gall bladders and paws in violation of provincial laws.
His wife Judith Teresa Wang, 36, was placed on a year's probation for her role in the purchases.
The couple, who operate Jiffy's convenience store, pleaded guilty.
You might pause for a beat and think, hmm, gall bladders? Yuk! But one little piece like this would hardly suggest a massive criminal conspiracy.
However, I'd come across a couple of reports that really drove home the size of the illegal trade. Datelined in different provinces, they would have appeared unconnected if I hadn't been reading them at the same time this morning.
The first dealt with the arrest of two men in Quebec by Environment Canada officials for possession and trafficking. The pair were charged with more than thirty offenses involving the possession of 505 black bear gall bladders—that meant 505 dead bears!
Months later in neighbouring Ontario, a Mr. Chong was hit with $40,000 in fines for his activities in the same organization. According to the report, Chong was arrested in a joint investigation by wildlife officers from both provinces, which involved raids on over sixty locations. The report concluded: "These operations effectively dismantled a large bear gall bladder poaching and trafficking network operating from Quebec."
I wondered. Had the eastern traffickers set up shop in BC or were we facing another outfit entirely? A knock on the door interrupted this disturbing line of thought.
"It's just us, dear," Belle Fisk chirped from the other room. "Art and I brought you a late lunch. Brooke's so busy right now, she said she almost forgot and, anyway, we wanted to see how you're doing. Where would you like me to put the tray?"
"Right there on the table is fine," I called, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. "I'll come out and join you."
"Are you sure you should be up, dear," my visitor persisted, all in a fuss.
"You bet," I assured her, advancing into the living room wrapped once more in the thick terry robe provided with the cabin. "I've been lounging around all morning."
"Just what the doctor ordered," Art commented as he pulled out a chair for me. Belle was busily arranging cutlery and dishes. "How are you feeling?"
One more time I launched into my spiel on aches, bruises, and dripping nose, ending with the standard assurance that I would be fine. My guests seemed genuinely glad to hear the news and they both pressed me to keep up my strength with a hearty lunch. Their urgings were superfluous. The trucker-sized grilled chicken sandwich, stuffed with avocado and topped with sundried tomato mayo, paired with a steaming bowl of homemade roasted red pepper soup was incentive enough. Judging by the size of the meal, Brooke, who knows my appetite only too well, was responsible for the feast. I dug in.
As I ate, the older couple kept up a steady stream of interesting chatter, recounting their activities for the last two days. Like many seniors, they seemed to enjoy having someone to talk to. They were considerate enough to delay questioning me on my adventure until I could talk without a mouthful of chicken, though they were clearly impatient to hear all about it. My spoon was barely at rest when Belle launched a volley of questions. While they'd gleaned the general outline from Brooke and Dan—and anyone else who could be buttonholed for informat
ion—they weren't likely to be satisfied until they'd heard from the horse's mouth. I obliged.
Belle's reaction was predictable, involving a lot of wide-eyed tut-tutting and concluding with obviously heartfelt gratitude for my safety. Her solicitude might have been stifling in large doses, but at the moment it felt good. A mother figure was long absent from my life. I missed it. And though less effusive, Art's concern was every bit as sincere.
We talked along more general lines until a stifled yawn gave away my growing fatigue. Instantly aware, Belle set to work bustling dishes onto the tray. "You need more rest, dear," she cooed. How often had I heard that in the last twenty-four hours? Then had to admit it must be true. My eyelids were suddenly insupportable. I walked the pair to the door and was waving them off when Belle stopped short on the porch step. "Well, look at that," she declared. Art and I followed her gaze. "Isn't that Adam the bartender?"
"Sure is," her husband agreed. "And that's Denise Pardue's cabin." My eyebrows shot up. I wouldn't have known who was living where. But if the Fisks said my next-door neighbour was our resident loud-mouthed Earth mother, then there could be no doubt. An image of open-faced innocence popped into my mind and I felt a little weak at the memory of Jasmine and her shy confession. She was a very nice girl and I hated to think of her getting hurt. But where was my mind? There might be a perfectly innocent explanation for Adam's afternoon visit. Though a sidelong look at my departing guests made their opinion perfectly clear.
