Her Wyoming Hero
Autore
Mary Anne Wilson
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Capitoli
18
PROLOGUE
“I SHOULD HAVE called this in,” Seth Reagan muttered. Alone in his two-room private living quarters in the S.R. SoffTec corporate tower, he paced back and forth. Seth hated waiting for others to decide what he’d do for the next three or four months. He stopped by the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked down twenty-one stories at rain-drenched Seattle. The storm had passed, but the choppy waters of Puget Sound were almost black.
Seth exhaled and turned away from the gloomy day to glance at his surroundings—the place he’d lived for the past seven years. It was functional, with all-white walls, an exercise room through a door to the left by the sauna and a bathroom. The main space had a long computer center and a large platform bed that faced the views. Only one decoration hung over the bed. It was a framed picture of three teenaged boys with a large rugged-looking man, all four of them grinning into the camera near a horse corral. It had been taken during Seth’s last year at the group foster home on a ranch north of Eclipse, Wyoming.
He remembered the day clearly, that moment when James “Sarge” Caine had rounded up Jake Bishop, Ben Arias and Seth by the stables. The man declared that his wife, Maggie, wanted a picture of him and his boys. The boys had been fifteen-year-old strangers when they’d arrived at the ranch, but they were family when they’d each left at eighteen. His family. Seth quickly crossed to the photo and took it off the wall. After he put it in his suitcase, he zipped up the bag, anxious to leave.
When the connecting door to his executive offices opened, Owen Karr, his executive vice president, finally showed up. Seth greeted him with a blunt, “It’s about time.”
The slender man was forty, seven years older than Seth, and looked more like a CEO than Seth ever had or would. In a gray pinstriped suit and polished oxfords, with his red hair newly styled, Owen was corporate all the way. Seth, on the other hand—wearing jeans, a gray thermal shirt and scuffed leather boots, along with the shadow of a beard—probably looked like he belonged in maintenance.
“I’m here now,” Owen said as he motioned Seth to one of two leather chairs by the windows. “Sit and I’ll make this quick.”
Seth dropped into the chair closest to him and raked his fingers carelessly through his hair, which was in desperate need of a trim. “Okay, what did the board say?”
Owen swiveled his chair to face Seth. “They agreed to your sabbatical with a return set at three months. They also agreed to your request for me to be acting CEO while you’re gone.”
“Great,” Seth said. The priorities that had driven Seth’s life as an adult had all been about his company and about protecting anything to do with it. But that had shifted drastically when he’d received a phone call just after Thanksgiving last November. Sarge had taken a fall on the ranch. He hadn’t been found until hours later by the only ranch hand who still worked there.
From that moment on, Seth’s life had changed. Work had ceased to control his every waking hour. The company he’d founded and grown was strong and could survive without him for as long as Sarge needed him. “Now I’m going home.”
Owen nodded. “Got it.”
Seth glanced at his wristwatch. Just over an hour before he could make a break for it. “Conrad, my pilot, called ten minutes ago. The storm’s over and it’s clearing up to the east. So, I’ll need the town car in the lower parking garage at one o’clock to get to the airport.”
“Got it. There’s just one more thing,” Owen said, and Seth almost groaned out loud. Just one more thing was the magic phrase that usually preceded bad news. Seth braced himself, the way he had years ago when a caseworker came to tell him he was being relocated to another foster facility. Even at five years old, he’d learned quickly to listen, accept it and not fight it. “What?”
“There’s a guy waiting in lower-level reception who wants to talk to you about some revolutionary cybersecurity program. The claim is—”
“You do what you want with him,” Seth said. “You’re the boss.”
Owen nodded. “Okay. I will. How’s Sarge?”
“When he broke his leg, they said he might have problems walking again, but he’s gone from a walker to a cane and gets around pretty well. It’s been hard, but he’s tough.”
“He’s a remarkable man,” Owen said.
That was an understatement. “When I first came face-to-face with him at the ranch, he was this hard ex-marine, six foot four with big muscles.” Seth chuckled softly, remembering that moment. “He stopped me in my tracks and gave me a needed attitude adjustment.”
“I can imagine,” Owen said.
If Sarge hadn’t broken his leg, Seth wondered how long it would’ve taken for anyone to know he’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He sure hadn’t shared that fact. For the past year, Seth had been working on a project to convert the ranch into a summer camp for foster kids. “I want the camp functioning while Sarge is still aware and can understand what we’re doing for him and Maggie. Most importantly, I want him to participate in the camp for as long as possible.”
