The Road to Paradise Page 12

  “Don’t sell him short. When he sets his mind to something…” She bit her lip. “I need to speak to the superintendent. Or the park service director. I’ve got to stop this.”

  Ford pulled off his hat. “He’d only be running the hotels. It’s not like he’d actually own the place.”

  Margie clenched her fingers. “You don’t know him. He’ll ruin everything.”

  “Perhaps we can change his mind. Convince him it’s not a good investment. Where is he now?”

  “He’s driving back to Paradise for a second meeting with Mr. Johansson and Superintendent Brown. He’s going to outline his planned improvements.”

  “We can take the truck up there. Head him off.”

  She swung around to face him. “You’d do that?”

  A surge of energy pulsed through him. That and more. “My job is to protect the park. If you feel Carmichael doesn’t have the mountain’s interests at heart, then it’s my duty to try. Right?”

  She hesitated before snapping a quick nod. “Right. Let’s go.”

  Margie was already three steps down the stone walkway before he could offer his arm. Obviously she wasn’t going to miss her chance to confront Carmichael in front of Harry and Luke.

  Ford hurried to catch up, jamming his hat on his head. If anyone could talk her way through a crisis, it’d be Margie Lane. And he’d do whatever it took to ensure her success. The idea of working shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Philip Carmichael was enough to make his skin crawl.

  Margie picked her steps through the slushy parking area in a vain attempt to protect her heels and stockings. Rather than her typical outdoorsy attire, she’d made a calculated decision this morning and dressed in the most feminine outfit she had on hand. She’d hoped the indulgence would encourage Philip to listen to reason. Slogging through Paradise with wet feet hadn’t been part of the plan. The fat raindrops pattering on her hat merely added to the insult.

  Ford, in his sturdy park-issued boots, maneuvered the parking area with ease. “I imagine Carmichael will be surprised to see us.” He reached the Inn first, hurrying to pull the door open for Margie.

  A rush of warm air greeted her, as if the building huffed at the intrusion. “Perhaps. But once he sets his mind on something, he’s very difficult to derail.” She hurried in, brushing the moisture from her coat and stomping the last vestiges of ice from her pumps.

  “And if anyone could accomplish such a feat, it would be you.”

  As her vision adjusted to the dim light in the open room, she spotted Philip, Mr. Johansson, and Superintendent Brown. They stood, clustered around one of the massive oak tables, large rolls of paper spread across its surface. Even Henrik Berge, from the guide service, stood nearby. His well-worn sweater and wool cap making a stark contrast to Philip’s fine suit.

  Her stomach sank to her knees. Philip had already drawn up plans? He was further along in his scheme than she’d imagined. What kind of horrific ideas would involve actual blueprints?

  Ford hesitated, his eyes growing dark as he studied the gathered men. After a moment he touched her wrist and gestured to the group. “What are you waiting for? Go speak your piece.”

  Lord, help me. Margie took a deep breath and moved to join the group. “Hello, gentlemen.”

  The men looked up, their conversation fading.

  Philip straightened, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. “Margaret. What a pleasant surprise.” His attention wandered to Ford, squinting as he studied the ranger. “And Ranger…Brayden, was it?”

  He knows very well it is. Margie ignored the bitter taste in her mouth. Philip never missed an opportunity to put himself in control of a conversation. “Pardon me, Superintendent, Mr. Johansson. I hope you don’t mind us barging in on your meeting.”

  “Not at all, Miss Lane.” A wide smile crossed Superintendent Brown’s round face, his head bobbing. “I’m delighted you could join us. In fact, I’d appreciate having Ford’s opinion on some of these proposals. Of course, I’m pleased your father would take such an active interest in our future that he’d send his young protégé to take on this important role. The National Park Service Director, Stephen Mather, has encouraged us to seek ways to increase visitation in order to rally public support. I must say, Mr. Carmichael has some rather grandiose projects in mind.”

