Solomon's Decision (19 page)

All but one of them.

A one night stand. Wasn't that what one of the fellows in the tavern had accused
Madeline of? Or had the words been his own? He didn't know. It didn't matter.

"Here we are," Charlie said, pulling into the parking lot of McCall's biggest and
poshest hotel. He led Erik into the restaurant, where three men, about Charlie's age and
having much the same air of wheeler-dealers, were waiting at a table.

Charlie introduced them, but their names went in one of Erik's ears and out the
other. They were easy to tell apart, however. One had artfully coifed hair that was both too
black and too thick for a man his age. Another looked like a Prussian field marshal, And
the third was so nondescript, so colorless and expressionless, that he faded into the
background.

Charlie pulled out a chair between the Prussian and the hairdo, leaving Erik to sit
more or less facing them all. Feeling like he was about to undergo interrogation. Or
brainwashing.

The three were the major investors in a consortium--High Country Homes--that
had its collective eyes on the Zenger Ranch. Erik was assaulted with the most
concentrated, most overpowering sales pitch he'd ever experienced.

"Whenever you have time, we'll fly you over to Sunriver so's you can see how
they've managed their environmental protection," the Prussian promised. "We've planned
for about the same housing density, or maybe even a little less."

Hairdo broke in. "We've already talked to some people up at Billings who're
putting together a homeowners' agreement for us. It'll set up restrictions for access to the
meadow. Any trees that have to be cut down will be replaced. We figure on movin' a good
number of them, as long as they aren't too big."

The third man's voice was as colorless as the rest of him. "The hotel and golf
courses will be where the main ranch buildings are now, so we won't have to construct new
access roads. And we'll hire the best engineering firm to plan the interior roads to do the
least environmental damage."

And on and on and on. At three Erik looked at his watch for the fourth or fifth
impatient time. Would they never run down?

"And that about wraps it up, Erik," Hairdo said, sitting back and beaming. "What
d'you think?"

"I think you've put a lot of thought and time into your planning," he said, admiring
in spite of himself their apparent determination to construct what amounted to a small city
with minimal environmental damage. "But I don't see what this all has to do with me. I
couldn't invest if I wanted to. It would be a conflict of interest, since I'm representing
NWT."

"We need Wound--"

The Prussian held up a hand, stopping Charlie's explanation. "Let me explain." He
waved the waitress over for their umpteenth refill, waiting until she had poured before
continuing. "You're the wetlands expert. We need you to help us plan so we don't do
anything to mess up Wounded Bear Meadow."

Erik stared for a long moment. "Wait a minute! What makes you think you'll be
allowed to build anywhere near the meadow?"

"That's what I was gonna tell you," Charlie began. "We--"

"Charlie, please." Again the Prussian waved him to silence. "Mr. Solomon, we've
met with Jethro Zenger and convinced him that selling us the entire ranch would be in his
best interests. I'm surprised he didn't tell you."

"The hell you say!" He hadn't spoken to Jethro for more than a week, what with
spending all his time on the Social.

"As a condition of the sale, we've promised Mr. Zenger that we would retain you,
or someone with similar qualifications, to oversee our planning for the preservation of
Wounded Bear Meadow. We would of course, pay you your usual consulting fee." The
figure Hairdo named showed he knew what a good consultant was worth these days.

"I don't know what to say." All he could think of was that everything he'd done for
the past month was wasted. He'd been so sure he could get the funding together, so sure
Jethro would be patient until he could. Why hadn't he insisted on a contract, instead of a
handshake?

"Just say you'll consider our offer," The Prussian said. "We'd like to send you
some preliminary plans in a few days, have you look 'em over for potential problems."

Erik was in a daze as they left the restaurant. He'd take the consulting job, not for
the money but to make sure they really didn't mess up the meadow. But he'd never be able
to face his associates at NWT, not after losing one of the best wetlands the Trust had ever
had a chance to obtain.

They got back to Garnet Falls about six. The first thing Erik did, after he got rid of
Charlie, was call Madeline.

No answer.

Then he called Jethro Zenger. One of the hands answered, told him Jethro was up
in Montana.

