angrily, he laid his fingers over her mouth. “Farming is a harsh life, Sabina. A new government regulation, one dry summer, or a wet summer, and things can turn against you.”
She pushed his hand from her lips. “But you used him!”
Chad ran the rejected fingers through his hair before closing his eyes wearily. “ He came to me. I referred him to Zack. That’s the last site Zack mined before he died.” When he opened his eyes she saw his intensity. “We take care of our own around here. The farmer’s pride would accept this kind of help. In the end we were all better off.”
“But that’s . . .”
“It’s called survival.” Chad’s voice was hard. “Do you know what it’s like to lose not only the land you inherited but the only way you know to make a living? What career change is a dairy farmer supposed to make? Can he become a computer programmer? A doctor? He and his family can’t survive on what he’d make working in a fast food place.”
The truth of his words struck Sabina like a slap. Her idealism had never allowed her to look further than the effects on the land. Before she’d come here, everything was black or white. She knew industry needed the energy coal provided. What she despised was the method used to get the coal. Until now, she’d blamed the mining companies.
She’d never looked at things from the perspective of Chad’s anonymous dairy farmer. And he still owned his land. Wasn’t this beautiful site what she thought of as the ideal result?
“I’ve never thought of it that way. No one’s ever before presented the other side. Thank you.” The admission hurt, but she was ruthlessly honest about such things. She felt as if a large chip had just fallen from her shoulder.
He smiled. “You’re a very up front lady. For the second time in two days you’ve conceded a point.”
“I’m sure every site isn’t mined because of hardship,” she reminded him.
Chad shifted gears and gunned the engine. “I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t noticed that. What’s the old phrase? `Two sides to every story.’ There are as many reasons as there are people involved. And as many poorly executed mines.”
The roar of the Jeep’s engine drowned out her reply. By the time they reached the office, Sabina’s mind had focused on the weather. She threw an anxious glance at the sullen sky. “That’s getting ugly.”
“We’ll work fast,” Chad agreed. “I promise to stick to business.”
Studiously ignoring him, Sabina greeted Edna and headed straight for the office, Sock hugging her steps like a shadow. She threw her coat over a chair and opened her briefcase. She would finish her work and leave. “Okay, let’s see those surveyors’ results and the report on the quality of the runoff.”
Edna appeared in the doorway, her hands gripped together. “Chad . . . that Mr. Merton called. Just before you came. He . . . he said he was coming here.”
“When, Edna?” Chad’s gentle voice didn’t match his frown nor the steely look in his eyes.
“He . . . he just drove up.”
The sound of the front door closing elicited a soft epithet from Chad. “Thanks, Edna. Tell him I’ll be right out.” He turned to Sabina. “I’ll get those papers for you.” He went to the filing cabinet in the corner and extracted a file.
The door didn’t latch behind him. As the conversation drifted through the opening, Sabina moved to close it. The stranger’s words froze her in place.
“You’re a hard man to catch, Mr. Peters. I apologize for coming without an appointment, but my principal is offering terms that are very favorable to the Calico heirs.”
Chad’s reply was unintelligible, as if he lowered his voice in hope of bringing his visitor’s volume down.
“I quite understand your inability to talk now. Can we have lunch next week? Perhaps Wednesday?”
He must have received a negative. Sabina heard a note of desperation in the visitor’s voice. “Then
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