by Jean Oram
“Hon, you’re too young for us and that dam is good business,” Mary Alice said kindly.
Liz nodded. She’d done an article for the paper last week stating how the dam would create jobs and help with taxes. All misinformation thanks to Mayor Lunn.
“Once it’s built you know it only needs one person to come check on it every few days? It won’t create new jobs.”
“When it’s being built it will,” Liz retorted, patting her tight gray curls. “And Barry said the power company will provide the town with royalties that will reduce our taxes.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not in the current proposed contract.” Because the one they were quoting was the one Barry had tossed out when the power company had started playing hardball with numbers. Small compromises that were standard in negotiations and would have had little impact on the company’s bottom line, but would have helped Blueberry Springs tremendously. But the negotiations—which Devon performed fairly frequently as part of his job—had made Barry nervous, and he’d removed Devon from the project and undersold Blueberry Springs, setting the town back hundreds of thousands of dollars and making the power company negotiators grin in delight.
That was when Devon had thrown his hat in the ring for the mayoral election.
“Building the dam won’t create local jobs because we don’t have qualified workers in town,” Devon said easily. He had the facts on his side with this one and Liz was a smart lady. She’d put two and two together.
Liz tipped up her chin. “The workers that come here will stay in hotels and eat in our restaurants. Barry has it all sorted out, Devon. Maybe you should talk to him. He’s currently being a good son and taking his mother to Betty’s salon. She runs one out of her home now, you know.”
He caught the dig. He and his mother weren’t close, but he didn’t think suddenly taking her to the salon would win him any votes.
He shook his head at the ludicrousness of it all and continued the argument. “Under Lunn’s proposed deal the slated contractor will bring his own mobile accommodations and dining car to help reduce employment costs. This dam will—”
“Nicola!” Spotting her pregnant niece, Liz turned away, elbowing Devon aside.
In frustration, he clutched his clipboard by his side. What was it about Barry that made everyone believe him? It was starting to feel as though it was just Devon and the crazy protesters who understood the full impact of this dam.
You don’t convey the right image. People don’t take you seriously.
Man, the doubts in his head were starting to sound a lot like Olivia. He checked his phone for a message from her. All he had was one from Logan saying he was still tailing Olivia and that she’d gone to see Ginger and was now heading out again. Did that mean Vintra had arrived? And if he had, why hadn’t Olivia called him to come meet up?
Nicola Samuels-Haber gave her aunts hugs the best she could, being over eight months pregnant with twins, before turning to Devon and giving him a squeeze, too. “Who was the pretty city lady you had out in the meadow yesterday?”
“They’ll be married by the end of the month, I predict,” Mary Alice boasted, finger raised in the air. Nicola’s eyes sparkled with intrigue.
“Her? At my side through thick and thin?” Devon nearly laughed. “I might as well rub myself all over with raw meat and go lie down outside a bear’s cave.”
Mary Alice laughed. “Sounds like true love to me.”
“Mary Alice, I’m winning that bet,” Liz replied. “Devon will never settle down.”
“Who is she?” Nicola asked.
“She’s in charge of public relations for Carrington Cosmetics,” Liz informed her before Devon could speak. “Maybe she’ll relate with this member of the public, huh?” She elbowed Devon, while sharing a conspiratorial wink with her sister.
“Don’t you ladies have some matchmaking to do with people who are actually interested in that sort of stuff?” He turned to Nicola and gestured down the street, where her music festival was set to start filling the town with noise again within an hour or two. “And shouldn’t you be resting?” Since she moved to here to take over the town planner position a year and a half ago, she’d barely stopped moving. She’d ditched the ‘boring’ parts of her job, creating a new duty for herself as the town’s social convenor, creating new festivals and events to keep the residents occupied and spending money. But most of all, staying in town instead of moving to the city.
Which was great. Except for the employment issue. It was hard to stay in a town where there were few jobs.
Mary Alice added for Nicola’s benefit, “They used to date.”
“You and the PR lady?” Nicola asked, eyes on Devon.
Devon glared at Mary Alice. Nobody in town had known about Olivia and their past other than their mutual friend Ginger. Nobody. Not even Nicola—although she’d once figured out some of the more private details about his past love life. But she still didn’t know who exactly that woman had been—well, until now.
Sure, friends and family had known he’d been serious about someone in college the Christmas before he’d returned home for good. But with the tragedy that had brought him home before completing his degree—Ethan’s paralyzing car accident—everyone had had a bigger focus than what had happened to Devon’s recent girlfriend. Nobody had questioned his moods, and in a lot of ways, it had been easier that way. Leaving his abruptly failing marks and all that related to Olivia behind like it had never happened.
And that’s where it needed to stay. In the past. Behind him.
“Oh! The baby kicked. I hope it didn’t get its sibling in the eye.” Nicola giggled, grabbing Devon’s hand and pressing it against her moving midriff. Whoa! That was a strong kick with a little foot right there. Right under his palm, like the kid was telling him not to touch its mother. Devon yanked his hand back in alarm.
Nicola gave him a look, taking his discomfort the wrong way. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly about her knowing glance, but it smarted. The babies weren’t about him and his own failed past, but he could tell that was exactly what Nicola was thinking.
