Meet Me in Barefoot Bay

by Roxanne St Claire

  She and Clay. Except now it was just her.

  “Good afternoon,” she said, her voice echoing and causing a siren-like feedback on the mike. She backed away and refused to let it throw her. “My name is Lacey Armstrong and I’m here to request a slot on the—”

  “I object.” Charity stood and stared hard at the mayor. “Save our time, Sam, and let’s move to the next person.”

  A soft murmur rolled through the crowd.

  “Excuse me, Charity,” Lacey said, “but I haven’t even had a chance to show you what I’m building.”

  “Don’t have to. I’m not objecting to your building.”

  “Then what are you objecting to?” Sam Lennox asked.

  “Who’s building it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Lacey asked. “How do you even know who’s building it?”

  “Because everyone on this island knows you’re working, among other things, with that man named Clayton Walker.”

  “Clay Walker,” she corrected, feeling heat rise and wishing to God that Ashley wasn’t in this room. “And I fail to see how that has any relevance.” His name wasn’t even on this presentation. He’d insisted on that.

  And he wasn’t even in this room.

  For the first time, a vine of bad, bad feeling slithered up her chest.

  “Me too,” Paula Reddick chimed in from the front table. “I, for one, would like to see the plans, so zip it, Charity.”

  The older woman’s eyes flew open. “I will not zip it and I will not allow anything to be built on this island by someone who is not qualified to build.”

  Oh, that’s what this was about. His licensing. The tendril of worry loosened as she checked the door again, but no one had entered the room, not even Jocelyn.

  She had to do this on her own, straightforward and unafraid.

  “Charity, if you’re referring to Mr. Walker’s licenses, they are not required by any law in any state in order for him to design—”

  “I’m talking about his… his…” She gestured to Patti, who shoved some papers closer. Then Charity adjusted her reading glasses and cleared her throat. “His indictment by the FBI for providing fraudulent documents and attempting to obstruct justice in a case against a North Carolina chancellor of secondary education.”

  Lacey gripped the podium, because her legs couldn’t be trusted to hold her upright.

  “What?” She barely whispered the question because there were too many other words swimming in her head. Indictment. FBI. Fraudulent. Obstruct justice.

  “What exactly are you talking about?” Sam demanded. “What do you have on this Clayton Walker?”

  “Clay,” Lacey said softly. “His name is Clay.” Or at least she thought it was. Come to think of it, she’d never seen a driver’s license, let alone an architectural license. She’d never called a reference or seen a resume.

  All she’d done was let him melt her brain and body and hand him the job. And now he wasn’t even here to face the music. And the tune was pretty ugly.

  “I’m talking about this.” Gripping pages of computer printouts, Charity marched to the front, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum like Nurse Ratched on her way to stick a needle in someone.

  The audience murmured and mumbled, and Lacey stole a look at David, who whispered something to Ashley, then he got up and hustled out of the room. Shame and shock prickled at Lacey’s skin, a fine sheen of perspiration tickling the nape of her neck.

  Toward the back, Tessa and Zoe held hands, leaning forward like they’d been driven to the edge of their seats. Grace Hartgrave looked smug, and a lot of familiar faces of neighbors, friends, and even some of her baking customers looked confused.

  And Clay Walker, or whoever the hell he claimed to be, was suspiciously absent.

  Meanwhile, Charity slapped her papers in front of the town council, a copy for each of them, with the officiousness of a teacher handing out failed tests. “I just printed these off today, from the state attorney’s office in North Carolina.” She turned to Lacey. “Of course, maybe you were too blinded by his good looks to do any of your own homework.”

  Was that possible? She had Googled him. There was plenty about his father, but no mention of Clay, or the FBI. Her heart slipped down a few notches, like her wet palms on the warm wood of the podium.

