Barefoot in the Sand (43 page)

“Looks to me like that wind swept away all your baggage and left you some confidence.” He gave her a squeeze. “Good girl.”

“It wasn’t the wind.” And she hadn’t exactly been a
good
girl, but Dad didn’t need to know everything.

They found two empty seats but had to climb over a few people, including Will Palmer, who stood to let them go by.

As she passed him he whispered, “Go get ’em, Lacey.”

She gave him a quick smile and thought about Jocelyn, but there was no time to pursue that now. Instead she took her seat and scanned the town council table, trying to psych out who’d be on her side.

Paula Reddick, yes. Rocco Cardinale and Nora Alvarez, maybe. George Masterson and Sam Lennox, no way. Well, maybe Sam.

“Call to order!” Sam shouted, smacking his gavel again, to no avail. “Can I please have quiet?”

Finally the murmurs died down.

“We will be hearing four presentations for proposed land use and new structures,” Sam said, adjusting his glasses as he read the papers in front of him.

“Alphabetical will put us first,” Lacey told him. “As soon as he says the order, let’s go get the stuff from the car.”

Sam continued reading from notes. “The bylaws state that we hear presentations in geographical order, south to north.”

They did? Or was that one of Charity’s unofficial edits? Not for the first time Lacey wished she had Clay and his bylaw-memorizing talent with her.

“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
.

L
acey 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.”