The good thing was that he trusted her never to whisper his secrets to a soul. Plus even she didn’t how many nights he’d spent awake, wondering if, had he done something differently, Olivia would have been able to carry their baby to term. If he’d caused her less stress? If he’d insisted he be there by her side instead of letting her shove him out of her life? If he would have noticed something was wrong and gotten her to the hospital in time?
If, if, if.
“Oh, another good one,” Nicola said.
“Whoa there, don’t have your offspring on Main Street, please,” he teased, as her belly continued to move as though filled with alien life forms. “You ever see the movie Alien? Because I think we’re about to have a reenactment here.”
Nicola frowned and gave him a playful smack.
“Oh, Devon,” Liz said with exaggerated impatience. She pulled on her sister’s elbow and the two of them continued down the street, Devon’s petitions still unsigned.
“You know…” Nicola’s eyes shone with humor. “…if you and that pretty woman—”
Devon didn’t want to hear it. He began singing the Ray Orbison song “Pretty Woman,” trying not to think about how Olivia’s nightie had just popped up in his mind like a freaking jack-in-the-box. You thought you were okay, that it was going to stay in the box, and then BOOM! There it was, scaring the crap out of you again.
Except it wasn’t scary. Not at all. And that one little garment was going to be the subject of many, many fantasies where he’d end up hating himself afterward.
“If you did start dating that would look really good during the election. It’s not a half-bad idea. Your image could use the boost of having a proper, spiffy woman on your arm.”
He stopped singing. “Spiffy?”
“A relationship speaks to a certain stability you don’t normally broadcast. Add in your possible deal and you’ll lo
ok like the man to bring progress to Blueberry Springs.”
“Is there really something wrong with my image?” He pretended to inspect his reflection in the window behind them. “Because last I checked, we are most definitely not getting together and my image is fine.”
If he kept talking to people today he was going to need to go for another jog in order to clear his head.
“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” a voice from behind them stated. Barry Lunn. Great. That made this conversation better. “Working on your image. Although a week is a very short period of time and that woman seems a bit out of your league.”
“Funny,” Devon said, giving Nicola a look that said “Thanks, see what you’ve done now?”
“I’d hate to see you waste money on a makeover that won’t be enough to win you my job,” Barry added, hoisting his khakis.
“Maybe she’s not here to give me a makeover,” Devon said, then noticed how Barry stilled, considering the implications of his words.
Then it was gone. He was back to affable Barry as he smiled at Nicola. “You’re looking radiant. How are those babies doing?”
Nicola smiled back at Barry, giving Devon a little “See? Some people have manners” kind of look. She was obviously pleased that someone was asking about her alien life forms. But wasn’t she supposed to just spew that pregnancy stuff if it was important when they met up, like the good friend she was?
“Just fine, thanks,” she said. “A bit of heartburn, but only twenty-four days to go!”
“Antacids helped my wife when she was pregnant. Have you found them to be effective?”
Nicola plucked a jumbo-sized container of them from her purse and waved it at him. “Total lifesavers.”
“That’s a good girl,” he said, his tone slightly patronizing.
Nicola, big, tough, independent woman that she was, ate it up. No threats to crunch his nuts with her fist or anything. Seriously? What was happening?
“You have charm, Barry,” Devon said with a reluctant sigh.
The man smoothed a hand over his bald spot and said with a shrug, “The townsfolk like what they know and they know me. A good man who takes care of his family. No offense, old boy.”
“Oh, none taken,” he said lightly. “But I think you’ll be a little surprised come next Monday.”
Barry laughed good-naturedly, proving himself to be completely affable and harmless. It was easy to see why people thought he was okay. Even though Devon knew he wasn’t.
“I like you, Devon. You never say die. You might be a tad misguided, but it’ll serve you well in life.” He gave Devon a pat on the back. “Why don’t you come over for a beer tonight? We’ll shoot some pool and I’ll give you some tips on running for mayor—for next time.”
“I’m busy, but thanks.” Devon’s head felt as if it was about to explode.
“Then here it is, no sugarcoating.” Barry lowered his voice, adjusting the collar of his button-down shirt. “You’re a great guy and the town likes you just fine, but you’re not quite the right fit for mayor. You’re everyone’s friend, you make them laugh, you help them out. I’d let you marry my daughter if I had one. But you’re just not quite…”
Enough. He wasn’t enough.
Barry gave up on finding the right word and clapped a hand on Devon’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “It’s a tough spot to be in.” Another shoulder squeeze. “Maybe next time, kid.”
Devon, furious with the man’s assessment, turned to Nicola, expecting her to leap to his defense. Instead she gave a small smile of agreement.
He closed his eyes.
How come everything kept pointing to Olivia being right?
Olivia was in the meadow, feeling anxious for not managing to get hold of Devon to let him know that Vintra had arrived. In her eagerness to catch up with her lead scientist, she’d found herself out of cellular range before she could leave a full message, telling Devon they were meeting. She’d started to, but the call had disconnected and she had no idea if his voice mail had saved it or not.
