Mountains Apart (Mills & Boon Heartwarming) (6 page)

She especially liked the quote about “Cam-Field swallowing our little community like the whale swallowed Jonah, although Jonah undoubtedly enjoyed a better view of a whale's bowel than would the citizens of Rankins gazing out at the monstrous and hideous oil platform on their horizon.”

“Morning, Em,” Amanda said. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay. Great actually,” she said and meant it. She was enjoying the familiar sensation of good old-fashioned competition revving in her blood, but there was something else. She looked around and it dawned on her. “Amanda, it feels like heaven in here. Please tell me that someone finally came in and fixed the heat?”

Amanda nodded. “Mmm-hmm, you have your new friend Bering James to thank for that.”

Emily looked up curiously at Amanda's use of the word
friend
and felt a new sensation bubbling up from inside her. Was this his method of softening the blow from the article? Or drawing the battle lines? Either way, it was really nice of him and rather ambitious, too. Fixing the heat in her office and writing a scathing commentary for the paper in the same night? When did he sleep? She felt a prickle of guilt as she remembered that she'd essentially accused him of being lazy that very morning.

But could he really be this naive? Or more to the point, did he really think
she
was this naive? Emily had had plenty of competitors in business that she respected, and even saw socially on occasion, but she wouldn't call any of them friends. Every gesture, every handshake, every compliment, every party invitation—it was all business to her. So she had a difficult time believing that Bering James would do something like this without the exact same motivation. Of course it was related, she assured herself. It was a direct result of it. Just as Bering had said, they both knew how the game was played. She was an expert at it herself. So why was that thought suddenly rather distressing where he was concerned?

“Huh.”

“Yeah, he got someone in here last night after, like, one phone call, and after my having called all over town every day for the last week. Can you believe this place? Honestly, small towns are the best, and this one is absolutely the greatest. Clearly we were being shut out. Bering as much as admitted it to me.”

Emily knew that Amanda actually meant what she said. She loved the social dynamics of the little towns that they traveled to and fancied herself something of an amateur sociologist.

“And speaking of our new hero, what do you think of his little diatribe?”

“Well-done. Very eloquent.”

“He's definitely going to be a problem.” She handed Emily another stack of papers. “Messages and emails from concerned community members—all came in this morning—after the paper came out.”

“No surprise there. We'll deal with them shortly.” Then she tapped the newspaper still lying on her desk. “There's another interesting article in the paper here.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, it seems there is a winter festival coming up this weekend right here in Rankins. Apparently people come from all over the state for it.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Doesn't it? And it also says that there are still a few spaces available for vendors. You know what that says to me, Amanda?”

Amanda grinned slyly. “Hot dogs?”

“We've never served them with a side of snow before. Are you up for it?”

“You know I am.”

She and Amanda had often joked that more hearts had been won with hot dogs than with any other technique in their arsenal. No matter what information you were passing out, people would almost always take it if you handed it over with free food. “Okay, get on the phone—but not here in Rankins. Call Glacier Town or Polarbearville or wherever the closest thing to a city is and see if you can get us what we need.”

“I'm on it.”

“And don't forget to find out how we keep everything hot in these frigid temperatures. I'll start on a brochure to pass out and we'll do a raffle of some sort, too, with really cool prizes. People love raffles, and then we can talk to them and answer questions while they fill out the tickets. That will keep them around long enough to give them information....”

* * *

S
HE
 
AND
A
MANDA
 
then spent the bulk of the day working, fielding phone calls and answering emails from concerned citizens, most of whom had seen, and were liberally quoting from, Bering's article. They answered countless questions and recommended that people stop by the office to make an appointment or to pick up a more detailed hard copy of Cam-Field's plans for development and improvement. They also encouraged them to come to the town-hall meeting in a few weeks, where the plan would be outlined in greater detail.

Almost ten hours later, Emily was thinking about wrapping it up for the day when Amanda popped her head in the door, wearing an apologetic look.

“Hey, Em? Franklin is on line one.”

Emily grimaced and reached for the receiver.

“This is Emily,” she said in her most professional tone.

“Emily, dear, it's Franklin.”

“Hello, Franklin.” She'd always called her stepfather by his name, rather than by any reference to his parental status.

“How are things going up there, dear?” And that was about as close as he ever came to expressing any kind of emotional attachment to her—dear.

“Fine. Very well.” Emily didn't dare mention her brief hospital excursion. She knew he would probably send someone to replace her immediately if he thought there was even a possibility the job could be in jeopardy. This was Cam-Field's first effort to tap into the richness of Alaska, and she knew that Franklin Campbell would never let anything prevent him from doing this deal.

It wasn't exactly that he didn't care about her, she knew; it was just that his company had always been his number one love, even above her mother, whom Emily would rank a distant second. Emily thought she herself probably came in somewhere around seventh or eighth, after his sailboat,
Maureen's Mist;
his retired racing stallion, Brighton; his wine collection; his tailor, Johann' and his highly exalted nephew and her ex-boyfriend, Jeremy.

“Emily, progress report.”

Emily gritted her teeth. Lately his clipped demands had really been getting on her nerves. Probably because they reminded her of Jeremy, who shared the annoying habit. Even when they'd been involved, he'd say things like “Emily, drive” and “Emily, lunch,” and she was supposed to translate these short codelike phrases into some kind of invitation or demand for her compliance. It was bad enough coming from her boss/stepfather, but it was nearly unbearable coming from her coworker/boyfriend—if that was what he'd even been. She'd spent the better part of a year trying to figure it out.

