Gold Fire

by Starr Ambrose

  “Can you help us?” Zoe asked.

  “Maybe. Hang loose a sec.” Pete scraped his chair back and disappeared into the living room. He came back with a rolled-up map that he unfurled on the table, using salt and pepper shakers, a sugar bowl, and a bottle of hot sauce to hold the edges down. “Show me the piece we’re talking about.”

  Jase leaned in to study the roads, orienting himself, then drew an imaginary circle around the Rusty Wire and his adjoining fifty acres. “Here. From Evans Road to the eastern end of the resort.”

  Pete considered it for several seconds. “No developed land around it, so no impact on adjacent neighborhoods. Makes it harder. Flat or rugged?”

  “As flat as it gets around here.”

  “So no geologic hazards like falling rocks.” He rubbed his chin through his gray beard. “Any wetlands?”

  Jase shook his head. “Mostly trees.”

  “Hmm.” Pete tugged absently at his beard. “I’ll have Feather look at this later, see if she knows of any endangered wildlife or plants that might be there. If you can show this parcel is the habitat of an endangered species, Mother Nature wins. They can’t do a thing with the land.”

  He hadn’t even thought of that. “I’ll take her there if she wants to see it.”

  “Not necessary. She’s probably already been there and taken notes. She monitors all the flora and fauna around B-Pass so she can raise hell if anyone tries to mess with irreplaceable resources.” He moved his improvised paperweights and rolled up the map. “Let us think about it for a few days, see if we can come up with something.”

  It didn’t sit comfortably. “I didn’t mean to give you a project. I’m sure Feather has other things to do than tramp around my land looking for endangered daisies or marmots or whatever.”

  Pete laughed. “I guarantee Feather has already covered every inch of your fifty acres, and taken notes. She keeps a file, and she doesn’t ask permission—Feather’s not cool with obeying laws, especially when it comes to private property. She says no one can own the land, it’s here for everyone.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t know what else to say to news that an old hippie woman was sneaking around B-Pass, taking notes and keeping files.

  Zoe smiled. “Thanks, Pete. If anyone can help, it’s you and Feather.”

  “Hope we can. We’ll go over it tonight. For now, I think Jase and I have some fishing lures to look at.”

  Jase grinned, more confident of getting valuable tips on lures than advice on saving his saloon. “I’m looking forward to stealing all your secrets.”

  Pete did his Santa laugh again. “The only secret is a strong magnifying glass and jeweler’s tools. That’s why we’re going to my shop. You too, Zoe. There’s something I want you to see.”

  “Oh, boy, jewelry.” She jumped up. “Did you come up with a new design? I volunteer to be the first on my block to wear it.”

  “Not exactly new, but there has been a change.” He winked at her, making it sound mysterious, which only made her smile more.

  “Great! Jase, you gotta see the stuff he and my mom make. Maggie carries some of it in her store.”

  He let her pull him along after Pete, walking hand in hand with her as they left the house and crossed the compound. They took their time as she threw sticks for their canine escort while pointing out the goat barn, pastures, and pottery shop. As they approached the jewelry workshop she explained that it was housed in the commune’s original farmhouse, where she’d been born.

  He looked at everything, but looked more at Zoe. Her bright exuberance was in sharp contrast to the stiff, suit-wearing woman he’d first met. He’d known there was heat beneath that straightlaced facade, but hadn’t guessed at the easy, carefree side of her, the one without checklists and rules. The one who romped with dogs and giggled over the antics of kid goats. He figured it must take a lot of effort to hide the real Zoe.

  Or a lot of fear. Distancing herself from the wild Larkin girls had taken her too far in the other direction. She might not like it, but he was going to have something to say about that.

  Pete ushered them into his workshop, and back to a table where a young man was bent over a magnifying glass, doing something with a length of silver wire. “I’d like you to meet my new apprentice.”

  The man raised his head, expectant smile already in place. A second later it slipped into a surprised stare.

  Zoe had the same expression. “Eli?”

