by V. K. Sykes
“I wish,” his father said with a snort. “I’ve got to put in an appearance at a goddamn cocktail party fundraiser for one of Samantha’s charities. Like I don’t have anything better to do, right? Jesus, I hate that shit.”
Adam Cade hated pretty much everything but work, his ranch, and all the Dallas sports teams. Unlike his father, Noah enjoyed donating his time and money to good causes, especially the local hospitals. He’d started his charity work as another way to set himself apart from the old man, but now it made his life feel bigger than just baseball.
“So, the MRI on my shoulder came back inconclusive,” Noah said, getting right into it. “That’s making it harder to decide whether it makes sense to let them operate or not.”
“What happens if you decide not to?” his father asked in a clipped voice. “You’ll be done with baseball?”
“That’s what I have to think about, obviously. I need to talk to some people, too.”
“Of course. It’s a big decision whether or not to call a career quits. One of the biggest a man has to make in life.”
Well, at least his father seemed to get that. A little relieved, he took a quick swallow of beer before continuing. “The thing is, Dad, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to give you a final answer about the campaign when you want it. There might not be enough time.”
When a heavy silence hung on the line, Noah gamely forged ahead. “So, maybe the best thing would be for you to go with your original plan and find another spokesman.”
Even before he made the point, Noah knew how unlikely it was that his dad would give up that easily. He never did. Not about anything.
“Try hard, Noah,” his father growled, sounding like a pissed off old bear. “That one’s not exactly a life-changing decision. You just have to do a few TV spots and a photo shoot or two, for Christ’s sake.”
Noah understood, even if his dad didn’t, that if he agreed to do the campaign he’d be making an all but irrevocable step toward joining Baron Energy. And he wasn’t prepared to do that yet. “I hear you, but I can’t make my decisions based on somebody else’s timetable.”
“Ah, hell.” His father sighed deeply. “Well, then, just come to the kick-off reception on Monday, anyway. All the industry partners will be there, and some political folks, too. If you’ve decided by then to be our spokesman, we’ll make the announcement right there, as a surprise. Everybody will be thrilled to know you’re on board.”
Noah saw right through that tactic. “And if I haven’t made up my mind, you’ll have a couple of dozen people lobby the hell out of me, right?”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” his father said, adopting a tone of wounded innocence.
Noah had to give the guy all kinds of credit for being a world-class manipulator.
“Showing up at the reception and meeting all the players would be good for you long term, Noah, and good for the company, too,” his father added. “Folks don’t get a chance to see us in the same room much, do they?”
“Not much,” Noah admitted. Like just about never.
“Then be there, son. I really want you there, decision or no decision.”
Noah rested the phone against his forehead for a few seconds. His father wasn’t asking for much. Glad-handing at some dumb reception for an hour or two might be a pain in the ass, but if it made Dad and Levi happy, he could handle it. And if the old man’s pals tried to cajole or steamroller him, he’d just stand firm.
“Fine, then. I’ll be there.” The Patriots would be on the road in St. Louis on Monday, so he probably had nothing better to do that evening.
“Good. Maybe we can grab dinner after the reception. Just the three of us.”
“Maybe. See you next week.” Noah hung up.
His father really seemed to be reaching out to him these days. How much was sincere, though, and how much was manipulation remained to be seen.
- 23 -
Teddy scanned the group of neighbors and friends crammed around her father’s long, farm-style kitchen table. She’d known many of these folks since birth. The main exception was Noah, of course. But the fact that she felt far closer to him than any of the neighbors and friends she’d grown up with hit her with startling force as she watched him chatting easily with stolid Kerwin Fell on one side and the perpetual and well-named flirt Chrissie Peacock on the other.
Noah looked fantastic tonight in black chinos and a crisp, white long-sleeved shirt rolled up to the elbows. She couldn’t help feeling a strange kind of possessive pride.
When he turned away from the entranced Chrissie and caught Teddy’s eye, he actually winked at her and none too subtly either. Teddy had to stifle her surprise while her brother—who had obviously caught the gesture—chuckled beside her.
“Man, when Noah Cade looks at you that way, sis,” Dalton said, “you really ought to do something about it. If you haven’t already, that is.”
She refused to meet her brother’s eye, but that didn’t stop her from sending a sharp elbow into his ribs.
Ignoring Dalton’s oof, she looked back at Noah, but he was again in animated conversation with Kerwin. Despite his protestations about being accosted by irate farmers with pitchforks, Noah had so far shown absolutely no signs of nervousness. She’d deliberately chosen to place him in the middle of the table, directly across from her. That way, she could watch his expression and hopefully gauge his ongoing reactions. Depending on what she saw, she intended to intervene in the meeting to make sure nothing went off the rails.
That was supposed to be her father’s job tonight, but he made a far better farmer than a meeting chairman.
While Noah seemed to be doing fine, Teddy’s stomach was twisted into a hard, growling knot. Knowing the meeting would start almost as soon as dinner was over, she’d barely picked at the fried chicken dinner her father had prepared for their arrival. Noah, on the other hand, had eaten with gusto as he and the Quinn men talked about everything under the sun except the issues at hand. Predictably, much of the talk had been about baseball, leaving Teddy to silently stew about what might or might not happen tonight after everybody arrived.
