A Matter of Trust (5 page)

That wasn’t what he’d expected. He thought
for sure that Jack had told his daughter, and Ben wasn’t often
wrong. “How did you find out I was coming, if your dad didn’t tell
you?”

She started to say something and then
stopped. He could see the moment she realized that she may have
said too much, because she firmed her lips and started to back
away, pulling her keys from her pocket. “I’ll see you at your
presentation this afternoon,” she said. “I don’t know what you
think you’re going to say to convince any of us that this project
isn’t the worst thing for this community. Just know we can’t be
bought, and we’re smart enough to know when someone is bullshitting
us. Oilman--you’re not welcome here.”

That was that. The change in her was
confusing, from confiding a painful past to telling him to drop
dead and get lost. All he could do was watch as she stormed to her
car, climbed in, and slammed the door before pulling away and
leaving a trail of dust as she sped up the driveway. Ben should
have been happy that she was gone. She was a pain in the ass, and
she had issues—major, dramatic issues. He could see the writing on
the wall, and he wanted to kick his own ass, because he was
counting the minutes until he could see her again…even though they
would be on opposite sides, front and center, at the town
meeting.

There wasn’t a parking spot left in front of
the town hall. Ben was in the passenger side, trying to gather his
thoughts as Jack drove. He still hadn’t figured out how to start
this meeting, but he was pretty good at assessing a situation and
running with it in the moment. He wiped his face as Jack pulled up
to the boxlike, blue building, its paint faded and peeling.
Concrete steps went up to the front doors, which were propped wide
open. People were still pouring in, some with signs that he could
only imagine were meant to intimidate him and the other residents
who had come to listen. The protesters would stir up the energy,
the anger, so no one would ask questions or have an open mind. It
was a heavy-handed tactic meant to send him packing, but they
didn’t know Ben Wilde if they thought he would run from a
challenge.

He glanced over at Jack, who was just
sitting there with the truck idling. The man was a mystery. He’d
said nothing to Ben about that morning and Carrie’s outburst.
Whatever was between father and daughter, Jack wasn’t about to talk
about it, and not with some stranger he barely knew.

“Well, thanks for the lift,” Ben said.

Jack just nodded. “I’ll bring you back after
your meeting,” he replied—and that was that, no encouragement. Jack
was holding on to something, too, and Ben couldn’t put his finger
on it. It seemed a lifetime of secrets were bottled up in this man,
things he’d never share with anyone.

Ben slid out, taking his laptop with him. He
waved as Jack pulled away and then started up the steps, taking a
deep breath as he passed angry people, arms crossed. A few shouted
the same rants he had heard before: “Go home, we don’t want you
here!”

He kept going, looking no one in the eye as
he walked into the large, square room. It had hardwood floors,
white walls—sterile, plain, an average town hall. There must have
been twenty full rows of old wooden chairs, with people standing at
the sides and the back of the room as Ben made his way to the
front. People were coming in from everywhere. He was grateful that
there was at least a table set up for him at the front, as well as
an old microphone.
Yay,
he thought, knowing this was why he
generally left this kind of thing to the PR people, who were used
to dealing with angry, irritable—he paused as he took the crowd in.
Many of the people here were like his parents and their friends,
people he had grown up with.

He put his computer on the table and then
left it sitting there as he realized that it wasn’t going to work.
These weren’t the type of people who’d be swayed by someone with a
fancy laptop or a slideshow presentation. Even though he’d outlined
an amazing presentation that would cut to the heart of the matter,
he could tell by their faces that it wouldn’t work.

It was then that he spotted Carrie in the
front row, third from the end, beside a large Native man. He had
dark hair and was older, and both appeared to be here only as a
matter of principle. They had already made up their minds. Ben
stepped in front of the microphone and raised the stand so he
wouldn’t have to hunch over.

A man in the corner, with thinning hair and
a plaid coat, strode over to him and said, “Just flick this on.
It’s ready to go.” He gestured to the button on the side of the
microphone, attached to a long cord.

