Chapter Thirty-three

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.

They shook hands and Clay couldn’t resist giving the man a quick pat on the back. “You went above and beyond, Mr. Howell. All that work last night and early this morning to prepare this paperwork was outstanding. Thank you.”

“Use my bank for this resort you’re planning.”

Clay grinned. “We will.” The word “we” sounded so right and natural. Now all he had to do was make it so.

He walked inside, where Lacey stood beside the 3-D model of their resort, the main-building front-elevation board propped up next to her.

“Right here you can see how we…” She hesitated when her gaze landed on Clay, color rising to her cheeks. “How I propose to handle that.”

So she rightly suspected the worst. And judging from the way she looked, she’d had a rough night. Guilt punched, but he knew it was just a matter of a few more minutes. He could wait that long.

He’d waited his whole life for her, so what was a few more minutes?

“How’s she doing?” he whispered to Darcie when he sat down.

“Really well. You get ’er done out there?” Darcie asked.

He held up the packet of papers. “I’m the proud owner of ten acres of Barefoot Bay.”

“And Dad paid for them.”

“In more ways than one,” he said. “Has she been through the feasibility and due diligence research yet?”

“Easily. She’s just covering the physical buildings now.”

Lacey spoke with confidence and pride when she described the villas, the spa, the greenhouse that Tessa wanted so much, even though they weren’t sure they could fit it without the other properties.

Now they could. Now they could do so many things, including pick up where they’d left off. Just the thought of Lacey in his arms, in his bed, in his life, made Clay smile.

“Somebody’s in love,” Darcie sang into his ear.

Clay just grinned more broadly. Somebody was in love.

Around him the audience was as riveted on Lacey as he was, even those who looked unfriendly to change. But where was Ashley? And Tessa and Zoe? And David?

Why weren’t they here to support her?

“And that,” Lacey concluded, turning to the long table of council members, “is why we believe that Mimosa Key can benefit from the world-class, wholly environmentally friendly, revenue-producing, state-of -the-art resort known as Windswept at Barefoot Bay.”

Windswept at Barefoot Bay?

Stunned at the name change, he felt his jaw, and his heart, drop with a thud. Only then did she look directly at him, and that expression said everything. An expression that said: I don’t need you, Clay Walker.

“Hold all questions, please!” George Masterson shouted. “Our next presenter is from Clayton Walker Architecture and Design, and his plans will make all of these null and void.”

Lacey closed her eyes as if George’s words had kicked her right in the teeth, but Clay was the one who felt kicked. Now she thought he represented his old man. He had to fix this, and fix it fast.

Clay made his way up the aisle with nothing but the packet of property papers in his hands. Lacey stepped away from the podium, turning her back on him to gather her presentation boards.

He stopped behind her, leaning a little too close, feeling her stiffen. But he had no time to set her straight now. Instead he put a hand on her tense shoulder.

“Pay attention, Strawberry. I mean everything I’m about to say.”

As long as she didn’t leave the room, Lacey Armstrong was about to find out exactly how he felt about her.