The ten invited neighbors had gradually assembled around the table, ambling in after dinner and evening chores. Some of the men were clearly star-struck by Noah—shoving pens and paper and farmer hats into his hands for autographs—and a couple of the women were just as eager to talk to him. Only three people remained standoffish, all of whom bore the deepest antipathy to the drilling companies. That was precisely why she and her father had invited them, even knowing that those three would surely raise the temperature of the meeting.
Teddy needed it to be a genuine reflection of the community for this discussion to have any value for Noah. Of the local people, four were advocates for more drilling—her brother, their neighbor Joe Henderson, restaurant owner Katie James, and town councilor Aubrey Whissell. Teddy had insisted that Dalton sit next to her, and she had every intention of poking him in the side or stepping on his foot if he started to hijack the meeting with his all too predictable volatility.
After a few minutes of amiable chitchat, her dad, sitting at the head of the table, kicked off the meeting by welcoming Noah. After brief introductions and an explanation of how the meeting had come about—with an added plea for everyone to be forthright and considerate—Teddy’s father tried to throw the floor open.
Noah, however, raised a hand to intervene.
“I just wanted to thank all you folks for coming tonight,” he said with evident sincerity. “Though I’m not directly involved in Baron Energy or any other drilling company, I guarantee you that what I hear tonight will get passed on to the people at the top of Baron.” He paused to scan around the table. “I truly want to hear what you have to say. I want to know about everything that’s happening up here in the Marcellus and how you feel about the future. And don’t assume I know much of anything, because I probably don’t,” he added with a self-deprecating smile.
With the exception of th
e three implacable hostiles, everyone in the room laughed or smiled, which didn’t surprise Teddy one bit. Noah’s charm factor was off the scale.
“Thanks, Noah. Cynthia, why don’t you start?” Teddy’s father said to the woman seated at the opposite end of the table.
Cynthia Parrish, one of the implacables, had been glaring at just about everyone since she’d arrived. A widow in her mid-fifties, she ran a dairy farm with her son about five miles to the west of the Quinn farm. A truly formidable hardass, Cynthia headed up the anti-fracking coalition in the county.
She cleared her throat and directed her gaze at Noah. “I commend you for wanting to learn, Mr. Cade. God knows there aren’t many people outside the Marcellus who seem to give a sweet damn about what’s going on up here, and that certainly includes the oil and gas companies. We’re just little people fighting big, destructive corporations, and the state government doesn’t seem to want to do a whole lot to help us.”
Teddy bit back a sigh. Nothing like starting off the meeting on a soapbox.
“That’s because the government’s in bed with the damn companies,” Gerry Samson, another of the hostiles added, flushing bright red. “The politicians give them everything they want and yet they have the nerve to say they’re closely regulating the industry. It’s a sick joke, that’s what it is.”
Cynthia gave his emotional outburst an approving nod. “I could talk for hours about why we oppose fracking, Mr. Cade, but I don’t want to dominate the conversation. Everybody here needs to say his or her piece. But if there’s one thing I want to leave you with tonight, it’s this. It may even be too late now to save these valleys, but one thing’s for damn sure. Unless people like us can put a stop to more drilling and fracking on this precious land, life as we know it here—life as generations have known it—is going to be over. What was once beautiful and productive farmland will become nothing more than a giant gas field, with rigs and pits and frac tanks and impoundment sites stretching from horizon to horizon.”
She reached down and pulled up a three-foot square map of their county and the other counties bordering Susquehanna. Teddy had seen an earlier version of it before but was startled by the changes over the past year. Red dots indicated the current rig sites. Dark blue dots indicated leases that had been signed but not yet exploited. Teddy’s heart sank, as it did every time she looked at the map. Parts of the county were so red it almost looked like there were big drops of blood spattered on the map. Several other parts were dense with blue dots.
Cynthia explained the map the map to Noah, who listened politely and without comment.
“Would any sane person want this kind of transformation on his land, Mr. Cade?” Cynthia asked. “Would your neighbors in Philadelphia, for example, want to have a gas fracking rig in every one of their city parks? Containment sites a block or two away from their homes? Massive trucks full of fracking fluid or water rumbling down their residential streets at all hours? Well, sir, that’s exactly what’s happening in our neck of the woods, and if the corporations get their way, it’s going to get worse and worse and worse.”
“Oh, give it a rest, Cynthia,” Dalton snapped, leaning forward into the table. “All you people do is toss out wild exaggerations. Sure, there are a lot of rigs these days, but this is a damn big state. It’s stupid to be talking about drilling rigs in city parks. That’s just bullshit.”
Cynthia stared at him with undisguised revulsion.
Teddy had been watching Noah carefully. His eyes had zeroed in on Cynthia’s map with laser focus, and he’d frowned after Dalton spoke.
“Could you pass that map down this way, Cynthia?” Noah asked. “I’d like to take a closer look.”
Everyone remained silent as Noah studied the map. “It would be good to see some aerial shots,” he finally said.
“That could be arranged,” Cynthia replied. “Perhaps Baron could foot the bill?”