  Sam rifled through the papers. “Have you seen this, Lacey? Says here Clayton Walker of Clayton Walker Architecture and Design has been indicted—”

  “It’s his father!” The explanation suddenly seemed so clear she practically barked it into the microphone, shutting up Sam and the audience. “They must be talking about his father, Clayton Walker,” she added quickly. “It’s a common mistake because of the names and the similar work, but they are two very different men and my architect no longer works for Clayton Walker. Those papers, whatever you have, are not about the same man who’s been helping me.”

  “Actually, they are.” Clay’s voice came from the back of the room, the door he’d just burst through still open. “Those articles are about me.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  For a second Lacey felt nothing but numb. Blank brain, deadened heart, no sensation. Just shocked and speechless as she watched the man she’d let take her to an orgasm with nothing but his mouth bound up the aisle of the meeting room, his long hair fluttering around his handsome face, his broad shoulders braced as if he were going into battle, his summer-sky blue eyes locked on her.

  Charity was right. She’d been taken by his good looks.

  How could she be such a fool?

  “However, every charge was dropped,” he continued as he strode toward the front. “That information is out of date and invalid, erased from all records, and I have an affidavit to prove that, notarized just one hour ago by the Lee County clerk of court.”

  “Just one minute,” Charity said.

  “Excuse me,” Mayor Lennox interjected.

  “I will explain everything,” Clay insisted.

  “No way!” Charity all but stomped her foot. “Page three, section three, subsection B of the Mimosa Key bylaws—and don’t you dare try to contradict me, young man—says that unless you’re a resident of Mimosa Key, you’re not allowed to address this council without prior approval. You don’t have it, so sit down.”

  He kept coming, his eyes on Lacey. Eyes loaded with apology, regret, and no small amount of anger. “Damn stupidest law I ever heard, so I’m going to speak anyway.”

  “Oh, no you are not.” Charity was beet red and nearly choking now. “Everything you say is inadmissible—”

  “This isn’t a court!” Lacey hollered over the sound of the crowd. “Let him talk, for God’s sake.”

  “It’s the way we run our town, Lacey,” the mayor said.

  “I need to know.” She breathed the words, but the microphone picked them up and amplified her heartache all through the room.

  Lacey searched his face, looking for the truth, for an explanation, for some sign that he hadn’t lied to her all this time.

  No need to sign a contract.

  No need to put my name on the boards.

  No need to contact my father’s company. Just let me tell you how ruthless he is.

  Had she been played, or what?

  “Sorry, son,” Mayor Lennox said. “We can’t change the rules. I assume Lacey knows all this and she can speak on your behalf.”

  “I will speak on my behalf.” Clay parked himself right in front of the council table. “That account is old and false.”

  “Were you indicted?” Lacey asked.

  “No, but there was an investigation, and every single charge was dropped.”

  “See?” Charity said, leaping forward and poking a bony finger at Clay as though he’d just confessed murder. “Lacey doesn’t even know who she’s working with. She doesn’t have a clue who this man is and we’re going to let him slap down some kind of monstrosity on Barefoot Bay and ruin the unspoiled beauty of the last perfect place on earth? I don’t
think so.”

  Charity’s dramatic words rang through the meeting room, causing another rumble of response.

  “You cannot speak to this council, sir,” Mayor Lennox said. “If you don’t leave, we will have to get Security to escort you.”

  Oh, that would be just perfect. Let’s bring Officer Garrison in here and cuff Lacey’s lover in front of her daughter and the friends who’d just vowed their belief in her. Really, could the day get any better?

  “What do you have to say, Lacey?” Charity demanded.

  She just swallowed and dug for words of defense, but there were none.

  She knew virtually nothing about Clay Walker, and yet she’d opened her business, her project, her heart, and, oh hell, her legs to him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “Let the guy talk, for crying out loud!” Zoe called from the back. “What is this, the Salem Witch Trials?”

