Summer of Fire - Linda Jacobs [98]
Clare set her coffee aside. “My family was already in the valley around the turn of the century.”
“Not many folks here then,” Asa said.
“Their name was Sutton.”
Asa nodded. He was silent for so long that Clare wondered if he had heard her. Finally, he said, “Suttons lived out north in what’s now the National Park.”
“My great-grandmother Laura was supposed to have kept a journal. Nobody in the family has it and I wondered if it might have wound up here.”
“We don’t have anything like that,” he answered immediately.
“How can you be sure?” Clare gestured toward thousands of books.
“Been working here since forty-nine. Know every volume on every shelf.”
There were a lot of books, but she figured that in thirty-nine years she could get through them all. “Did you know the Suttons?”
Asa dipped his head. “They sold out to the Snake River Land Company after the flood. Their ranch ended up inside the park, just the way Rockefeller wanted it.”
“What do you mean?”
“John D. Rockefeller, Jr. hated the gas stations, billboards, and cheap tourist camps near Jenny Lake. He decided to buy up all the private land and donate it to the country for a national park.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Clare asked.
Asa scowled. “If you’d been here then, you’d understand. They set up a dummy corporation and kept folks in the dark about what all the buying was for.”
“My family sold out?”
“Yup. After the Gros Ventre flood, people were nervous and took whatever offers they could get. Your folks got taken to the cleaners along with my father.”
“Do you know the way to their place?”
“Ask at Grand Teton Headquarters,” Asa said.
Clare thanked him and headed for the door. She wondered if Devon would show any interest in knowing about the family.
While she killed more time in town before heading for the airport, she felt torn between anticipation at seeing Devon and an ache over what might have been with Steve.
Two hours later, Clare watched as the 737 taxied up to the Jackson Hole Airport. The small terminal squatted on the sage-covered flats beside the startling wall of the Tetons. Smoke hung in the valley, giving a filtered view of the mighty bulwark.
After twenty or so vacationers had picked their way down the stairs to the tarmac, Clare saw Devon. Her unruly hair was more golden than usual; she must have hit the Summer Blonde too hard. Charcoal rimmed her eyes and her cutoffs and tank top were tight. When Devon got to within three feet, Clare smelled gin.
Before she could berate Devon for getting the flight attendant to serve someone underage, a low male voice spoke from behind her. “How about introducing me to your daughter?”
Her two worlds collided.
“Hey, Mom.” Devon tossed off her greeting, and checked Steve out, from his red western shirt and faded jeans down to scuffed leather hiking boots. She raised an inquiring brow that made Clare feel as though she was the one who had some answering to do.
“This is Dr. Steve Haywood.” Clare did not meet his eyes. She wasn’t prepared for what she might find there. Truth to tell, she wasn’t ready for him to see how foolishly happy she was to see him.
“Hello,” Devon responded, “Doctor Steve Haywood.”
Clare could tell by the knowing look that her daughter thought they were an item. Not ready to admit how it made her feel, she stood on tiptoe to kiss Devon’s cheek. “Hi.”
“What kind of doctor?” Devon asked. “Are you sick?”
“Yeah.” Clare figured that about summed it up. “Sick of eating smoke and watching the fires outstrip anything man can throw at them.”
She was tired of everything about this wild country, except the man who smiled indulgently at Devon. “I’m a biologist. The past few years I’ve been counting elk.”
“Elk,” Devon echoed flatly.
Steve cradled the back of Clare’s arm with a persuasive touch. Gone was his mask of anger, replaced by the warmth she remembered in his eyes. That spark she