Maggie had passed over five years ago, but the camp had been their dream for when they retired from group foster care. Sarge had let everything go when his wife died. But Seth knew he’d still love to see their dream become real. He owed Sarge so much, and establishing the summer camp on the land the man loved was barely a down payment on that debt.
Owen stood. “Okay, you get back there. Do you need me to do anything else before you leave?”
“No, thanks, just go and deal with the guy downstairs who wants to revolutionize our business.”
As Seth stood, Owen looked a bit wistful, an expression that was not common with the man. “That ranch sounds like a whole different world.”
It had seemed exactly like that to a teenager whom the system had written off. Seth had been beyond lucky that Sarge and Maggie took him in, along with other boys who’d been tagged as irredeemable. “It is a special place, and it’s my time to be there. Between Ben, Jake and his wife, Libby, Sarge will have one of us with him all the time to help him remember for as long as possible.”
Owen nodded to Seth. “Good luck, and don’t worry about anything here.”
When Owen was gone, Seth called Julia, Sarge’s nurse and caregiver at the ranch.
She answered right away. “Hey, Seth.”
“Just letting you know the skies have cleared and I’m going to take off at two o’clock our time. I left the truck at Downer’s Landing, so I’ll drive myself back.”
“Good. Sarge misses you a lot.”
He glanced around his living quarters, and all he wanted was to be on the sprawling ranch in Wyoming. “Tell him I miss him, and I’m coming home.”
AFTER MORE THAN an hour’s wait in the reception area of S.R. SoffTec’s corporate headquarters, Quinn Lake had finally been shown up to the twentieth-floor offices of the executive VP, Owen Karr. Since then, she’d been waiting in a conference room, staring at a huge framed poster on the wall. It had white script slashed across a solid black background. I Turn Coffee into Code.
One of three doors to the room finally opened at 12:40 p.m. Quinn stood as a red-haired man in a gray suit strode in. He held out his hand to her. “Sorry for the wait. I’m Owen Karr, and you’re Quintin Lake?” His grip was firm.
“Yes, I am,” she said, and he motioned her to sit down while he took a chair opposite her at the table.
“First, honestly, I was expecting Quintin to be a man. Sorry for the sexism.”
Quinn managed a semblance of a polite smile for him, but she didn’t apologize for being a woman determined to impress him with her presentation. “Call me Quinn,” she said, ready to give her pitch for Michael’s Shield.
Owen cut in immediately. “Ms. Lake, I’m really busy today, so I’ll get right to the point.” His smile was placating. “We aren’t looking to buy, or buy into, any part of work from outside sources. However, if you leave your contact information and the summary of your idea, I’ll go over it when I have time. But I can’t promise you anything.”
She knew it didn’t matter if she were a man or woman—he’d come to get rid of her. But she couldn’t just walk out without at least trying to change his mind. “Mr. Karr, Michael’s Shield is a revolutionary take on corporate cybersecurity. It’s the next step toward an almost perfect shutdown of attacks. If you could just see the data, I’m sure you’d be interested in participating when you see how viable it is.” Michael had coached her about what to say for the presentation, if she ever got to give one. Beyond that, she didn’t understand a whole lot about what her late husband had developed. She wished she did.
“I’m sorry. I told you I might get time later on.” He stood, ready to end their meeting. “Best of luck with finding someone who can help you,” he said.
She nodded, not even trying to find a smile as she gave him her card and the small packet with the overview of Michael’s Shield, then left. If she heard from Owen Karr again, it would be a miracle. Quinn didn’t believe in miracles much anymore.
When she stepped into the elevator to head down to the parking garage, she was thankful that the car was already occupied by two women. She wouldn’t cry from frustration and disappointment in front of strangers. Instead, she pushed those emotions away as she reached to press the button for the lower-level parking garage. She faced the stainless steel doors as they closed and kept her eyes on her slightly distorted reflection in the polished metal.
Wearing black pants, a white tailored shirt and gray blazer, with her blond hair pulled back in a twist, she looked serious. She was serious.