"He figured to be back around the tenth, unless the fishin's extra good."

"Is there any way I can get hold of him?"

"I don't reckon so. He's likely to call, come Wednesday or Thursday. You want me
to give him a message?"

Mrs. Zenger was also away, visiting her son in San Francisco.

"Thanks," Erik said, holding on to the last shreds of patience. "I'll call again after
the tenth." He slammed the phone into its cradle.

There was no help for it. He'd just have to wait until Jethro returned to learn what
was going on.

Now, which road did he take to the Double J?

* * * *

He spoke as soon as she appeared, not even waiting for her to open the back
screen door. "How long did you think you could keep them a secret?"

Madeline stared up at Erik's grim face, slightly blurred through the wire mesh, her
heart heavy in her chest. He was angry--and she hadn't the faintest idea why.

She pushed on the screen door, but had to wait while he moved aside before she
could join him on the porch. "Whatever I did, we can talk about it better where Janine
won't worry about what we're saying." She led him to the cluster of lawn furniture under
the big weeping willow.

Madeline sat, knotting her hands together under the table's edge. Ever since her
grandfather had insisted she stand at attention for his occasional scoldings, she hated to do
battle on her feet. Sitting down kept her relatively composed.

Erik gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles white and his fingers digging into
the floral-patterned cushion. "I want an answer," he said. The cords in his neck stood out in
harsh relief. "Now!"

"If I knew what the question was, maybe I could give you one."

"Damn it, Madeline, I'm talking about the children!" His face contorted into an
angry mask as the words exploded from his mouth. "How long did you expect to keep
them a secret from me?"

Honestly puzzled, Madeline frowned. "I
know
I told you about them,
when you first came to town."

"Yeah. And you told me their father was dead." With one step he was before her,
hands clenched on her upper arms, pulling her up to face him. "You lied, Madeline. Didn't
you?" The expression in his face frightened her.

"Yes." Writhing, she tried to break free of his grip. "Yes, I lied. What did you
want me to say? That their father was an unknown...?"

"Unknown? Bull! You know who fathered those kids." His hands tightened on her
arms until she wanted to cry out with the pain.

"No!" She couldn't restrain the sob in her voice. "I never knew. I never wanted to
know." The old agony came once more, with all the force and sharpness of long ago. As
long as she didn't know the identity of the anonymous donor--a condition of the
insemination--she could fantasize that Jesse had fathered her children. The fantasy had
never replaced reality, but at first she had hoped it would.

"Think back, lady. Remember the first time we met?"

She couldn't meet his eyes. "How can I forget?" she whispered. "It was a
mistake."

The crack of his laughter was like a knife at her chest. "I'll say. The worst mistake
you'll ever make." Releasing her, he strode to the thick trunk of the willow, leaned against
it, deceptively casual. But his spine showed tension, as did a twitching muscle in his jaw.
Finally he said, "Did you really expect me to miss the resemblance?"

She drew a deep, steadying breath. "Erik, you aren't making sense. Now please, sit
down and tell me what you're so angry about."

He dragged a chair right up to hers, threw himself into it. He glared directly into
her face, close enough that she felt his breath hot on her cheeks. "Talk!" he commanded.
"Tell me about their so-called father."

"My children were conceived by artificial insemination," she said, wondering
where she had put the records. Not wanting the twins to find them until they were old
enough to understand, she had kept her medical records separate from their birth
certificates and other important papers.

"And reindeer fly," he sneered. "Come on, Madeline, stop lying to me."

All at once she'd had enough. "Damn you, Erik Solomon! What gives you the
right to come out here and call me a liar?" She forced herself to speak slowly, calmly. "It's
none of your business, but I can prove what I say. Kyle and Virginia are the result of my
being impregnated at a clinic in Portland. Do you want time and date?"

"By all means. Add some verisimilitude to your fiction."

She told him. The details were engraved in her memory. She had begun to care
whether she lived or died at that instant.

"That was the day we met," he said. His voice was more subdued than it had been
since his arrival.

