“So, you’re saying he’s a player,” Vivi concluded, causing Wyatt and Chey to look at each other with a splutter of laughter.
“Yes,” Chey said. “That would be the appropriate term. Only in this case he’s not just playing the field; he wants to own the field it’s being played on.”
“You know, I might be able to help with that,” Wyatt said thoughtfully.
Surprised, Chey turned to him. “How?” she asked, sincerely curious.
He smiled then, and it was a mix of the old Wyatt and the new, both of whom packed a punch. “Let’s just say, I know a few people, too.”
Chapter Four
Wyatt hadn’t intended to have dinner with Chey, much less the rest of her newly collected family. Of course, he hadn’t intended to offer himself up as a possible solution to their local development issues, either. But here you are.
Vivi had insisted he join them that evening before they’d even left the parking lot, telling Chey she expected Victoria to join them as well. In truth, he had no other immediate plans. He’d thought he was coming to Virginia to get his horse. Tory had told him she already had a place set up for Buttercup, which had been the truth. Just not the entire truth. He’d assumed that would take some time and hadn’t made specific departure plans. Yet.
When Tory had tracked him down, he’d just been wrapping up production on his Nepal adventure. He was planning to head back to his croft near Mount Snowdon in Wales for postproduction and to plan out his next trip. He’d had several interesting offers from rural municipalities ranging from Africa to the Arctic Circle to one of the islands in the South Pacific kingdom of Tonga. Each one represented an opportunity to bring attention not only to the unique culture and challenge of an area, but, specifically, a targeted natural treasure, be it flora, fauna, or local topography that was under some kind of threat. For some, the threat was a naturally occurring ecological or environmental issue, but most often it was a direct threat from mankind.
He hadn’t green-lighted any of them as the focus of his next livestream series. He had time to do more research and decide, as he had plenty of work to do organizing, editing, and repackaging the mass of videos from the Nepal adventure. He’d be putting the footage into a more traditional documentary form than usual, so the work he was doing could have a longer lasting impact. He’d blocked out several months for that, though the truth was, he could get it done sooner. He’d decided he wanted some time to step back, let the spotlight go dark for a bit. It had been a good while since he’d simply sat and let himself be.
He knew it was a risk with the current mentality of more-more-more, now-now-now, but he’d worked hard to amass the subscribers and followers he had. In the past few years, he’d grown his platform to a point where he’d been able to set up distribution for the permanent, hard-copy content he was now creating as a result of those livestream productions. The income from those sales paid the bills and provided full-time employment to a few core crew members. All the funding they raised went to covering their expedition expenses and directly supporting the causes they were trying to help.
He loved what he was doing, was excited about the new opportunities he was creating for himself and others, utilizing new media to draw attention to little known, but important issues.
All told, though, he’d been going nonstop for longer than he could recall. Too long. He pulled Tory’s truck into the circular drive that fronted the main house on the Lavender Blue farm and parked there, as he’d been asked to do. He folded his arms on the steering wheel and took in the place. From this vantage point, he could see it all, from the main house to the stables and Chey’s house, the lavender fields, and then the higher peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains, more rounded with age than their rugged, western counterparts, but equally majestic in their own right.
He could help Chey, help this place keep its focus on the environment; that was what had drawn folks to settle there in the first place. He wasn’t against growth. Development had its place in all types of societies. The key was making sure that the development was thoughtful, that it enhanced rather than diminished a place. His work shone a spotlight on the individuality of a place, with an eye to preserving it and caring for those who called it home. Man, beast, and plant life. He grinned, shook his head, and climbed out of the truck. It surely wouldn’t be his most exotic location, but his followers had come to trust him. He could make it all work.
The beautiful oak and stained glass front door to the main house opened and Tory stepped out on the porch and waved, then started down the steps and across the yard toward him. He wondered what she’d think of his idea. It was obvious Tory hadn’t clued Chey in to what he did for a living, but perhaps she would now. He and Tory had kept in sporadic touch since she’d first tracked him down to tell him about Cody; she followed him online and knew what he was about. Professionally speaking, anyway. Technically, he’d been the sporadic one. Tory was nothing if not a champion communicator. But the nature of his work filled in most of the gaps he hadn’t.
At first, connecting with her had made him more than a little leery. Zachariah was dead and buried by the time Tory had contacted him, but even then, he hadn’t felt comfortable reestablishing old ties. Mostly because it closed too many links in the chain between where he was and wherever Chey had ended up. Tory had kept her friendship with Chey and him separate, but apparently even she had her limits.
“There you are. Was wondering if you’d gone off on yet another wild adventure somewhere and lost your way back.” Her expression was unreadable. Very unlike Victoria.
He opened the door and got out, leaving the bags from his errand runs on the seat of the truck. “Something happen? I thought dinner wasn’t till seven.” He checked his watch, which was also a compass, odometer, elevation register, and kept time in four countries. Plus, wearing one was old school, and he kind of liked that. It was only a little past five, eastern standard time in the US. He glanced back at Tory. “Sorry if you needed the truck. I didn’t know.”
“The things you don’t know could fill volumes,” she said, making him frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“Chey’s gone.”
He’d turned to reach into the cab to grab the bag containing some rudimentary toiletries; he’d inadvertently packed his own in the bags that had gone on to Wales with his crew. He’d showered and changed in the loft Tory was moving into, but didn’t want to impose any more than he had to. At Tory’s surprise announcement, he immediately turned back. “What do you mean, gone?”
“Two of her rescues—horses—needed to be looked at by the local vet. Nothing serious, but now that she has her trailer back, apparently she decided it couldn’t wait another day, so off she went. She told Vivi not to hold dinner for her.” Tory had said that last bit rather pointedly. “I knew she wasn’t going to be happy with me, pulling this little scheme, but I never figured her for a runner.” She looked directly at Wyatt. “Did you two talk things out? Did it not go well?” She folded her arms.
Wyatt had to resist the urge to smile, knowing that likely wouldn’t go over well at the moment. It was just that he’d forgotten how much he liked Tory. Years off the competition circuit hadn’t dimmed her focused determination one bit. He wasn’t keen on being the target of said focus at the moment, but it brought back good memories. “So . . . she’s gone to run an errand? Aren’t you being a little overly dramatic?”