Come Home to Deep River Page 7

  He gave Hope a narrow look. “Buy the Moose’s lease? Seriously?”

  “Yeah.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and looked around warily, for eavesdroppers presumably. But it was still early, and there weren’t many people around, the sidewalk empty. “Mom said it was some city guy looking for an escape and wanting a bar to run. He apparently told her he’d been here and liked the place and wanted to know if she wanted to sell.”

  The feeling of wrongness deepened. Yeah, he was betting that phone call had nothing to do with some city guy wanting to cash in. “I guess you’ve never had anyone call out of the blue and ask about the Moose’s lease before?”

  Hope’s gaze came back to his, sharp and clear. “Nope. Not even once.”

  There was a note in her voice that he didn’t quite understand, but now wasn’t the time to think about what it could be or why he might be interested in finding out, so all he said was, “You think it’s not genuine?”

  “Hell no. I tried finding someone to take on the lease after Grandad died, and no one was interested. And I tried again a few years after that, but again, no one wanted it. So this guy suddenly offering now? After Cal? It’s sketchy.”

  Again that note in her voice, a hint of bitterness. So she’d tried to sell up.

  And no one wanted it and so she was stuck with it. Just like you’re sticking her with the entire town. Way to go, asshole.

  Something ached behind his breastbone, an old regret that suddenly felt not so old anymore. But he couldn’t go on thinking about it, and he couldn’t have regrets—not now. He couldn’t take on the responsibility that Cal had unexpectedly shoved on him, and neither could the rest of the Wild Alaska team. They had other plans, and none of those plans included Deep River.

  “Yeah, it’s sketchy all right,” he said, ignoring the ache. “If Cal had someone here prospecting, then somehow word might have gotten out. Oil companies are shady as hell.”

  Hope let out a breath, as if he’d given her confirmation of something. But it wasn’t satisfaction on her face. It was something more painful.

  He stared at her, and the urge to lift his hand and cup the angular shape of her cheek gripped him. So strong that he had to close his fingers in a fist to stop himself. “What’s up?” he asked instead, even though he shouldn’t. Even though getting interested in Hope again was not something he should be doing.

  And for a second, he thought she might answer him. Then she looked away, over his shoulder, to the street at his back. “Nothing. Well, not nothing. I wonder how many other people this guy has been calling. Or how many other people have gotten similar calls.”

  That wasn’t what she’d been upset about, Si was sure. But again, this wasn’t the time to be talking about it. “Okay, so that’s a worry. We need to get this news out in the open so everyone knows and there’s none of this shady shit happening.” He nodded toward the buildings that faced the river. “I’m just on my way to meet with the mayor. Why don’t you come along and tell her about that too?”

  “Okay.”

  Without another word, she fell in step beside him as they made their way to the Deep River tourist information center, since the mayor’s office was situated above it.

  The buildings all faced the river and the boardwalk, but there was an entrance from the street that ran behind the buildings. Hope didn’t say anything as Si pulled open the door and let her in first. She gave him an enigmatic glance, one he couldn’t interpret, as she went past him and up the creaky, dark stairs. But he suddenly found that he wanted to interpret it. He wanted to know what was going on with her and how she felt about his plans to sign the town over to her, but wanting to know those things was a mistake.

  He was only going to be here a few more days, then he’d be going back to Juneau and the life he’d planned for himself there. A life that didn’t include this town. A life that didn’t include Hope either.

  Somewhere inside him, that ache deepened even though he tried not to let it, and he had to stop and take a breath before following her up the stairs.

  No. He wasn’t going back to those old feelings again. The longing and the need. The loneliness that had settled inside him after his mother had died when he was ten. The loneliness that had only ever eased when Hope smiled at him.

  Shit, he’d thought those feelings were gone, that he’d excised them completely from his heart, but maybe he hadn’t removed them as cleanly as he’d thought.

  Maybe it was time for a second operation.

  Chapter 5

  The mayor’s office was a cheerful room, with big windows facing the river letting the morning sun in and highlighting the almost stark tidiness that was the hallmark of Astrid’s tenure. The previous mayor, Sonny Clarke, who managed the gas station, had shown his displeasure at being elected by being extremely untidy, the desk always full of half-drunk coffee mugs, balled-up papers, and half-eaten donuts. Not that anyone had cared whether he was tidy or not. Electing people who didn’t want to be mayor was one of Deep River’s favorite games, especially since the people who ended up being mayor never really had to do anything. The position was only for a year anyway, which meant most people suffered through it.

  Hope had—thank God—never been elected, mostly because people preferred her behind the bar, serving them alcohol. This year it had been the town’s librarian, Astrid James, who’d drawn the short straw. She was a frighteningly intelligent, sharp as a tack, incisive woman, and the town’s little joke on her had rebounded on them when she’d started taking her position completely seriously.

  She said nothing as Silas gave her the rundown on what was happening with Caleb’s will and the town and the oil, and she continued to say nothing as Hope told her about Angela’s phone call and the Moose’s lease.

  A silence fell after that, weighty and portentous, making the room feel stuffy, and Hope longed to open one of the windows and let some fresh air in.

