Fire Brand

by Diana Palmer

  “Mr. Samuels?” She frowned. “Oh. You mean the vice president of the company. I’m afraid he doesn’t work out of this office. He’s in Los Angeles. Our manager here is Mr. Logan.”

  “Then, could I see him?”

  “Just a minute—I’ll see if he’s free. May I tell him your name?”

  “Yes. I’m Gaby Cane, from Lassiter.”

  She buzzed the intercom and gave someone on the other end of the line the information, and was told to send Gaby in.

  Gaby was ushered into a small office furnished with an old desk and some rickety-looking furniture, where a small, thin man rose from his chair to greet her.

  “I’m Jess Logan,” he introduced himself with a smile. “You’re from Lassiter, are you, Miss Cane? Perhaps you know that we’re trying to acquire a large parcel of land there for a new project.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m aware of that,” she said.

  “Well, we’d be grateful for any help you could give us,” he said. “We have a petition here that we’re planning to present to the mayor and city council of Lassiter, protesting the efforts of a man named McCayde to block our very beneficial development.”

  Gaby felt her hackles rise. She should have introduced herself immediately. It was rather dishonest not to have, but now she was glad she hadn’t.

  “A petition?” she asked in a sugary tone.

  “That’s right. Here.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and put it before her. It was typed, but poorly, and there was a misspelled word right up front. It wasn’t the best wording, either, but it got the point across. Bowie was holding up progress out of a dim-witted attempt to keep the land safe for snakes and coyotes. At least, that was the tone of the document. There were some fifty signatures on it so far, most of them barely recognizable scrawls, and none names that Gaby recognized.

  “High-pressure tactics?” she asked with a faint smile.

  He looked uncomfortable. “Heavens, no. We just can’t find a better site for our purposes, and the man is a local landowner with more power than he needs. We want to do something for the economy in Lassiter, and we can. We’re no fly-by-night proposition. We’re a legitimate business with offices in six states, and this isn’t a new venture for us. We have a very successful cotton operation in Kansas.”

  Gaby stared at him for a long moment. “Perhaps I should have presented my credentials before we began.” She took out one of her business cards and pushed it across the desk to Mr. Logan.

  He went red, but she detected no outward sign of anger. “A reporter. Yes, we know the Phoenix Advertiser very well,” he said, smiling. He quickly put up the petition, as if he’d never shown it to her.

  “I’m doing a story on your project,” she said.

  “We sent press kits to all the newspapers...” he began.

  “I don’t use press kits, Mr. Logan,” she said with quiet firmness. “I find that they frequently depend on outdated information and stock photos. I prefer to do my own leg-work.” She pulled out her pad and pen, set her tape recorder on his desk, and turned it on, smiling reassuringly at him as it began to run. “Now. First, I’d like to know if you propose to drill wells to supply your irrigation water, or if you plan to depend on existing stores in Lassiter.”

  He simply stared at her. “As you’re surely aware, Miss Cane, whoever buys the land buys the water rights along with it—in Arizona, at least. We’ll have Mr. McCayde’s water rights, which are considerable.”

  “You’ll have Mr. McCayde’s land over his dead body,” she mused. “So what are your alternative sites?”

  “You seem to know the gentleman?”

  “I should. I’ve lived with him for almost ten years. His family adopted me when I was fifteen,” she said. It wasn’t completely the truth, but it was close.

  “I see,” he said coolly. “And can I expect an objective story from you, in that case?”

  “You’ll find that my job is sacred to me,” she said. “I don’t take sides, even where family is concerned. In fact, Bowie and I had words about the project. I tend to favor progress in areas of economic depression.”

  Mr. Logan smiled his relief. “Thank God. I was afraid I’d really put my foot in it. We’re so enthusiastic about this land, Miss Cane. We think we could do a lot for the local economy, and we’re willing to bend over backwards to do what we can to employ large numbers of local people. Here, let me show you the projections.”

