Dangerous Ground

By Diana Leon Clark

"Money, Douglas, money and power. That's what oil and gas is all about. Why should I worry if a few lousy field workers get sick?"

 

Problems with radiation in the oil and gas industry is the last thing on geologist Cherlynn Rodgers mind as she begins her new job at the Museum of Northern Arizona. All that changes, however, when a brash field geologist seeks the advice of his former professor, a summer geologist-in-residence at the museum. Despite her initial dislike for the irritating fieldman, Cherlynn soon joins the two Texans in a search for ways to make the lives of David Piper's men safer. It isn't long before their own safety becomes a concern as Cherlynn learns just how ruthless powerful men with a lot to lose can be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diana Leon Clark
• Release date: Sep 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223472483

Diana Leon Clark

Before beginning her career as a storyteller, a term she prefers to novelist or writer, Diana Clark was an editor at Northland Press in Flagstaff, Arizona, and, later, the Publications Director at the Museum of Northern Arizona Press. Her deepest interests, often the background for her stories, are Latin American political history and culture. She is an enthusiastic supporter of preservation, both cultural and natural, and, like all of us, Diana also loves a good romance. Her education includes a Master's Degree in Latin American history from the University of Toledo and a Ph.D. in American history/political science from Northern Arizona University. She lives and works in Mazatlan, Mexico.

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Chapter Two

Before Cherlynn could bring herself to tell her husband about her decision to divorce him, she steeled herself to share the news with her parents. Their lack of surprise stunned her even though it shouldn’t have. Caroline and Matt Selkirk had seen the problem from the first.

James Rodgers didn’t take his wife seriously or understand how Cherlynn saw herself. Their daughter was committed to her career and passionate about the field of study she’d chosen. Despite their son-in-law’s obvious affection for Cherlynn, the couple had never learned to work as partners. Both of her parents doubted Jim Rodgers even thought of her that way. She was his little wife.

Telling Jim proved harder than she’d expected. He didn’t believe her at first and couldn’t understand why she didn’t share his excitement about this new opportunity. His progress up the ladder was for her, after all.

"Jim, I am happy for you. Going back to the East Coast is the perfect choice for you personally and professionally; I know that. But it’s not right for me. We want different things. It’s no one’s fault, and I’ll always care about you, but I need something different.

I’m comfortable at the museum, she continued, and I love Arizona. It’s my home. Please don’t be sad. I know you’ll find someone in Connecticut who will make you a better wife than I ever could—someone who wants the same things you do. We both deserve someone who can make us happy.

Her husband frowned. Is that what this is all about? You’ve found someone else you’d rather be with?

She pushed a hand through her short, dark curls in frustration. If you’d ever bothered to spend any time at the museum, you’d know there’s no one there I’d be interested in. And when would I have the time or opportunity to meet someone outside the museum? That’s not what my decision to stay is about.

You’ve made up your mind, I take it—so nothing I say will make any difference. Okay, I’ll handle the paperwork. We’ve only been married a few years, and there are no children, thank God. That means you won’t get much in the way of a settlement.

Jim’s voice was cool and his words a warning. He’d see she left the marriage with nothing. His threat didn’t surprise or worry her. In fact, the opportunity to take care of her own financial needs excited her.

They agreed Cherlynn would stay in their home in Forest Highlands, a wealthy enclave south of Flagstaff, until it sold, paying only the utilities. Since she’d invested nothing in the purchase of the home and hadn’t made any monthly payments, James warned her the court probably wouldn’t award her any of the home’s profits.

Cherlynn threw a cynical look at her husband. Jim, I’m obviously not a financial wizard, but I can read—even the big words. I know how Arizona’s law works and that Connecticut’s system is quite different. I won’t fight you on any of this because I don’t care. But you know how expensive housing is in Flagstaff. I’ll need enough money to purchase a small home here. Let’s just agree I take the first $100,000, and the rest is yours.

He gave her a long, measuring look. That’s a lot of money, Cherlynn.

But that’s what I’ll need, Jim, and I’m not interested in any other assets. You won’t do any better if it goes to court—especially if lawyers get involved.

OK, but we’re agreed—that’s all you’re asking for. What about the Mazda?

I’d like to keep it; it’s too small for you, anyway.

For someone who claims she doesn’t understand money, you’re driving a pretty hard bargain.

Cherlynn looked long at her husband, a frown marring her usually pleasant face. The profit from their house would be somewhere north of the three-hundred thousand range.

Their other assets, including Jim’s Mercedes and his Harley, their stocks and bonds, and her husband’s art collection, probably added another three- or four-hundred thousand to the pot. And this didn’t even consider his hefty retirement.

Her husband was getting off easy, and they both knew it. If she’d had any doubts about the divorce, they were gone now.

Do we have a deal? she asked him.

