Mountains Apart. Carol RossЧитать онлайн книгу.

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE NEXT MORNING Bering ignored the twinge of guilt. He decided it wasn’t taking advantage of an unfair situation to visit Emily under these circumstances—even though she had just been released from the hospital and she was certainly not 100 percent physically. She probably wasn’t even thinking clearly. He reminded himself that it didn’t matter. What was at stake was what mattered: his livelihood, the livelihood of his community, the integrity of the environment and that people were counting on him. He also ignored the nagging curiosity that had him wanting to see for himself that she was going to be okay.

      And maybe a more informal meeting could serve a double purpose: checking on her and talking some sense into her—into Cam-Field. He knew the latter was unlikely, but at least maybe he could learn something about what he was facing. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer—wasn’t that how the old saying went? He’d never heard anyone specify as to exactly how close but he’d figure that out as he went along.

      He took a quick shower and then dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. He bundled into his down jacket, pulled on his boots and hat, and stepped outside. He started his pickup and let it warm up while he called the Cozy Caribou. He ordered two breakfasts to go, along with two large coffees.

      He drove the short distance to the restaurant, picked up his order, then made his way across town and parked in front of the duplex where Amanda had told him that she and Emily were staying. He knocked softly on the door.

      A tired-looking Emily opened the door wearing only, from what he could see anyway, a very thin bathrobe. Memories of her scantily clad body swam before his eyes.

      “I hope I didn’t wake you. I just thought I’d come by to see how you’re feeling.” He held up the bag he was carrying. “And I brought you some breakfast. The doctor said it’s important that you eat.”

      Emily smiled warmly at him and Tag’s words of warning coalesced in his brain. But how could someone who smiled like that possibly be trouble? But as quickly as he wondered, an image of the Trojan horse flashed across his consciousness. Tag was right—he needed to remember that she might be a pretty face, but she was still the face of Cam-Field.

      “And did the doctor also say that it was your responsibility to feed me?”

      “No, but you said that the food here was terrible, so I thought I would see if I could prove you wrong.”

      “You already have,” she said, “and I’m afraid I didn’t thank you properly the first time.”

      Bering realized then that she was shivering from the cold, and it was no wonder what with that thin piece of silk that she was trying to pass off as a robe.

      “If I could come in for a minute then I’d let you take a shot at that.”

      * * *

      EMILY HAD BEEN AFRAID he was going to say that, and she thought it was probably a bad idea. She took a few seconds to remind herself why it was a bad idea. First of all, the man had seen her naked (mostly naked, but still...) Secondly, he was clearly a part of the unswayable opposition in this town, and to socialize would only be a waste of time, not to mention the probable cause of further conflict and embarrassment. And third, he’d seen her mostly naked.

      She felt herself blushing, and for the first time since she’d arrived in this stupid town she was grateful for the cold. Why was she waffling like this? She was never indecisive. She prided herself on always knowing what to do, but ever since she’d arrived in Rankins, everything seemed to be completely out of her control—including her emotions and, apparently, her ability to think rationally.

      Her current predicament illustrated this point perfectly. Reading people had always been one of her strengths. It had served her very well in her tenure with Cam-Field. But right now she had no idea what was going on with this guy. What was he doing here? Probably trying to get information out of her, she told herself.

      What other possible motivation could he have for being so nice to her? It was a little above and beyond professional courtesy.... It wasn’t as if he’d somehow caused her to pass out. In fact, if he hadn’t been there, she might have ended up even worse off than she had been. And why had he stayed so long at the hospital? More things that she should probably thank him for...and a reason to invite him in—that and the heavenly odors wafting out of the bag he was holding.

      But she didn’t need to invite him in to thank him, did she? No, it was definitely not a good idea to invite him in. But it would be rude to refuse breakfast, wouldn’t it? Maybe she could take the opportunity to state her case—Cam-Field’s case. She had managed to win over some pretty tough rivals in the past. Shouldn’t she at least try to sway him, too? After all, that was her job. Now, that was a reason to invite him in. She ignored the niggle in her brain that suggested she may have tried overly hard to come up with a reason at all.

      “Sure,” she said, standing back from the door to allow him in. “There are a couple things I’d like to talk to you about anyway.”

      * * *

      EMILY USED THE LAST bite of biscuit to sop up the last bit of the creamy sausage gravy. She stared at her plate and then looked up at him. “I can’t believe I ate all that. You were right, it was absolutely delicious. I had no idea there was food like this in this town.”

      “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

      “How did you manage to find something without fish in it anyway?”

      “You don’t like fish?”

      Emily crinkled up her nose. “I don’t like seafood.”

      “You don’t like any seafood?” he asked skeptically.

      “No, and this town of yours seems to be unduly obsessed with the consumption of sea creatures. I actually saw something called a razor clam on the menu at one of your restaurants. Now, tell me there’s not a warning in there somewhere?”

      Bering laughed and handed her another biscuit, this one slathered with thick jelly. “Here, try this.”

      “Oh, I don’t know if I can eat another bite...mmm,” Emily said with a moan as she took a taste of the fluffy bit of heaven. The jelly was tart and sweet and utterly divine. “Where did this come from?”

      “The Cozy Caribou,” he answered and then took a sip of his coffee. “They make all their own jam,” he added proudly. “They also make their own root beer. They serve it cold on tap. It’s pretty popular.”

      “Root beer, huh?”

      “Yep. You should try it.”

      “I might,” she said with an agreeable nod. “This is the establishment that is using copies of Cam-Field’s community-impact reports as dartboard targets?”

      “So, your memory has returned, huh?”

      “Somewhat,” she said, not quite able to meet his eyes. “Look, Mr. James, I really am sorry about all of this—”

      “Bering,” he said. “Please, stop calling me Mr. James.”

      “Okay,” Emily conceded. “Bering,” she said. It rolled off her tongue and she decided that in spite of her initial reaction to it, she liked it. Which was completely beside the point, but she found herself asking about it just the same.

      “I was named after the Bering Sea,” he explained. “My father was a crab-boat