Mountains Apart (Mills & Boon Heartwarming) (2 page)

She attempted another swallow, but there was now a large lump in her throat, a perfect match to her oversize tongue. Amanda was right; she didn't feel good. She probably should go home and...and...get these clothes off. Yes, definitely! She would feel so much better if she could just cool off. She was literally burning up....

Mr. James shifted in his seat, reminding her that in order to do that she first needed to deal with this combative man perched in front of her.

“Um ...what?” she asked.

Bering leaned forward and placed his forearms on his knees. The movement seemed to bring him about ten feet closer but Emily resisted the urge to scoot back in her chair. What was that old saying about never letting them see you sweat? Well, that might not be
literally
possible for her at this moment, but she certainly wasn't going to
act
intimidated. She steeled herself and tried to concentrate on the subject at hand.

“That report is gibberish—it's bogus, crap, bunk. It's not worth the paper it's printed on. I take that back—Tess down at the Cozy Caribou is making targets for the dartboards out of them, so I guess they're worth, what?” He answered his own question with a careless shrug. “About two cents a sheet.”

“Is that why everyone and their uncle, or some other shoestring relation, has come into my office over the last week requesting a copy?” Emily countered smoothly, relieved that she'd managed such a snappy retort.

“Probably,” he shot back. “The old targets had so many holes in them you could barely see the bull's-eyes anymore.”

Emily smiled faintly and then met his eyes, and the sarcasm in his tone. “Well, Cam-Field is eager to help the community in any way we can, Mr. James, even its most desperate of dart-throwers. But what I really meant is, if the report is so worthless, then why is everyone so eager to read it and then discuss it with me?”

Emily saw a muscle twitch in his jaw and guessed that Mr. James was struggling to keep his anger in check. He was obviously passionate about this quaint piece of primitive hinterland. He could have it as far as she was concerned, but of course that wasn't the position that she'd been sent here to advocate. Which reminded her, she also wasn't supposed to get into a verbal sparring match; her job was to win him over.

“Because, Ms. Hollings, it's the only thing they can think
to
do. This community feels threatened, and don't think I don't know exactly what Cam-Field's strategy is in handing it out so freely. By issuing this report, Cam-Field is trying to make people think that they have some control over the situation. It's an illusion created by you, by Cam-Field, to pull the wool over our collective eyes. You will say and promise anything necessary until the town council passes your resolution and then you will do whatever you want—including destroying the environment and this town along with it.”

Emily plastered on a benign smile and said calmly, “Come on, Mr. James, don't you think you may be overreacting a bit here? Cam-Field only wants what's best for the citizens of Rankins. And we—”

Bering interrupted with a snort of disbelief. “No. And I mean no to both of those ridiculous statements. What Cam-Field wants is what is best for Cam-Field—money. You may be able to bamboozle a few ignorant fools and some desperate souls around here with the sheer abundance of dollar signs in that report, but just so we're clear here, Ms. Hollings, it's my mission to get the facts across to the good people of this community. And by the time I'm through, you—and the rest of your Cam-Field crew—will be nothing but an unpleasant memory that we'll all shake our heads and share a chuckle over.”

Emily had heard similar arguments before and she automatically opened her mouth to deny the accusation. But for some reason, this time the words wouldn't come; she knew that what he said was largely the truth.

Cam-Field's operating strategy was, essentially, just as Mr. James said: to get the community on board for their development projects with help from a carefully executed marketing plan. They would send in a “landing party,” in this case her and Amanda, to feel out the local opinion and ingratiate themselves into the community. Their usual procedure included holding and attending public meetings, issuing informational brochures and reports about the exciting improvements Cam-Field would bring to the community, outlining exciting job opportunities, and quoting generous estimates of the amount of money that would be poured into the economy. If things proceeded well, the communities would be nearly begging for Cam-Field to come in and “save” them. If not, as appeared to be the case here in Rankins, it took a bit more convincing. And while the economic projections were essentially accurate, it was true that after Cam-Field was through, Rankins as it currently existed would cease to exist.

Emily raised her brows in a maneuver that she'd perfected during her long tenure with Cam-Field. The gesture was intended to express concern and convey empathy—and innocence. “I'm not sure what you're suggesting exactly, um, Mr. James?” she said, but she was having a hard time keeping her thoughts focused. “And please, call me Emily.”

