Page 2 of Wildly Yours (Owl Creek #3)
M y first instinct is to shake Mr. Miller until he comes to his senses. And that is what bothers me the most—my quick temper.
I don’t want him to feel bad for being in this situation, and I don’t want him to feel threatened as I loom over his aging frame. But I’ve got to do something. His situation is ruining two years of research I’ve been doing, and my grant funder is asking for some updates that are now in jeopardy.
I pull off my hat and tuck it away, then stuff my hands in my pockets and take a step back before I open my mouth.
I need to give him some space and make myself less threatening.
Big men like me are intimidating just because of our size.
I know this, but it's hard to get my body to comply when it's brimming with frustration.
The sun is climbing over the trees and coupled with my rising blood pressure, I feel heat prick at my skin.
“How long is the lease?”
“It’s not really a lease so much as a handshake agreement.”
“So you could ask them to leave at any time?”
“Well, sure, but I can’t afford that, now can I? If I could I wouldn’t have let them move all that equipment and lights and noise onto my land. Disrupts my peace.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’m really sorry Cody, but there’s not much I can do. What with the increase in my wife’s medical costs, I had to find some money.”
I see a flash of shame in his eyes and it makes me even more angry. Why are people reduced to this? A man like him who works his whole life to provide, and then one illness drags him down. This shouldn't be happening.
“I understand why you did it, Mr. Miller. It’s just that the noise is impacting more than you.
The forest is registered as one of the quietest places on earth.
People come from all over the State, and even further to enjoy that quiet.
It’s becoming more rare in the world, which makes this forest special.
And the lights are causing issues with the birds and insects. ”
“Son, I don’t know what to tell you. If you can find me some extra money I’ll make them leave.”
“Where is your wife being treated?”
“Port Stratton General. Why?”
“You have to drive her there every time she sees the doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you want to be closer to her doctors?”
“I don’t see how—”
“If I could find a way to incorporate your land into the park boundaries while grandfathering you in so you keep the house, and if you could use those funds to move to Port Stratton temporarily while having enough money for your wife’s care, I could continue my research and the quiet place designation could remain, while you save time and energy getting her treatment. ”
“That’s a lot of ‘if’s’, Son.”
“Yeah, but I have to try. Thanks for your time Mr. Miller. I’ll be in touch.”
As I walk the moss-edged trail back to the park visitor center, I run down ideas in my head of how in the hell I’m going to pull this off.
He’s not wrong. That’s a lot of variables, which means there's a lot of places where my plan could go wrong. If I can even call it a plan. It's really momentary inspiration mixed with a healthy dose of desperation. I’m mentally kicking myself for not learning more about the behind the scenes aspects of the park, so that I'd know what to do or who to turn to. I’ve been coming here my whole life, and been ranger here for three years. Why didn’t I look behind the curtain more?
I need to know who ultimately controls the park land, and what rules they are bound by.
I need money—fast.
I need someone with enough political power to get a guarantee that the land won’t fall prey to these people again.
I need…I tense up like a board as it hits me that there is only one person I know who can help me with this, and she’s the last person I want to get involved with. There’s too much history. Too much that is broken. Too much that I didn’t say.
But there also is too much riding on this to back down. I have to figure this out, or everything I’ve worked for over the last few years is ruined. The quiet place designation, my animal behavior research. Hell, even my sanity.
I’m going to have to plaster on a nice face to talk to her, ASAP.