Cheryl Harper - Her Heart's Bargain

Unless she locked the door.

Could she do that?

She could do it, but should she? Her finger hovered over the panic button Ash had insisted be installed the previous summer when one of the national park rangers had come under fire. If she pushed it, the doors locked and an emergency alert went out to all the law enforcement rangers. Macy had argued then that it was the rangers who needed better protection, not office managers, but today she was wondering if she was going to have to tell Ash he’d been right after all.

That panic button would remain unpushed until Macy drew her last breath. Ash couldn’t be right. The man was right too often for her peace of mind as it was.

Then Brett Hendrix’s SUV rolled in and it was almost as if she could hear the cavalry bugles playing in the distance. He was only a man, but Brett had the training, the badge and Ash’s respect to back him up.

The way all the reporters immediately swarmed him, microphones out and cameras flashing, convinced Macy that no matter what was going on, Ash had made a couple of good decisions already.

Being scarce at this point was his best defense.

Macy stood and did her best to smooth any wrinkles out of her pants before straightening her navy blue Reserve shirt. Ash insisted every staff member wear the uniform and treat it with respect.

When the television cameras turned to her, she figured she’d better look the part.

As she opened the front door, Macy heard Brett say, “I have no new information on the status of the lodge project.”

“But is the governor’s insistence that there be an investigation a political maneuver?” a tall, thin man at the back of the pack shouted.

Brett held up both hands signaling he had no way of knowing. Macy was certain that was the only possible answer. How were they to know what the governor had intended by seizing this environmental impact study and taking a stand? Common sense said it was about causing trouble for his political opponent, but how much further would he go than stirring up the news media?

Macy had met the guy once. Richard Duncan had run on a platform of “Tennessee First” and had taped one of his campaign commercials on Otter Lake. He’d been surrounded by an entourage at least four people deep. A hurried handshake was the best he could manage.

“Why isn’t the Reserve’s public information officer, Winter Kingfisher, here answering these questions?” Bailey Garcia shouted from her spot in the front row. “Surely, she’d have good information, Ranger Hendrix, being so close to all involved. She’s employed by the Callaways, engaged to the governor’s rival and the sister of Ash Kingfisher.”

Brett propped his hands on his hips. “Great suggestion. As the Reserve’s public outreach officer, Winter would be your best source. You can contact the district office in Knoxville for more details. She does not work in this office, so she isn’t here for your questions.”

Everyone was using their official voices today. The last time Macy had heard Brett speaking like that, he’d been lecturing his daughter about protecting her brother instead of running con games on him. Riley Hendrix had the sort of gumption Macy admired. Today with that stern tone, if Brett had rolled up to her campsite, she’d have said “yes, sir” and “no, sir” until he left, and then wondered later what had come over her. Authority came with the badge, but the voice helped.

“Where is the head ranger?” Bailey asked.

“He was called to the district office early this morning. I don’t know when he will return, but—” Brett looked over his shoulder at Macy “—Ms. Gentry will take down your information so that Ranger Kingfisher can get back to each of you in due course.”

Macy waved a pen and pad, as if she was desperate to be writing down names and numbers.

No one was satisfied with that answer.

Brett listened to the jumble of shouted questions for another minute before interjecting. “I have nothing further to add. You can stay here if you like, but we ask that you move to one side. The visitor center and offices are open for business.” Instead of hanging around to watch them move, Brett turned and ushered Macy inside.

Their steps rang through the empty lobby as they walked back to her desk. Gleaming hardwood floors and the vaulted cathedral ceiling meant every step echoed.

Macy did her best not to flop into her chair, aware that she had an audience. She perched carefully and crammed a hundred questions into one raised eyebrow.

Brett made a solid wall between her and the reporters, his shoulders blocking the view. “They’re still there, aren’t they? That’s scarier than dealing with an angry bear or finding a lost hiker.” His stance was solid, unshakable, but his face showed his concern.

“Between you and me, what’s really going on?” Macy asked.

“When we talked, Ash didn’t know much, but the chief ranger demanded he report to the district office first thing. Everything else that I know, I’ve heard on the radio.”

Brett tugged off his hat and tossed it on her desk before ruffling his hand through sweaty hair. The pressure had gotten to him. The first week of December was not a sweaty time in Sweetwater, not unless a man was wilting under stress.

Flirting with the panic button reminded Macy she had come dangerously close to cracking herself. Now she was ready to push Brett for answers. Macy crossed her arms over her chest, certain he’d pick up on her body language. “We’ve got plenty of time. Tell me everything.”

Brett sighed. “The new lodge the Callaways are pushing to build? The one the chief ranger’s been working on for more than a year with the Reserve planning office and Callaway Construction? Yeah, well...” Brett rolled his shoulders. “The environmental impact report on building the lodge up at The Aerie is about to hit the news cycle. Some anonymous tipster got a copy to the governor, and now he’s making waves. He’ll use whatever he can to knock Whit Callaway down in the polls before the election, even if we all know Richard Duncan is only interested in conservation as a sound bite.”

The Aerie was the highest point in the park and provided habitat for several native Tennessee species. The Callaways had built a reputation as benevolent protectors of Tennessee’s history, leaning heavily on the acres of land Whit Callaway’s great-great-great grandfather had set aside for conservation. A report that outlined how their new moneymaking project would destroy a large piece of that would not be something they’d want falling into the hands of a political enemy.

And yet, it had, but how?

“That lodge is to be built on Callaway land, even if the land’s been held in reserve for public use for five Callaway generations. What can the governor say or do about that?” Brett glanced over his shoulder. “It always comes back to money, doesn’t it? Right now, the lodge is on hold until the Callaways decide what to do in the face of the results of the suddenly very publicized environmental impact study. If they move forward as is, the reputation they pride themselves on as generous protectors of Tennessee takes a hit. That’s pretty much Whit Callaway’s entire platform. ‘Good for Tennessee.’ If they stop the project completely, their future bank account will be impacted because that lodge will make money.”

Nature reserve areas had been carved out of the extensive Callaway lands and were self-sustaining at this point, thanks to programs, grants and daily operations, but the Callaways directed the work at each reserve through the board of directors. The Smoky Valley Nature Reserve was the Callaway family’s gift to the people of Tennessee, but they still held all the strings. The planned luxury lodge was a huge undertaking and would change the face of the Reserve near Otter Lake in any number of ways.