  He drew out maps and documents, and outlined the entire project for her. It was much like the press kit, except that he didn’t mention the kind of crops the conglomerate would plant and she couldn’t quite pin him down on it.

  “That all depends on soil studies,” he said, “after we purchase the land. Uh, about that petition,” he added, “that’s privileged information, and you didn’t announce your profession when I showed it to you.”

  “It’s still part of the story,” she replied. “Mr. Logan, I print whatever I get. I don’t play favorites, and I don’t cover up information. A petition isn’t a bad idea, so long as the names on it can be verified as accurate. And believe me, Bowie will insist on it.”

  He sighed. “I knew that already. Very well, I won’t attempt to tie your hands. But do try to remember what our goals are.”

  “Why won’t you consider an alternative site?” she asked curiously.

  “Because there really isn’t one. Arizona is big, I grant you, but water is our primary interest, and Mr. McCayde has the only tract of land that would provide enough for our uses. Water is scarce, and growing more so. We have to locate where we can find adequate stores of it.”

  “There’s land on the Santa Cruz and the Colorado,” she pointed out.

  “I’m afraid we can’t afford land in those areas,” he said sadly. “We’re rather limited about ready capital. But we’re very dedicated to helping small communities, and we have a great track record. We don’t mind at all if you check us out, Miss Cane. I can provide you with references, I’m proud to say.”

  She let him give those to her and she began to wonder if she hadn’t been suspicious for no reason. They seemed very open and aboveboard about their operations. Could Bowie be wrong about them? Or was she being carefully led?

  After the interview, she treated herself to lunch at a Chinese restaurant, just to have a break from Mexican food. She dreaded going back to Casa Río. At least she and Aggie had made peace, but she was afraid of the future. There was so much at stake. She couldn’t bear the thought of having Bowie hate her, and he might, if the past ever came out. Even if it didn’t, her fear of intimacy might make a relationship between them impossible. It might have been better if she’d never let him kiss her, but the thought of giving up the memory of that sweet pleasure was too terrible to bear.

  Maybe she should join a nunnery, she thought half-seriously. In her present condition, she had no business at all around men.

  She finished her lonely lunch and went on to the Lassiter office of the U.S. Soil and Water Conservation Service, where she lucked up on one of the employees who’d come in to pick up some papers he’d left on his desk. He was concerned about water, himself, and didn’t mind taking time to discuss it with the press. He gave her an earful about herbicide and pesticide contamination, silt and erosion damage to flowing streams, water conservation and groundwater scarcity. By the time she’d finished collecting data, she was more nervous than ever about the strain on the aquifer from an agricultural operation. Lassiter’s groundwater table had dropped in recent years, and there was already a ban on outdoor watering. Presumably the city fathers hadn’t yet considered that a big agricultural project would drain the aquifer even more, and possibly threaten existing water supplies for Lassiter.

  Bowie was careful about how he used water in his cattle operation, and he didn’t waste anything. He kept small ponds and drilled wells, and he didn’t
exhaust the land trying to make a quick profit. A big operation like Bio-Ag might not be so careful. They were outsiders, and making money was their primary objective. Gaby knew from past research that an uncaring agricultural operation could lay waste to the land and make it virtually unusable for years to come. There were dangers such as leaching, which could be controlled, but was an added expense that many growers didn’t like to provide for. There was the strain on the underground aquifer, and the silt from the disturbed soil that went into the river—when it ran—although even silt was beneficial, in some instances, because it slowed down the water flow and therefore conserved it sometimes.

  Even so, there were many dangers. If Bio-Ag made a quick profit and took oft, those local people they hired would be quickly out of work again, and the situation would be even worse due to the pollution.

  It was difficult to know where to put her faith. Bowie was a reactionary and he hated progress, despite his work as a contractor. He’d automatically fight anything that threatened to change the landscape. The agricultural people wanted to use the land to make money and boost the local economy, but they weren’t looking at the overall picture—only the part of it that affected their finances. It was a case of both sides being basically right, and both wrong.

