by Merry Farmer
Casey grinned. She had to give it to Scott for facing Bonneville’s scrutiny with humor. Then again, he didn’t know Richard Bonneville.
“If the city council goes ahead and lets you build this funny green house—” Bonneville glanced up and down the long table of city council members as if lecturing them. “—then what’s to say that others won’t copy what you’re doing.”
One corner of Scott’s mouth twitched up. “That’s the general idea, actually.”
“For every Tom, Dick, and Harry to build houses with these experimental methods?” Bonneville sneered.
“We’re well past the experimental stage when it comes to green housing.” Scott was still confident, but he began to fidget just a bit more.
Bonneville snorted. “Seems to me like the whole thing is a slippery slope. Today you come in here and show us some fancy-dancy presentation full of technological hoo-haws, but where’s the quality control in something like this?”
A few of the other council members hummed in agreement, particularly Ronny.
“I’m sorry,” Scott said slowly. “I don’t think I understand what you mean.”
Bonneville sat back in his chair. “Your house looks nice, but if we let you build that, who’s to say that the next guy won’t want to throw up some eyesore shack in the middle of town and claim it’s one of these fancy off-grid houses too?”
Casey frowned, trying to see through Bonneville’s questions to what he was really getting at. She wasn’t the only one who was confused.
“What’s he up to?” her father mumbled.
Scott was beginning to show signs of pressure as he shifted from foot to foot. “In order to create a truly comfortable and convenient home, certain standards have to be met. Especially in climates that can be as harsh as Wyoming.”
“So you don’t have an answer then?” Ronny joined his father’s attack.
“And answer to what?” Scott shrugged.
Ronny shifted, a smirk forming on his lips. Casey’s heart sank into her stomach. She recognized that look all too well.
“If we issue you all the special permits to build this house of yours, what’s to say that anyone who doesn’t want to pay rent or pay for public utilities won’t come along and fill our town up with health hazards and safety concerns?”
“I—” Scott did a double-take. “Wait a minute, special permits? I was told that I would only need the standard permits—which I already have—to proceed with construction.”
Casey’s chest squeezed, and she sat straighter. There it was, the key she needed to stop her ranch from being ripped apart. Scott didn’t have all the permits he needed. He’d have to sell the land back to her family if the town decided he couldn’t build the house.
On the other hand, her heart went out to him as he stood there, struggling to find something to say to defend his dream. Dammit, she was about to get what she wanted. She shouldn’t feel so sorry for him.
Except that she liked him. A lot. And she wanted him to be happy.
She was saved the trouble of falling headfirst into the severe conflict of interest battle raging inside of her by Bonneville’s snide laugh. “Well, son, the city council hasn’t decided whether special permits might be needed for this little project of yours. There’s the issue of public utilities to consider, not to mention inspections to make sure whatever structure you come up with is up to code.”
“Exactly,” Ronny backed up his father, like the toad he was. “And there’s also the issue of heritage properties to consider.”
Casey sat straighter in her chair and blinked. It was never a good thing when Ronny Bonny said what she was thinking.
Scott finally shut his mouth. He also turned and stared right out across the audience to Casey. A cold shiver passed down her spine. He couldn’t think that she had something to do with this, could he?
Actually, yes, he probably could. She’d been coy on purpose during their supper. It’d seemed like a fun way to be mysterious and flirty. She was way out of practice at dating and being interesting while sitting across a table from a guy, after all. And yeah, her first loyalty was to her family’s ranch, but in spite of that—because of it, really—she never would have shared her concerns with Ronny or gotten him involved in a million years.
Whether Scott was able to read her expression from such a distance or not, he turned back to Bonneville and the rest of the city council. “It was never my intention to interfere with or degrade land that has personal value to people.”
“But that’s what this amounts to,” Ronny said, his tone turning snide. “Roscoe Flint may have only sold you five acres, but if this craze for off-grid houses catches on, like you seem to think it will, it could decimate all of the historic properties in the area.”
More than a few people in the audience, not to mention at the city council table, hummed and nodded over that statement. Casey’s stomach started to spin as her mind froze halfway between thinking this was a great way to make her point or the worst idea ever.
“We need to protect our historic land,” another of the council members, Jessica Chapman, who owned a smaller ranch on the south side of town, said.
“You’re absolutely right, Jessica,” Bonneville said with a smile, far too obsequious for Casey’s liking. “Preservation is one of the hallmarks of Haskell.”
“Where’s Howie?” Roscoe muttered by Casey’s side. “He’s gonna soil himself when he hears about this debate.”
“I heard someone say he was caught up in a meeting with government officials,” Ted whispered on Casey’s other side.
“I agree that it’s important for a town, especially a town like Haskell, to support its institutions,” Scott continued at the front of the room. He was clearly on the defensive, yet he had a sense of calm about him that Casey envied. “But again, I can assure you that it’s not my intention to bring any sort of harm or disrespect to the old families of Haskell by continuing with this project.”
He looked right at Casey again. Casey opened her mouth as if to tell him she had nothing to do with the strange turn the meeting had taken, but Bonneville didn’t give her time to communicate much of anything.