Ben pulled the microphone from the stand,
unwinding the cord, feeling the need to move around. He leaned
against the table behind him, flicked the microphone on, and tapped
it with his finger. It echoed, and the hum of voices quieted.
“Hello. My name is Ben Wilde.”

“Go home, you oil company scum!” a man
shouted from the crowd. There was a rumble of voices. The toughest
part would be getting them to hear him out.

“I had a speech and presentation all
prepared for you folks.” He took in the look of anger on the faces
in the audience as he held the microphone and crossed one arm over
his chest. “Look, I know that you’re not happy I’m here. I get
that, but I would ask that you hear me out, and then I’ll answer
any questions you folks may have.”

“We don’t want any oil here!” someone else
shouted from the audience, and Ben couldn’t help himself. He looked
over to Carrie, who was craning her neck to see who had spoken. Of
course, when she looked back at him, he was still watching her, and
her face flushed.

“I assume everyone already knows the details
of the proposed project, the seven hundred miles of proposed
pipeline to the coast that will transport the crude oil,” he began.
“You need to know that this isn’t something we planned overnight.
We’ve done our homework, and we’re taking precautions, using
technology to ensure our distribution is done safely, with minimal
impact on the environment, and—” He had to hold his hand up at the
outburst from the audience. “Our record is solid, but we know we
can do better, and we’re willing and ready to work with each
community to ensure all safety and environmental protocols are met.
Look, folks, I grew up in rural Idaho, and my dad raised us to
respect the land and look after it, because it’s all we have. I
understand your concerns. We’re not coming in and doing this
without consulting with you.” He touched his chest with the flat of
his hand. “This is a partnership. With this project, we’re bringing
revenue, income, jobs to this community. The land stewardship
that—”

“We can’t afford an oil spill here!” Carrie
shouted. “How can you stand there and tell us how safe it is? What
can you do to guarantee that there won’t be a spill? If that
happened, it would cripple the coast and this community!” She was
staring at him, standing now. It could have been just the two of
them in the room.

“Well, for one, we carefully select the
pipes used in the project during manufacturing and installation.
We’re using x-rays to inspect all of the welding during
construction, and our technology is cutting edge, similar to what’s
used in the medical field. We can detect the tiniest changes in any
structure…”

He stopped talking. People were whispering,
and he could hear discord in the hum. He was about to say they were
meeting and exceeding government standards, that they weren’t
cutting costs on any aspect of the project, but at this point he
knew it wasn’t what this crowd wanted to hear.

“What about the safety rules that were
broken at over half of your pumping stations?” a man shouted.
“There was no emergency shutdown or any backup power, and this
wasn’t something your company was willing to disclose. In fact,
your CEO tried to bury it!”

Ben wanted to cringe. He remembered all too
well how that report had been misfiled by someone in the typing
pool, never making its way to him or Peter. It was embarrassing,
not one of their best moments, but they’d since made sure
everything had been brought up to standards.

“What about the oil spill in Wisconsin and
the leak in Red Deer?” someone shouted, and then everyone was
yelling at once, naming every one of their fuck ups, along with
those of every other oil company.

Someone whistled, loud and brisk, cutting
through the commotion. It was Jack, walking up the middle aisle. He
held his hands up and faced the crowd just in front of Ben. “Folks,
I used to be in the oil business. You all know that. I’ve done my
share of things that I’m not proud of, and I have to live with
that. There’s no way around it. Every one of you has done something
you wish you could go back and undo. I’m not saying it’s okay, what
he’s proposing, but you need to listen to everything this man is
saying. For one, the money being offered—what will it mean to this
community? Ray, you haven’t worked in how long?” Jack said,
gesturing to the man who had spoken up. “Many of us are barely
making ends meet, living just above the poverty line. You can see
it in the community when you drive through. Martha, you’ve needed
that hip surgery but have no insurance to pay for it! What I’m
saying, folks, is that this is an eighty-billion-dollar project,
though what they’re offering this community is just a small portion
of what it should be, since you here are assuming all of the
risk.”