I guess so, he told her curtly. Then, his forehead wrinkled in concern. How do you expect to support yourself, Cherlynn? Your salary from the museum is barely minimum wage.

That won’t be your problem, Jim, but don’t worry about me. I’ll do fine. My needs are much simpler than yours. If I get in a bind, Mom and Dad will help me out.

She’d never ask her parents for money but saw no reason to share that with her husband. After all, he just wanted to ease his guilty conscience. No, she wasn’t being fair. Jim had always been generous. His reluctance to make her life comfortable after they divorced spoke more about hurt than greed.

They agreed to live together until he left for Connecticut and to keep their upcoming divorce secret in the meantime. Flagstaff was a small community, and he didn’t want to deal with the embarrassment. It worked best for her, too.

A LITTLE OVER ONE MONTH later, Dr. James Rodgers left for Storrs. The house felt surprisingly empty without him, and she experienced more loneliness than she’d expected. None of her discomfort made her doubt her decision. She wouldn’t have been happy in Connecticut—or with Jim. They were too different in personality.

She began her search for a more suitable and affordable home in Flagstaff, warning her agent it would be late spring or early summer before their uncontested divorce would be finalized and their house sold. After a few weeks of looking, Cherlynn became discouraged.

Everything she looked at seemed too expensive, and most of the places had the wrong vibe. Finding a place might not be as easy as she’d assumed. Cherlynn worried she might even have to rent something for a while—if she could afford the high rental prices in this college town. 

When she complained to Mike one afternoon, he just laughed. That’s what you get for being a princess.

His teasing hurt her feelings. She didn’t consider herself a princess, quite the reverse. She wanted something small, simple, and inexpensive. Cherlynn saw that as a step in the right direction, not a step down.

To Cherlynn’s surprise, Will Carson, of all people, came up with a solution. He’d accepted a job with the Forest Service in Roswell, New Mexico, and needed to sell his cabin.

It was less than two miles from the museum and off the grid, which sounded perfect to Cherlynn. Unfortunately, it was also almost a mile down a poorly maintained dirt road that would eat her Mazda alive. The cabin was also somewhat isolated since the closest neighbor lived more than a quarter of a mile away. Neither of those drawbacks concerned her terribly.

Mike, however, put his foot down. No way, he told her, it’s too dangerous for you to live out there by yourself.

Cherlynn didn’t agree. She could get a big dog, sort of a combination early warning system and personal guard. She might even buy a gun.

Sherry, be reasonable. You’re small; hell, you’re tiny, and you have no experience roughing it. Field camp isn’t the same thing as everyday living. I’d do nothing but worry about you.

She laughed at her boss, giving him a quick peck on the cheek that made him blush.

Come look at it; then, you’ll see how perfect it is.

He went with her during their lunch hour and grudgingly admitted the cabin suited her needs—which surprised him. He’d been sure anything Will Carson owned would be a smelly dump.

His former employee’s cabin was small, just nine-hundred square feet, with a tidy, little galley kitchen; a single, good-sized bedroom; and a self-contained bathroom and laundry with its own gray water system. He wondered briefly how much use the washer and dryer had seen while Will lived here.

It also had a wide, covered porch overlooking a wooded area and a deep ravine. Except for the solitude, it seemed like a good fit for Cherlynn. But he couldn’t get past that. She just wasn’t safe out here.

It’s nice; I’ll grant you that. But I still don’t think it’s safe for you to live this far out. I’d rather see you in an apartment or a small house closer to the museum. I’ll worry if you’re out here by yourself.

Well, get used to worrying because I’m buying it. Will needs to get it sold, and I need something I can afford. Think about it—no power or water bills, no house payments, no cable or Direct TV, not even a land line to pay for. It’s perfect.

Knowing his optimistic—more like naïve—young colleague had made up her mind, he capitulated reluctantly.

Get a dog, Sherry, a big, mean one, and keep him on the hungry side. You’d also better get used to the idea I’ll be driving out here regularly to check on you. Make sure Will teaches you how to maintain the systems, too.

Despite her boss’s misgivings, Cherlynn moved to her new cabin in mid-April. Within weeks, she began tweaking it to give the small structure a more sophisticated and feminine feel. As soon as she felt ready to show it off, she invited everyone on the research side of the museum to an open house.

Toward the end of May, and to Mike’s relief, she acquired a large, black dog named Bear. The mutt, part mastiff and God knows what else, seemed too friendly to be much of a guard dog, but he looked the part.

By now, everyone in the department and half the museum had heard several times about how much Cherlynn loved her new home and how comfortable she was living there. Even her boss admitted grumpily that housing couldn’t get much cheaper.

He made a mental note to squeeze a little more money out of next year’s budget to augment her salary. She’d earned it, and Sherry couldn’t manage money worth a damn.

