*“What happened?” Lauren asked when Marie stepped inside the blogmobile.
Marie took off her jacket and draped it over her desk chair. “He’s a charmer. Very handsome.”
“Yes, but what did he say?”
“He said he likes you. He thinks you’re a smart woman and hopes you can both get over your differences. He’s really sorry about that, by the way.”
“Is he sorry about letting Donaldson’s use his bar?”
Marie stuck a hand to her heart. “He’s beside himself! He said if he’d known how bad the feeling was, he’d never have allowed it.”
Lauren grunted.
“Give him half a chance, sugar. If Donaldson’s is using him, he’ll be roped in good and hard.”
They were going to be camping on Mark’s front veranda. Which meant Lauren had to stick around, too, to make sure he didn’t say anything about whatever it was they’d eventually be doing to rejuvenate the town. It was imperative Donaldson’s didn’t get a whiff because they’d try to ruin their plans. Not that she any plans yet, but—
A memory struck. Before she’d gone to LA her original intent had been to stay in Texas and settle in Dallas, believing the city to be the place where she’d lose herself in the crowds and eventually discover the real Lauren. The woman without an unusual past.
There’d been this cute three-room building for lease on the edge of Bishop Arts District. She’d wanted it from the moment she spotted it, empty and forlorn. Its owner had passed away and there’d been a fight over who was taking on the lease.
She’d known the moment she saw it exactly what it needed to fit in with the quaint hideaway and the rhythm of the district that was heavily populated by women, all in shopping, relaxation, and curiosity mode. All looking for the next best thing, many thinking they’d never get it.
She couldn’t afford the startup costs, and back then she hadn’t had the required acumen or retail experience the stakeholders wanted. But she’d still put forward her proposal.
In Dallas, she’d found a wish. A dream for her future. A desire to work toward.
Then lost it. Because of a board made up of men who had no foresight and thought of her as nothing more than—a woman.
Could she rekindle the Dallas idea and shape it to work in Surrender?
“Who are these Donaldson men?” she asked. She knew next to nothing about them and she’d better arm herself now by learning as much as possible.
Marie brought up their website on her laptop.
“That one,” she said pointing to a broad-smiling man with jet-black hair, “is Leonard D’Prichia—” She bent closer to read his surname, then shook her head. “Some fake Italian guy. We call him Leo D’Pee. Now that one,” she said, pointing to a man whose mouth and eyes were so thinned and narrowed he might have been doing an impersonation of a shark, “is Ty ‘Slick’ Wilson.” She scrolled down. “There’s also a Bob Smith, but we don’t know anything about him, and there’s never been a photo of him up on their website.”
Bob Smith? The name sounded familiar.
“He’s just an underdog,” Marie said. “He probably does the accounts or something.”
No matter how many underdogs they had, they were trouble, and the townspeople were going to be demanding more amenities for prospective tourists. She’d have to think more broadly than just what she was going to do with the house.
“We’re going to have to be careful, Marie. I don’t want our townspeople getting sidetracked by anything Donaldson’s offers as a bribe.” She didn’t want them to get close enough to smile at any of her townspeople, let alone offer them incentives to sell their land.
“Dear Mark came up with a brilliant notion of how to get around that,” Marie said. “He’s going to let them use his veranda for their campaign—and I honestly don’t think he’s got a choice—but he’s going to stick to them like glue and make sure they don’t get a chance to trick anyone.”
“And what is dear Mark really doing in Surrender? Did you ask him?”
“He has a little problem with his father, and he needed to get away to clear his head—and let me tell you, my mother’s intuition told me he’s under serious pressure.”
Like having to ensure his lies weren’t discovered. “What’s he going to do with the bar?”
“He’s going to let the townspeople help him figure out the best way forward.”
Lauren’s mouth dropped open. Wasn’t that exactly what she’d put into play? Not that it was supposed to have helped him, quite the opposite, but suddenly, everything was at cross-purposes. It would just be her luck if it turned out dear Mark loved extra-spiced chili swimming with beans.
“How come the townspeople aren’t helping me with ideas for the house?” she asked.
“Because they haven’t thought about it. But funny you should mention it. You know, just standing next to that very good-looking man, I discovered ideas popping into my head, one after the other.”
Uh-oh. Lauren crossed her arms and waited.
“Sugar, I found you your deputy sheriff! Mark said he’d happily be your second-in-command. You and he are going to hold a town meeting, and together you’ll sort out everyone’s needs.”
“We’re what?” Lauren uncrossed her arms, shoulders tensing. “That means I’ll have to practically work with him!”
Marie flung her hands in the air. “How else did you expect this to work? By magic?”
“It would help!” She covered her eyes with her hand and gave herself a minute to think. Before Molly took control of Hopeless, all the valley residents were keen to sell due to the sweeteners the developers were throwing at them, like free white goods and other fancy wares. But now that Hopeless was basking in some glory, Surrender and even Reckless wanted the same. What if the developers upped the price they were willing to pay for the land? If one town sold, it would be the end of the whole valley. The last thing she needed was disjointed communication between the towns.
“The town meeting is a good idea,” she said to Marie, “but I want you to know I’m not happy about his involvement.”
“Keep him close, that’s what I say.”
There was sense in that, too. Marie was certainly popping out the good ideas. Thanks to dear Mark.
“I’m in charge of the meeting though,” she said to Marie, to clarify. “Yes?”
