Page 43 of Confessions

“Those mills have been in the family for decades,” Thomas said, leaning back in his chair. “Especially the one here, in Gold Creek. It was the first. Monroe Sawmill is a way of life—practically a tradition—to the people of Gold Creek. When times were tough during the depression, the company store or the sawmill and the logging company kept this town afloat. Even employees whose hours had been cut back were given credit to buy food and clothing for their families.

“Gold Creek depended upon the mill and the logging operation to keep it alive.”

“That was a long time ago.”

Thomas waved dismissively. “I know. But in the intervening years, through two world wars as well as the troubles in Korea and Vietnam, timber provided for the people of Gold Creek. Generations have depended upon the logging company and the sawmill for their livelihoods. That all may come to a grinding halt soon enough if the government tightens up on clear-cutting and logging old growth—but in the meantime we owe this town.”

“Sounds like a bunch of political bull to me,” Hayden observed. “I thought you had decided against running for public office a few years back.”

Thomas placed his hands on his knees and stood. His joints creaked audibly. The fire cast shadows on his patrician face and his expression was stern. “I can’t tell you how to run your life, Hayden. Hell, even your father wasn’t able to do that. But, one way or another, until you find a way to get rid of it, you own a majority interest in some valuable mills. Now, you can look at the corporation one of two ways—either you want it because it makes money for you, or you want it because it’s the lifeblood of this community.”

“I don’t want it at all.” Hayden studied his uncle a minute. “I thought you’d come here to try to buy me out.”

Thomas’s lips curved beneath his mustache and his eyes glimmered. “You remind me of Roy. He always cut right to the chase.”

Hayden rolled his glass in his palms. “So what’s it going to be?”

“I need a little time. Most of my cash is tied up in oil wells, at least temporarily. I’m still trying to buy some land north of here. I was interested in Badlands Ranch, but the owner is being stubborn.” Thomas’s eyes shadowed. He didn’t like to be bested. “I’m interested in diversifying,” he explained. “I’ve got enough invested in logging and sawmilling and I don’t believe in putting all my eggs in one basket.”

“Seems to me you’ve diversified a lot. Timber, sawmilling, real estate and oil.”

“It’s just a start.” He clapped Hayden on the back. “I’m not going to pressure you, though. This company is in your blood whether you like it or not.”

He walked out to his Cadillac before pausing at the car door. “The woman who Bradworth hired...?” Thomas asked, and Hayden felt his spine stiffen slightly.

“What about her?”

“Maybe you should tell me what’s going on with that little piece,” Thomas said, and Hayden’s fists balled as the older man laughed. “Seems as if there’s something more than the company in your blood.”

* * *

“I GOT TWO days’ detention,” John announced at breakfast the next morning.

“For what?” Nadine asked, though she didn’t really want to know. She wasn’t in the best of moods. Ever since seeing Hayden again, she’d been on edge, her nerves jangled. She had to face him in less than an hour and wasn’t looking forward to the day.

“Lack of respect,” John answered. “Mrs. Zalinski hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate anyone,” Nadine replied as she bit into a piece of dry toast she really didn’t want.

“Oh, she hates me all right. Me and Mike Katcher. She hates us both.”

Nadine chewed thoughtfully. Mike Katcher was trouble. No doubt about it. That kid reminded her a lot of Jackson Moore, a boy she’d gone to school with years before. Jackson, too, had been a troublemaker, a kid who had gotten into more than his share of fights, a boy who was constantly walking a thin line with the law. Years later, he’d risen above his past, returning to Gold Creek as a prominent attorney, a man who had cleared his murky reputation.

Nadine didn’t think Mike Katcher would ever shape up. Mike’s mother, too, was a single parent and she spent more time looking for another husband than she did with her son. “Look, John, why don’t you give Mrs. Zalinski a break?”

“You’d better,” Bobby advised. “Her husband’s a cop and he might arrest you.”

“You don’t get arrested for locking girls in the bathroom,” John said, and then turned a deep shade of red.

“Is that what you did?” Nadine asked. “John—”

“It was Mike’s idea.”

“Well, maybe you should come up with your own ideas.” She glanced at the clock and gritted her teeth. “Look, we’re going to talk this out this afternoon. And I’m going to call your teacher and Principal Strand and Mike’s mother to straighten out this mess.”

“Aw, Mom, don’t!” John cried, horrified.

“We’ll talk tonight.”