  “Well,” Astrid said finally. “That’s certainly going to shake things up here, isn’t it?”

  Silas stood in front of her desk, his arms folded across his chest, the morning sun falling over his handsome features. There was an implacable look to him, like the mountains that surrounded the town, hard and absolutely impenetrable. And Hope had the oddest feeling that it should be him sitting behind that desk, taking charge and making sure that everything would turn out okay for the town.

  Stupid. He wasn’t going to do that, and he’d said as much. He was going to get back in his plane and fly out of here like he had all those years ago.

  Leaving you to clean up the mess. Again.

  “We need to call a town meeting ASAP,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. “If we already have shady assholes calling people and offering them money for their leases, there will be talk. And we need to handle this out in the open and directly. Make sure everyone knows where they stand.”

  Astrid leaned back in her chair and gave Silas a cool look. She was a single mom with a teenager who was a handful by all accounts, and nothing much seemed to faze her. Including returning prodigal sons bringing news that could change the town beyond all recognition.

  “Are you sure they need to know quite so soon?” she asked, her voice neutral.

  Silas’s gaze narrowed. “Are you saying we should hide it?”

  “No. I just wonder what the hurry is.”

  Astrid was, of course, playing devil’s advocate as she was wont to do, much to most people’s irritation. Hope opened her mouth to let Silas know, but it seemed he’d already figured it out, because he said, without heat, “I might have been away from Deep River for years, but I know this town. Gossip started the moment I landed my plane, and it’s not going to let up until people know the score. Which means the sooner we tell them the truth, the sooner we can start dealing with the fallout.”

  “We?” Hope said sharply. “You mean me, right
?”

  Silas’s gaze met hers, and she thought she saw a regret flicker in his green eyes. And she couldn’t tell herself that didn’t satisfy her on some level. A sign that he at least had an idea of the responsibility he was laying on her. “If there’s going to be trouble, I can stay to help out,” he said. “I don’t have to leave immediately.”

  “What do you mean ‘if’?” She couldn’t quite temper the sharp note in her voice. “Of course there’ll be trouble. Oil means money, and money always causes trouble.”

  “So that was your plan?” Astrid eyed Silas with some disapproval. “You were going to announce that the town was now Hope’s and then you were going to go back to wherever you came from?”

  Astrid had a whiff of stern teacher about her, something that made a lot of people uncomfortable, but Silas didn’t move, didn’t even look away. “I left this town years ago,” he said flatly. “I’m not part of it anymore, and one thing I know is that the people here won’t want an outsider getting all up in their business. It makes sense for this to be handled by the people who actually live here.”

  Damn him. How did he make all of this sound so logical? Because he wasn’t wrong. People wouldn’t want someone who hadn’t been back for thirteen years telling everyone what to do and assuming they knew what was best for the town. So why did it still feel as if he was abdicating his responsibility?

  You sure as hell don’t want it.

  Hope shifted on her feet, her hands clenching in her pockets. She couldn’t stop thinking about her mother’s excitement, about how that had dimmed when Hope had confronted her with the reality of the situation. About the anticipation in her voice as she’d told Hope that finally, they could leave. As if Hope hadn’t spent years as a kid wanting to do the same thing.

  You could sign that lease over to someone else. Let them take it. And then you and Mom could take the money and go, leave all of this behind. You could get your degree at last…

  “That’s true,” Astrid was saying, and then she glanced at Hope. “And how do you feel about this?”

  Hope took a breath, forcing away the thoughts of simply up and leaving. She’d made the decision years ago to stay, and she couldn’t regret it. Couldn’t change it. Her future—and all the responsibilities along with it—lay here.

  “It was a shock, obviously,” she said, conscious of Silas’s gaze resting on her. “And I’m concerned about what it’s going to mean for the town. Most folks here won’t be swayed by the potential for money, but you never know. People do strange things when there are dollars to be made.”

  “What about Angela?” Silas asked, as if he’d known exactly what Hope had been thinking. “Did she want to sell?”

  Hope felt the tension gather in her jaw and along her shoulders, but she tried to make herself relax as she met Silas’s gaze. “Mom was excited,” she said, because what else could she say? She had to let them both know that there was at least one person who was tempted by the offer. “She wanted to consider it.”

  Silas said nothing and she couldn’t read his expression, but a part of her felt defensive, even though he hadn’t said anything. “Hey, she’s had a tough life. And being here hasn’t been easy for her.”

  He gave her a steady look. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “No, but just in case you’re thinking it’s about greed—”

  “I’m not.” His voice was flat and she could hear the truth in it.

  But it didn’t make her feel any better. “The Moose is in her name. She could sign the lease over whenever she wants.”

  There was silence.

  Silas’s gaze narrowed. “You didn’t get your name put on it?”

  “No,” Hope said, the tension gathering and knotting in her shoulders and neck. “Mom inherited everything from Granddad, and honestly, I didn’t think about getting it transferred because who wants to buy the lease of a rundown bar in a backwater town?”

  “Do you think she’ll do it, then?” he asked, the look on his face impenetrable.

