“That’ll put us last,” Lacey said. “Which is fine.”
“More time to gauge the mood of the panel,” Dad replied with an encouraging nod.
Sam leaned into the mike to talk. “Up first is John McSweeny seeking to replace signage lost during the hurricane for the bowling alley at 4623 Palm Avenue.”
Signage. That wouldn’t take long.
“Next will be Barbara Pennick requesting all new windows and a new entry to Beachside Beauty.”
From the sidelines Gloria beamed at her boss.
“Third presentation is Lacey Armstrong, Barefoot Bay property owner.”
Lacey sat straighter. Wait, how could she be next? She had to have the northernmost property. Unless whoever had bought Tomlinsons’ land decided to show.
Her heart jumped at the thought. Was someone proposing to build on that lot? Wiping damp palms on her jeans, she waited for Sam to describe her proposal.
“Ms. Armstrong is proposing a change in”—Sam paused, frowning down at the paper—“town codes, development standards, transportation flow…” His voice trailed off as he looked at the crowd. “That one will take a while.”
The reaction was a mix of mumbles and nervous laughter, some throat clearing, and a lot of eyes on Lacey, who still didn’t know how she could be third out of four presentations.
“What’s the matter?” Dad asked.
“There’s no one north of me,” she said. “Who is presenting fourth?”
Just then she spotted Ira Howell, the banker who represented the anonymous property buyer, leaning against the back wall, a scowl pulling the skin of his bald head.
She gripped her father’s hand tighter as Sam started reading again.
“Our final presentation addresses another lot in Barefoot Bay and another change in town codes, development standards, and transportation flow, given by Mr. Ira Howell of Wells Fargo.”
No. No. Whatever they were building, however they’d gotten on the agenda, she had to stop it. At the very least she had to know who she was up against. “This is a nightmare,” she mumbled.
Will Palmer leaned over. “You know, Lacey, code changes and development standards could mean they’re hard-line environmentalists. It doesn’t automatically mean the buyer is building something.”
But she needed that land. Tomlinsons’ and Everham’s properties were north and south of her. They’d close her in. And her house, Clay’s house, was supposed to go on the Tomlinson land. She couldn’t let go of that dream. And with David’s offer of an investment to buy those properties, she’d been certain she could make that dream a reality.
Dad patted her leg. “You can’t find a solution until you know the problem, Lace. Let’s find out what’s going on.”
What was going on were fried nerves and bad feelings in her gut.
Charity shot up. “I’m sorry, but Mimosa Key bylaws clearly state that the only speakers at a town council meeting must be current residents of the island. No representative can speak for them. Mr. Howell is not a resident of Mimosa Key.”
For once she could have kissed Charity and her damn rules.
Ira Howell pushed off the wall to respond. “I have complete power of attorney for the property owner, Mayor Lennox. I have the paperwork to prove that I can speak on behalf of this individual who owns the land, and is therefore a resident of Mimosa Key.”
“That’s not good enough,” Charity said, getting a loud reaction and a few boos from the crowd.
Ira shook his head. “There’s actually a proviso in the bylaws regarding power of attorney if the individual is unable to appear before the council. If it pleases you, Mr. Mayor, I’d like to present that reason exclusively to the town council.”
Despite the outcry of the crowd, Sam hit the gavel with authority. “We’ll take a short break to discuss this behind closed doors,” Sam announced. “Presenters, please get ready.”
Lacey exhaled, but then nudged her father. “Let’s go get the materials from the car, Dad.”
“I’ll help you, Lacey,” Will offered.
“Oh, that would be great, Will. The car’s illegally parked and if I chance it much longer, Slade’ll slam me with a parking ticket.”
As Ira Howell left with the five members of the council to a private chamber, Lacey, her father, and Will headed out.
“Good luck, Lacey!” A woman who’d had Lacey bake her wedding cake called out.
“You’re our hero, Lace!” another said.
She was? She gave a little wave to some friends and a few baking customers, buoyed by their belief in her.
Lacey dashed through the hall and to the main entrance, where Will held the door for her.
She pointed to the big Jeep Rubicon. “That’s my car.”
Will slowed as the approached the vehicle. “I hoped, er, figured I’d see your friends with you today.”
Lacey hesitated. Jocelyn. He meant Jocelyn. “They’re out of town now, but they’ll be back this afternoon. Joceyln, too,” she couldn’t help but add.
“Is she going to stay?” Something in his voice said that mattered to him.
“I only talked to her for a few minutes this morning, so I don’t know.” Lacey opened the back of the Jeep and reached for the 3-D model. The sight of the mini version of villas made her miss Clay with a physical ache.
His work was genius. He deserved to get the credit today, but something, someone, was a more powerful draw.
Will took the model, glancing down at structures that stood on a miniature replica of the beaches of Barefoot Bay. “Wow, looks like north Africa.”
“Inspired by the architecture of Morocco.” By a very inspiring architect.
“Very cool. They’d be nuts not to let you build it.” He examined it closely, looking from side to side. “Where’s Clay?”
“Oh, he’s not here.”
“Really? Isn’t he the architect?”
