Page 64 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

“Someone is getting ready to mine the Soren Creek headwaters,” I reply.

She frowns. “What? I thought your family set it aside as a preserve.”

The concept of explaining the mess we’re in overwhelms me. “We thought so too.”

Her face goes pale, and she lowers to the edge of the desk. “We’ll fight it, right?”

I don’t have the energy to tell her that it might be too late to fight, but I put on a brave smile. “Yeah.”

“Do the others know?”

I shake my head. “Just my family. We’re gathering the information we need to stop this, but…” My stomach gives a jolt.

“What can I do to help?” she asks, her gaze hardening.

I pack up the aerial images and Kalle’s note.We’re ready to fight. Are you?“Don’t say anything yet, okay? I don’t want people to worry.”

She nods, her mouth set in a determined line, and glances out the window. “A mine would destroy everything.”

“I know.”

Annie’s line bleeps, and with one last compassionate glance in my direction, she slides back into her chair and dons her headset.

If only Cooper was back from his road trip, he could fly me to the headwaters so I can make doubly sure the images are telling the truth. But if it is, seeing a mining camp in person might be too much for me.

I could hire someone, but that seems like a waste of money—Google Earth doesn’t lie. I need to conserve my resources. Keep digging for answers. Evaluating our options.

But I need to get out of this office, before I suffocate. Before leaving, I print off the results of my genealogy search for Eleanor Daly and her two children, then call Hunter as I’m leaving.

He answers. “Hey, where are you?”

I close my eyes. Shit! I’m supposed to be at the Moose in three minutes. “Almost there,” I lie, and race from the lodge.

“I’ll order for you. Coffee? You hungry?”

The kindness in this is like a soothing breeze on a warm day, and I smile. “Coffee and a scone if they have those huckleberry ones.”

“You got it.”

By the time I arrive at the Moose, the breakfast crowd is waning. Hunter waves at me from a table by the window. I weave through the tables, and Hunter stands to give me a hug. He’s burly and strong, but his hug is gentle. I love that about my big, tough brother. Surly and protective on the outside but a big softie behind his armor.

He’s off duty today, dressed in dark jeans and a blue hoody with Soren Lake Lodge’s logo on the back.

I take it as a symbol of hope. Hunter chooses the side of the table facing the door—like usual—and we sit.

“You staying out of trouble?” He sips from his mug of black coffee.

My stomach cartwheels. I break off a corner of my scone and chew slowly. It’s buttery and the huckleberries are bright with sweetness, but my throat is still raw from my freakout in the office.

“Mostly,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light.

He smiles the way he does when he’s about to tease me. “Got some information on your benefactors.”

“Benefactors?” I sip my coffee to keep from choking on my scone.

“Dawson James and Quinn Spencer.”

“They’re really ax murderers or fugitives of the law and you want me to turn them in.”

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