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Chapter Seven
Kate took a seat at an outdoor waterfront table and settled back to wait. She was purposefully early, wanting time to catch her breath, to go over what she would say and how. Normal life as of late afforded few opportunities for introspection and as she closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, she realized she was a little rusty when it came to intrigue.
No matter. She may have grown up here in Seattle, but she’d spent the last eight years in Arizona and appreciated the rare May warmth currently caressing her skin. When was the last time she’d been free to just sit for a few moments without distraction? She couldn’t remember, and even now, the urge to get back prevented her from fully living in this moment.
“Kate West?” a male voice inquired and she opened her eyes with a start. She glanced up to find a man of about thirty staring down at her. Sun-streaked brown hair combed away from his forehead framed bluish gray eyes that echoed the water sparkling behind him.
“Yes, I’m Kate,” she said.
“I knew it.” His smile was dazzling as he offered his hand. “Gary Dodge told me to look for a stunning blonde.”
“You must be Frank Hastings,” she said, suppressing laughter and an eye roll. She was well aware she looked dog-tired, worn-out and frazzled.
“Please, call me Frankie,” he said as he released her fingers. “May I sit down?”
She nodded and watched as he took a seat across from her. She’d seen his picture so she’d known he was attractive, but the photograph hadn’t caught the energy pulsing through his body. It also hadn’t caught the lively curiosity behind his eyes. Her confidence in her ability to stay one step ahead of him took a nosedive as he returned her gaze with open appraisal.
She knew that along with his father and brothers he ran a huge ranch in Central Idaho. Assumedly, he had picked up the golden tan of his skin the honest way, by being outside but there was also something decidedly uncowboylike about him, too, and that was interesting.
He smiled again as though aware she was sizing him up. The whites of his eyes and teeth almost glowed in his face and she found herself comparing him to her ex. She looked down at her hands immediately. Thinking about an ex-boyfriend wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She warned herself to concentrate on her grandmother.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
She ran fingers across her brow and shook her head. “No.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” he added as a waiter showed up. He ordered crab cakes and a salad, without glancing at the menu. She ordered iced tea and nothing else. “I’ve heard about your...issue with our project,” he added after the waiter left. “I’m anxious to set your mind at ease.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, of course. Why do you say it like that?”
“It seems kind of hopeless,” she said. “Gary, your producer, has already tried to convince me how wrong I am. I’m afraid you drove all the way here from Idaho for nothing.”
His eyes narrowed a hair. “Just give me a chance,” he said as her tea and a basket of bread appeared on their table.
“Listen,” she said, tearing off a hunk of sourdough, hoping it would settle her stomach. Darn nerves. “I understand that my eleventh-hour objections to this movie—”
“Not a movie,” he said. “A documentary.”
“What’s the difference?”
He shrugged. “Pretty vast. A movie can be pure fiction or a takeoff on known facts. Either way, liberties are taken. A documentary sticks to the truth, not conjectures.”
“Truth as interpreted through a human lens,” she said.
“You mean the angle the director decides to emphasize?”
“Yes.”
“That’s true, but this is all pretty cut-and-dried stuff. One hundred years ago, four men robbed the bank in what was once known as Green Ridge, Idaho. That’s a fact. Two days later, three of them were caught by a posse—Samuel and Earl Bates and a guy called William Adler. They were taken back to the big oak tree two miles outside town and hung. That’s a sad fact, but a fact nonetheless. The fourth man got away. It’s generally assumed he took all the gold with him.
“The robbery more or less killed Green Ridge, though in all truth, the mine was close to playing out. A few years after the town emptied, a new generation of gold diggers found a small vein, but nothing more. All that remains now is a dead mine and a ghost town both of which are on our land, practically in our backyard. And the hanging tree, of course. Our historian has found two descendants of men who might be the elusive fourth man. I spoke to one of them last week
