problem. Everyone is happy.â
Scott looked wounded and stumbled back a step. âI thought ⦠â
Barrett narrowed his eyes. âWhat evidence do you have about this?â
Scott gazed toward the meadow, hundreds of feet below them. âI submitted the well logs to you. You wouldnât hide this, would you?â
âDid you make copies?â
A spark of panic lit Scottâs eyes. âYou canât cover this up.â As Barrett suspected, Scott was too much of a dolt to keep copies.
Barrett took another step toward Scott. âThe problem is being taken care of.â
The nervous man glanced down the trail, no doubt searching for escape. Barrett guessed Scott was now regretting trusting Barrett and not making copies. âPumping water on the peaks is no solution,â he said.
Barrett sighed. He hadnât wanted it to come to this, but the moron left him no choice. He might be old and out of shape, but his extra weight wouldnât hinder him now. Without another word, Barrett lurched toward Scott and slammed into the fool, launching him over the edge.
The granola cruncher had been paid well to keep his mouth shut and until now hadnât had any temptation to open his trap and spoil his good deal. The only person who might know about this was his wife, but if she spoke up, the whole snow-making deal would be off. Heâd keep an eye on her, but she struck Barrett as too smart to let that happen.
Barrett glanced over the side of the cliff.
Not much blood, but the angle of the neck proved just how dangerous it was to cross Barrett McCreary III.
Six
Nora stood on the wide lodge porch and gazed across the empty expanse of the ski run. There were so few summer mornings to savor on her mountain, and this one had withered away in worry, meetings, balance sheets, and business plans.
Abbey trotted up the lodge steps, tongue lolling.
Nora scratched his ears. âYou donât care if the bank is skeptical about snow making and Scott walked out, do you? As long as there is a rabbit on this mountain and food in your dish, youâre content.â
He slopped in his tongue, wagged his tail, and sat to survey his mountain.
The restless night alone pounded in fatigue behind Noraâs eyes. With her closest neighbors in Mountain Village, nestled three miles down the winding road at the base of the mountain, she felt isolated at the lodge. Sheâd jumped at every noise, afraid Big Elk or Knife Guy would come back to finish her off. Hoping maybe Scott would return.
The nip of pine wafted in the air and the sun filtered through the branches, creating a camouflage of cheer on the grass. Normally the fiery penstemon, the violet flax, and sunny cinquefoil made her heart light. Today, she forced appreciation for the beauty around her.
She stared at the rocky, red dirt parking lot about two hundred feet down a path from the lodge. She imagined snow piled on the periphery and happy people shrugging into ski togs. She loved those days. Everyone excited and busy, laughter chasing around the mountain. Unfortunately, too many days the parking lot sat empty.
Nora allowed herself memories of early morning skiing with Scott. They often checked the slopes before allowing skiers on the runs. Sharing the thrill of their mountain, the morning runs had felt as intimate as lovemaking.
Nora shook away those memories. Enough emotional torture, business beckoned. The morningâs meeting in town with her banker had yielded mixed results. Despite her impressive charts and projections and armed with the courtâs decision, her banker considered her already sizeable operating loan and the refinanced business loan. Kachina Skiâs lifeline showed minimal activity. But making snow would not only speed recovery, it would guarantee robust health far into the future. At least thatâs what sheâd told the banker.
In the end, the banker offered enough to pay for initial construction of the