“Not…” Anymore. “Officially. We haven’t signed a formal contract, yet. He did this as a favor to me.” Good Lord, had she just boiled the past few weeks of life-changing feelings into a favor? How sad was that?
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Will said. “He offered me a job working for him on the resort. And he’s obviously great.”
Obviously. “Well, if we get approval you can have that job.” Except Jocelyn might not like that. “That is, if all the investors agree.”
She pulled out the rest of the presentation boards and gave them to her dad. “You guys take that stuff in and I’ll move the car and bring the handouts.”
With the car legally parked and her arms full of the documents that explained all the financial benefits of her project, Lacey hustled back into the town hall, doubts pressing down like the unforgiving sun overhead, a whole choir of excuses hitting high notes in her head.
Without Clay she should ask for an extension.
Without a chance to talk to Ira Howell about what he was presenting she could be completely blindsided.
And without five minutes to change her clothes, comb her hair, or put on a drop of makeup, she looked a little like a homeless person. Which, come to think of it, she was at the moment.
Still, she felt a smile pull across her face as she mentally squashed every excuse. She wasn’t going to let anyone or anything hold her back now.
“Somebody looks happy.”
She stopped so suddenly that the papers almost flew out of her hands. The heat and humidity evaporated, leaving nothing but a chill straight to her heart.
Clay.
Chapter 33
Lacey managed a shaky breath when he stepped closer, his hair as disheveled as hers, his eyes a little red-rimmed. Had he been crying or hadn’t he slept since the last time she’d seen him?
“Lacey, I have to explain something to you. It’s important—”
“Lacey Armstrong!” Grace Hartgrave smacked open both doors in a dramatic, noisy interruption. “Get your tush in here, now. They changed the order of presentations.”
Clay nearly lunged to stop Lacey from moving. “No, I have to talk to you.”
“Later,” Grace answered for her. “The council wants to do the site-development plans first, so that’s you and then that guy from the bank who’s here because his client has a medical emergency.”
“He really is presenting site-development plans?” Lacey asked. That meant someone was building on the land they’d taken out from under her.
“I have to talk to Ira Howell,” Clay insisted. “Right now. Right this minute.”
Grace physically pushed him away. “Not now.” She reached for Lacey. “Hurry up, ’cause right now you just became the lesser of two evils.”
“Why?” Lacey asked, her voice as shaky as her legs, her head buzzing with shock and confusion.
Clay turned to her. “It’s not what you—”
“Looks like your boyfriend screwed you in more ways than one, Lace.” Grace pulled Lacey into the air-conditioning, right past Clay. “My mom got the inside scoop. Clay Walker’s building a big-ass resort and spa right smack-dab next to you.” She gave Clay a sly smile. “Looks like you’ve been playing both sides against the middle, Mr. Walker.”
Lacey choked as Grace yanked her away and Clay took the other elbow. “No, Lacey, you don’t understand.”
Dad appeared behind Grace. “Lacey, in here now or you’re off the agenda!”
Without even looking at Clay, without taking a minute to figure exactly what he’d done to screw her out of that land and the hopes for her resort, she ran inside.
“Lacey!” Clay called.
“Sorry, pal,” Grace said harshly. “Residents only unless you get special dispensation from the mayor or sleep with the right people. You didn’t.” She slammed the door loud enough to shake the town hall rafters.
Lacey’s dad guided her down the wide hallway. “Looks like someone wants to compete with you, kiddo.”
Did he? Or was it his dad? The Clayton Walker.
God, she didn’t know. She didn’t know if she could believe him anymore. Her brain flashed to the drawings she’d found in his apartment. Didn’t they tell her a lot about him?
Maybe. But he needed to say it. And show her, not just draw her.
Inside the community room, her father kept her marching straight ahead.
She tried to turn. “No backing out or dreaming up reasons to run.”
“But Dad—”
“Lacey,” he said softly as their steps fell into a matching rhythm and heads on both sides of the aisle turned to look at them. “What does this feel like to you?”
“Hell?”
He smiled and patted her hand. “A walk up the aisle with my little girl.”
Her heart dropped so hard it practically rolled out onto the floor. “Dad, please.”
“It’s okay, Lacey. Unconventional, but okay.” He beamed at her, pausing as they reached the front. “Now, you go up there and change your life, young lady. Doesn’t take a man to do that for you.”
“But Dad, that guy back there—”
“Is not important.”
But he was. He could have been. He’d changed her and loved her and made her feel strong, smart, sexy, and powerful. How could that not be important?
“What’s important is your future.” Dad gave her a nudge. “Now go get what you always dreamed of.”
What she’d always dreamed of was a guy like Clay. A partner, a friend, a father to her children, a lover for life.
Sam Lennox cleared his throat, making no effort to hide his impatience. “We’re waiting, Ms. Armstrong.”
So was she—for Clay. For him to run in and explain that this was all a mistake, and, by the way, he loved her and would she mar—
“Are you changing your mind?” Sam asked.
“Thinking about backing out?” George Masterson added.
“Afraid you’ll lose?” Charity had to shoot her two cents in.
It would be so easy to quit now.
“No,” Lacey said quietly, walking forward. “I’m ready.”
