Love Inspired May 2015 #1

by Brenda Minton

  The police chief grinned as he finished off the cruller, then cupped his hands around his coffee mug, which had CSPD emblazoned on it. “He’s marrying one of Lovie’s girls.”

  “Zach, I really don’t think Mr. Camden came all the way over here from Charlotte to talk about my marital status. You have some numbers you wanted to share with us, right, Mr. Camden?”

  The police chief gave David a conspiratorial wink, then lifted from the empty seat a large municipal binder that indicated he was ready to focus on business now.

  “Please, call me David,” he said, even as he tried to reconcile how all the familial connections might play out with regard to a mixed-use development in the city.

  He’d done his research and knew that Cedar Springs was more small city than small town. While it was nowhere near the size of metropolitan Charlotte, he hadn’t anticipated working in an environment where everyone—least of all the people he would be working with—were related. Lovie Darling was the vocal opposition in the local newspaper. The city’s fire chief was about to marry into the Darling family. And to put yet another plump and juicy cherry on top of his quickly melting professional sundae, Dr. Spring Darling, a woman who under other circumstances he would be mighty interested in getting to know, had saved Jeremy’s life.

  He was fighting an uphill battle, and he knew it. If there hadn’t been a lot of people depending on him, he would have just counted the entire effort a loss. Maybe Jeremy’s illness had been a sign from on high that this project was not meant to be.

  But that test had been met, and he knew that he and his team, the people back at Carolina Land Associates, were depending on him to close the deal and keep the company operating. He couldn’t let his attraction to Spring Darling and her family’s opposition to his work deter him.

  “From what we understand from Mayor Howell,” Cameron Jackson said, “you want to get an idea of what additional emergency services would be needed given a number of different development scenarios.”

  Forcing himself to get his mind off the pretty doctor with the complicated family ties and on the meeting, David nodded as he pulled from his own briefcase a large three-ring binder and an electronic tablet.

  “I’m here to site three locations. I received from the city manager’s office—”

  “More likely from the mayor’s office,” the police chief interjected. “She’s the one pushing this thing.”

  David tapped on the tablet and three dialog boxes popped up, images from the deck of slides he planned to present during the planning commission meeting. “Well, I got from the city a list of six locations. My staff has done some groundwork, and we’ve narrowed it to three. I’m here to follow up on the primary one they recommended, which,” he added, “also happens to coincide with the mayor’s preferred site.”

  “Lovie Darling’s land,” Zachary Llewelyn said.

  “Actually,” Cameron inserted, “the land in question belongs in trust to the sisters, equal shares and acres for each.”

  “Is acquiring the land going to pose a problem?” David asked.

  The two chiefs glanced at each other. Cameron Jackson sighed.

  “Put it like this, David,” Llewelyn said. “Given what happened at last month’s city council meeting, I think I’ll loan you a Kevlar vest to wear to the planning commission meeting this afternoon.”

  * * *

  Spring had arranged her schedule so she could attend the city’s planning commission meeting. Members of the Cedar Springs Historical Society had learned the hard way about the work and scope of the planning commission. It was here, not at city council, where things began to happen. Zoning changes were approved here. Permits were reviewed and either accepted or rejected. New businesses and enterprises that wanted to open, expand or relocate in the city started the process here. More times than not, by the time a project came before the city council, it was all but a done deal. Only the aesthetics remained to be hashed out before the council, and it was too late for substantive changes or for anyone with an opposing voice to be heard.

  So the historical society, represented by Spring, her mother, Lovie Darling, and other members were there to monitor the proceedings.

  Spring had the number of the historical society’s volunteer attorney on speed dial. Given the way Mayor Howell had slipped a previous development project by the voters and the historical society, they were ready with a motion for an injunction on anything the mayor may have convinced a majority of the planning commissioners to do.

  She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She was a person of peace, a woman who’d sworn an oath to do no harm.

  “Let’s sit in the middle,” Lovie suggested. “I want to be able to hear and see everything.”

  “Lead the way,” Spring said, allowing her mother to pass.

  Three of the five planning commission members were already seated at the two long tables in the front of the multipurpose room. Unlike the Cedar Springs City Council, the planning commission didn’t have chambers for its meetings, and, by mayoral decree, commission and committee gatherings weren’t permitted in city council chambers even though the space went unused during the day. The commission, these men and women who worked behind the scenes and had their actions mostly rubber-stamped by the council, were instead relegated to a multipurpose room at city hall.

  Several rows of blue-cushioned chairs were arranged in lecture hall fashion for the public and interested parties. During the holiday season, the room was festooned with greenery and cedar trees of all shapes and sizes, decorated by civic groups for the annual Christmas tree challenge modeled after one in Durham, done Cedar Springs–style.