She forced herself to answer in a level tone, “I've been meeting one-on-one with some of the prominent members of the community. I had a presentation before the Chamber of Commerce last night, which went very well. And we've scheduled the first community forum, which we're marketing as a town-hall meeting, and we've got plans for several other events....”

She continued filling him in and finished by informing him that Jeremy had yet to email them the information they needed.

“Jeremy has had a lot on his mind lately. But I'll make a note to talk to him about it again.”

Emily boiled with irritation.
Yes,
she thought,
he's had a lot on his mind, like ordering handmade Italian shoes and printing new gold-embossed business cards....

“As usual, it sounds like everything is right on track where your work is concerned. I don't think I need to reiterate to you the importance of this particular project?”

Then why are you?
Emily wanted to ask, but of course she didn't dare. “Certainly not,” she answered.

“I'm counting on you, Emily. And I know that you won't disappoint me—you so rarely do.”

“Thank you, Franklin.” Emily knew that this was his idea of a compliment.

“Jeremy has been working very hard here at home.”

“I'm sure he has.” Her temples began to throb.

“With you supporting him, he's going to make a fine CEO someday.”

“I'm sure he will,” she replied blandly. With her supporting him? What was that supposed to mean?

“Excellent. Your mother would like to speak with you now.”

Her stomach dropped.
He's calling from home?
Emily glanced over at the clock, surprised to see that it was indeed well past eight o'clock. It was so difficult to keep track of time up here, with the lack of daylight hours in the winter. Yet another black mark against this town as far as she was concerned.

It was an hour earlier in San Diego, right about the time Franklin would normally be returning home from work. She really wasn't in the mood to talk to her mother, but was she ever, really? It was always exhausting.

“Hello?” Emily said.

“Emily, darling, how are you?”

“Fine, Mother, and you?” Emily put the phone on speaker and listened to her mother prattle on about her upcoming charity event, of which she was the chair, her latest haircut and the pedicure that Chauncey, her beloved bichon frise, had had the day before. Or was it Chauncey's haircut and her mother's pedicure? She couldn't be sure....

Emily had almost tuned her out completely when her mother abruptly changed the subject. “Have you spoken with Jeremy?”

“Not lately.” Emily squeezed her eyes shut.

“Well, have you called him?” Irritation oozed from her tone.

“No, I haven't. We've had some issues with our phones here and I'm really, really busy. I don't have a lot of time for social—”

“Now, I know you've had a little spat,” she interrupted.

A little spat? Where did she come up with that?

“But, Emily, Jeremy has assured me that you're going to patch things up.”

“Mother, that is not—”

“Emily, Jeremy has been working very hard in his new job and he's counting on your support.”

Why was she suddenly Jeremy's “support” person? “Mother—”

“You know when you eventually get married, Emily, you're going to have to think about something other than your job and about someone other than yourself. There's not a husband in the world who would want to be less important to his wife than her job. You've got to...”

She continued to harp, and Emily picked up a pen and began making notes for the article she was going to submit to the paper. She wanted Bering's words hanging in the air for the least amount of time as possible.

She had heard her mother's litany so many times before she could probably recite it from memory. According to her mother, she was supposed to do absolutely anything necessary to make a man happy, including giving up her work, her ambition and her sense of self. That was what her mother had done, and Emily was deathly afraid of ending up like her—superficial, pretentious, cold and uninteresting.

Emily was relieved to finally hang up the phone, but her conversation with her parents had managed to suck the remaining wind out of her already tired sails. Her head throbbed and the back of her neck ached. She sighed deeply and stood up from her desk. She walked over to the window and stared out at the cold darkness.

So Jeremy had told her mother that they were patching things up? What was that all about? She had been very clear to Jeremy that it, whatever
it
had been, was over. She'd known it the second Franklin had given Jeremy the promotion. She'd seen the smug, superior look on Jeremy's face, and it had all suddenly become so clear to her in that instant. She'd helped him, taught him, nurtured his career, and then he'd swooped in and taken hers away. Why hadn't she seen it sooner? And would it have made any difference? Not really, she thought, because the only part that really hurt was that her stepfather had done it. That she never would have predicted.

The experience had crumbled her foundation into tiny bits and pieces, and she had been left wondering if it was even worth the effort to try to put it back together again. Work had always been her life, and as a younger woman she'd been sure that a career would make her happy. And it had for most of her life; at least, it had satisfied her anyway. It had certainly always provided the meaning to her life.

But now she was questioning what the point of it all was, really, working all the time. She'd thought it was going to get her to the top of Cam-Field one day. But it was obvious now that was never going to happen. And her relationship, or lack thereof, with her family was never going to change—she was coming to accept that, too. Her stepfather treated her as little more than an employee, and obviously not his best one, as she'd always believed. Her certainty in that regard had always sustained her. But that had all changed when he'd given Jeremy her job.

She'd never had time for relationships; work had always been her first priority, even during her involvement with Jeremy. And initially she'd liked that—finding someone who seemed to place as much importance on his career as she placed on hers. She'd believed that they had that in common, but she admitted now that it had not been satisfying in any way—personally or professionally.

So here she was out in the middle of this frozen nowhere and doubting her life choices. Her stomach churned painfully, reminding her that it, too, was empty and hollow—like her life.

But there was something in her—a spark inside her that couldn't be squelched. She knew it was there, even if no one had ever really fanned its flames before. Jeremy had never brought it to life—had he even tried? If she were honest, Emily never really wanted him to anyway.

Bering popped into her mind. Something definitely seemed to flicker every time she was in his presence, and without her really inviting it. It really didn't seem to matter that they were at odds professionally....