  “Honestly? I don’t know. If you’d asked me yesterday, I would have said no, she’d never sell. But now…” Hope stopped, not wanting to talk about it all of a sudden. “Anyway, Mom’s not the only person who might be an issue.”

  “I agree,” Astrid said in a clipped voice. “There are certainly a few people around here who’ll take this opportunity and run with it.”

  Silas’s expression turned hard. “They can’t. Because you know what’s going to happen if they sign their leases over, or even if they give these assholes mineral rights. This whole town will be one big mess, and that’s not even talking about the mess it’s going to make of the environment if they start drilling.”

  Astrid gave him a cool look. “What do you care? You just said you were leaving, so it won’t impact you in the slightest.”

  Good question. He did seem awfully invested in a situation he had no intention of sticking around to help out with. “Yeah,” Hope added, “I’d like to know the answer to that too.”

  Silas regarded Astrid, then flicked a glance at Hope. He didn’t seem discomfited by the question, which annoyed Hope for reasons she couldn’t explain. “I care because I was born here,” he said, his voice hard. “Because I grew up here. Because Cal was my friend and I owe him. Because this town stood for a way of life that meant something, and I’d like to see it stay that way.”

  Hope stared at him, catching the note of something passionate in his deep voice. As if, despite the fact that he’d left all those years ago and hadn’t been back since, he still cared about this place.

  Maybe there’s more to him not coming back till now. A reason he’s not telling you.

  Emerald and gold glinted in his gaze, reminding her of how deep he buried his passions, yet also that no matter how deep he’d buried them, she’d always been able to see them. Yes, something serious had kept him from returning and maybe that same something serious was stopping him from staying now.

  It’s almost like you want him to stay.

  No, that was stupid. Why should she care whether he stayed or not? Sure, he’d once been her friend, but he wasn’t anymore. Thirteen years of silence had put an end to that.

  “Nice speech,” Astrid said. “But since you’re leaving in a couple of days, what happens here won’t be your problem anymore.”

  A muscle flicked in Silas’s hard jaw, his expression becoming even more like granite than it already was. As if he didn’t like having that particular truth pointed out to him.

  But he only said, “Fair enough. Except I’d call that meeting soon, before gossip makes this mess even bigger.”

  Astrid gave a nod. “In that case, we’ll need a decision as to who the ownership of the town will pass to.” She looked at Hope. “You want to make a call on that?”

  What could Hope say? She had to take this responsibility, even though she didn’t want to. Even though the thought of it felt like too much. Because who else would?

  Silas’s expression remained enigmatic, and she suddenly felt compelled to say, “Astrid should take it. She’s the mayor.”

  “But I don’t know Astrid,” Silas said. “Sorry, Astrid. I’m sure you’re fine, but there’s a reason I wanted to sign the town over to Hope.”

  “No problem,” the mayor muttered. “I don’t want to own this place anyway. I didn’t even want to be mayor.”

  “Well?” Silas arched a brow, not taking his gaze from Hope’s. “Is that a yes?”

  Someone had to do it. Someone had to help manage this situation, and since Silas wasn’t going to do it, that someone had to be her. Even if she didn’t want to.

  “Okay,” Hope said, crushing the doubts inside of her flat. “You can sign it over to me.”

  * * *

  “So she’s going to do it, then?” Damon’s voice down the line sounded impatient.

  “Yeah. She
will.” Si leaned back on the chair he’d put out on the small balcony of his room at the Moose and kicked his booted feet up on the rail in front of him. He’d told Damon all about Hope and his plans for her to take on what he, Damon, and Zeke couldn’t, and they’d all agreed that she was the best person for the job. His two friends didn’t quite have the same stake in the issue as he did, but they’d still taken the responsibility that Cal had landed them with seriously. They’d all been in the army together, had fought beside each other, had been through hell, and they had each other’s backs. Neither Damon nor Zeke—no matter that the pair of them had their quite considerable faults—took what Caleb had left them lightly.

  “Good,” Damon said. “You think it’ll be a problem for her?”

  Si thought about the stoic look on Hope’s face as she’d accepted the responsibility for the town. The same kind of look she’d had when she’d told him and Cal that she had to stay here now that her grandfather was gone. That she couldn’t leave her mother. Someone had to stay and that someone had to be her.

  An uneasy feeling twisted in his gut, the sense that he’d made a misstep somehow. She hadn’t wanted the responsibility, that was for sure, and that had surprised him. She seemed confident and more than capable of tackling the issue.

  Are you really surprised? Come on.

  Yeah, he knew she’d had dreams of going to college and getting a degree, of having a bigger life somewhere else, but still…she’d chosen to stay. No one had forced her.

  “I don’t think she’s all that happy about it, but she accepted it,” he said. “Think we might have bigger issues than we first thought, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Some guy called her mom out of the blue, offering her money for the lease on her bar.”

  There was a silence.

  Then Damon said, “Well, that doesn’t sound at all shady as shit.”

  “I know.”

  “So what do you think that’s all about, then? Someone heard about the oil, maybe?”