  “Twinkie!” he blurted out.

  She grinned, then whipped around, giving Jase a stern look. “You did not hear that.”

  Eli came around the table to wrap her in an enthusiastic hug. When she came out of it, she said, “Jase, this is Pete’s son, Eli. He and I grew up together here, and he left . . . what, about ten years ago?”

  Eli nodded. “Princeton, then the Peace Corps, then some humanitarian work in Guatemala.”

  “Does this mean you’re back here to stay?”

  “Hope so. Brought my wife, Gwen. She fell in love with the place. We’re expecting our first baby this fall, and hopefully it’ll be born here, same as you and I were.”

  Zoe laughed. “The next generation of the People’s Free Earth Commune! I want to meet Gwen. Is she here?”

  “Probably somewhere around the barn. She’s into weaving, and wants to start a herd of sheep so we can make clothing with the wool, maybe start a new business.”

  “I love her already. See you later, Jase.”

  “Hold on. You want to explain Twinkie, or do I ask Eli?”

  “Oh.” She smiled self-consciously. “You can probably guess. Junk food was nonexistent here. When I was about ten we visited some friends who had left the commune, and I discovered these little cream-filled pieces of heaven. I overindulged, and the result wasn’t pretty. My friends at the commune, being sensitive, caring people, never let me forget it.” All traces of embarrassment suddenly disappeared, replaced by a severe look. “But you will.”

  He smiled, making no promises. “Did you ever eat them again?”

  The mischief flashed back into her eyes. “Are you kidding? Cream-filled heaven. They’re my favorite dessert.”

  • • •

  He spent two happy hours talking trout fishing and lures with Pete before he tracked Zoe down. He found her sitting on the ground running her hands through the wool of a placid black-faced sheep as it lay on the grass, chewing cud and ignoring her. She jumped up when she saw him.

  “Come over here, Jase! Feel my hands. Aren’t they smooth and silky? Lanolin, it’s all over the wool. You can do so much with sheep!”

  He rubbed his hand over the lotion slickness of hers, then kept it, twining their fingers together. “You sound dangerously like a kid with someone else’s puppy who wants one of her very own.”

  She laughed. “I already have a job. But I have to tell Maggie because she could market the hell out of a commune clothing line.”

  The way happiness sparkled around her, he had to say it. “You love it here.”

  “I do.”

  “Did you ever think about coming back to stay, like Eli?”

  She tilted her head as if considering it now. “Once. But it’s not what I want for my life. Besides, give up Twinkies?”

  “Right. The most important consideration.”

  “You’d better believe it.”

  • • •

  Zoe thought the day couldn’t have been more perfect, and it had a lot to do with sharing it with Jase. Taking him to the commune allowed him into the part of her life she held closest to her heart. If he’d been distant and polite, she would have been crushed. But he’d acted as if a family of gray-haired hippies was the most normal thing in the world. She’d been both pleased and proud of him.

  They stopped by the house to say good-bye before starting back down the mountain, collecting more hugs and a bag of homemade granola that Kate thrust into Jase’s hands. “All natural, grown without pesticides,” she told him.

  “Of course it is,” h
e said, and kissed her cheek. Zoe’s mom beamed. A wave of warmth spread through Zoe.

  Jase looked in the rearview mirror as they drove off and shook his head. “I had this image of hippies lying around smoking dope and listening to old Hendrix records. Boy, was I wrong. That’s the most ambitious, capitalistic group of people I’ve ever met.”

  She laughed. “I know. It takes work to make a commune succeed. My family taught me to try hard at whatever I do, and I guess it stuck. I tried hard to be the best at rebelling. Then I tried hard to be good at hotel management.”

  He was supposed to smile. Or agree. Instead, he grew quiet, watching the road until she thought he’d forgotten the conversation. “Ever thought of being good at being Zoe?”

  She frowned, because it sounded suspiciously like criticism. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that teenage rebel and the supercompetent hotel manager . . . neither one is you, Zoe. And I wonder if you lost yourself somewhere in the middle.”