Bering rolled his eyes. “I'm not
suggesting
anything, Ms. Hollings,” he replied, pointedly ignoring her attempt at informality. “I'm stating it outright. Cam-Field has skewed that report, emphasizing the positives and completely and purposefully understating the negatives. But you're in for a big surprise here because you're going to find that Rankins is different than other places. Money doesn't mean so much here, Ms. Hollings. Not like it does to you city slickers anyway. Here it means a roof over our heads, food on the table and coats on the backs of our children. You know, not everyone who lives here does so because they don't have any other option. We have a
quality
to our life that is unmatched anywhere in the nation—probably the world, for that matter, certainly as far as most of us are concerned—and which I'm sure that you and your Cam-Field cronies know nothing about. We're more than just a community—we're a family. We
choose
to live here, and I will not sit idly by and watch while Cam-Field Oil & Mineral destroys what we, and our friends and family before us, have built over the last one-hundred-and-some-odd years. So you'd better come to your little town-hall meeting with a whole lot more than what you've got in that report because...”

Emily tapped a finger to her chin and tried desperately to concentrate on his words. But her head felt as light as the cottonwood down that used to blow from the trees and float through the streets of her childhood home. She almost grinned as she pictured it in her mind, her head floating up, up, up and away like an errant helium balloon. She resisted the urge to reach up and pat it to make sure it was still securely anchored to her neck; she entwined her twitchy fingers tightly on the desk in front of her.

She forced her eyes to focus on something, and for some reason they landed upon the deep cleft in his chin, which was slightly off-kilter, she noticed, and yet not...unattractive. It was a physical trait that she'd always found appealing in men...

Emily felt the fog closing in around her again, stealing her attention, until finally it seemed as if she had come loose from her moorings and really was floating. She looked down and saw a smartly dressed, albeit rather rumpled and inattentive, corporate executive being lectured by a burly outdoorsman who didn't seem to adhere to the popular rule of watching his tone in front of women. In her experience, country boys were usually rather careful when speaking to the opposite sex, but Mr. James was now delivering his speech with ever-increasing volume, although like a gentleman he'd yet to throw in any profanity. She should share her
moose nuggets
with him, she thought, and fought the urge to giggle again—wait, maybe she was giggling a little bit. She definitely needed to stop that. She did her best to compose herself; she pressed her lips together and sat up straighter in her chair. But now her head felt really heavy, so she rested her chin on her intertwined fingers.

He certainly was eloquent; she was sure of that even if she wasn't quite getting the gist of what he was saying. And he really wasn't bad-looking, either. In fact, he was quite good-looking, she thought, or he could be—with a shave, a haircut and a change of clothes. A nice Italian suit or maybe even some pressed silk trousers—anything but this denim and flannel that these people seemed to think was fashionable for absolutely any occasion...

“Would you agree with that assessment, Ms. Hollings?”

Silence ensued as Emily found sharp eyes piercing hers. She almost flinched, or maybe she did flinch.

“Um, what?” She'd missed the “assessment” completely, but it wasn't her fault, really; it was getting impossible to think in this...this sauna. She grabbed another tissue and flattened it against her brow. She pulled it away and stared down at it. Strange, she thought, that it didn't appear to be damp with sweat. How could that be when she was so hot? She dabbed it on her forehead and looked at it again. She patted it with her other hand—dry.
Huh. Weird.

* * *

“T
HIS
 
IS
 
RIDICULOUS
,” Bering said crossly. He stood to leave and then added, “I can see that I'm wasting my time here.”

And he
was
perturbed. The woman was clearly and deliberately tuning him out. And now she was just sitting there spacing out. He'd known when he'd been out in the waiting room that it was probably going to be a waste of time, but he'd also known it was a necessary first step to meet with Cam-Field's representative. And he had to admit that he'd been hoping he could have a reasonable conversation with this Emily Hollings because he knew exactly what Cam-Field was going to do to this community—his community— if they won approval for their proposed “oil extraction and development project.” And he knew the long-term dangers such development would bring with it.

He had been a young boy when the worst oil spill to ever hit Alaska's coast had occurred. His dad, uncle and several other family members had dedicated months of their lives assisting in the cleanup. Bering had grown up hearing the stories about the devastation and the impact it had had on Alaska's coastline, marine animals and the state's fisheries. An environmental disaster of that nature would have a similar impact on his business, not to mention his quality of life and the lives of the entire community.

As a result, it had become an important part of his life's work to prevent that sort of destruction from happening again anywhere in Alaska, and especially right here in his hometown. But he could see that discussing it with their front person wasn't going to do a bit of good. The woman was obviously incompetent. Bering turned to go, but her bizarre question managed to stop him.

“Why aren't you sweating?”