WITH HER HUSBAND’S removal to the East Coast, work assumed an even more important role in Cherlynn’s life. It gave her structure, something to focus on, and companionship. What she missed most at MNA was having a best friend. No one at the museum cared to assume that role, and it left a big hole.

Early in June, she headed for her office and smelled fresh coffee. Someone close by had brewed a fresh pot, and she thought she knew who that person might be. Although his office was empty, she saw a briefcase sitting on his desk. Jeff Striker had returned to MNA. Now, she’d have a best friend. They’d gotten close last summer, and she couldn’t wait to tell him about her new, changed life.

She helped herself to a cup of his coffee, adding a little cream from the small refrigerator he’d purchased last summer. Jeff drank his coffee black but knew Cherlynn needed hers almost blond.

Thinking about his kindness gave her a flush of pleasure. She couldn’t find a better friend than Jeff Striker, no matter how hard she tried.

AS HE WALKED TOWARD his alcove, Jeff spotted Cherlynn silhouetted against the bright sunshine from the window. She looked the same—small, deceptively fragile, and he felt a small stir. Not going there, he told himself as he walked toward Cherlynn.

Hey, Sherry, good to see you. He watched her eyes light up, and something warmed inside him. Ignoring that warmth, he gave her a friendly pat on her shoulder. Saw your little Miata out there and figured you were here somewhere. Have they made you curator yet?

Not for another month or two. Mike’s keeping the chair warm for me.

I heard that, a voice bellowed down the hall. Dream on.

They both laughed. Jeff glanced down at her left hand, a habit he’d picked up last summer to remind himself she was off limits, and noticed her rings were gone.

Cherlynn sensed his surprise and told him quietly: Lots of news to catch up on. Are you free for lunch today? There’s a great little restaurant that just opened its doors a mile from here.

Sure, my treat.

See you later, then. I’m working across the street today. Anthropology is putting together a new exhibit.

He nodded and went over to his desk. Well, well, he thought, big changes in that young woman’s life. She’d crossed his mind frequently after he returned to Austin, and he’d wondered if she read the paperback he left with her. I guess she did, he muttered to himself. And she must have taken it to heart.

Their lunch hour was full of stories about what led to Cherlynn’s divorce and all that she’d accomplished since. She seemed happy to him, confident she’d done the right thing—even if she’d finally learned how inadequate her salary was.

Jim got one thing right about me, she told him with a scowl on her face. I’m not particularly good with money.

You can learn, Sherry; it isn’t rocket science.

My head knows that, at least part of my brain does, but I keep thinking I can squeeze one more thing out of the budget. And I’m always wrong. She sighed in frustration. How could I not know this about myself?

You’re an optimist, kiddo, which isn’t all bad. It’s gotten you through some tough times this last year.

Yeah, I guess so; but optimism isn’t going to get me a vehicle sturdy enough to take me to the museum and back safely this winter. I love my Miata, but it can’t handle these snowy roads. Then, her eyes lit up as she gave him a big smile. I can’t wait to show you my place. It’s perfect.

Jeff turned his head to hide his amusement. Cherlynn couldn’t stay down. Her optimistic outlook, so much a part of Sherry, was one of the things that made her irresistible to him. She’s a baby, John Jefferson Striker, he told himself sternly. You’re too damn old to be more than a friend. Don’t embarrass yourself—or Cherlynn.

Chapter Three

Jeff began slipping money into Cherlynn’s wallet several times a week—just ten or twenty dollars at a time. He found it ridiculously easy. Cherlynn never locked or even closed her office door. Nor did she apparently have any idea how much money she had in her purse at any given moment.

It wasn’t much, but it probably helped with those small day-to-day expenses. It didn’t surprise him that she never seemed to notice the extra cash even when he gradually increased the amount.

Cherlynn warned him right after he arrived that he might not see her as much as they both would have liked. MNA’s new exhibit would open in mid-July, and she had seven more drawings to finish before then.

Jeff stopped by her roped-off exhibition area one afternoon, curious about what she’d been working on. He’d never seen any of her work and had no idea what to expect.

Sherry, these pieces are amazing. I was expecting something more typical, more...

Scientific? she teased him.

That isn’t what I was thinking. They seem so real—like I could reach out and touch them.

Sherry’s full of surprises. Our Ms. Geology has all kinds of hidden talents. I think we’re lucky to have her, especially since she’s the prettiest woman on MNA’s staff.

The calm, male voice belonged to a well-dressed, blond stranger in his early thirties. He gave Cherlynn a warm smile and waited to be introduced.

Jeff, this is Paul Berlinger, the museum’s new public affairs officer. Paul, I’d like you to meet Dr. Jeff Striker, our summer resident geologist. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.