  If it wasn’t criticism, it was at least presumptuous. She was pretty sure she knew herself better than he did, but she wanted to hear where this was going. “Really? If you know so much, then who am I?”

  “Someone less extreme. Less controlled.” It came out so quickly she knew he’d given it some thought. “Someone who doesn’t gauge every move against a list of acceptable behavior. I caught a glimpse of that Zoe several times today, and she knocked me out.”

  The knocking-out part put a tiny jump in her pulse, which irritated her because she wanted to be mad at him. She wasn’t extreme and controlled. “I’m happier up here because I’m not at work handling staffing and booking problems. So what? That’s not extreme. In fact, I think that makes me pretty normal.”

  “I didn’t say you were happier. I said today you weren’t measuring yourself against some imaginary ideal. No checklist to make sure you did the proper thing. No plan, just you being you.”

  “Is that how you see me? Everything planned, nothing spontaneous?” The mad started edging back in, mostly because it sounded too true for comfort. “Is that what you think I did the night before last, put a big checkmark beside ‘Sleep with Jase’?” She managed to say it without blushing, since she hadn’t bothered to check that one off yet.

  “No.” Now he looked irritated. “That’s not what that was. I know it, and so do you. There’s something between us, something more than you’re-hot-and-I-want-to-jump-your-bones. We acted on it.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to give her a hard look. “Don’t make that part of this, because I think that woman who let down her guard for one night was the real you, and I hope to hell I see her again.”

  Damn it, how could he flatter her and insult her at the same time? “What’s wrong with having a plan? That’s how people succeed. You can’t tell me you didn’t have a plan for reaching the Olympics—how much to practice, what races to enter, even what to eat and not eat.”

  “You’re right, I had a strict plan. But not for my private life, not for who to date, where to be seen, where I could go. And I didn’t worry about what anyone else thought of it.”

  Direct hit. She worried about what everyone thought. She had to.

  “You know why I do it. I have to repair my image.”

  “Not if you lose yourself doing it.” With a little force, it could have sounded judgmental and mean. It didn’t. He reached out to close his hand over hers, squeezing gently, and his understanding gaze was so supportive her breath caught in her throat. “It’s not worth it if the person everyone wants you to be isn’t who you really are. If that’s the plan, then screw it.”

  She settled into an uncomfortable silence. The problem was, she’d always had a plan. A plan when she rebelled and a plan when she decided to clean up her image. She didn’t know how to act without one, or what to work toward.

  Or who she’d be if she wasn’t trying to fit someone else’s ideals. That was the scariest part.

  He was right, she’d lost herself.

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  Jase jerked to attention when he heard the back door of the Rusty Wire open. This late on a Monday night, with the place closed, the footsteps were loud on the wooden boards. Light, fast steps that indicated a shorter stride. A woman.

  A thrill of excitement sliced through him, along with the memory of his last late night at the saloon. Scattered clothes, hot bodies pressed together, and Zoe’s dazed look as he laid her on a table and blew her orderly world to pieces. He was still smug with satisfaction over that.

  She’d put some major cracks in his world, too. That mental compartment where he put his sexual affairs, neatly separate from the rest of his life, wouldn’t hold Zoe. She’d spilled into his life, occupying his thoughts when she wasn’t occupying his bed. He’d barely thought of anything else since their first hot encounter six nights ago. He tried to keep his mind on other things, but it latched on to her and wouldn’t let go, allowing the most insignificant details to remind him of her. Details as small as footsteps in his deserted saloon.

  It couldn’t be Zoe, though; she didn’t have a key. He worked at getting the smoldering look off his face, looking up with what he hoped was convincing surprise when Jennifer walked into the main room.

  Her gaze took in the papers and open laptop covering the table he’d turned into a temporary office. He closed the computer and leaned back in his chair. “Hi. I didn’t expect to see anyone here.”

  “I saw your truck. I thought I might be able to help with something.”

