Wild Midnight by Maggie; Davis Read Free Book Online Page B

imperturbably. He reached for the buzzer on his desk. “Let Marsha bring you some coffee.”  
    Rachel still stood with her hand outstretched, but Beaumont Tillson had turned away.  
    “I haven’t got the time for this, I’ve got to go to the bank to see about a pump.” He abruptly leaned over the lawyer’s desk, putting one long, callused hand down flat on the papers. “Get these people off my back, Poke. This woman’s egging them on. I can’t have a public road into Belle Haven—it’ll ruin me. It’s just what these damned developers are waiting for.” He straightened and ran his hand through sun-streaked hair in a harried gesture. “Hell, Poke, I had a bellyful of peaceniks and Quakers during the war. While I was out in the DMZ sleeping in mud and hiding my ass from the Cong, they were visiting Ho Chi Minh up in Hanoi, helping to put a bullet in my back.”  
    “Sit down, Beau,” the lawyer repeated mildly. “We want to talk, that’s what we’re all here for, isn’t it?”  
    Rachel looked from one man to the other. “Shouldn’t we wait for Mr. Tillson’s lawyer?” This man unnerved her; there was a violent energy in him that the lawyer seemed oblivious to, but she felt that at any moment he might explode.  
    Beau Tillson whirled on her. “Poke Screven’s my lawyer,” he snarled. “Just what the hell do you think’s going on?”  
    She stepped back a step. “But Pembroke Screven is our lawyer.  
    The man behind the desk said quickly, “Now just settle down, both of you. I can represent you both as long as we keep calm. Beau,” he said, ignoring the tall man’s scowl. “I’m representing the farmers’ cooperative pro bono, at least for the time being. I’m making my contribution to what I see as a worthy cause. I want you to approach this in the same way. Now, if you’ll—”  
    Beaumont Tillson advanced a few steps toward Rachel with his lithe leopard’s grace and glowered down at her. “Three hundred dollars, that’s my offer. From what I hear, your crowd can use it. It’ll pay your gas and oil going the long way around.”  
    Rachel backed into her chair, feeling the seat hard against her knees as she looked up. “The co-op doesn’t want your money, Mr. Tillson,” she told him in a fairly steady voice. She was determined not to be bullied; he was much too good at it. “It is a public road. I think you know that, even if you will not admit it. As I told you before, we are willing to negotiate. The co-op will agree to use the road at certain times if you wish, but frankly, since it is pub—”  
    “It’s closed, dammit!” He shot her a look of pure frustration. “The road’s on my property, it belongs to me.” He prodded with a tanned, forceful index finger at the middle of his chest. “Mine —private property, get the idea? Not peacenik communes, no Jesus freaks—just private ... capitalist ... property !” he shouted. “So you can stop whining at me about how the public can use it!”  
    In spite of herself Rachel glared back at him. “I am not whining at you, friend. But you have not kept the road private according to the law, and I do not like to have people yelling at me. There is no matter that cannot be worked out,” she added primly, “in harmony and cooperation.”  
    Her words only seemed to infuriate him. She saw his big hands clench in fists.  
    “Hell!” he ground out, abruptly turning on his heel.  
    The lawyer had been watching them both. “Now, Beau, you’re doing all the shouting here. The young lady’s right. Why don’t you listen to what she’s got to say? Leave the issue of public or private alone for a moment and think about letting her group come through there at specified—”  
    “Three hundred dollars, dammit,” the other man snarled. He stood with his broad shoulders hunched, the fabric of the suit drawn tightly across his back, fighting his rage. “They’re not going to get more money because I haven’t got