Jeff felt an instant and, he grudgingly admitted, unreasonable dislike. Paul Berlinger was good looking, fitter than anyone with his kind of desk job had any right to be, and very sure of himself. He was also standing too close to Cherlynn. It made Jeff feel­­—territorial was the word that came to mind, which embarrassed him.

I’m glad I ran into you, Professor Striker, Paul told him with a pleasant smile. I’d like to do a press release on your survey work here this summer. I’ll come by your office sometime next week.

He waved a casual hand to Sherry and moved on. Both Cherlynn and Jeff watched him walk away. Her look lingered on the man longer than Jeff liked.

Ms. Geology? Jeff challenged her.

It’s a private joke.

You dating him? he asked directly.

Cherlynn looked surprised. No, not even close. I’m not ready to date anyone, and Paul’s not my type.

Grumpy and feeling a little off-kilter, Jeff walked back to the geology building determined to stay on his side of the museum grounds. He’d come here to work, and Cherlynn Rodgers was becoming a distraction.

Even though he welcomed a little separation, Jeff couldn’t help feeling pleased when they returned to the previous summer’s habit of having lunch together. That brief, shared time suited both of them. Cherlynn admitted she enjoyed getting away from the public side of the museum for a while, and he liked her company.

Sometimes, they sat on his patio, enjoying the privacy and an unequalled view of the Peaks, as the locals called the San Francisco Mountain. Other times, they took a quick walk.

One afternoon, she surprised him by asking if he’d like to see her cabin. Since I’ve been bragging about it for several weeks, Cherlynn told Jeff airily, it’s only fair to let you see for yourself.

He agreed to go, took one look at her little car, and couldn’t imagine folding his long legs in there.

I’ll follow you in my SUV. That way, you won’t have to bring me back.

Despite her enthusiastic description, Jeff was surprised and a little impressed by the outside of her cabin. It fit her perfectly, he decided—casual but with a touch of elegant simplicity, right down to some comfortable-looking rockers on the front porch. Like Mike, however, he was concerned about the cabin’s isolation.

Bear had come off the porch to greet them, wagging a long, bony tail. He didn’t seem like much protection to Jeff.

You don’t tie him? Jeff asked in surprise.

I can’t. He wouldn’t be able to defend himself, and he wouldn’t be happy locked inside all day. The neighborhood shares an old brown bear that none of us has the heart to report. I don’t know if he’d hurt Bear, but I don’t want to take the chance. He’s always here when I come home, and no one has complained. I think he sticks close.

Sherry, a bear that’s comfortable hanging around humans can be dangerous. I hope you don’t go for walks alone—or with just your dog.

She made a face and gave his arm a playful punch.

You sound just like Mike. I can take care of myself. Bears rarely attack humans, you know. Frankly, the raccoons scare me more.

A frown settling over his features, he shook his head and followed her inside. The cabin’s basic architecture reflected Will’s rustic taste, but she’d made the place her own with splashes of warm color, comfortably upholstered furniture, and sophisticated art work. He liked it and understood why she’d chosen to live there.

Cherlynn poured them each a glass of wine, which they decided to enjoy on the porch. It was more than peace and quiet or economic necessity that made her choose to live here, he decided. Her life with James Rodgers had been more about image than substance. This little cabin was a statement of what she valued—simplicity, basic comforts, and a strong aesthetic appeal.

LATE IN JUNE, CHERLYNN was across the street hanging one of her drawings when a casually dressed, youngish man with a definite attitude strolled up, looked her up and down appraisingly, and asked where he’d find Professor John Striker.

You mean Jeff? she asked. No one called the geologist by his first name; in fact, she hadn’t even known it.

Yup, that’s who I mean, darlin’.

He had a strong Texas accent and an arrogant, rather sexy smile. It went well with his looks—on the short side with thick, blond hair that hung in his eyes and a solid, muscular body. Cherlynn disliked him at first sight. The man reeked ego.

I’m waiting, he prompted her, amused by her lengthy assessment of him—and misreading it.

I’m afraid you’re on the wrong side of the museum. Dr. Striker works across the street in the geology building. It’s pretty much off limits to the public.

Her rudeness felt good; my snottiness should put a pin in his balloon, she congratulated herself with a certain relish. Unfortunately, it didn’t.

I guess I need a guide, then, and I reckon that’s you. I’d sure appreciate it, honey.

He gave her another smug grin, certain she found him irresistible. Cherlynn intended to say she was busy and had more important things to do than show him around the museum grounds, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the exit.

She’ll be back real soon, I promise, he told the startled woman sitting at the entrance desk.

Deciding she’d find it easier to show him than argue, Cherlynn led the way. It would have been quicker to take his truck, which she’d spotted in the museum’s parking lot. The damn thing screamed Texas. But his fancy leather boots would get scuffed up by the cinders if they went on foot, and she found that thought appealing.

As they walked in silence, the man from Texas gave her a considering look. "Just how far is