Page 70 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

Despite the friction between us, I don’t wish her to get hoodwinked by a group of greedy fat cats. “Never mind.”

She lifts one of the cucumbers from her eyes to scrutinize me. “I am getting a negative vibe from you, Dawson, and I don’t like it. Might I remind you that our hard work has made you a wealthy man? Your mother will get the best care. Your sisters will be able to follow their dreams. You’re giving them the gift you never had.”

I cross my feet at the ankles and rest my head on the back of the couch pillow. She’s not wrong, and this is why she’s such a ruthless negotiator. It’s why Hemery Tate bounced back from bankruptcy in just two years and is now worth more than double.

“What about the people downstream?” I ask.

By the way she inhales through her nose, it’s clear her patience is thinning. “I told you I took care of that.”

“What do you mean?”

If I could see her eyes, I’m betting she’s rolling them. “Those homesteaders. Bealer paid the nonprofit to drop the lawsuit, remember? Problem solved.”

“I thought they offered to decon a dam.”

She waves me off. “Whatever. The point is everyone’s onboard here. Bealer’s proposal is good, Dawson. It might be the best we’ve ever seen.”

My gut hardens. “Yeah.”

“For God’s sake, why haven’t you signed it?”

I run my hand through my hair. “I just want to be sure.”

Another huff. A timer dings softly in the background, and a petite woman glides into the room. While she retrieves a stack of hot towels to clean off Brielle’s face, I say, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Daws—”

But I hang up before she can finish.

The contracts and permit authorizations and Bealer’s proposal are stacked side by side on the table. I review everything, sipping my whiskey. Brielle’s right. This is the best deal we’ve ever brokered. Thoughtfully designed infrastructure, skilled contractors, every permit approved, no corners cut.

I sit back and watch the busy birds, framed by the lush, verdant lowlands and the thick clouds.

I read through the Bealer contract again. The proposal from the engineers passed the EPA’s scrutiny with flying colors. The state of Alaska has given its stamp of approval. Geophysicists have declared the threat of catastrophic earthquake minimal.

But even all these reassurances do nothing to dampen the sensation in my gut that says this is wrong.

I remind myself that Quinn promised this deal was safe. He’s a capitalist, true, but he’s not reckless. If the scientists and the contractors and the government officials are aligned, that’s good enough for him.

Why isn’t it good enough for me?

Something Brielle said is nagging at me.Those homesteaders.

I sit up, my heart racing.

Didn’t Lexie say something about a homestead? I close my eyes and try to recall the conversation. The pieces lock together, and I sit there, unable to breathe.

Lexie lives at Soren Lake. Her family owns a homestead. Her grandfather started a fishing lodge business.

Those homesteaders. I paid the nonprofit to drop the lawsuit. Problem solved.

My God.

I press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. A dull ache pulses through my brain. This can’t be happening.

What I most need is the exact same thing that will destroy someone I care about. Someone beautiful and smart and creative and kind.

Lexie.

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