  Gaby sometimes hated reporting. She hadn’t really been able to take sides since she’d started the job. It was too easy to see both sides of any public issue, and too hard to put one above the other—usually, at least.

  She drove back to Casa Río late that afternoon with a full pad and two full tapes from her tape recorder. She didn’t know what she was going to write. Tomorrow, she’d go to the library and back to the newspaper office to search through Bob Chalmers’s research files. No, she reminded herself, tomorrow was Sunday. She’d go Monday.

  Ned and Aggie were just sitting down to supper when she walked in, tired and hungry.

  “Have a seat and eat something,” Aggie invited. “You look terrible.”

  “I feel terrible,” she murmured. “Must be the heat. I don’t like what I found out.”

  “They’re opportunists, out to strangle the land?” Ned asked with a faint smile.

  She shook her head. “They’re nice people with praiseworthy goals, but they could do a lot of damage to the aquifer. On the other hand, they’d bring in a lot of new business and jobs.”

  “Jobs won’t make new water,” Ned replied. “Bowie’s right.”

  Aggie’s eyes almost popped. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

  “Sure you did. Water is a touchy issue these days, even up in Wyoming, where we’ve got plenty. Any big operation is after money. I could tell you horror stories about what greed has done to areas of the Great Plains.”

  “Please do,” Gaby invited.

  He did, over dinner, telling about how the land had been devastated by saline seep and tilling, the natural grasses destroyed and the land unfit for anything after the conglomerates got through with it.

  “But we’re not prairie,” Aggie began.

  “No, you’re desert, which is worse.” He stared at her. “And you’re going to be Teton material, not desert, if you marry me. I won’t live on Casa Río.”

  She toyed with her coffee cup. “Yes, I know.”

  “Aggie’s adaptable,” Gaby said in the older woman’s defense. “She’ll fit in just fine.”

  “Will I?” Aggie asked under her breath, but no one heard her.

  Gaby got up, having only half finished her meal. She missed Bowie, and Casa Río just wasn’t the same without him. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got to type up some notes. Is it okay if I use the computer in the office, or will Bowie have kittens?”

  “He won’t mind, darling.” Aggie smiled. “You go right ahead. Want to watch a movie with us on the VCR?”

  “I wish I had time,” Gaby laughed, lying through her teeth, because they needed time alone, “but I’ve got to boil down these facts so that I’ll have something to feed Johnny on Monday over the phone. See you later.”

  She went out quickly, glad that they hadn’t seen through her gaiety to the sadness underneath. She could hide in the office until bedtime, if she could stand the memories of Bowie that it would bring back. Then she could go to bed and try to stop worrying about the future. Time would tell if she and Bowie had one together, but nothing she could do right now would affect it, one way or another. She had to trust him not to hurt her. Trust was something she had very little of for anyone, and especially for men. Even Bowie.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT WAS LATE Tuesday before Bowie came home. Meanwhile, Gaby had spent her days searching out more information on the proposed agricultural project and trying to decide how she was going to write the story so that it reflected both sides of the issue. Unfortunately, one of them had only one proponent—Bowie. Or that’s what she thought until Bob Chalmers invited her into his office Tuesday morning to talk to a couple of local residents.

  “This is Señora Marguerita Lopez,” he introduced a dark-haired woman with silver streaks in her elegant coiffure, “and her son, Ruíz. This is the lady I told you about,” he said to them. “Miss Cane works for the Phoenix newspaper, but I hope soon to convince her to work for me.”

  “Con mucho gusto en conocerles,” Gaby said, extending her hand to the woman, and then to her son.

  “I speak English.” Marguerita grinned. And she did, with barely a trace of an accent. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I understand you’re Bowie McCayde’s stepsister.”

  “No, I was just adopted by the family,” Gaby faltered.