She was tempted to drive back into town to try again, but was afraid the protesters might show up and harass Vintra. If she was here she could at least try and talk some sense into them, explaining that Carrington was on their side.
She leaned against her car, donning a wide-brimmed sunhat from the Cayenne’s trunk while watching Vintra zigzag through the rolling grasses and flowers as he collected plant samples. Every once in a while he’d open a tube, do some sort of smearing thing on a clipboard or shake a canister. He was completely in his element, his joy obvious, and she wondered if she ever looked like that while working on a PR issue. Somehow, she doubted it. But it was a stable, fitting career for her, the more creative member of the family.
She reached down to brush a few specks of gravel dust from the pink bow on her left shoe, then realized the right was dusty, too. She fussed a bit before straightening, then tucked her hair into a low bun. It was hot, the air strangely still, and she found herself wishing for a breeze as she neatly folded her suit jacket, setting it on the hood of her car.
A young family walked by, smiling and sharing hellos. Olivia watched them hike toward a mountain path that undoubtedly ended at a scenic aquamarine lake, their preschool-aged daughter skipping along, stopping occasionally to point out an insect or an interesting rock. Her older brother, about ten, regarded his sister with a seriousness that left an odd lump in Olivia’s throat.
Their own child would have turned ten this year.
She knew she was torturing herself, wondering what their child might have been like. If it had been a girl, would she have been graceful like Olivia’s sister Emma? Or if a boy, would he find himself drawn toward being devilishly free like Devon? Who would their child have resembled the most?
Olivia closed her eyes and rolled her neck.
Being around Devon brought out too many things she’d rather keep buried.
Once the family was gone, she tottered to the edge of the gravel lot and cupped her hands around her mouth, calling to Vintra, “How’s it going?”
If she was lucky, she’d be able to leave town tonight.
Vintra was too far away to hear her, but she noticed the picturesque, wispy wedding-veil-lace clouds above him were dissolving as larger clouds began to form. She sighed and went back to her car, wondering if she dared zip into town to call Devon.
If Ginger was right and all he needed was a fiancée to pull his image out of the wringer, maybe Jill could step into the role. Just until after the election. They’d once dated, so nobody would find it odd for them to suddenly take up again. Plus Jill was charming and sweet and would make a steady, calm presence at his side.
However, the idea of Jill as a fake fiancée made Olivia uncomfortable, and she tapped her long pink nails against her car. Why the issue? Was it because Jill was too sweet for a PR ruse, and would likely give it all away in a tearful confession before the election? She wasn’t a hardened Carrington. They knew what they wanted and went for it with relentless precision.
At least that’s what her father always said. Personally, Olivia rarely found herself pursuing anything long into the night like he and her sister often did, unless it was bingeing on episodes of reality fashion shows. Those sucked her in like nobody’s business, but that probably didn’t fall under her father’s umbrella of pursuit of world domination or getting ahead.
Maybe there was another way to help Devon, kind of like a makeover show. That could be fun. She closed her eyes, letting her imagination run. What would Devon as a mayor look like? Sound like?
Well, first of all, he needed a better haircut. That would yank him up the absolutely-stunning scale from a seven and a half to a nine, just like that.
Add a few sharp pieces to his wardrobe to give him a subtle, but much needed overhaul. Garments selected with more care than a running event free T-shirt.
A briefcase he couldn’t sling over his shoulder, wrinkling his shirt. She still needed to track one down. M
aybe add in a tie lacking a cartoon character. A nice deep blue to bring out his laughing eyes.
Slacks that hung off those narrow hips and tight butt. Paired with a belt. Fine Italian leather with shoes to match. He’d get votes simply for looking so hot and grown-up.
“You smiling?” Vintra asked, depositing a bucketful of testing materials beside his Toyota.
“Enjoying the sun,” she said quickly, adjusting the brim of her hat.
“Uh-huh,” he said, his voice full of disbelief.
Olivia cleared her throat before asking pleasantly, “Do you need a hat?” The sun had been beating down on his thick black hair and he had to be warm.
“Not yours,” he said with a smile.
“Oh, come on. It would look so cute on you.”
He laughed at her teasing and reached out to pet Mr. Right, but the dog hopped back into Olivia’s car. “Did I tell you Emma was talking about coming out to see you?”
“Really?” That was odd.
Something had to be up. Although having Emma out here to help would be nice. She was a details gal. She was also a typical younger sibling where the family’s rules rarely applied to her, but she managed to skirt that issue by having the three Ps down pat. Proper, polite, pretty. Exactly what the Carringtons expected from their daughters. But because Emma had smarts, she knew how to balance letting her moxie shine full and bright while still toeing the line to keep Mom and Dad happy. In other words, she had the potential to really stir up emotions between Olivia and Devon, while acting completely innocent.
Probably best to keep her out of town.
“I like what I’m finding so far,” Vintra said. “It is a different strain.”
“Really? For sure?” Hope buoyed inside her.
“Yup.” He picked up a few more bins and buckets, as well as a shovel, and headed back into the meadow.
“Don’t make that shovel obvious to the hikers!” she called after him. Or protesters. Definitely not to protesters. She glanced around. The parking lot was full of cars, but no people.