Since Michael had died, she’d seriously been trying to keep a promise she’d made to him; she would do whatever it took to get his work in corporate cybersecurity recognized. She wouldn’t let Michael’s Shield go away just because Michael had. S.R. SoffTec was her ninth on a list of ten companies she’d thought might be interested in his work. It was also her ninth failure.
When one of the two women behind her spoke with a Southern drawl, it caught Quinn’s attention. “I thought the boss was back for good, but now he’s taken off again.” The boss? Quinn looked beyond her own reflection in the polished door and saw the lady who was speaking. She was petite, in jeans and a plain white shirt, with a streak of bright green in her short brown hair. “I wish I’d known that before I went up to the twenty-first floor. I could’ve had sushi for lunch. Now it looks like a sandwich out of the machines.”
The second woman was tall and thin, all in black from jeans to a turtleneck sweater, with curly gray hair around her pale face. She spoke in a slightly nasal tone. “You’d think someone on his staff would have sent a memo that he’s gone.”
“Preston, in HR, said he’s heading to Wyoming until after the New Year. Owen Karr’s stepping in to take over.”
A soft chime announced the tenth floor as the elevator came to a smooth stop and the doors slid open. The tall lady slipped past Quinn, and as she stepped into the corridor, she called back over her shoulder, “See you at the meeting,” before the doors shut.
As the car continued down, Quinn moved to her right and took a full step back. That brought her almost even with the other woman. The instant she made eye contact, the woman smiled ruefully and drawled, “So, you were meeting with the VP?”
“Excuse me?”
“The twentieth floor is Owen Karr’s territory.”
“Yes, I met with him, but it turned out to be a waste of time.”
“At least you talked to him,” the lady drawled. “All we got for our trouble on the twenty-first was a locked office.” The woman then answered a question that Quinn didn’t get a chance to ask. “Seems the boss has gone off to Wyoming for months, staying on some ranch up there.”
Quinn didn’t hesitate to pin down who the boss the woman had referred to was. “Figures. Owning the company and all, he’s loaded, so he’s probably heading to Jackson Hole.”
The chime sounded for the first floor. “Being a billionaire has its perks,” the lady said on a slight chuckle. “But I heard he’s going to some small town farther east of there, closer to Cody.”
The elevator stopped and the woman stepped toward the opening doors. Quinn was betting on her being enough of a gossip that she wouldn’t ignore a direct question if asked. “What town would Mr. Reagan be going to?”
The lady paused, held the door open with her hand and looked back at Quinn. “Eclipse. I guess he lived there as a kid.”
Bingo! “Well, I hope you get a decent lunch.”
“So do I,” the woman said with feeling as she let go of the door and walked away.
By the time the elevator arrived at the parking garage, Quinn had revised her plan of going from Seattle down to Denver where the last company on her list had its headquarters. Now that she knew where Seth Reagan was staying, she couldn’t walk away, not before she tried to find him and meet him face-to-face. As she headed over to her old gray VW Beetle, she took out her phone and did a search for Seth Reagan and Eclipse, Wyoming.
It came up with an article from six years ago, and the only pictures attached to it were of the Seattle corporate headquarters called “The Tower.” The text chronicled his rags-to-riches story in the powerful tech world. It was about him being orphaned early in life but ending up a wealthy tech giant who dominated the world of cybersecurity development.
Once in her car, she reread one paragraph. As a fifteen-year-old youth-at-risk, Reagan was assigned to the Eclipse Ridge Ranch, a group foster care facility north of the town of Eclipse, Wyoming. An appropriate starting point for his life at a place known for being one of the best spots to watch both lunar and solar eclipses. The tie-up line at the bottom of the article read, He certainly has “eclipsed” other great companies to become a brilliant star in his own right.
As she started the car, Quinn smiled at the picture of Michael and herself that she kept clipped to the sun visor. They’d been at the beach in Southern California, near the historic Santa Monica Pier. They stood beside their Beetle with the vast Pacific behind them. Tall and tanned with his blond hair windblown, Michael had been grinning into the camera as he held her to his side. They both looked as if they owned the world.
“I’m not giving up,” she whispered to the photo, then put Eclipse, Wyoming, into her phone’s GPS. The screen flashed and showed her the next stop in her journey was eight hundred and eighty miles to the east. She could be there in two and a half days. She felt better and more focused as she drove up the exit ramp behind a sleek black town car with heavily tinted windows. She followed it out onto the rain-slick Seattle streets.