  “No matter. We think he’s right,” Ruíz interrupted, his dark eyes smiling at her. “We represent a small group of landowners on the fringe of Casa Río. And this is what we’re afraid of.”

  He tossed some photos on Bob’s desk. Gaby picked them up slowly, turning them in her hands. They showed the devastation of blowing topsoil which had literally buried a ranch up to the third rung of its corral fence.

  “That is erosion,” the young man said, nodding toward the photographs. “It’s the result of too much tilling on desert soil. As you can see, those of us who will live near the project have as much to lose as Bowie does. He isn’t alone, you see. He has support in Lassiter.”

  “There are two sides to every story,” Gaby agreed. She sat down and smiled at Bob. “Do you mind?”

  “Feel free, if you’re applying for work,” he said, tongue-in-cheek. “Come on, Gaby, give it a try. You’d love it in Lassiter.”

  “I always did,” she sighed. “I’m thinking about it,” she said, without mentioning how tempted she was.

  She turned on her tape recorder and proceeded to get a stimulating interview from the Lopezes.

  Dinner was over when she got back to Casa Río, and Aggie and Ned were nowhere in sight. She smiled to herself, thinking about Sunday, after the three of them had come home from church. She’d gone looking for them, and had found Aggie held fast in Ned’s arms under a palo verde tree out back, being kissed in a way that made Gaby faintly envious. She couldn’t imagine that kind of passion. She’d never felt it, although she liked kissing Bowie and being held by him. But the way Aggie had been clinging to Ned had convinced Gaby that there was much more to kissing than just faint pleasure. She wondered if she’d ever be capable of feeling what they obviously did for each other.

  She went into the kitchen to find Tía Elena gone and Montoya muttering softly to himself.

  “What’s your problem?” she asked with a smile as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the counter.

  “Tía Elena has gone to comfort Aggie,” he sighed.

  Gaby turned, staring at him. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “They have had their first argument.”

  “How bad?”

  “Señor Courtland left for the airpor
t an hour ago.”

  She whistled softly. “Ooops.”

  “He was in, how you say, a rage, and Aggie was crying. We do not know what happened—only that something has gone very wrong between them. I was afraid of this. It was too soon,” he said. “They know so little about each other.”

  “Bowie will be delighted, I’m sorry to say,” Gaby muttered. She put down the coffee, untouched. “I’ll go up and see about Aggie.”

  “Bowie phoned from Texas,” he called. “He expects to be here by dark.”

  “Aggie will love that.” She stopped in the doorway, frowning. “Texas?”

  “Texas.”

  She pursed her lips. “Did he talk to Ned or Aggie?” she asked suspiciously.

  He shook his head. “Only to me.”

  There was one possible reason for the breakup out of the way, she thought as she went upstairs. Her heart lifted at the thought of Bowie coming home again, and fell at the realization that nothing had changed. She was still the same person she’d been out by the corral when he’d kissed her too roughly and pinned her against the fence, and the situation was just as impossible between them. She could certainly sympathize with Aggie, she thought with a rueful smile. She had her own problems with relationships.

  Aggie was facedown on her huge canopied bed, wailing. Tía Elena was hovering, looking worried, until she saw Gaby.

  “Gracias a Dios,” she whispered under her breath. She and Gaby exchanged looks and Tía Elena made a quick but dignified exit.

  “Aggie, what’s wrong?” Gaby asked softly, sitting down beside the older woman.

  “He’s gone,” Aggie sniffed. She sat up, throwing her arms around Gaby. “He’s gone away, and it’s all my fault!”

  “What went wrong?”

  “He wanted me to give up Casa Río,” she said, sobbing into her handkerchief, “and go off to live in the wilds of Wyoming with grizzly bears, and to milk cows and cook homemade bread...!” She sniffed again. “His wife did all those things. I’m sick of hearing about his wife. She must have worn a cape and made America safe for the elderly!”