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He wasn’t exactly thrilled to leave a bunch of girls and a fire unattended, but he figured he’d check on them once he met with his project manager. So after instructing the girls on how to properly put out a fire, he headed to the work site.
On the way down, Deacon enjoyed the view of the crystal-blue lake and deep-green forest. Or at least he did until his gaze landed on the earthmover and backhoes that sat in the clearing. They seemed as out of place in the beautiful setting as three-story condos would be. The thought came out of nowhere, but he realized it was true. No matter how good a job he did, the buildings would still stand out like a man-made sore thumb in this God-made beautiful setting.
The thought stuck with him as he waited for his project manager, and settled into a hard knot of discontentment. To ease the uncomfortable feeling, he picked up a rock and tried to skip it across the lake. But his rock-skipping was as rusty as his fire-starting. The rock disappeared into the water with a loud pluck. It took a few more tries before he got it right.
“Impressive.”
He turned to find the project manager getting out of a dually truck. Cory Davis had gone to school with Nash. He was a good guy with a strong work ethic, which was why Deacon had hired him.
“Hey, man.” Deacon shook his hand. “Thanks for meeting me out here on such short notice.”
“No problem. So as you can see, the equipment is here, and I planned on breaking ground on Monday. Is that okay with you?”
A few hours ago that would’ve been more than okay. But now Deacon wasn’t so sure. Instead of answering, he picked up another rock and tossed it. “So have you ever been to the camp out here?”
“Yeah. My brother’s kids have gone to it the last couple years. And I came out once for family day.” He picked up a rock and threw it. It skipped twice as far as Deacon’s. Which had Deacon grabbing another rock.
“Is it a good camp?” he asked.
“It appears to be, but whoever built the cabins could’ve taken a course in carpentry. They can’t be more than ten years old, and they already need new roofs. But since we’re going to be tearing them down anyway, I guess it doesn’t matter.”
Deacon chucked the rock as far as he could, but it still didn’t go as far as Cory’s had. