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Miranda blinked rapidly as the world spun around her. That’s exactly what she’d done. She’d fallen—and fallen hard—for Logan. Not like in high school, when she’d been in love with the man he could become, but the adult version where she loved the man he had become. Her lungs contracted, and her eyes watered from holding her breath. And just when she thought her chest would cave in under realization’s weight, she forced herself to breathe. Oxygen flooded her bloodstream.
The room quieted, and Tyrell waited a few beats before continuing his diatribe. “I won’t go into all of the examples of disconcerting behavior from the Sweets, but I instead have this question to ask. Do you trust that the Sweets can keep the brewery running safely—especially when Miranda Sweet’s only motivation is make the place profitable so she can get a promotion at her real job in Harbor City?”
The stunned look on Logan’s face melted into hurt before solidifying into a neutral mask. Watching his expression change was like shoving an ice pick into her eye.
“Oh yes.” Tyrell nodded. “I talked to her boss, Patrick Bason, at DeBoer Financial. The only reason Miranda Sweet ever set foot back in Salvation was to advance her own career. She never planned to stay in Salvation, and she sure doesn’t care about what happens to the people here. She has no real, deep commitment to Sweet Salvation Brewery, and it’s only a matter of time before she abandons the brewery. Ladies and gentlemen of the council, you must vote to end alcohol production in Hamilton County and close the doors of Sweet Salvation Brewery.”
A few people clapped their support. Stuck in her seat at the front of the room, a lump clogged Miranda’s throat as she watched Logan turn, push his way through the crowd, and walk out the door, leaving her to face the town alone again.
Chapter Twenty
Logan stomped down the deserted hall. The sound of his boots hitting the tile floor echoed off the high ceiling as loud as thunder, but the sound couldn’t drown out the words he kept hearing repeated in his mind.
She never planned to stay.
She was leaving. Miranda would abandon Salvation—him—as soon as the brewery turned profitable. She’d confessed as much during their first truce by the Hamilton River, but hearing the words announced to the world with a sneer by Tyrell? That hurt. Bad. He felt like an orange traffic cone after it had been run over by a city bus, leaving him squashed, dented, and tossed over to the side of the road. But that didn’t mean he’d given up.
He slammed open the county council’s front door and stormed out into the crisp evening air. He hooked a right as soon as he hit the sidewalk and hustled across the street.
Being a shrewd asshole, Tyrell Hawson had hit every concern point anyone on the county council would have about the Sweet Salvation Brewery. He ran up the county courthouse steps, taking them two at a time, and hurried to the clerk’s office. Th
e clerk’s secretary, Ione Pike, worked late almost every night, and he hoped like hell tonight wouldn’t be the exception.
The clerk’s office doorknob wouldn’t turn, but through the glass he spotted Ione sitting at her desk. She had a pencil stuck behind one ear and a mammoth World’s Best Grammy coffee cup within easy reach.
Logan tapped on the glass, and she jumped in her seat, her startled gaze searching her surroundings before settling on him. Her shoulders relaxed, and she shook her head as she pushed away from her desk, then walked to the door and opened it.
“If you weren’t my godson, I’d have the sheriff arrest you for scaring the bejesus out of me like that.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He stepped inside the office, relieved no one else was there. There wasn’t enough time for the normal chit chat small town living required. Not if he was going to enact his plan before the county council voted. He had to show them that it was past time to stop blaming the Sweets for everything that went wrong in town. And to do that, he needed backup.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Ione gave him a once-over. “You aren’t here for more bail money are you?”
From someone else, those would be fighting words. From Ione, it was a love tap. “You’re always busting my chops.”
“Why do you think your mother picked me to be your godmother?”
“Because you’re the only sucker willing to take the job.” He squeezed her narrow shoulders. “I need a favor.”
“I’m listening.”
“I need the city’s founding charter and a copy of The History of Salvation.” A university history professor with an affection for digging up old dirt had written the book ten years ago. Its contents had scandalized the town, and they’d disavowed the tome even as they’d devoured it behind closed doors.
She didn’t even blink. “Does this have anything to do with that Sweet girl and the fool meeting going on down the street?”
“It does.” And his last ditch effort to get her to stay. He figured he had a fifteen percent chance of success, but he was done with sure bets. He cared about this. About her. Making things right with Miranda was worth risking a loss. Hell, it was worth everything.
Ione narrowed her eyes, but she went back to her desk and spent a minute typing on her computer. She clicked the mouse, and the printer buzzed to life. Next, she pulled a thick book out of the bottom drawer. By the time she strolled over to the printer, a piece of paper sat in the out tray.
“You know that stuff in the paper was just the opening salvo. If you tick him off any more, Tyrell will have a lot more bile to spew before he’s done with you.” She handed the printout of the charter along with the book over to Logan. “She worth it?”
“Without a doubt.” He grabbed a handful of the polished oval worry stones in a decorative dish on her desk and dropped them into a pocket. “Thank you for this.”
He was halfway through the door when Ione’s voice stopped him. “Your mother would be proud of you for this.”
“You think?” His breath hitched.
“Without a doubt.”
