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"Then get them over here," Aunt Ophelia demands, pointing an authoritative finger at Dillon. "I'm not moving from this spot until I speak to whoever came up with the crackpot plan to desecrate a fountain that's been in this town since before any of you were born without input from a single voter."
"I can't convene a city council meeting on your whim, Ms. Crawford."
"You will if you want my old ass out of your police department sometime this century, dear boy," she says, beaming at him from her chair. She smooths her blouse and folds her hands on her lap. "You have a job to do. I've got nothing to do until the day I die."
"Jesus fucking Christ," Dillon growls, throwing his hands up. "Someone get the mayor on the goddamn phone." His eyes fall on me and Finn, his scowl deepening. "She escaped the nursing home."
"I see that," Finn says.
"Oh, Scarlett, dear," Aunt Ophelia says, turning a bright smile on me. "Did this big idiot call you?"
"No, Aunt Ophelia," I say softly, crossing the lobby toward her. "The nursing home did. You ran away."
"Pah." She waves a hand in the air. "I'm not a prisoner, dear. I can go for a stroll if I want."
"You're supposed to sign out before you leave," I remind her, slipping into the seat next to her. I ignore the part about her going for a stroll. The nursing home is well over two miles in the other direction. If she walked all the way here, I may have a heart attack. "You can't just walk out. They tend to panic when you do that, you know."
"Do they? I wasn't aware." Her shifty eyes say different. She knew darn well they would panic.
"Aunt Ophelia," I chastise, laughing quietly. "You're a menace, you know that? I thought something horrible happened to you."
"I'm sorry, dear one." She touches my cheek in genuine remorse. "I didn't mean to give you a fright. I'll check out next time if it's so important to you."
"Thank you," I sigh. "Now, why are we torturing Sheriff Armstrong today?"
She sniffs, sending a glare in his direction. "He wasn't spanked nearly enough as a boy."
"Aunt Ophelia!"
"It's true."
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh. It'll only encourage her and she does not need more of that. Good grief, she's savage. I watch from the corner of my eye as Finn and Dillon argue back and forth.
"The fountain downtown has been there since 1947," she says. "I still remember when they were installing it. When it got hot in the summer, we'd splash and play in it. But I picked up the paper this morning to discover that this fool plans to tear it down to build a new jail."
"I'm sure that's not his decision, Aunt Ophelia," I say softly.
"Pah," she says. "I don't care whose decision it is. That fountain is a part of this town. It's a historical landmark. They'll tear it down to build a jail over my dead body. You don't mess with the water in this town, dear. It's special. They've been the lifeblood of this town for generations."
My brows furrow, my lips pulling down into a frown. For years, people have gone on about the water in this town. Even Finn swears it's magic, and Finn didn't even believe in Santa as a kid! "What do you mean the water in this town is special?"
"It comes from an underground lake," she explains. "The same one that feeds the Riviera and the waterfalls. When the droughts hit Texas in the 1930s and everything was drying up, this place never did. Farmers who settled here helped keep this state alive during those years and have been rewarded handsomely for it. That's how this town got its name."
"I didn't know that."
"Not many do now." She pats my hand. "After the droughts ended, the town took a look around and realized that things here were different. The whole town survived the worst thing to hit Texas in memory and come out even stronger. Businesses were booming. Families were thriving. They were convinced it was the water."
"Was it?"
"It's been ninety years and this town is as strong as ever." She winks at me. "Maybe it's the water that's special. Maybe it's simply that peoplebelievethe water is special."
I mull that over and then smile. I think she's right. It doesn't matter if the water really is special or if it's simply that people believe it, what matters is that people do believe it. And that fountain means something to this town, even if no one remembers why.
I lift my gaze to Finn to find him and Dillon both watching us.
"The fountain stays," I say quietly, meeting my husband's gaze.
I can tell by the look in his eyes that he agrees. He'll fight for Aunt Ophelia's fountain. And he'll win. Because that's what my husband does. He's not just a super-spy. He's the most incredible man I've ever known.