  “Grandiose is the perfect word for Mr. Carmichael.” Margie stepped around to the far side of the table, placing the men directly in her sights. “And I don’t believe he’s here at my father’s beckoning.”

  A shadow seemed to darken Philip’s face for a moment. “Margaret, you wound me. Would I come here under false pretense?” He ran his fingers across the papers. “Take a look at these blueprints. I think you’ll be as excited as I am, once you’ve grasped the scope of this project.”

  Margie studied the drawings. “Is that the Paradise Inn?”

  “It’s a brand-new lodge, consisting of two hundred guest rooms, outfitted with the finest luxury money can buy. The Paradise Inn won’t suffice as is, not with my plans for the area.”

  Mr. Johansson’s brows bunched. “I’ve been trying to explain to Mr. Carmichael, we simply can’t support that many more rooms with our short summer season. We’re snowed in from September to May.”

  Philip waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll fix that problem.”

  Ford leaned against the tabletop. “You’ll fix the snowfall? Now that I’d like to see.”

  Philip folded his arms. “I intend to construct an aerial tramway. We’ll bring the visitors in by cable and outfit Paradise as the premier ski resort in North America. After the International Winter Sports Week in Chamonix in ’24, people can’t get enough. Paradise is the perfect location. We’ll install rope hoists and a massive ski jump. With a little effort, we could even host one of the new Winter Games.”

  The climbing guide nodded. “Bringing in skiers, you’ll create more interest in climbing and glacier tours.”

  Heat and anger flashed through Margie. “Paradise is a sacred retreat, not some alpine playground for the wealthy.”

  Philip shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, my dear. If parks are to survive, they must be made showpieces for the new American leisure class. And not only winter sports. The meadows will feature a world-class golf course to draw summer visitors. Plus, for those who prefer a more rustic experience—one hundred cabins laid out in a grid. Summer activities could include horseback excursions, rodeos, jazz revues, organized sporting events. Everyone who desires to take in the mountain air can do so in style.” His eyes glazed, as if the images already danced before him. “And as more automobiles visit the park, we could sponsor races. Which vehicle can travel from Longmire to Paradise at the fastest speed? Automakers will compete for the honor of being the official model of Mount Rainier.”

  Margie sputtered. “You’re insane. You can’t transform Paradise into a sumptuous resort. The purpose of the national park ideal is to protect lands from the exact type of development you’re suggesting.”

  Color rose in Ford’s face. “Harry, you can’t possibly support this. It’d wreck the place.”

  The superintendent chewed on a toothpick for a moment before turning to Philip. “Where would you get the funding for this level of development, Mr. Carmichael? I can’t imagine the federal government would spring for this sort of lavish facility. I can hardly get them to throw us a few breadcrumbs at a time.”

  “Leave that to me, gentlemen.” Philip gripped the top edge of his vest and lifted his chin. “I’ll find the investors to make it happen.”

  Margie’s stomach rolled. Philip seemed to have a knack for making money appear out of nowhere, like a magician pulling coins from behind people’s ears.

  Mr. Johansson frowned. “I don’t like it. Too much, too soon. Where would I find enough staff to run a place like that? And year-round? Do you have a clue how much snow we get every year? We spend all winter just keeping the roofs from caving in. You want to stock the place with high rolle
rs?”

  Philip’s brow furrowed. “I have an idea about that, too.”

  “Of course you do.” Ford muttered under his breath.

  “The key is sound management. I’m bringing in an expert from Switzerland. A resort of this quality deserves the best. Herr Baumgarten is the finest hotel manager money can buy.”

  Mr. Johansson sank down into a nearby chair. “I see. You’re replacing me.”

  Philip turned to the superintendent. “You can keep your man on, if you like—in a reduced capacity, obviously. There’ll be plenty of work to keep everyone busy.”

  “Philip…” A chill claimed Margie, even here near the fireplace. “You can’t march in here and expect everyone to kowtow to your demands.”

  A slow grin spread across the man’s face as he dug a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Oh, but I can. Don’t forget—I’m here at Senator Lane’s request.”

