faces.â
âWellâ¦thatâs good. Makes what Iâm about to say that bit easier.â
Grant frowned. âJust say it.â
âItâs about the research teamâ¦â
He snorted. âIf you can call a bunch of science types counting seals research .â
Alan nodded thoughtfully. âLeo had reservations for a long time before deciding to work with them.â
âIâll bet.â
âIt took him a year of discussions before finally relenting toââ
âIâve met Kate Dickson. I can well see what he relented to.â
Alanâs weathered face creased. âKate came to see you?â
âLast week.â
âHow did she seem?â
Seem? Too beautiful for a scientist. Too young to have shadows beneath her eyes. âShe seemed hell-bent on getting her way.â
âYes. That would be Kate. She wouldnât let her sorrow detract from the work sheâs doing.â
Grant tightened his jaw. He had thought he had an ally in Alan Sefton but the man was every bit as smitten with Ms Dickson as his father had apparently been. âThe only thing she was sad about was me shutting down her access.â
âAh.â Alan nodded. âI wondered what your choice would be.â
âThere is no choice. Introducing the buffer zone will cut the farmâs profitable land by a third, and its valuable coast-access completely. I have no interest in helping the people who tore my fatherâs farm out from under him.â
Alanâs clear blue eyes held his. âOh, now you care about the farm?
Grant had spent too many years across negotiating tables in the corporate world to let his shock show. Instead, he swallowed back the shaft of pain and fixed Alan with his hardest stare.
The older man glanced away first. âIâm sorry. That was unnecessary. But Iâll ask you to remember that twenty years of your fatherâs life may have passed for you, but I lived them. Here with Leo. Listening to his stories. His dreams.â
The lost dream of passing Tulloquay on to his son. A son with passion and aptitude for running stock. A son made ofdifferent stuff from the one fate had served him with. âLife wasnât always his to dream with,â Grant said simply.
âTrue enough. But he made his choice freely when he decided to support the universityâs program.â
Grant snorted. âRight. No-one wore him downâ¦â
The older man flushed slightly. âI wonât apologise for the stance I took,â Alan said, straightening and reaching for his wallet.
What? âYou took?â
âYour father has always been slow to change but, like this land, he responded best to consistent, evenly applied pressure.â
He leaned forward. âYou support the conservationists?â
Alan tipped his head. âI support Castleridge and the people in it. This program comes with significant grant-monies. And, if it helps us to understand our fisheries better and protects our tourism, everyone wins.â
Are you serious? âUh, except the McMurtries. We lose a third of our land.â
Alan pursed his lips. âTo grazing, yes. But it opens up all kinds of possibilities for eco-tourism.â
Grant couldnât help the sound that shot out of him. It was a cracking impersonation of one of Kate Dicksonâs fur seals. Every disparaging thing his father had ever said about the landholdings in the district opening up to eco-tourism flashed through his mind. âMy father would have died before letting a single tourist step foot on his property.â
And maybe he had.
Alan stared at him sombrely. âWhen was the last time you recall Leo McMurtrie doing something just because someone else wanted him to?â
Grant stared. Heâd triedâand failedâhis whole young life to get his father to budge once heâd set his mind on something. Maybe heâd just had the wrong tools. âI have