“What?” he snapped.

“Why aren't you sweating? Aren't you hot? I mean, you're wearing that fuzzy shirt for goodness' sake, and you're just standing there like it doesn't even faze you. And I'm...so...so hot.” She tugged on the lapels of her jacket. “I'm burning up!” She squirmed in her seat and continued mumbling incoherently.

Bering thought he heard the words
moose
and
beach
and
smoothie,
but he couldn't be sure. He watched as she then shrugged out of her jacket and dropped it on the floor. Her tank top was nothing but a flimsy scrap of silk and Bering could clearly see the outline of her bra underneath. What in the world was she doing? Was she out of her mind?

Bering answered himself with a definite yes, as she then swiveled in her chair and kicked off her shoes. They twirled through the air and thudded one at a time against the wall behind her desk. She turned back toward him and he watched transfixed as she reached up and with one fluid movement stripped off her top.

Next, she stood abruptly and kind of lurched to one side before clumsily regaining her balance with the aid of the desk in front of her. She reached her hands behind her, unzipped her skirt and began wiggling her body in an effort to loosen it from her hips. It fell to the floor with a quiet swoosh. She stepped out of it, leaving her in nothing but a lacy pink bra and matching panties. And Bering could only assume that eventually she would have ended up stark naked—if she hadn't passed out first.

CHAPTER TWO

B
ERING
 
QUICKLY
 
DIALED
911 and waited impatiently at Emily's side for help to arrive. His cousin Tag was a paramedic and Bering knew he was on duty. The minutes seemed to crawl by until he finally heard a noise in the entryway. He yelled, “Tag, in here!”

“Emily?” a voice called from the next room. “What's going on?”

Bering looked up to see Ms. Hollings's assistant standing in the doorway, an insulated drink cup in each hand.

“What are you doing to her?” Amanda demanded.

Bering saw it through her eyes: a strange man crouched in front of her nearly naked boss, who didn't appear to be moving at all. He hoped she wasn't packing. It was not at all unusual for women he knew to carry a handgun with them at all times. He rushed to explain, “I'm... She—”

“What have you done to her? Get away from her, you freak!” Amanda shrieked. “I'm calling the police.” She plopped the cups down on the desktop and reached for the phone.

“An ambulance is already on the way,” Bering replied calmly. He gave Amanda time to absorb the scene, hoping she'd note that while Emily was only partially clothed, he was completely presentable. He reached out and placed two fingers on Emily's neck, feeling for her pulse. Was it his imagination or did it seem kind of weak and thready?

He glanced at Amanda and met her worried eyes. Judging by the expression on her face, she was getting it.

“Oh,” Amanda said, dropping the phone back onto the desk. She sank to her knees next to Emily's limp form. “What happened? What's wrong with her?”

“I'm not sure.” He pinched Emily's arm. “I think she might be dehydrated, though. Has she been sick?” Bering inched closer and was alarmed anew by how soft and shallow her breathing seemed.

Amanda began shaking her head. “No, not that I know of...I mean, she said she had a headache today. And she really hasn't been herself lately, but she hasn't been sick. Did she faint or something?”

Bering nodded, but never took his eyes off Emily. “She started acting really weird. She said she was hot and then she, uh, she began taking her clothes off, and then she passed out. It scared the heck out of me. I... Where in the world is Tag with that ambulance?” Bering put his fingers on Emily's neck again, the weak, faint thud of her pulse causing his own heart to leap and then thump heavily in his chest.

“Oh, no!” Amanda cried suddenly, springing to her feet. She crossed over to the desk, and as she frantically searched through the messy pile, she let out an anguished groan.

“What is it?” Bering asked her.

“I gave her some pills earlier for her headache. But I told her to only take one or even a half to start with, but it looks like she took them all. They're prescription and they're really strong, and I don't think she's eaten anything all day. She hasn't eaten much at all since we've been here, actually, and...” Amanda was rambling now as she rushed back toward Emily. “Like I said, she really hasn't been herself. She's been through so much and she...” Amanda broke off with a sob, dropped to her knees and grabbed one of Emily's limp hands. “Emily, honey? Wake up, Em, please,” she pleaded. “Wake up.”

Bering heard the ambulance crew bust into the reception area. “Finally,” he muttered in relief and then shouted, “Tag, in here.” The paramedic team came charging through the door and Bering had never been so glad to see his cousin in his entire life.

* * *

“I
FEEL
 
SO
 
SILLY
,”
Emily said much later as Amanda helped prop her up against two wonderfully fluffy down pillows. She'd awoken and oddly enough hadn't been all that surprised to find herself in the hospital. She had vague and hazy recollections of an ambulance ride and voices coming from very far away. There were also remnants of vivid dreams swimming in her head, of strong hands running a cool cloth over her skin, and warm fingertips caressing her face and hair. But of course that was crazy. She'd obviously been delusional.

Amanda's face split into a wide grin. She set the paper bag she'd been holding on the bed beside Emily. “I'm just glad that you're going to be okay. What did the doctor tell you?”

Emily made a face. “That I was dehydrated, undernourished, exhausted, anemic and stressed-out, and on top of all that I was then, apparently, drugged.”

Amanda winced. “I'm so sorry about the pain pills, Em. I should have only given you one.”

“Amanda, clearly it wasn't your fault. I was out of my mind. The doctor also said I am overall generally unhealthy.” She scrunched her face into a doubt-filled expression and asked, “Do you think I'm unhealthy?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly.”

Amanda began ticking things off on her fingers. “You don't get enough sleep. You don't get enough exercise. You work all the time. You never eat very well—I've been telling you that for years. So, yes, I'd say it doesn't surprise me that the doctor says you're unhealthy.”

Emily shrugged and said defensively, “I don't have time.”

Amanda looked at her doubtfully. “You don't have time?”

“To eat healthy and stuff.”

“You have just as much time to stop at Whole Foods in the morning as you do the bakery. You have just as much time to eat a banana or some oatmeal as you do an apple fritter. You have just as much time to walk through the salad bar at Trader Joe's as you do the drive-through at Chicken Little.”

“I don't like hummus,” Emily said with a curled lip. “Or wheat germ.”

“No one is suggesting you eat hummus, and I would be willing to bet you couldn't identify a germ of wheat if your life depended on it.”

“That's probably true,” Emily conceded with a grin. “But you know what I mean—I don't like slimy, wheat-germy-type things.”

“Wheat germ isn't slimy. But look, Emily,” Amanda said and then took a deep breath. “I know you don't like to talk about this, but ever since the promotion-Jeremy thing, you haven't been taking very good care of yourself at all—worse than normal. All you do is work. All you talk about is work.”

Emily folded her hands neatly in front of her. “Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Amanda, I know I've probably been awful to work for—”

“No, no,” Amanda said, “you are, and always have been, the best boss in the world.” She reached down, took Emily's hand and squeezed it. “But right now I'm talking to you as your best friend. You need to pull yourself together. You need to start taking care of yourself and thinking about yourself first, before your job—before even your stepfather and your mother, and definitely before that worm Jeremy.”

Emily bobbed her head agreeably. “You're right. I know you're right. I'm going to. I will.”

“I'm sorry, Em, if I sound harsh, but you have no idea how worried I've been about you.”

Emily felt a surge of guilt well up within her. How selfish of her not to realize what Amanda had gone through, too.

“Oh, Amanda, I'm so sorry.” She reached over and enfolded Amanda's hand in hers. “Yes, I promise I will get my act together. I will get better and healthy and eat raisins and vitamins and do yoga and become a hummus-eating vegan. And you know what? I'm thinking about starting my training for a triathlon the minute I get out of this hospital bed.”

Amanda let out a bark of laughter. “Let's not get carried away here. It's important not to set our expectations too high.”

“You're right. I won't, because I'm not eating any raisins. I'm not eating anything that looks like a dead bug. And I'm really not a strong swimmer, so that triathlon thing might be a tad unrealistic.”

“I'd settle for a brisk fifteen-or twenty-minute walk on the treadmill.” She let go of Emily's hand and then reached into the brown paper sack sitting on the tray table and pulled something out. She placed it on a napkin and set it on Emily's lap. “Here, try this. It's one of the most delicious things I've ever eaten.”

Emily grimaced at it. It was some sort of biscuit covered with purplish-brown polka dots. “What is it? Wait, Amanda, is that a raisin?”

“Those are huckleberries. It's a huckleberry scone. Just try it,” Amanda coaxed in a motherly tone. “Stop looking at it like that. I swear they aren't raisins and there's no wheat germ or anything healthy in it. I don't even think it would fall into the ‘healthy' category at all.”

Emily looked skeptical. “I'll try it later, okay? I'm really not hungry right now. Now tell me exactly what happened after I passed out.”

Amanda ignored her attempt to change the subject. “Emily, you just told me you were going to do better. You promised. And the doctor says you have to eat if you're going to get out of here today. And judging by your tray, you skipped breakfast.”