  Spring thought of all the goodwill and positive emotions that filled the room at Christmastime. None of that was present today. To Spring’s ears, the murmurs of those gathered and waiting for the proceedings to begin sounded hostile and on edge.

  That’s because the overall sentiment of those who had come for the meeting could best be described as suspicion. It was ten minutes to three and a good thirty people were already seated and waiting for the meeting to begin with more coming in the back door. Most of them, like Spring and the historical society members, well remembered the end run that had been done on another piece of property. Before anyone knew what was happening or could do anything about it, that development deal was signed, sealed and under construction with no public input on the matter. That would not be the case this time.

  Lovie Darling selected a seat in the middle of the second row and greeted people as she passed them. Spring knew the position would give them eye contact with all the planning commissioners, as well as a good view of any speakers who addressed the panel.

  “I thought the developer was supposed to be here,” Lovie said.

  “I did, too,” she answered.

  The table to the left of the ones where the commissioners sat was designated as the spot for those who would address the body. Two large but empty easels were positioned near the table.

  That didn’t bode well, Spring thought, knowing that the significance of those easels hadn’t escaped her mother’s attention. Their presence indicated that there would be plans or architectural renderings to display and show off. And those sorts of plans meant that proposals had been developed already.

  She might have to make that phone call to the historical society’s attorney, after all.

  “I wouldn’t put it past Bernadette to have signed a contract already,” Georgina Lundsford, another local resident with a deep and abiding passion for historical preservation, hissed as she leaned forward. “She’s probably a silent partner in the development company.”

  Spring pulled her phone out of her handbag, put it on vibrate and left it on her lap.

  A few moments later, a side door off the room opened and three people entered. Spring stifled a gasp.

  Not at Came
ron Jackson, her soon to be brother-in-law, or at Gloria Reynolds, the city council clerk. The man with them, in a dark blue suit and tie, the man with a laptop bag hanging from one shoulder and a large artist’s portfolio bag from the other, was the one who arrested her attention.

  In Cedar Springs for business meetings.

  “I’m an architect,” he’d said.

  She should have put the pieces together. The evidence had been right in front of her. But the context had been all wrong. That’s why she’d missed what should have been clear.

  “Spring, darling, what’s wrong?” Lovie asked.

  Spring glanced at her mother, then realized that she was gripping the edge of her chair so hard that her knuckles were white.

  Concentrating on regulating her breathing, she nodded. “I’m fine, Mom.”

  She released the chair and clasped her hands together in her lap on top of the mobile phone.

  She should have known that a man like David Camden was too good to be true. He was a loving father and a man of faith. He was the first man to capture her feminine attention in many years.

  And he was here to destroy her family’s home and legacy.

  Chapter Six

  David saw her the moment he turned around to assess the crowd the fire chief had described as “openly hostile” as they’d made their way to the meeting room.

  He’d walked in with Fire Chief Cameron Jackson and with Gloria, the helpful clerk who’d arranged for his meetings and helped him set up the items from his large portfolio.

  Dr. Spring Darling sat front and center, staring daggers at him. The expression was one he’d always considered hyperbole until he saw those daggers directed his way. He saw disgust, distrust and sadness in her eyes. Her look cut him in a way that might cause actual physical wounds.

  He wanted to rush over, to tell her that everything would be all right. But he knew that was not and could not be the case—at least where Spring, her mother and her sisters were concerned.

  The main thing David wanted to get across during his presentation was that he was not a developer, that Carolina Land Associates studied and made recommendations on land use. The architectural side of the firm came up with renderings that would later be used by development firms. It was up to governing bodies to decide whether to proceed with a development project or not.

  It took him about twenty minutes to run through his presentation. He answered a few clarification questions from the commissioners and then the meeting was open to questions from the floor.

  David heaved an internal sigh when he saw who rose.

  “How often are your recommendations followed by said governing bodies?”

  The query from the audience came from Dr. Spring Darling.

  “State your name, please,” the clerk said.

  “Spring Darling, MD, and member of the Cedar Springs Historical Society, as you well know.”

  David felt that information was directed at him rather than the council clerk, who did well know who Spring was.

  He knew the answer, of course. Those data represented one of the benchmarks on which his architectural and consultancy firm could base success. There were a few ways he could answer the question, but the most direct and honest was the best approach.

  “Thank you for that question, Dr. Darling,” he said, walking closer to the assembled residents, the digital pointer he’d used to highlight points on the renderings in his palm. “Carolina Land Associates has a strong track record of meeting client needs. Our most recent analysis of that very data shows a 95.8 percent rate of acceptance of our primary recommendations.”

  Before Spring could answer, an older woman next to her, who could only have been her mother, rose. She wore a peach-colored dress and had the same coloring, cheekbones and eyes as Spring. He knew he was looking at an older version of the doctor and could see exactly what the pretty pediatrician would look like in thirty years—an older, more mature but still beautiful woman. Right now though, he also saw something close to anger in the eyes of the older version of Spring Darling.