"I went directly from the clinic to the airport. And I arrived at the conference in
Seattle just a little before two." She remembered how emotionally exhausted she'd been
that day. How she'd rather have done anything but sit in a conference and listen to a bunch
of experts talk about saving a few marshes and bogs.

"And that night you seduced me."

Her voice caught somewhere in her throat, on a gasp of surprise and outrage.
"
I
seduced
you?"
she managed to croak. For long seconds her mind
whirled with confusion and fury. Through narrowed eyes she glared at Erik, trying to
remember the exact details of that night. But all she recalled was finding momentary
forgetfulness, a brief relief from deadening sorrow, in his arms.

"I
didn't
seduce you. I don't even remember how we...why we...." Taking
a deep breath, she looked him in the eye. "Erik, I don't even know how you got into my
room."

He searched her face, seeing sincerity. A pleading to be believed. And he stiffened
his resolve. "I suppose you don't remember asking me to make love to you, either."

"I didn't do that!"

"Lady, you begged for it."

She stared at him, tears drowning her eyes. Erik suddenly knew what it felt like to
be a lizard hiding under a rock.

Low. Lower than low.

"Oh, hell! Listen. I don't want to fight with you about this. All I want is the truth."
He did his best to make his voice calm, non-belligerent.

"I've told you the truth!"

"You've told me the lies you've lived for so long you believe them," he said, and
stopped. Now that the words hovered on the tip of his tongue, he was finding them hard to
say. As if, by saying them, they changed from a theoretical possibility to reality.

He forced himself to relax, let the fat cushions enfold him. A bee was buzzing just
outside the willow canopy, exploring the roses along the white board fence. Sunlight
filtered through the branches and lay in long golden lines across the yard, highlighting
Madeline's face, heightening the green of her eyes and glinting off the tracks of tears on
her cheeks. Erik was more aware of his surrounding than he had ever been, more aware of
the mutter of a tractor somewhere, of far away children's voices, of the scents of July: hot
grass and fresh-cut hay.

Reaching out to gather her hands into his, he opened them from their rigid clasp in
her lap. With one thumb, he stroked along her wrist, wondering if there was any right way
to say what must be said. Deciding there wasn't.

"Madeline, I'm the father of your children."

She giggled, a nervous, uncertain giggle. "No you're not!"

He held her hands, even though she was struggling weakly to pull free. "I am.
There's no question in my mind that Kyle is my son." None. He'd wrestled with all the
possibilities for two days now and there was just no escaping it. Coincidence could not
account for such a perfect resemblance.

This time she was able to jerk her hands free. She jumped to her feet and strode to
the tree, where she turned her back to him and leaned against its black bark. Silhouetted
thus against the gold and green of the willow branches, she looked fragile. Fragile and
vulnerable.

"Why are you doing this to me?" The pain in her almost-whisper cut him to the
quick.

"Why did you do it to me?" he countered. Almost he'd convinced himself that she
was as innocent as he, but not quite. Not quite.

"I didn't." Her shoulders hunched and her head bowed, she stood unmoving at the
edge of the sink. "You're making a horrible mistake, Erik. There's just no way...." Suddenly
she stopped. Her hands gripped the edge of the sink. "Unless you...." She turned slowly,
her eyes wide and full of accusation. "You said you'd protect me!"

"I did." The condom had resided in his wallet for a long time, just in case.

"Then how? How can you believe they're yours?" Her question was almost a
wail.

"Kyle could be my sister, Gail--or her twin," he said. "The resemblance is
uncanny."

"Coincidence." Her protest was almost a question.

"Sure. How many people have you seen with eyes that color?" He never had,
anywhere in his travels. He would have noticed. "And the widow's peak? The almost-white
hair? Did he get those from your family?"

"No, but--"

"His voice is like I remember Gail's. His mouth is shaped the same way. I'll bet
he's even got hitchhiker's thumb." Erik held up his hand, effortlessly bending his thumb
back until it almost touched his wrist. "It runs in the family." Hating himself for the agony
he saw on her face, he said, "Any one or two of those characteristics I could buy as
coincidence, Madeline. But not all of them.