“He’s just your backup. He’s happy for you to take the lead. I promise, sugar—next time you see him he’ll be eating out of your hand!”
*
Mark had more than one headache and would have loved to get out of the bar to inhale some good, fresh Texan air. The place didn’t feel like his with everybody hanging around or wandering in to see how progress was going.
They’d brought sustenance, too. There was a pot of extra-spicy chili bubbling on the stovetop in the kitchen—crammed with a variety of beans, some of which he hadn’t known existed. No one in their right mind would eat chili with beans in Texas. He’d been in the Lone Star State long enough to know and was comfortable sitting on the no-beans side of the fence, so why think he would want them? And so many of them!
He also had a pocket bulging with business cards. People he was supposed to employ. What could a florist and a junk shop owner do for him? As it turned out, quite a lot. All he needed now was for the candlemaker to walk through the door and he’d be convinced the bar had no need of electricity.
“I think you ought to consider a jukebox,” Ingrid said, feather duster stilled mid-air. She’d arrived earlier to tell him she felt bad about leaving so much dust, and to offer him examples of what he might do with the bar.
He’d never met a woman like Ingrid. She’d been a synchronized swimming star in 1935 and had shown him every coordinated move she’d ever made, advising him to imagine she was in a swimming pool, when in fact, she’d been on the other side of the bar, standing on one leg, knee bent, with only the other leg and her head and arms visible.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever remove the image from his head.
“I’ll think about it, Ingrid.”
“It could go in that alcove over there, if you take out the shelving and replaster the wall.”
“Good opportunity to employ my husband,” Mrs. Fairmont said.
Another cost. They were mounting up. But diplomacy was the order of the day, so he kept his mouth closed. What did it really matter what happened to the bar?
It was his money paying for it all that was what!
He figured the floral arrangements Mrs. Fairmont was designing for the many copper and brass spittoons might set him back—what? Fifty bucks? A hundred? How much did flowers cost?
“What are you going to do with that?” Ingrid asked, indicating the dining area across from the bar, cordoned off with a waist-height wooden railing.
“I’ve got a few ideas.” Not that he thought any of them would be listened to, so it was good he actually didn’t have any.
Be grateful for the little things.
“Gonna share ’em at the committee meeting?” Ingrid asked.
He wasn’t supposed to be getting this involved, but Marie had told him that was what he was going to be doing. Being on the Rejuvenate Surrender committee would put him center stage, high on a dais, and he’d wanted to keep close to the ground. No chance of that happening fast. Not now.
“When is this meeting?” Doc Buckner asked. He was up a ladder, removing a large moose head from the wooden staircase paneling above the bar. Nobody had wanted to take it down until Mark argued it would frighten the kids.
That had sent another round of questions his way about whether he was going to be offering family entertainment. He didn’t know; he’d said it off the cuff. But it wasn’t a bad idea to include space for kids, say, in the dining area. There was also a big rear garden.
But what was he thinking? That would mean more money on kids’ play equipment.
The other Buckner brothers stopped what they were doing and waited for Mark’s answer. Butch was fixing new signs to the restrooms. He’d found them in the junk shop. Miss Lockwood had come over earlier and started moving the ornaments and furnishings around. Then she’d asked to buy some and Mark just handed them over. What did he want with more wagon wheels, saddles, and spurs? But she’d gotten riled at the thought of being a charity case, so she had taken Butch over to her shop and he’d come back with more gear than Mark had originally gotten rid of. Like the spittoons.
He glanced at Kid, the quietest person in the bar, and wanted to hug him.
Kid was scrubbing the mirror. Hopefully washing away the curse while he was at it.
“I’ll be talking to Lauren about the meeting,” Mark informed everyone. “It’s going to be a fantastic opportunity for you all to air your thoughts.” Marie had put him in charge of generating enthusiasm, as second in command. She’d said Lauren knew all about it, but he wasn’t sure Marie hadn’t played him.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
“I’ll get that jukebox alcove cleared now,” Butch said, pacing the floor with his ponderous stride, a sledgehammer over his shoulder.
One slam and five of nine solid wood shelves broke in two, wood splintering to the floor.
So, that was definitely where the jukebox was going.
Mark turned and checked his phone. Nothing from Boomer. He’d sent a text asking when Donaldson’s were turning up and was waiting for the answer. Hopefully he’d have a few days, at least.
Marie had unknowingly helped him out by suggesting he tell the townspeople straight up exactly how he’d been duped by Donaldson’s. She didn’t have a clue how much, but he was grateful to her. As soon as everyone arrived at the doors earlier, he’d been given his opportunity to explain his error, and assure them he was on their side.
They’d fallen for it, like all good souls.
If only he could rewrite the script or write a brand-new story. One that saw his family safe, his father behind bars, and his bank account as full as it had been before all this began.
He was going to have to contribute the minimum amount of information to these developers in order to continue playing his hand. After he’d accepted the job, Mark had threatened Boomer again, telling him he’d go to the police and blow the whole thing. But Boomer had played his trump card.
If you do that, Sterrett, some woman out there is going to get killed.
Donaldson’s was putting Lauren at the front of this, believing she was the one who would attempt to negate any underhand deals Donaldson’s offered her townspeople.
Would they hurt her physically? Or just in a business sense?
He glanced at the mirror Kid was cleaning. Maybe he’d been shown those visions of Lauren as a warning. This was who she was. She was a child who had dreams and wishes. She grew into a beautiful, spirited woman.
Now she was dead.