This revelation put something of a damper on my mood, and I padded into the bedroom feeling troubled. What could Adam possibly see in a woman like Denise Pardue, I wondered cattily. She must be at least a decade older—and neither a prize-winning beauty nor Miss Congeniality. It seemed inconceivable that anyone could be attracted to such a strident, dogmatic woman. I couldn't figure. Gave up trying. Pure fatigue won the battle over curiosity and those heavy lids slid shut.
From deep in the tunnel of darkness, I became aware of a gentle pressure on my heated forehead. I focused on the spot, floating in its warmth. Slowly I opened my eyes, knowing what I would see. Daylight had long since faded from the room, replaced by the incandescent glow of the bedside lamp. Matt hovered over me, his shadowed face a mask of concern.
"Last time you kissed me like that, you were checking for fever," I murmured.
"And shock caused by a forty-five-calibre bullet," he amended, with enough sarcasm to tell me he knew I was all right.
"It was only a scratch."
"Right. And this time it's only pneumonia. I can't leave you alone for a minute." He took my face in his hands, looking deep into my eyes.
"Taylor, whatever possessed you to go off by yourself like that?"
"Serves you right," I said, ignoring the question for which there was no reasonable answer. "Abandoning me in the middle of our honeymoon."
"Like our honeymoon had your undivided attention," he scoffed, waving an accusatory hand at the pile of papers spread across his side of the bed.
"That's different," I replied, indignantly. "I could research my story and still be here with you."
"Maybe in body. But your mind would be long gone."
A natty reply paused at the tip of my tongue. I was dying to grill my wayward husband on the train wreck and blizzard and how the heck he'd gotten back here so fast. But for once in my life I kept my mouth shut long enough to hear the urgent pleading of a little inner voice. It begged me to let it all go. Now. Drawing in a slow, deep breath, I listened to the voice.
"Which would you prefer?" I asked in a tone intended to leave no doubt about my choice.
Matt, who was poised to field the expected quip, or a barrage of questions, did a serious double take. But give credit where credit is due. My husband managed to follow suit without missing a single beat. I felt his touch as he traced the line of my bare shoulder and heard his voice as a husky purr. "I'm kind of partial to both."
Chapter Seventeen
Saturday morning, we actually awoke in time for breakfast, but even the thought of food couldn't tempt me to stir from the warm bed where I lay cuddled in perfect harmony with my man. The night before, mindful of my bruised and ailing body, Matt had simply climbed in next to me and gently cradled me in his arms until I fell into a deep, secure sleep. Now, as we snuggled together, I finally got the story on the train wreck.
Matt said the crash was every bit as horrific as the news had made it seem. He'd done his best to document every aspect from the twisted tracks and toppled cars to the frantic efforts of railway workers to staunch the flow of thick crude into the clear waters of a pristine mountain stream. When officials insisted that journalists back off to a "safe distance" as crews began the delicate job of sorting through the wreckage, he'd reluctantly hunkered down with his cohorts in the rail car they'd been assigned. At least the company had provided food and everyone eventually found a spot to stretch out for a few hours' sleep. Before he settled in, though, Matt took a walk outside, noting a sudden, very dramatic drop in temperature and the onset of a light snowfall. He managed to capture a few shots of upended black tanker cars outlined in a film of soft white—before one distinctly surly railway guard herded him back to the bullpen.
By morning the scene was unrecognizable. The site completely cut off. It took hours for the ploughs to break through, and when they did, the company ordered all non-essential personnel out.
"All the way back to the staging area," Matt said, "Jason and I— Jason's the reporter I was working with—we were trying to figure out how we could return to the crash. Of course, I'd flipped through my photos about a dozen times and was pretty happy with what I had, but we both wanted to round out the story. We were knocking around a couple of ideas when my phone suddenly chimed...then, so did his."