  Her heart stopped for a dizzying minute and then resumed beating at double-speed. “It’s not possible.”

  “You’ve been off in the woods too long, Margaret. Your daddy and I mended fences.” Philip leaned across the table. “I have his full support on this project.”

  The breath seeped from her chest. A lie. It must be. “I’ve only been here a few weeks. I can’t believe my father would have—”

  “In fact, Senator Lane and I have a stipulation.” He spun around to face the men, drawing their attention from Margie. “Margaret Lane will work for me. And she’ll take charge of all programming at the Paradise resort.”

  The edges of Margie’s vision blurred. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Miss Lane works for the park service.” Ford’s hands clenched. “And our naturalists have always been responsible for programming.”

  Philip cocked his head. “Have they? Well, we’ll see about that. If Margaret refuses, I’ll bring in someone of my own. We’re through with dreary little nature talks. We need something with verve to appeal to the upper-class visitors. You can’t expect them to sit around and listen to boring old rangers spouting useless facts. Margaret has a sense of showmanship, or should I say show-womanship?” He shrugged. “She and I will run it as a team.” He dropped into a plush chair by the fireside. “We’ll call the position an engagement gift. What say you, Margaret?”

  “You’re out of line, Carmichael.” A vein pulsed in Ford’s temple.

  Margie stepped closer to Philip. “Can we have a word in private, please? I think we need to discuss this.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve made my decisions, but I always have time for you.” Philip led the way across the room, pausing by the massive Bavarian grandfather clock.

  She kept her voice low so it wouldn’t travel back to the group. “Why would I want to run your programs? I find your plans disgraceful.”

  “I thought you might wish to maintain some level of control over what happens here.” He tipped his head back, as if studying the clock’s finials while he spoke. “Of course, if you were to accept my marriage proposal, I’d probably lose interest in these petty investments altogether.” Philip turned his attention back to her, his eyes unwavering. “I’d be far too busy planning our nuptials to bother with such a mundane project.”

  Margie pressed her elbows close to her sides as Philip’s intentions became clear. He was giving her a choice—bow to his control or he would decimate the place.

  “It’s your decision, of course.” Philip turned back to the clock, running a hand down its wooden case. “But trust me, it won’t be the same park without you.”

  Ford slammed through the doors, pulling fresh air into his lungs. If he had to endure the businessman’s smirk one more moment, he’d have decked the man. Apparently Carmichael wasn’t content to spoil everything Ford loved at Rainier; he planned to take Margie with him. A rush of foul-tempered words spilled through his mind, but he managed to bite them back.

  Men like Carmichael knew how to snap their fingers and make everyone dance to their tune. Unfortunately, Ford had never been particularly light on his feet.

  The door opened a second time, and Margie hurried through, squinting as she buttoned her long coat. “There you are. I was afraid you might have left without me.”

  “You could have ridden home in style.” Ford gestured to Carmichael’s long automobile, parked prominently out front.

  She sighed. “This is all my fault. If I’d never come here, he wouldn’t have gotten a bee in his bonnet to do any of this.”

  “You didn’t answer him.”

  Margie placed her palms on her cheeks. “I needed time to think.”

  Don’t marry him. The words collected in his throat, but stuck there.

  She shivered in the light wind. “What I don’t understand—well, one part of it anyway—is why my father would be supporting him. They parted ways years ago. Then I hear that he’s managing Papa’s campaign. And now this?”

  “Maybe he’s lying?”

  “Perhaps. But he’d be found out easily, and then his whole house of cards would collapse. Philip’s not foolish.”

  But he was foolish enough to try to coerce Margie into marrying him? The idea turned Ford’s stomach. He’d thought his feelings for Margie were an innocent, temporary infatuation. When had she wrapped herself around his heart?

  “I need to speak to my father.” She glanced at the Inn. “Perhaps he can put a halt to this…this desecration.”

  “Can you telephone him?”