“Sounds to me like the council and I have a lot to discuss before this so-called project of yours moves forward,” he said like a king humoring his subjects.
“Perhaps a meeting to discuss changes to the pertinent laws?” Ronny asked, almost glowing with calculation.
Casey swallowed and frowned. Was there something else going on that she didn’t know about?
Of course there was. These were Bonnevilles they were talking about.
“A hearing to discuss the creation of new protective laws is exactly what we need,” Bonneville finished with a sly grin. He stood. “The next council meeting is February 16th. We’ll figure out what needs to be done then. In the meantime,” he turned to Scott, “we ask that you hold up on any construction plans until then.”
“But I’ve got a crew scheduled to come dig a well in two weeks,” Scott said.
Bonneville shrugged. “You’ll have to reschedule until after the meeting.” Before Scott could say anything else, he rushed on with, “That’s all. Meeting adjourned. See you next months, folks, except those of you who are going to the big indoor barbecue at Kline’s next week.”
A few people laughed or waved to show they were going. Bonneville and Ronny focused their attention on those people, ignoring Scott. Seconds later, the room rumbled into the din of people getting up to leave and talking to their neighbors as they did.
“What in the name of Sam Hill is Rich up to?” Roscoe muttered as he, Casey, and Ted stood.
“You think he’s up to something, Pop?” Ted asked.
Roscoe sent him a flat stare. “You think he’s not?”
“Fair point.” Ted sighed.
They were close enough to the door that they had to wait for a stream of chatting people to pass them, a few saying hello or shaking Roscoe’s hand, before they could head up the aisl
e to meet Scott at the table with his laptop.
“You did a good job,” Casey said, though her voice sounded far less certain than she wanted it to. She could hardly sit still as she wavered between being glad something might be done to protect her ranch and dread that Scott would think she was responsible for it.
As soon as Scott looked at her, she knew she was in trouble. All he said was, “Thanks.” But the fact that that was all he said made Casey feel sick.
“I didn’t say anything to Ronny or his dad about my concerns,” she blurted, unable to let Scott think she had for one nanosecond.
Scott’s expression remained hard for a moment before he blew out a breath. “I know you didn’t.”
She wasn’t sure if he actually believed that or if he was just giving her the benefit of the doubt, but she’d take what she could get.
“I don’t think it’s your house that Bonneville is going after,” Roscoe said in his quiet, earnest way. “That man is always up to something.”
“Well, it sure came as a surprise that my low-key information session turned into a grilling,” Scott said as he went through the motions of packing up his laptop. “I wish Howie had warned me. I wish he’d shown up.”
“I’m concerned that he didn’t,” Ted agreed. “Though I overheard someone saying he had a meeting run late.”
Scott let out a breath. “That wouldn’t be unusual.” He paused, tilted his head to the side, then went on with, “Do you think the Bonnevilles might have taken advantage of his absence to give me a hard time for some reason?”
“Yes,” Roscoe answered without hesitation. “But there’s nothing we can do about it now.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it until we find out what they’re up to at the council meeting next month,” Ted added.
Scott sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I guess I’ll have to call the well guys and tell them to hold off for a bit. And I guess I’ll have to put my energy into something else until it’s safe for me to get back to working on the house.” He glanced to Casey, a tempting spark in his eyes.
Casey’s insides did a few happy flips. “Let me know if I can help you out with that in any way.”
She expected him to crack some joke about her wanting to help now when before she was just trying to get in his way. Instead, he grinned and said, “Absolutely.”
Hot bursts of possibility—not unlike those she felt in the stable the other day—flooded her. Maybe working to put his dream house on hold had side benefits after all. If she didn’t have to put so much effort into stopping him from causing havoc in her life, maybe she could use that effort to convince him to cause other things in her life. Maybe things were looking up after all.
Chapter Eight
Scott’s stint in the army had taught him at least one invaluable life lesson—sometimes there were things that you couldn’t control. As much as it grated on his nerves, he knew from the second Mayor Richard Bonneville started talking during his presentation that he couldn’t control what the city council decided to do. And one reason, he was sure, was because there was more going on than he could put his finger on.
There was more going on with Casey too.
“Nice seats,” he commented as they sat on the first bench, near the edge of the waist-high wall around Haskell’s ice rink.
“Nothing but the best for my—” Casey stopped her reply, mouth remaining open, a touch of alarm in her eyes.
“Fellow hockey fan?” Scott suggested, grinning from ear-to-ear. He would have paid a mint to hear whatever she had started to say. It might have given him half a clue about what she really thought of things, of him.
“Yeah,” she laughed, nudging his arm. “And you say you used to play?”
“Yep.” He nodded, letting the almost confession go for the moment.
“Even though you’re from Southern California?”
“We play hockey in California too,” he said. “Ever hear of a little NHL team called the Kings?”
“Good point.” Casey shrugged out of her pea coat. Scott loaned her a hand as she twisted to pull her arms out of the coat, then draped it over the bench. “Okay, tonight’s game is between the Bonneville Bears and the Eastside Eagles,” she explained. “It’s midway through the season, and both teams are doing pretty well. They still have a chance at the playoffs. The Southside Salamanders are still in the lead overall, though.”