There was silence in the hall, and Ben
watched Jack, the quiet man who was so full of surprises. He didn’t
quite know what to say.

Jack had just put their project right back
on the table.

She couldn’t remember ever being this
mad—spitting mad, furious! At the same time, she felt speechless
and embarrassed, sitting there as her father had the nerve to walk
up front, and stand shoulder to shoulder with Ben, in front of the
entire town. The final straw, which brought Carrie’s simmering rage
to a full boil, was that not only had he managed to get everyone to
quiet down, but also had gotten them to listen. She could see it as
she looked around at their faces, all the people she knew, who had
fought side by side with her on this issue. Their expressions said
it all: They were considering what her father had said.

She shut down, unable to hear anything else
from her father or Ben. Her mind and heart were stuck on what her
father had said, spinning it around as if a thousand bees were
buzzing in her head. When the meeting broke up and people started
filing out, now without the air of disdain and protest, she kicked
her chair, calling her father a few choice names under her breath.
People shot her a look, and one woman gasped, but she ignored them.
To Carrie, this was personal. How many of the townspeople would now
go home and consider a different perspective because of the
money?

She was sickened that everything always came
down to cash, and this was an argument she’d had with her dad for
years. The fact was that he had never been there for her, growing
up, until her mother got sick. He had been an engineer with one of
the country’s largest oil companies, and they had spent years
overseas in Bahrain, Indonesia… Her father had made really good
money, working long hours, driven by his need to succeed, all the
while allowing the distance to grow between them.

Carrie was walking along the side of the
road about a mile out of town, wearing her sneakers, blue jeans,
and a caramel cardigan. She didn’t know where she was going. She
just needed to walk off everything she was feeling: the hurt, the
anger, the betrayal that was building inside of her like an
inferno. She needed to defuse it all before she did or said
something that she’d regret--again. She didn’t know what made her
look up, but she noticed someone on the other side of the road
jogging her way. She almost tripped over her feet when she realized
that it was Ben Wilde. Not only was he drop-dead gorgeous but he
also ran, obviously to stay in shape and keep that hard, lean,
toned look the women loved. She didn’t miss the cut of his biceps,
his thighs, his lean hips, a body you could really lean into—that
is, if you liked the whole tall, dark, and handsome thing.
Something about him seemed to scream that he knew how to treat a
woman. Hell, he probably dated half a dozen at a time--a womanizer.
That had to be why he was still single, Mr. Hot and Gorgeous
Bachelor.

He didn’t see her right away, and that made
her feel terribly self-conscious. Her first instinct was to stick
her head down and keep walking, but then she realized he had
something stuck in his ears—ear buds. He was listening to music.
She could probably keep right on walking and he wouldn’t notice
her. Yeah, okay. She’d look away and pretend not to see him,
either.

“Carrie!” he called out, pulling the ear
buds from his ears and jogging across the road. He wore black
shorts, cross trainers, and a white t-shirt. He was all sweaty, of
course, but instead of being disgusted, she was fighting the urge
to step closer. How could a man all damp and sweaty not smell
revolting? Good grief, this man was a magnet! She wanted to snarl
at him, but maybe her common sense was starting to kick in, after
all. He raised a brow as if reading her mind.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you,” she said,
wondering if her nose was growing.

“Yeah, you did. You were ignoring me.”

She couldn’t believe he had called her out!
No one did that to her--ever. She stared up at him, her mouth
open.

“What?” He shrugged, putting his hands on
his very enticing hips. “Sorry, Carrie. I call it as I see it,
business and…personal.” The way he said “personal” had her heating
up again, and it was far from warm outside.

She started to say something, and Ben did
nothing to help. In fact, he just watched her as if he had all day
to wait her out. “I needed to clear my head, think about today.”
She glanced away, hoping he’d say thanks and be on his way.
Instead, he sighed.