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A Campbell’s Construction super-duty pickup lumbered up the slope. Another followed a few yards behind, and then a flatbed loaded with something. Mayor Campbell stepped out of the first truck, along with three beefy guys wearing work boots and rain ponchos. Campbell walked toward her while the other guys headed around to the bed of the truck.
“What the…” She swallowed, and tried again. “Mayor Campbell, what’s going on?”
“I got a call from a friend of yours a couple hours ago, asking me to get a team out here with sandbags. These guys”—he pointed to the growing group of men assembling around the now-parked trucks—“are going to build you your own personal floodwall.”
“Oh my God. That’s amazing, but…” Questions poured in faster than she could process them. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s involved with this kind of thing. I’m not sure I can afford to have you do it, and even if I can, what’s the point? It’s a temporary solution. The next big rain will land me right back in this same predicament.”
Campbell held up a hand. “Don’t worry about the cost. Pinkerton is footing the bill, and there’s a permanent solution in the works.”
Okay. None of that made sense. “Ricky called and arranged for this?”
“Not exactly. He signed off on the check, but Pinkerton didn’t put the wheels in motion.” Campbell trailed off as a black Range Rover roared up the slope and skidded to a halt a few feet away.
An instant later, Shane stepped out. She blinked, struggling to wrap her head around the fact that he was…here. He closed in on them, his steps unfaltering, but his scruffy jaw, wrinkled jeans, and half-laced boots testified to a long day—or possibly days—leading him here. He shrugged out of a hip-length all-weather jacket as he walked. A black baseball cap bearing a Haggerty Consulting logo shielded his eyes from view, yet even so she knew they were locked on her.
Her knees went weak.
Mayor Campbell cleared his throat. “I’ll let this guy explain.” Then he clapped Shane on the shoulder and disappeared.
The Haggerty hat funneled the rain to the edge of the brim, where it rolled off in steady drops. He turned it backwards and then leaned toward her and wrapped his coat around her.
“What are you doing here?”
He met her stare. “I’m here to fix things, baby girl. Just like I promised.”
…
Twenty-four hours, three flights, innumerable phone calls, and one dead-serious threat to beat the shit out of someone all paid off here and now with the stunned but relieved look on Sinclair’s face. The stunned part wasn’t too flattering. Obviously, she hadn’t expected him to come through in her hour of need, but the relief told him everything he needed to know. Her world might be upending before her eyes, but his being here eased something inside her. She trusted him to try and make things right.
And he would. He was the man with the plan, and he had one for her—for them. He pulled his jacket more snugly around her.
“You arranged all this?” She gestured at the men springing into action around them.
“For starters.”
“How?”
“Haggerty contacted me yesterday and told me Ricky had rammed the golf course permit through the planning commission and then fast-tracked the construction. I called in the big gun.”
“The big gun? Mayor Campbell?”
“Bigger. I called Claudia Pinkerton and let her know her grandson was putting a piece of Magnolia Grove history in jeopardy with his new golf course. I figured the president of the Magnolia Grove Historical Society might object. Stridently. Let’s just say she prevailed upon Ricky to get a crew down here ASAP and sandbag the place. Ricky’s personal financial situation will suffer severe reverses if this structure takes any water damage.”
He watched her lips twist into a fleeting smile at the idea of Claudia Pinkerton reading her grandson the riot act, but then she put a hand on his chest and looked up at him with serious eyes. “I appreciate the effort, and all the trouble you went to, Shane, but clearly you were right from the start. I’m now in a flood zone. If the resort’s permit is valid, that’s a permanent situation. I can’t live behind a wall of sandbags forever. According to the city’s zoning ordinances, I can’t live here at all.”
“I know.” He covered her hand with his. “I have a plan for that, too.”
“A three-phase plan?” Dark brows arched. “Isn’t that where we started?”
Hopefully not where they ended. “You love this barn. I get that. You also own it. Every board. Every brick. So, we’re going to move it—every board, every brick.”
Her mouth fell open. “Move it where?”
“That’s up to you, but…” This was where the plan got personal. He pulled her in closer and tipped her chin until their eyes met. “I just happen to hold the deed on the perfect spot. Big, quiet lot. Plenty of trees. It’s zoned for residential use, and water encroachment isn’t an issue.”
She gripped his hand. “Are you serious? You’d let me put my barn on your lot?”
“Well, it’s a little more complicated. There are some strings attached to my offer.”