Scott chuckled. “Southside Salamanders?”
Casey sent him a teasing look. “The teams have existed almost as long as the town, although they were originally the names of the baseball teams. The same guys play on the baseball teams in the summer, by the way. A professional league this is not.”
“I see.” Scott nodded as though she were a professor delivering a lecture.
“There were only five teams originally—the Haskell Hawks, the Piedmont Panthers, the Bonneville Bears, the Eastside Eagles, and the Westside Wolves. But as the town expanded, they added the Northside Natives—whose mascot changed from a Cherokee warrior to an old-timey pioneer in the 1970s—and the Southside Salamanders. The name was sort of a joke.”
“Oh yeah?” Scott’s smile grew as the story went on.
“Yeah, because one of the biggest businesses on the south side of town, once construction began on the other side of the tracks, was the whorehouse.”
Scott laughed outright. “An important business, of course.”
“Of course,” Casey agreed with mock seriousness. “Anyhow, by the time the Salamanders were formed in the mid-1880s, the madam of the whorehouse was a woman named Pearl Pettigrew. She picked a different sort of mascot to—”
“Wait.” Scott stopped her with a hand to her arm. “Pettigrew? As in Linus Pettigrew, the lead mathematician on PSF’s Structure Development team?”
Casey’s eyes danced with mirth. “Hometown boy makes good, eh?”
Scott rocked back and slapped his knee as he laughed. “My team is going to have a field day when they learn that Linus’s ancestor was the madam of the town whorehouse.”
“Just keep in mind that this is Haskell,” Casey scolded him, “and that was a respected position back in the day.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He continued to laugh. The more he learned about the eclectic town he now called home, the more he liked it. And the more time he spent with Casey, the more he liked her. In spite of the confusion and frustration over his house.
His mood sobered a little as Casey went on to explain about the other, outlying teams that had joined both the baseball and the hockey league over the past hundred years, but his focus was shot. It irritated him how insidiously thoughts of his house and the way construction had been put on hold because of that meeting could take over. With the frustration came the uncomfortable memory of the way he’d been so quick to suspect Casey had something to do with it. She didn’t—he was certain of that now—but she wasn’t exactly shaking her fist and demanding Mayor Bonneville change his mind about exploring new laws that could nix his dream altogether.
“So by the end of the Great Depression,” Casey was saying, “there were a total of twelve teams in the league. Though we’re down to ten now, since the Railroad Rowdies merged with the Eastside Eagles and the Outlaws just sort of dwindled out of existence.”
“Interesting.” It was a lame place-filler of a comment, but it seemed to work to cover the fact that his attention had drifted.
Casey suddenly brightened and sat straighter. “Paradise Space Flight needs to put together a team.”
Scott’s brow flew up. “You know, they do. Although there are enough employees over there to make three or four teams.”
“Nope.” Casey shook her head. “You can only have one.”
Scott grinned. “Okay, Miss League President. How about the Paradise Space Flight Aliens?”
Casey laughed with such pure abandon that Scott’s pulse shot up, certain parts of him throbbing as a result. He was glad he was wearing a sweater that was long enough to conceal things.
He was also glad that a group of Casey’s friends wandered by just then.
“What’s so funny?” Sandy asked. There they were, at a local hockey game that felt about as formal as little league, and both Sandy and Rita Templesmith looked like they could step right into the pages of a fashion magazine.
“Scott came up with a great idea for a Paradise Space Flight baseball-hockey team—The Aliens,” Casey told them.
The sisters laughed along with her. “Good one,” Rita said, surveying him with a look of approval.
Scott smiled and nodded politely in return. If he met the approval of the friends, he was home-free.
“We’re on our way to get hot chocolate before the game,” Sandy said, mostly to Casey. “You want anything?”
“Yeah, I’ll come with you.” Casey jumped up, then turned to Scott. “Do you mind?” She gestured to her friends.
“No, not at all. Go get hot chocolate.”
“Do you want some?”
“Sure.”
Casey smiled, then strode off with her friends. Scott watched them go, strangely satisfied with the world. Sure, he and Casey hadn’t had “the conversation,” and there was still the issue of her wanting him to sell his land back to her family. That would have been a deal-breaker for a lesser man, but instinct told him to keep holding on. There was something else going on with her, and if whatever tightrope she was walking broke, she might need him to catch her.
The sound of skates scraping against the ice was the only warning Scott had before Ronny greeted him with, “Hey, sport.”
Instantly offended, Scott turned slowly from his perusal of Casey’s backside to stare flatly at Ronny.
“They’re something else, aren’t they,” Ronny said with a bad 70s porn star huskiness to his voice as he glanced after the ladies. “Boy, that Sandy. I’d love to drink some of that hot chocolate, if you know what I mean.”
Scott gripped the edge of the bench to stop himself from balling his hands into fists.
“I’ll end up tapping that before too long,” Ronny went on, licking his lips as he watched the ladies turn the corner to where the snack bar was. “She wants it too, she’s just playing hard to get.”