  That got a small reaction of laughter, but Clay held up his hand. “I’ll leave, but, please, the false allegations have nothing to do with Lacey Armstrong’s proposed property getting on your September fifteenth agenda. I won’t say anything now, but let her speak.” He finally looked at Lacey, a world of sorry in his eyes that reached right down her throat and seized her heart. “You don’t need me to do this. You can do this. You can.”

  The emphasis on the last word wasn’t lost on her as he took a slow step backward, like the move was the hardest thing he’d ever done. How could she know? How could she know anything he’d told her was true, and why hadn’t he told her earlier about this part of his past?

  Had he even told her the truth about his father and the woman who’d broken Clay’s heart? Or was that an elaborate tale to cover the real reason he didn’t work for his dad anymore? The real reason he hadn’t put his name on any of the presentation boards and no doubt the truth about why he didn’t have those seven licenses he needed?

  He pivoted and walked out, the entire room staring after him. Including Ashley.

  Oh, Lord. Ashley had witnessed the whole thing. And now she’d witness her mother crumbling and quitting and buckling under the weight of the oldest excuse of all.

  I was duped by a sexy guy.

  “You may speak now, Lacey,” Mayor Lennox said.

  But everything in Lacey screamed not to.

  C’mon, Lacey, you can’t do this now. Give up, go home, settle for less than you deserve.

  Shut the hell up, demons.

  Taking a deep breath, she dug for something she knew she had to have, with or without Clay Walker. Resolve. Tenacity. Dogged stubbornness not to let Charity Grambling win and leave Lacey Armstrong with one big excuse.

  “This information is entirely irrelevant to what I’m asking for today,” she said, gesturing to the newspaper that was still being passed among the council members. “First of all, if you look closely at my presentation, there is no specific architectural firm attached to the plans and nothing has yet been filed with the state or county. All I want is to be on the agenda for September fifteenth, which will give me time to address these issues.”

  “Not enough time,” Charity insisted.

  Lacey closed her eyes, still mining inner strength. “That’s all the time I need,” she said.

  “Is this man your architect and builder, Lacey?” George Masterson asked, his lip curled as he read the paper.

  “I’m not sure who my architect is going to be,” she said firmly. “But it’s a moot point as far as the upcoming agenda.”

  “I agree,” Paula said quickly. “Let’s put her on the agenda and move on.”

  “I second that,” Rocco chimed in. “That account lifted off the Internet is questionable at best. Let her present, let her make her plea, and let her use who she wants and prepare to defend him on the fifteenth.” He drummed the table in front of him. “Let’s move it. There’s a Yankees game on in twenty minutes.”

  “Sorry, but this newspaper clipping is enough for me to say no,” Masterson said.

  “Please hear me out,” Lacey said, earning instant silence and all their attention. She searched her brain for her opening lines, for what she’d planned to say about her resort and all the jobs it could create and Mimosa Key’s need to get into the next century.

  But she couldn’t think of anything. Except Ashley still sitting in the seat where David had left her.

  Ashley.

  All the feasibility notes, the town codes, and the target marketing points she’d made for this presentation just evaporated from her brain. None of them mattered, really.

  “Six weeks ago, my home and business were wiped away in one storm,” she said quietly. “As many of you know, I stayed alive and kept my daughter safe in a bathtub with a mattress over our heads.”

  A soft mumbling rolled through the room.

  Yes, she did.

  That’s a fact.

  She was hit hard up there at Barefoot Bay.

  Buoyed by the tiny bit of support, she kept talking. “The only thing that kept me going that night was the chance to realize a dream that I believe could be a long-term and positive change for my family and for this island. All I am asking for is a slot on your next meeting agenda to prove that to you. At that time, I assure you, I will have an architect, builder, contractor, and subcontractors who will all meet with the council’s approval. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

  Every one of the council members stared at her.

  “Let’s vote,” Sam finally said. “Raise your hand if you want to give Lacey Armstrong a slot on the September fifteenth agenda.”

  All but George Masterson raised their hands. She only needed a majority, and she’d just gotten it.

