Page 52 of Jameson’s Salvation

“Yeah, Lola Lane has one in her yard.”

Nixon gave a quick rundown of the state’s plan to build a new bridge over the Chesapeake Bay. There was already one bridge, but with more people than ever living on the eastern shore and commuting to Baltimore and the District, traffic was so bad a second bridge was needed. One of those proposed bridge sites would be in Kent County. A location that a lot of residents were opposed to.

“Why do you ask?” Nix gave Holden his attention.

“It seems Reggie Coleman is a huge proponent of the bridge going from the western shore to Kent County. He’s quoted in the paper as saying the economic impact would do wonders for the community. He also formed a group in support of the bridge to combat the opposition.”

“That would make sense,” Jameson started. “I would assume property value in the area would go up if a bridge was built. People who worked in Baltimore could live in a nice quiet setting outside of the city and only have a twenty minute commute. Not to mention, all the housing developments that would pop up. Which no doubt he’d have his greedy hand in that pot, too. That’s why he wants Kennedy’s property. The land he owns behind her only has fifteen feet of street access. He needs her land which would provide more than five hundred feet so he can build a housing track.”

“Holden, also check when Coleman started buying up all this property. Before or after the new bridge proposal was made public,” Nixon instructed.

“By the way, if you need help working on Lola’s AC, call Zack. He’s savin’ up to buy a car, so he’s looking for all the work he can.”

Before Jameson could answer Nixon about McKenna’s soon-to-be sixteen-year-old brother helping him, an alarm went off on his phone at the same time one went off on Holden’s and Nixon’s.

Jameson snatched his phone off the table, tapped the app, and his vision blurred as he watched a man dressed in black with a ski mask covering his face cruise by one of the cameras in front of Kennedy’s house.

“Fuck.”

His chair scraped on the wood floor before it tipped back and landed with a loud bang.

He didn’t bother righting the chair, he shot out of the office taking the stairs two at a time, and ran across the street to his truck. His wheels screeched as he gunned it away from the curb.

After his second call to Kennedy went unanswered, he tossed his phone in the cup holder and jammed on the accelerator.

The fury seeping into his bones shocked him.

Maybe he should’ve expected it—he was falling in love with the woman after all. However, he hadn’t known. How could he have? Until Kennedy, he hadn’t had the first clue what love was.

16

Kennedy

My head throbbed like I’d been hit with a two-by-four. Which made sense because I think I had been hit by a two-by-four. That, or a baseball bat. I hadn’t seen anything because I’d been checking on my hives and wearing my hat and veil. Either way, my head was spinning and I was dizzy. I pushed past the nausea and got to my feet.

I had bigger issues. My bee boxes were on fire, completely engulfed in flames and unsalvageable. I didn’t have time to process what the loss meant for me or how upset I was that all of my bees were dead. It was summer and there was plenty of dried grass and other tinder that could catch and get out of control.

Moving as quickly as I could, I staggered away from the crackling fire toward my four-wheeler and wanted to cry when I found the key missing. I had to go back to my house to get a bucket of water. My hives were at the edge of my property and there was no well back there. I took off my gloves and reached into my pocket, thinking my best option was to call 911 and get the fire department out here, but came up empty.

Of all the days for me to forget my phone in the damn shed.

With no other choice, I started to make the mile walk back to the house. I had to pick up the pace—at this rate the back field would be on fire by the time I got to a phone. But my legs were wobbly and refused to move any faster. My stomach rolled and I had to stop to catch my breath. It was hot as shit outside and I was covered head-to-toe from tending the bees. I tossed aside my hat and veil and ripped my long-sleeved shirt off, not caring I was only in my bra, but it did nothing to stop the vomit I felt rising in my throat.

I bent forward and heaved, my head swam and my vision darkened.

No, no, no. I couldn’t faint. I had to get home.

Sweat dripped down the back of my neck in rivers. My head spun. I plopped down on my ass, and gave into the hazy darkness.

* * *

The first thing I noticed was I was freezing, and considering the last thing I remembered was being burning hot, I was confused. And thankfully I no longer felt like I was going to throw up. I slowly opened my eyes, harsh light blinding me through the slivers and I quickly shut them again.

“Take it slow, baby.” Jameson’s large hand pressed on my forehead and I relaxed.

Then I remembered. “Fire,” I croaked. My throat was dry and scratchy and it felt like I swallowed nails.

“Shh. Everything’s been taken care of.”