While Teddy cringed at her snarky tone, Noah just smiled and said nothing.
When Gerry Samson raised his hand, Teddy had to repress a little groan. She agreed with Samson on a lot of issues, but she feared the burly, aggressive farmer—and bowling partner of her father—might get wound up and say something that could make Noah regret he’d agreed to come. She readied herself to intervene if Gerry tried to make it personal against the Cades.
“No damn gas company is ever getting its claws into my land,” Samson said. “But that doesn’t mean my family is safe. Not by a long shot. Because it’s all about the water, right?” He stared at Noah. “We’re not like you city people with your water mains and your sewers and your treatment plants. The water we drink, and the water we use to feed our herds, all comes straight from the ground underneath us. Our wells supply our farms and villages and have for a hundred years or more.”
Noah gave him an encouraging nod, his expression friendly and courteous. Teddy was thrilled that he was handling things so well. She just hoped it lasted.
Samson clasped his meaty farmer hands on the table in front of him. “Nobody is going to tell me that when Baron and Pendulum and all the rest shoot millions and millions of gallons of fracking fluid into the ground right underneath us that none of that crap migrates into our groundwater. Or releases methane into our wells. And that’s the worst because it makes the water both undrinkable and a damn fire hazard.” He pointed a finger at Noah. “Companies like yours have fought for years to avoid having to identify all the toxic chemicals in your fracking brew. We know that stuff is nothing but poison, but you still fight us every step of the way. Are we supposed to be able to trust a single damn word you drillers say after you pull crap like that?”
Half a dozen people started to applaud Samson’s intervention, and before Teddy knew it a string of five more anti-fracking speeches followed right on its heels. Momentum in the meeting was now on the side of the drilling foes. While Teddy was pleased that her neighbors were speaking with both eloquence and passion, she could tell Noah was growing increasingly disturbed by the heavy punches being thrown at Baron Energy and the industry in general.
Still, he stayed silent, listening respectfully to even the most hard-edged statements.
“That’s all well and good, folks,” Councilor Whissell finally chimed in. “Everyone is concerned about the possible impact of fracking on the environment. But we can’t ignore the economic impact, can we? That seems to be getting lost here tonight. Half the towns and villages in the county, including my own, are struggling to survive. More and more young people are giving up on farming and heading for urban areas. It’s drilling that’s giving us a chance to turn that around. To prosper again. Look at the new businesses that are springing up. Look at all the new jobs that have been created because of shale gas.”
Cynthia gave a loud snort. “Aubrey, you know perfectly well that most of those new workers are from Texas and Louisiana. The drilling companies bring them up here to get the wells and the other junk up and running, but as soon as they finish those jobs they’re gone. Yes, business has been good for the restaurants and motels and some suppliers, but don’t try to tell me that a lot of permanent jobs have been created.”
“You’re wrong, Cynthia. I’m expanding my restaurant,” Katie James piped up. “That means construction work for our local tradesmen and ten more permanent jobs in town. And there are plenty of other businesses just like mine.”
“Business at my tire shop has been absolutely booming,” Dalton added. “We can barely keep up with the work.”
Joe Henderson raised his hand and Teddy’s dad nodded at him. She’d gone to high school with Joe and had a lot of respect for him.
“I think I’m like a lot of people up here, Noah,” Joe said. “In a perfect world, my mom and I wouldn’t have signed any drilling leases. We hate the idea of rigs and all that other crap on our land. God, my father would die a second time if he could see it.”
Several heads around the table nodded.
“But our farm was getting uneconomical,” he continue
d. “We didn’t have the money we needed for new equipment and outbuildings and couldn’t afford to borrow it. Now, thanks to the leases, we’ll have enough to modernize.”
Dalton glared at Gerry Samson. “Hear that? You people are the ones threatening our way of life around here, not the companies. You people would just let farms like Joe’s die off.”
“Give me a break, junior,” Samson scoffed. “You don’t give a damn about farming. Everybody knows that.”
“Screw you,” Dalton spat out.
Teddy was about to jab her brother in the ribs again, but Noah intervened. “Hey! I came here to listen to facts and opinions, not character assassination. Let’s keep things civil, or I’m out of here.” He shot hard looks at both Samson and Dalton. “Got it?”
Both men gave reluctant nods.
Teddy was so impressed with Noah’s handling of the situation that she felt like running around the table to kiss him. He was a natural born leader—both on and off the ball field, apparently.
And, boy, was that ever sexy. She was getting a hot flash just watching him.
“Okay,” Noah said. “So, what I hear you saying, Joe, is that the only way to save at least some of the family farms around here is to take advantage of what’s buried under the surface.”
Joe shrugged. “Yeah, I think so. We all have to make up our own minds based on our particular situations. But the bottom line for me is that the decision on what we can and can’t do with our land has to stay in our hands. I don’t want the state legislature or anybody else making it hard—or even impossible—for me to lease my oil and gas rights. If well-meaning people like Cynthia are able to convince the government to pile a ton of new regulations on the industry, I don’t think any company in the world would be able to make a profit drilling in this region. And that would mean everything here would just dry up. At least that’s the way I see it.”
