Seven
Short of sitting in a tree at Mountainway Park to keep it from being chopped down, or driving ten miles over the speed limit, or skinny-dipping with Chase in Flathead Lake, Miriam didn’t make a habit of breaking the law. She imagined he would’ve disagreed with saving a tree that she’d later learned was infested with ash borer beetles, but he’d give her a pass when it came to the speeding. And she knew exactly how he’d felt about stripping naked and cannonballing into Flathead Lake off a private dock—firmly against. But once she’d goaded him properly, he’d stripped down and dived in, resurfacing in the moonlight wearing a huge smile a few seconds later.
They hadn’t agreed on everything, and she’d argued her differing points of view fervently while they were together. He had nothing against the oil industry—later, she’d learned why—but they’d always agreed to disagree and then made out, their lips fusing and disqualifying their brains from further participation. Arguments made up a small part of their summer together. Mostly, they’d made love and stared into each other’s eyes, hardly able to believe they’d found their other half...
Or at least she’d done that.
“You know, I will have some wine.” She burst off the sofa and moved to the kitchen. A scant glass of red would be enough to calm her, but wouldn’t erase the recurring memories. Evidently nothing would keep them at bay. She splashed a few more inches into the glass he’d left on the kitchen island for her and swallowed a drink.
He joined her, placing the empty pie plate in the sink and palming his own balloon-shaped glass.
“What would you have been doing this evening if you weren’t trapped here with me?”
“‘Trapped’ is an interesting way to phrase it.” The next sip tasted better than the last. “My brother and two sisters and their significant others are most likely embroiled in a board-game battle. We save Monopoly for last since it’s better to play when everyone’s had more wine.”
“Ah, Monopoly. Ender of relationships.”
She couldn’t picture Chase doing something as commonplace as playing board games. Unless it was backgammon. Chess, maybe. Whatever games stuffy rich people played.
She frowned at the unkind thought, but then gave herself a pass. She hadn’t seen him in ten years, so it was wholly possible he was the Monopoly guy—minus the monocle—gobbling up property to expand his portfolio. Making under-the-table deals with dirty politicians to advance his own gain. Sweeping the Free Parking money and hiding his spoils under the board...
“So. What have you been up to since I saw you last?” She sat on one of the stools, resting an elbow on the surface of the island.
Rather than sit, he flattened both hands on the countertop and studied her before answering.
“I was a city council member for a while. Served on the board of public works. Even did a stint at Ferguson Oil as director of something-or-other.” He hoisted one eyebrow. “Ruining the environment and all that.”
“The oil business is no better for the planet than the cattle business, Chase. You know that.”
“What would you have my family do, Miriam? Go into the vegan faux-meat business and start from scratch?”
She felt her cheeks redden in challenge. Determined not to slip into shallow arguments as they had in the past—there’d be no making up by making out tonight—she gestured to the wine bottle. “This is very good. A favorite of yours?”
“One of the favorites. I packed a dozen bottles from my wine cellar and brought them up.”
“On your private jet?” She snorted.
“Yes. But I bought a car when I landed,” he said, completely serious.
“A problem easily solved for you.”
“You didn’t used to resent my financial status,” he shot back.
Her face was aflame. He was right. She hadn’t had a problem with his financial status back then. Why would she have? He’d been hers. She was too busy building castles in the sky to judge him for being wealthy.
She hid her rosy cheeks behind the wide rim of her wineglass and took another sip, then spoke without looking at him. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
“Tell me more about what you do,” he said, smoothly changing the subject. He stood from his lean on the island and reclaimed his wineglass, hip against the far counter instead.
“I work outside a lot. Mostly in the warmer months. Winter is spent planning the spring and summer camps for the kids and writing the itineraries. Though I also help out the wildlife preserve.”
“Saving the world.”
“What’s wrong with saving the world?” she snapped.
“Nothing.” His confused frown was sincere. “You should try to save the world, or at least part of it. It’s what I’m doing.”
Choosing to say nothing seemed the best response. She pressed her lips together.