Matt laughed at the memory. "Suddenly it was like a little electronic symphony with ring tones and beeps going off all over the passenger car. Obviously, we'd finally come in reach of a cell tower.
"Brooke's text was the first thing that popped onto my screen," he said, raising up on one elbow to look at me. "You can imagine my reaction when I read you'd leaped off a cliff!" The stern frown he tried to paste on his face failed utterly when he added, "I know you missed me," he said. "But wasn't that just a tiny touch extreme?"
"Huh!" I said, pushing him away and sitting upright in a mock display of affronted dignity. "I did not jump off that cliff...and if I had, it wouldn't have been out of longing for you. What an ego!"
Suddenly the playful look drained from Matt's face and his voice grew dead serious, "Okay, you nearly died accidentally falling off that cliff. Taylor, I almost had a heart attack when I heard from Brooke. I couldn't get back here fast enough. Screw the assignment. I've just signed up for a lifetime with you—and I expect it to be a long one."
Matt drew me close once more. "You have to stop rushing out on your own like that. You have to stay out of danger."
Although his tone was gentle, there was no mistaking the undercurrent of command in Matt's message and, to this bull-headed reporter, it was like a waving red flag. I could feel my gut tighten. It would have been so easy to let fly with a reminder that I run my life, my way. But a honeymoon isn't the best time for that kind of talk, especially the way this honeymoon was going. I swallowed hard and deflected my indignation with a joke.
"The only danger I'm in right now is potential starvation," I said. I jabbed my forefinger into his chest a few times for emphasis, "And whose fault is it that I missed breakfast?"
Matt grinned. Apparently, my little ploy was working—on both of us. I grinned back. "We need a shower before lunch," I suggested, turning toward the bathroom. Matt followed without a word.
But by the time he was patting me dry with one of Brooke's sinfully thick towels, I really was in danger—if not of death by starvation, at least of passing out from hunger. It was all I could do to keep from bolting straight for the dining room—buck-naked.
However, we were both fully clothed when Claire waylaid us on
the path. "Auntie Tee," she beamed, gripping my arm as she fell into step beside us. "You're up. Are you feeling better?"
"Much better," I replied, thinking to myself, you have no idea. Matt caught the look on my face and grinned. Thankfully, Claire missed it. She hurried on.
"That's good. I was going to come see you last night, but Mom said Matt was back and I shouldn't disturb you."
"We were both pretty tired," my husband supplied, composing a perfectly straight face.
"Mom said you would be. She told me all about the train wreck. It must have been awesome." Claire's blue eyes grew round and bright.
"That's one way to describe it."
"Why don't you join us for lunch?" I offered. "Then you can hear the whole story."
My goddaughter's face took on a peeved expression. "I can't," she grumbled. "Mom needs help getting ready for the two big groups coming in this afternoon."
Matt lifted his brows. I supplied the scoop. "A government retreat and a hunting party."
"How will we tell them apart?"
Claire and I both laughed. The kid's pretty sharp—about some things.
We parted company in the lobby. She disappeared into the office and we headed for the dining room. There we found a crowd of our acquaintances already gathered in the nearly empty room. Two tables had been pushed together by the windows and a couple more chairs were hastily drawn up. For several minutes, a veritable Babel of voices arose as Tovey, Liam, Griff, Denise, and the Fisks all rushed to offer words of welcome and relief. The melee continued until Vicky, a pretty college student, round of face and figure, arrived with water and menus. Of course, gossip travels like wildfire in a community like the lodge, so she had her own good wishes to add.
When my priorities were finally reasserted, she took our lunch orders to the kitchen. By then I was ready to start chewing a corner of the pine-slab table. Home baked bread arrived in the nick of time, although I had to be quick to get in a mouthful between explanations. Belle and Art had done a pretty good job of passing on the information I'd already given them. And Liam had added what tidbits he'd heard from Ron Friesen. But everyone still wanted to hear as much as possible first hand. It was bliss when they finally tired of me and pounced on poor Matt. I got to enjoy my meal virtually undisturbed.