  “Thank you.” She gathered her portfolio and resisted the urge to gloat at Charity, nodding when Sam handed her the paper Clay had brought in to clear himself. She didn’t even look at it but walked down the aisle.

  “Good work, Mom!” Ashley high-fived her when she reached them.

  “Way to go, Lace!” Zoe called from the other side of the room. Tessa gave her two thumbs-up.

  “Thanks.” She closed her fingers over Ashley’s hand and gave a squeeze. “I’ll be right back.”

  Because she sure as hell wasn’t going to let Clay Walker slink away without a damn fine explanation. Then he could get the hell out of her life, thank you very much.

  Chapter Twenty

  God, Clay hated the taste of regret. And he was choking on the stuff right now.

  He stuck his hands in his hair, cursing his stupidity. Across the parking lot, he saw David Fox talking to a guy in a business suit in the shade of palm trees. Clay ducked around the side of the building to have his moment of self-loathing in private.

  Son of a bitch! He should have just told her and not worried that an inaccurate record of history could cost him the tentative assignment. He should’ve gone with his original intention of telling her last night, regardless of the town council meeting. She could have handled the facts. Why had he doubted her? And if he’d been straight she wouldn’t have been blindsided. So now he had the affidavit to back up his story but she’d been publicly humiliated and no doubt wanted to drop-kick him off the nearest dock.

  He’d been scared to lose her. That was why he hadn’t told her the truth; he’d been scared she’d walk. And now she surely would.

  The door of the town hall slammed against the stucco wall with enough force that he had no doubt who’d flung it open and what she wanted.

  “Where are you?” Lacey demanded.

  He stepped around the corner to face her but wished he didn’t have to see the abject misery in her expression. “I’m right here, Lacey.”

  “How could you not tell me?” She snapped the affidavit he’d risked life and a speeding ticket to have back here in time for the meeting.

  “I made a mistake.”

  Her eyes blazed. “No shit. Let me put it another way: When were you going to tell me?”

  “At first, but then you were so unsure of me, so I planned to tell you las
t night, but when this agenda-setting meeting came up—”

  “Along with a few other things, conveniently.”

  Ouch. “This has nothing to do with… that.”

  “No? Oldest trick in the book, Clay. Screw a woman senseless, so she can’t—”

  “Stop it.” He reached out to her shoulders, but she dodged his touch. “That’s why I went to Fort Myers today, Lacey. I wanted the affidavit in my hand before I told you. And I thought it might throw you and give you an excuse to—”

  “Speaking of excuses!” she hissed. “You’re as bad as I am. Worse. I may stop when I hit a brick wall, but I don’t lie my way through it.”

  “A lie of omission, and not intentional.”

  She puffed out a breath of sheer disgust. “Oh, please. Was this why your dad kicked you out of the firm?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what was it, exactly?” She took a step closer, venom in her eyes. And pain. Pain he’d put there, damn it.

  This was why he didn’t want a relationship. This: the pain in her eyes.

  “I want the truth,” she demanded, her voice low and steady. “The whole truth, Clay. No more vague explanations buried in flirting and kissing and drawing. The truth. What happened?”

  “I did something to help someone I… cared about. To protect my family and my father, but it cost me a brief investigation, from which I was completely cleared.”

  She considered that, frowning, thinking, and definitely not buying. “Not specific enough.”

  He closed his eyes and nodded. “I took the fall when my ex-girlfriend used my father’s name on some documents she shouldn’t have had. She made a gross error in judgment, and I helped her out of a jam.”

  Her eyes flickered. “Why?”

  “Because…” Not because he cared about Jayna, that was for sure. Probably because he cared about his father, which was the greatest irony of all. “At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. She was eight months pregnant and extremely sorry for making a really dumb mistake that she thought would never be discovered. It was, and she came to me asking for help, and I gave it and got into a shitload of trouble for the effort. My father assumed the worst about me.” Naturally.