Emily crinkled her nose at the congealed cheese-and-smoked-salmon omelet and slimy canned fruit that lay untouched on the cart next to them. An apple fritter sounded good, or even a couple Oreos.

“Just try a bite,” Amanda encouraged.

“Fine, if it will make you happy.” Emily nibbled on the edge of the flaky biscuit and was immediately overwhelmed by its luscious texture. She took a real bite. Sweet, fluffy dough met tart berry in a delectable combination. Her stomach lurched painfully and then growled in anticipation of more. She took another bite and this time she savored it.

“That's really good. I feel like I haven't eaten in days.”

“You
haffen't
” came the muffled reply as Amanda's mouth was now also stuffed full of scone.

“What?” Emily answered. “I had that candy bar, let's see, when was it? Yesterday morning? I guess it has been a while.”

Amanda shook her head and swallowed. “Nope, that was the day before yesterday. You've been asleep since Friday.”

“What?”

“Today is Sunday. You were out of it all day yesterday.”

Emily stared down at the scone in her hands and reeled over the fact that she'd lost almost two whole days out of her life and hadn't even realized it. She thought hard for a moment. The last thing she remembered was a meeting with a Mr. James. She'd had a terrible headache, and she'd been really hot and...and he'd seemed angry with her—the memory of his deep voice reverberating in her brain made her cringe—and then she'd...

“I wouldn't eat all of that if I were you,” that same voice suddenly called from the doorway. Emily shot a startled glance at Bering James as he strode into the room. She definitely remembered that voice. His hair was too long and rather unkempt, she thought, but he looked and smelled freshly showered, Emily decided as a few more steps delivered him right beside her bed. Her body tingled in memory of...what? Possibilities sent a shiver skittering uncomfortably across her skin.

It was just his close proximity making her feel overheated and self-conscious, she decided, pulling the sheet up to her chin. Bering ran one hand over his mouth and it looked to Emily as if he was smothering a chuckle. What was funny, she wondered irritably, and what in the world was he doing here?

“Your stomach might tell you it wants all of that,” he said, gesturing at the scone in her hands. “But if you eat that much, it might turn around and change its mind on you. It's awfully rich.” He smiled at her, and Emily had the distinct feeling that he was going to reach out and touch her. But he didn't.

“I'm glad to see you're finally awake, Ms. Hollings. How are you feeling?”

“I, uh, I'm fine, I guess, Mr. James. Thank you so much for stopping by. If you want to talk to Amanda here, she can reschedule our meeting. I really have to apologize. I'm afraid I don't remember most of our first one.”

“Emily,” Amanda began, “Bering hasn't—”

“It's okay, Amanda,” he said, cutting her off. “I would be happy to reschedule—but later. The doctor is going to be in to see you again in a few minutes. But first, here you go. Drink this.” He reached into a pouch on the side of the backpack he had slung over his shoulder and removed a plastic bottle filled with a thick liquid. He inserted a straw and placed it in her hands.

Emily held it up—it looked like a smoothie. She hadn't had a smoothie in so long that the mere thought of it caused her mouth to water. But she had to ask, “It's pink—please don't tell me it's some kind of liquefied salmon drink?”

“What?” Bering said with a surprised chuckle. “No, it's peach.”

She took a sip from the straw and the taste of fresh peaches drenched her taste buds. “Mmm, oh, my goodness,” she said with a groan. “This is even better than the scone. It's the best thing I've tasted since I've been here. Where did you get it? Because I know there is nothing even resembling a proper juice place in this town.”

Bering grinned at her. “I made it. And my mom made the scones, and I'll be sure to tell her that you think my smoothie is better than her scones. The smoothie is very healthy. So drink it, and I'll see you later.” With that he turned, his long strides carrying him swiftly from the room.

Emily gaped toward the door and then gaped at Amanda. “Amanda, what the...?”

Amanda patted her mouth with a napkin and Emily was struck with the notion that she was swallowing a chuckle, too.

Several minutes later, she decided that that was exactly what she'd been doing, as had Bering James. As Amanda filled her in on the details of the past couple days, she knew it wasn't the richness of the scone that had her feeling nauseated. She pulled the cool sheet up to cover her now-flaming face.

Amanda seemed to be enjoying her mortification, however, and continued torturing her with more details.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” she finally said, lowering the sheet enough to reveal her eyes. “I had some kind of psychotic break. I just haven't been hungry since we've been here. All this seafood...” Emily scrunched up her face distastefully. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “I've got to get out of here, Amanda.”