  “I should meet with him in person. Something Philip said troubles me. I think there’s more to this than them ‘mending fences.’ I don’t know what it could be, but I need to find out.” Her brows pulled down. “I suppose you can spare me for a few days? I know I’m not exactly integral to operations here, and if I hurry, I might catch my father before the campaign gala.”

  “Of course.” If Margie revisited city life, would she ever wish to return to muddy Longmire and her vermin-infested shack? One thing was certain—he couldn’t allow Carmichael more opportunities to convince her. His thoughts raced. “I’ll take you myself.”

  Margie’s lips parted, her eyes wide. “All the way to Tacoma? What about your work here?”

  She was right. It was the worst time of year to consider leaving the park. But if he stopped in to chat with Harry and Carson, they should be able to cover for him. Jennings was already swamped with work. “The summer staff is all in place, and they’re an experienced lot. They can do without me for a day.” He moved toward the truck. “Besides, it gives me a good excuse to postpone that report.”

  She followed a few steps behind. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so grateful.”

  “Think nothing of it. I have selfish motives. I don’t want that man taking charge of things here.” He opened the truck door. And I don’t want him to have you.

  “Thank you, Ford.” Margie laid a hand on his arm before climbing into the vehicle. “We’ll do this together.”

  He closed the door behind her and stared out toward the bank of clouds obscuring his mountain. Yes. Together.

  As the truck passed under the wooden archway marking the park boundary, knots formed in Margie’s stomach. At first she’d been overjoyed with Ford’s suggestion to accompany her. Now all she could imagine was his reaction when he saw the excess her parents considered normal life. Their house overlooking Commencement Bay had no less than thirty rooms, four servants, and manicured English-style gardens draped over the steep hillsides. And then there was her mother…

  She cast a discreet glance at Ford while he drove. He’d changed from his park service uniform into a smart suit jacket over a matching vest and trousers. He wouldn’t be mistaken for a member of the elite, but even in these simple clothes he cut a fine figure. Mother might not be pleased to see Margie arrive on the arm of a park ranger, but no one could quibble over the man’s appearance.

  Margie forced her attention back to the road. It’s not as if she were bringing him home in search of her mother’s approval. Ford had come as moral support, n
othing more. He’d said as much.

  The forest canopy gave way to familiar lowlands dotted with pastures and farm fields. Margie pressed fingers against her temples, the tension gathering like storm clouds. Do life’s pressures rest heavier at sea level? After nearly a month of park life, she’d almost forgotten how it felt to be among her family. She sighed. “I wish we were going the other direction.”

  “Are you nervous to speak with your father?” Ford glanced over at her.

  She shifted on the hard seat. “A little. But mostly, I’m not looking forward to stepping back into my old life.”

  “You come from a prestigious political family, yet you choose to live in a run-down shack in the middle of the woods.” He shook his head slowly. “You truly are one of a kind.”

  “As Thoreau said, ‘I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately.’ I couldn’t do that trapped by the expectations of high-society life.”

  “Which is why you’re the one to fight against Carmichael and others like him.”

  Ford believed she’d come to Rainier for selfless reasons. She’d never told him she hoped this job would serve as a safe haven from Philip’s controlling ways. “It’s my fault Philip is there in the first place. He’d never have taken interest in the mountain except for me.”

  “If it weren’t him, it’d be someone else.”

  “I suppose.” An ache settled in the back of her throat, and she blinked back tears. How had things gone so wrong?

  The conversation veered in other directions, and by the time they pulled into the steep turnaround in front of the Lane estate, the pair had discussed every aspect of park management, from winter snowplowing to stringing telephone cables over secluded ridges and river valleys. Margie reached for her bag, hidden on the floorboards by her feet. “I wish my father could hear you speak of all this detail. He’d see that park work is similar to running a large, complex business.”

  “Without the payoff, I suppose.”

  “The payoff comes in a different form.”

  Margie stayed put and waited for Ford to come open her door. If they’d been at work, she might have hopped out on her own, but she couldn’t take the chance that her mother was watching from the window. And likely as not, she was.