Kristin Hardy - Vermont Valentine

“I don’t have time for this load of time-wasting horse hockey,” he barked, a sure sign he was feeling on unsteady ground.

“I’ll be happy to call you with the results,” Celie said silkily. “I’m not doing this for entertainment, Dick. If the maple borer is in your woods, we’ve got to find it and act quickly. Unless you want to lose your entire maple syrup industry and all those tourist dollars the leaf peepers bring in the fall. How many billion dollars does that add up to again?”

Rumson’s face turned a dull red. “Now just a minute here. Don’t you think you can come in and just start clearing acres. How do I know you didn’t bring that in?”

“Careful, Dick.” Somehow, Ford’s voice managed to be both mild and steely with warning.

Rumson worked his jaw a moment in silence. “I want to talk with your supervisor.”

“I’ll be happy to give you his number. We need to work together on this.”

“I saw how you cooperated at the advisory panel meeting,” he said, his expression sullen. “I want my team overseeing everything you do.”

“I’ll go you one better. Once I’ve trained them, your team can be involved in every inspection. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and very little time to do it in. We’re going to need every pair of eyeballs we can get.”

“If you think that—”

“What I think is that as head of resource protection you want what’s best for your forests, Dick. I’ve always thought that. How we work out the specifics is just details.” She gave him a friendly, open smile.

It stopped him for a long moment while he tried to work out a response. “Don’t think this is over,” he said finally, turning toward the door.

Celie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Trust me, Dick, I know it’s only the start.”

“Sorry you had to deal with that,” Ford said as Rumson slammed out. “I was going to warn you but there wasn’t time.”

Celie shrugged. “I should have expected it. Dick and I go back a ways.” And little of their history was pleasant.

Ford studied her. “Is he going to get in the way of you getting the job done?”

“I’m sure he’ll try, but he’s never managed to be more than an annoyance so far.”

“Let me see that sample.” He reached out a hand and she passed over the glass cylinder.

Ford studied it, turning it over in his hands. “You really think this is the fungus?”

“I don’t know. It’s not as green as it usually is but the trunk showed the typical thickening of the bark, and holes, although they looked like a bird had been at them. Hard to say if they were made by our boy or not.”

“Where’d you see it?”

“A sugarbush on the way here. I’m not sure where. I ran into the owner while I was out there—a big, tall guy with black hair.” And shoulders to die for but she didn’t figure he wanted to hear that.

“Jacob Trask,” Ford said. “He’s got about a hundred acres of maples adjoining the Institute.” He shook his head. “Let’s hope this is just bark in here. He lost his father last spring. That family doesn’t need any more bad news.”

He hadn’t looked like someone’s son but like some wood-master sprung out of the earth to walk the forest, with his black hair and those cheekbones and those eyes, those impossibly blue eyes. And he’d stood there staring at her until all she’d been able to do was babble like an idiot and scramble away before she just started whimpering and salivating right there in front of him.

“Well, there’s nothing for it,” Ford said, handing the sample vial back and rising. “You’ve got to do your job. Come on, I’ll show you the cube and the lab you can use.”

The cubicle was small but more than adequate for her purposes. The lab facilities were what counted. It was there that the major detective work went on, there that the test she’d developed could confirm or deny the presence of the maple borer.

Setting down her computer bag, Celie began to pull out files and hook up her computer to the network.

“About damned time you showed up to do some work,” said a voice from the doorway.

Celie whipped around to stare at the rangy blonde who leaned against the cubicle entrance. “Marce!” She jumped up and threw her arms around the newcomer. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You, too.” Marce gave her another squeeze and released her. “I thought you were coming in last night.”

“I left you a message. I got a late start yesterday so I just stopped somewhere overnight and finished up this morning.”

Marce eyed her. “Tell me it wasn’t some rest stop.”

“Why do you think I got the camper shell put on?” Celie said reasonably.

“It was one thing when we were in grad school,” Marce protested. “You’ve got a job now. You can afford to stay in a real hotel with real locks and a real bed.”

“On a government travel stipend?” Celie snorted. “Anyway, I’m going to be staying in a real bed while I’m here, aren’t I? Didn’t you tell me you got rid of your futon in the guest room?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s already a step up from my camper shell and what I’ve got back in Maryland.”

“You’re still sleeping on a futon? Celie, you’re practically thirty.”

“And I spend a day or two there a month if I’m lucky. I ought just to rent a storage unit and bunk there.”

Marce rolled her eyes. “You’re no better than you were in grad school.”

“Hey, your average storage facility is miles better than that pit we all lived in during grad school.”

“Agreed.” Marce grinned. “Anyway, it’s almost the end of the day. Why don’t we knock off early and get you settled? I made a pot of barley soup last night.”

“Still into the junk food, I see.”

“I don’t consider burgers and potato chips two of the major food groups, if that’s what you mean.”

“Well I do. So I’ve got a better idea: let’s knock off early, get me settled and scare up a pizza.”

“All right,” Marce sighed, “I can tell when I’m beat.”

“I can’t believe you. I live here for three years and I barely see anyone human. You stop in the woods to sample a tree and you stumble across a god?” Marce shook her head and bit into a slice of pepperoni pizza.

“It’s not like he was falling at my feet or anything,” Celie pointed out. “In fact, I think he was pretty pissed that I was in his trees. All I wanted to do was get out of there.”

“Before or after you decided to have his baby?”

“His baby? Maybe in a parallel universe.”

“Are you sure you didn’t see him in a parallel universe? I can’t think of anyone around here who looks like that. Trust me, I’d have remembered.”

“Bob Ford said it was someone named Jacob Trask.”

“Jacob Trask?” Marce almost dropped her pizza. “Wait a minute, the Jacob Trask I know looks like the kind of guy who trapped beaver during the Gold Rush. We can’t be talking about the same person. I mean, he’s big enough but…”

“Well, I didn’t describe him in exhaustive detail to Bob. Maybe he had it wrong.” Celie raised her beer bottle.

“Let’s hope so. Jacob Trask is not the friendliest guy around, I’ll warn you. I had to go out and help him thin his sugarbush last year. I think I got two words out of him the whole time. Of course,” she said thoughtfully, “that’s not exactly going to be a problem for you.”

Celie froze with the bottle at her lips. “Are you suggesting I talk too much?”

“Far be it from me to suggest. I mean, I do use semaphore with you when you get on a roll, but I’m sure there are times when you’re merely voluble rather than garrulous.”