  “So you’re telling us, Mr. Camden, that your top recommendation for this project, the new urbanism community you’re preliminarily calling The Township at Cedar Springs, is parcel two?”

  David glanced back at the easels and used the pointer to pinpoint the parcel she referred to. “It’s larger, at just about two hundred acres, and this parcel is ideal for a mixed-use development,” he said. “It wouldn’t require the easements or the purchase of any existing construction or property. As you can see, unlike parcel one or parcel three, it has little developed land and abuts a trail that could be expanded into a nature—”

  “Didn’t you say your condo, retail and business development project needs a minimum of three hundred and preferably three-hundred seventy-five acres?”

  “Yes, but—”

  Before he could finish, the woman next to Spring Darling’s mother was on her feet.

  “And you plan to steal those additional two hundred acres via eminent domain. And before you can ask, Gloria, my name is Georgina Lundsford, and you,” she said, pointing a hand that trembled with rage at David, “can build it over my dead body.”

  “Point of order,” one of the planning commissioners said. “Georgina, sit down before we have to call the cops to haul you out of here.”

  “Was that a threat?” Mrs. Lundsford said, making as if she was about to climb over the chair in front of her and do something about it.

  Several in the audience apparently interpreted the words as such and rose to Mrs. Lundsford’s defense.

  “It’s just these bully tactics that are giving Cedar Springs a bad name!” someone called from the back.

  “You tell ’em, Ross!”

  Mrs. Lundsford reached down, and David briefly wondered if she would straighten up with a .38 or .45 aimed at him.

  David wisely retreated to the table, where he stood behind both it and a chair.

  Chief Llewelyn apparently hadn’t been joking about the possible need for Kevlar or other protective gear in the planning commission meeting. David had foolishly thought that mere hyperbole. While Spring Darling and her mother may have been wishing him ill, Georgina Lundsford might very well act on that anger.

  A moment later, though, she started reading—at the top of her lungs—from a booklet she held. And it sounded a whole lot like the US Constitution.

  He glanced at Spring. She was leaning across her mother and trying to get the Lundsford woman to sit down and stop hollering at him and the commissioners. David had been following the reports in the Cedar Springs Gazette with a modicum of skepticism, but now he discovered the newspaper’s online accounts had failed to capture the animosity that existed about this proposal.

  David didn’t have a personal opinion one way or the other. His goal was to get the planning commission to approve the preliminary plans, which would pave the way for the city council to give Carolina Land Associates the contract to draw up detailed architectural renderings for whichever site the city deemed suitable for a mixed-use project of shops, restaurants, businesses, residences and entertainment venues.

  As more rumbling and grumbling came forth, David got a pretty good idea of just how angry mob mentality led to violence.

  The chair of the planning commission was on his feet and still arguing with the man who’d accused him of being a bully. Georgina Lundsford had reached the Fourth Amendment and was practically screeching about “the right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures.”

  The ever-growing hubbub included voices shouting encouragement like “That’s right!” and a chant that was building up over the words of the Constitution: “We’re gonna sue. We’re gonna sue.”

  A big voice suddenly boomed over the din.
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  “Why doesn’t everybody just take a seat?”

  Heads turned to see Police Chief Zachary Llewelyn come in from the back, two officers flanking him. The chief made his way toward the front of the room while the two cops stood on either side of the assembled residents, who slowly looked around. Many sat again with uncertain looks at the officers and the police chief.

  David hadn’t anticipated being glad to see the law, but he sure hoped the big police chief could control his town. Cedar Springs, North Carolina, was supposed to be a sleepy little suburban city populated by professionals who worked in the Research Triangle area and commuted home to serenity every evening. Its residents were supposed to be retirees who liked the small-town vibe with city amenities, those who preferred a more altruistic approach to life. Apparently, they were willing to defend that to the core.

  “You all right over there, Mr. Camden?”

  David nodded to the police chief.

  “You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves,” Llewelyn told the gathered assembly. “Mrs. Lundsford, I told you after the last city council meeting that if you disrupted another public meeting, you were going to be cited.”

  “But, Chief, he...”

  The police chief held up a hand. “With all due respect to you, Mrs. Lundsford, you were warned. The fine is going to cost you seventy-five dollars. Please don’t up that misdemeanor to a felony. I don’t want to arrest you.”

  She huffed and sat down with her Constitution, clearly not happy.

  “Dr. Darling?”

  David watched as Spring looked up at the police chief.

  “I know you and your family have a vested interest in these proceedings, but you’re going to have to control your historical society members.”

  David watched her reaction to the rebuke and felt for her. Her expression didn’t change, but he thought he detected weariness in her eyes.

  “I don’t want to or plan to step on anybody’s First Amendment rights to speak,” the police chief told her, “but it has to remain civil. Understood?”