Radclyffe - Homestead

She reached down to hoist the feed again.

“Although,” Earl went on, “seeing as how they’ll probably be drilling soon, you might not have to worry about working the farm for all that much longer. You might be able to make a killing and retire.” He laughed and closed the cash drawer with a thump. “I know quite a few folks are hoping to do that.”

Icicles rained down Tess’s spine and she straightened, leaving the bag where it leaned against the counter. “What do you mean?”

“I heard over at the Grange last night that the planning board was set to repeal the moratorium on drilling that was voted in a number of years ago, especially since Rensselaer has gone ahead and done it already. They say the state’s gonna put a stop to all that anyhow before long—too much money in gas to leave it under the ground.”

“That doesn’t have anything…” Tess decided the less said the better. She’d learned a long time ago that silence and secrets were often far safer than misplaced trust. Too often, those who you thought were in your corner turned out not to be. “When is the vote supposed to come down?”

He scratched beneath his collar, his expression contemplative. “They’re saying sometime in the next month or so, but they’re already moving rigs into Johnsonville. I hear they’re about to start drilling out at the Hansen place.”

Her farm lay adjacent to the county line dividing Washington and Rensselaer, and the Hansen place was only a thin strip of forest away from her pastureland. She didn’t know nearly enough about what Earl was talking about, but she would very soon. She grabbed the sack and swung it onto her shoulder, barely noticing the weight pressing her down. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see after the vote then, won’t we?”

“Well, there’s some folks that are talking about some kind of petition, trying to stop things before they get started. I don’t know. There’s a lot of money tied up in those drilling rights. Farm your size, who knows what it could be worth?”

The chill moved deeper, threatening to freeze her in place. She couldn’t let her worry show—she couldn’t afford to appear vulnerable. Earl wasn’t the kind of man for whom subtlety came naturally, and she doubted he was probing for information. All the same, if word got around she didn’t have firm control over her operation, she’d have trouble. She’d had offers for the place before Ray was in the ground, and some of them had come in the form of veiled threats. Nothing she could call anyone on, but she’d heard what hadn’t been said. Sell now while the price was good—wait until her crazy plans turned sour and be at the mercy of whoever would bail her out.

“Thanks again, Earl,” Tess said, her chin up and her voice steady. “You stay cool now.”

As she shouldered her way out the door and across the gravel parking lot to her red Ford F-450 pickup, she imagined Earl’s gaze following her. She didn’t like feeling like a deer in the gunsights. Time for that to change.

Clay stretched under the warm water, working the kinks out of her shoulders as the shower spray beat against her skin like a thousand sharp needles. She hadn’t really registered how rigorous a workout she was getting from the enthusiastic sex the night before, but she was feeling it now in places where she usually didn’t. Although come to think of it, the recreational part of recreational sex had gotten to be sort of routine in the last…well, longer than she wanted to consider, so maybe she was out of practice. Last night had been a surprising and satisfying exception—the backs of her thighs were pleasingly tight, and her neck burned when she leaned her head back to wash her hair. Recalling a particularly passionate response from her bedmate, she wondered if that little interlude had left a mark, not that she cared. The mild discomfort was well worth the reward, and she was long past the time and place where signs of her recent activities were an embarrassment.

Smiling, she fingered the side of her throat. Charlotte from Charlotte had been adventurous, surprisingly talented in more ways than one, and damn good company. A PhD in biophysics, Charlotte hadn’t been able to find a job in her chosen field and, taking her sister’s advice, had signed on at American Airlines as a flight attendant. Somewhere between the bouts of mind-blistering sex, they’d had several interesting conversations about movies, books, and the economy. The only thing Clay hadn’t been willing to discuss had been the family business. No doubt Charlotte would’ve appreciated what she did for NorthAm Fuel, but as her job pretty much dictated every other part of her life, she didn’t want it coming into bed with her.

The phone rang outside the shower, and she cursed under her breath. She hadn’t checked in with the office last night and no one should have this number except her assistant Ella, and Ella would have tried her cell. At six a.m. she doubted the hotel staff were calling, which hopefully meant a wrong number. Before she could decide whether or not to answer, the ringing stopped.

Clay rinsed, toweled off her hair—grateful she kept it short enough not to require anything more than that—and slung a dry towel around her torso. Padding barefoot over the cool marble tile of the hotel bathroom, she stepped quietly into the bedroom, wondering if Charlotte would still be there. She was.

Sitting up in bed, thick black curls straggling down over her milky shoulders and the wrinkled white sheet folded neatly below her full breasts, Charlotte smiled and held out the phone. “Millicent would like to speak to you.”

Clay winced inwardly. Of course Millie would track her down. Millie had been tracking her down and meting out discipline as only Millie could for twenty-five of Clay’s thirty-three years on earth. Millie was the conscience Clay’s status would have silenced.

“Should I go?” Charlotte mouthed silently. Her full curves that had fit so well against Clay’s more angular, taller body looked very inviting outlined beneath the sheet.

“No. Stay,” Clay said in a normal voice. She would have liked to keep some things about her personal life private, but she’d long ago given up that pipe dream. Nothing about her life had been private since the day she was born. Being the sole heir to a dynasty tended to place her more into the category of commodity than person, even to those closest to her. She took the phone and sat down on the side of the bed next to Charlotte. “Good morning, Millie.”

“I’m glad I caught you,” her father’s executive assistant said without the slightest hint of sarcasm or criticism. Despite her willingness to take Clay to task for her peccadillos, Millie had been one of the few people who had unflinchingly supported Clay through rumor, accusation, and scandal. Her father had not so much supported her as handled the problem , and she wasn’t sure to this day if he’d cared about her side of things or not. She wasn’t even sure he’d believed her explanation.

Clay shook off the past with an irritated shrug. The past was the past, and none of that mattered any longer. “What’s the emergency?”

“I’m afraid your travel plans have been changed.”

“What this time?” Clay tucked the phone between her ear and her shoulder and slid her hand under the sheet onto Charlotte’s smooth thigh. Charlotte wasn’t due to fly out until the afternoon and neither was she. Her morning plans had been no more complicated than room service, breakfast in bed, and more of Charlotte. She eased her fingertips over the firm curve of Charlotte’s thigh onto the creamy, soft skin high up on the inside of her leg. Charlotte made a humming sound of pleasure and pressed her hand over Clay’s through the sheet.