At the podium she blew out a breath and looked at the back of the room as the doors opened again. She braced for Clay, but instead a woman she didn’t recognize rushed in, hair pulled back under a red baseball cap, sunglasses covering her face.
And then Clay came in and put his arm around the woman’s shoulders, speaking softly into her ear.
Jayna?
Instantly Ira Howell lunged out from his chair in the middle, nearly jogging back to Clay to shake his hand. Like they were business partners. Could he have secretly planned to buy that land and build on it without telling her?
Why?
Why not? After all, what did she really know about Clay Walker? But those drawings; they were from his heart, weren’t they?
He still didn’t look at her, didn’t even glance in her direction. Instead he put his arms around the woman and squeezed her into his chest, lifting the brim of her baseball cap to give her a smile.
That smile. That heart-stopping smile. Then he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. A kiss that, even from here, she could tell was full of love.
“Your microphone is on,” Sam said, giving Lacey a start as she imagined that her dark and pained thoughts might somehow be broadcast to the town.
But no one knew what she was thinking. Not even the man she was thinking it about. In fact, he hadn’t even glanced her way. Instead Ira had his full attention, and the two men walked right out the back, deep in conversation.
He was gone, but the woman who’d come in with him took a seat in the last row, crossed her arms, and looked at Lacey with profound interest.
Interest in the competition, no doubt.
“Lacey, please.” Sam’s voice grew irritated. “You have the floor.”
She cleared her throat, looked out into the crowd, and found her dad. What had he said to her earlier?
Looks to me like that wind swept away all of your baggage and left some confidence.
And right at that moment she found her voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen, members of the council, honored guests, and my lifelong friends and neighbors. I’m here to present an idea that I believe will change Mimosa Key for the better, will improve our lives, increase our revenue, and ensure that this island remains vital for many generations to come. I present to you Windswept at Barefoot Bay.”
It had actually hurt not to look at her. Hurt not to hold Lacey’s stunned and devastated gaze and give her some kind of sign that everything would be okay. But Clay couldn’t look her in the eye until it was okay.
First he had to deal with Ira Howell, who’d promised late last night that he’d honor the change in ownership if Clay made it to Mimosa Key with the official paperwork before the town council meeting.
That had been thirteen hours and seven hundred hard miles ago. And at least six cups of gas-station coffee, all of which burned in his belly right now. Clay had driven to and from North Carolina without sleeping and he felt every mile on his body. But he couldn’t rest now. Not yet.
“Do you have everything?” he demanded of Ira as they powered through the lobby and into the lot.
“Do you?” Ira shot back.
Clay guided him to the van with the lettering “Clayton Walker Architecture and Design, Inc.” on the side. The van Darcie had snagged the keys to, and warned him that it tended to shimmy when it hit seventy-five so he needed to go easy on the gas. It shimmied at seventy-five all right, and felt like it would implode at ninety.
But he and Darcie had made it from Raleigh to Mimosa Key alive, with the paperwork intact.
“Right here,” he said, grabbing the power of attorney forms they’d had notarized at the Raleigh hospital by a person probably more used to signing death certificates than property transactions.
“Because as much as I want to help you,” Ira said, “there are some tricky legal issues doing it this way, according to the lawyer at Wells Fargo.”
“I have what your lawyer needs. Trust me.” Clay handed him
the form.
Standing in a strip of shade, Ira opened the letter and read it. “I have to tell you, first of all, I’m very sorry about your father’s stroke.”
Clay nodded his thanks.
“How is he?”
“He’s alive.” Why lie? He might not be long for the world, and if he made it, he wasn’t ever going to run a business or design a building again. “The second stroke was actually a blessing because it pulled him out of the coma and he could communicate.”
Ira used the paper to fan himself, beads of sweat dampening his lip. “He didn’t know you were involved when his company bought the land; you know that, don’t you?”
“That’s what he said.” Although part of Clay suspected nefariousness on his father’s part, he and Darcie had been able to put the pieces together, and it looked like Dad really had had no idea of Clay’s involvement when he’d sent the scout who’d determined that the properties made a great purchase.
“After that last meeting,” Ira continued, “I was confused. I couldn’t understand why Walker Architecture was staying anonymous when someone with the same name was already involved.”
“You told him?” Clay asked.
“I struggled with it; I’ll be honest.” Ira took out a white handkerchief and dabbed his damp forehead. “I figured it was a family feud and I oughta back out. So I didn’t say anything for a while, but then I got wind of some of the stuff going on over here and I contacted the company.”
“Why didn’t he just terminate the deal?”
“Well, I don’t want to make you feel guilty, son, but that day he had a medical, uh, situation.”
So C-dub hadn’t lied about that at least.
“I guess his health became his focus then.” Ira dug into his bag and produced a massive amount of paper that would take at least twenty minutes to sign. Even though it meant he’d miss Lacey’s presentation, he took the time because when he walked in there he wanted this deal done. No lies, no promises, no more misunderstandings.
When he put his last signature on the bottom line, Clayton Walker—the younger Clayton Walker—owned both parcels of land and he could do whatever he wanted on them. And, God, he knew what he wanted to do.
Barefoot in the Sand Page 30