  “I appreciate it, but there’s nothing to do. The exterminator verified that there are no mice living in the storage room, and probably never were. No accumulated droppings, no signs of chewing, no nests. It’s all paperwork from here out. Although I’ll be asking that reporter from the Echo to do another piece explaining the situation.”

  “I can do that for you.”

  Like she’d taken on just about everything else since they’d been closed. He shook his head, smiling. “Jennifer, I don’t think you even know how to take time off. Maybe I should take you fishing, get you interested in something besides work.”

  Her brow creased. “Can’t fish at night.”

  Jesus, the woman had a wide streak of serious. He didn’t want to insult her by laughing, so he merely said, “You got me there.”

  She scanned the papers and ledgers that covered the table. “What are you doing?”

  A logical question, since he hardly ever cracked a book or examined a file related to running the business. “I’m taking advantage of our downtime to familiarize myself with income and payroll. Taxes, state regulations, all that stuff Russ takes care of.”

  “Why? Is he quitting?”

  He snorted. “No, but the fact that you asked confirms it’s about time I did this. I own the Rusty Wire, and aside from our net income and hourly wages, I don’t even know the day-to-day details of running the place. So I’m educating myself about our licensing fees, liability coverage, the cost of employee health insurance, all that stuff. Russ handles it, but I should know it, too.”

  “Why?” Her brow furrowed slightly. “That’s the manager’s job. You don’t need to bother, to have all those extra hassles in your life.”

  Maybe she thought he wanted a life with no responsibilities. If she did, it was his own fault. He’d never shown any other inclination since sinking into the cocoon he’d woven around himself.

  “It’s not a bother. I know I stayed out of it all this time, but I can’t do that anymore. Not paying attention nearly allowed the Alpine Sky to steal this place out from under me.”

  “How? They can’t make you sell if you don’t want to.”

  “No, but they can make it impossible for me to do anything else. They’re two steps ahead of me on priming the city council and the zoning board for a first-class golf course, and it didn’t take them long to bring on the pressure tactics. They were hoping I’d accept their offer, but they were ready if I refused. They intend to win, and I
know how single-minded that drive can be. They won’t stop at anything. If I just sit back and watch, I lose.”

  “What can you do?”

  His mouth twisted with distaste. “I don’t know yet. It will have to be a legal answer, a way to block their plans, and right now I can’t find any avenue they haven’t already anticipated.”

  Jennifer absorbed the information, studying him. Her eyes were slitted dark pools he couldn’t read. He’d never been able to read her, to follow her thinking; it was no wonder they had no real emotional connection. He hadn’t even felt sympathetic warmth at her tentative advances. He called her a friend, but friendly stranger was more accurate.

  She crossed her arms, the picture of stubborn resistance. “I just don’t like to see you doing this. You were so content, and now you’re changing your whole life because of this fight with the Alpine Sky.”

  “I don’t have any choice, Jennifer.”

  “Yes, you do. Give them what they want. Sell the fifty acres and keep the Rusty Wire. They don’t need it, and you do.”

  It was so unexpected, he simply stared.

  “It’s the best answer,” she insisted. “You’d have your life back, no problems to deal with. Russ and I can handle the details. You’d be happy.”

  He felt off balance, hit with a double punch. The first one, suggesting he sell the land, had only grazed him. He’d never let Matt Flemming turn those fifty pristine acres into a golf course. But the second jab had stunned him like a blow to the head. She wanted him to hand over his problems, to escape back into his bland life. Let her handle everything. And it sounded frighteningly familiar.

  Christ, was that what she’d been doing the past nine years? Encouraging him to let everyone else deal with the problems?

  The possibility repelled him, but at the same time he saw how easily it could have happened. She’d always taken on extra work, extra responsibilities. He thought she’d been bored. She could just as easily have been taking his life out of his hands.

  And he’d let her.

  He couldn’t blame Jennifer for what he’d allowed her to do, but he didn’t have to let it continue. He was a drowning man coming up for air, and he wasn’t going under again.