She scoffed. “Don’t underestimate the power of gossiping old women and a morning hair routine.”

“And how exactly do you want me to win over the Historical Society when I’m aware that Xander is already using your vote and sitting in your council seat? Plus, they already despise me.” Xander and I wouldn’t qualify for our own voting memberships until Dad passed on, and even then, I had zero personal property to contribute to the historical district. It was all owned by the mining company.

His eyes narrowed in thought as he looked out the window, over the ridge that led to my house and beyond. “Setting fire to the bunkhouse definitely didn’t make you many friends in the society.”

My jaw locked.

“You have to give them something they’ve wanted for years,” he finished slowly.

Dorothy’s eyes widened. “You said it was too dangerous.”

Dad shrugged. “For the majority of the property, it is. But I know it better than anyone else in the county, and the only person who comes a close second is Camden.”

I followed his line of sight and felt the blood leave my face. “You can’t be serious. That place is a damned disaster.”

“It is. But it’s the one piece of property they’ve never been able to access, and you’re the only one who can give it to them. That’s the crown jewel in their tourist tiara.”

“And when Xander blocks that, too? He’ll never go for it. He’s always said it was too dangerous, and you and I both know that place scares the shit out of him. Always has. I might have been given Uncle Cal’s shares in RR, but Xander controls yours.” The twists and turns of the Rose Rowan Mine were almost completely impossible to navigate unless you knew it like the back of your hand, and Xander had never bothered to try. It had been my haven. My playground. My first experience with tempting fate.

“You ever read the paperwork when Cal died? Or was that too boring for you?” Dad challenged. “Go home and read the damn file, Camden. Not just the will but the mining company papers. Property sales. All of it. Then offer the mine to the town and trust me.”

“You really want me to reopen the mine.”

“No, but it’s the only way they’ll see you as anything other than a dangerous nuisance.”

Shit. That mine had been closed to visitors for the last thirty years, and with good reason. Some of the supports dated from the last gasp of the mine in the fifties, but other places were the original 1880 timbers. It was a maze of crumbling floors, cave-ins, bad air, and God only knew what else.

“Do you know how much money it’s going to take to restore it?”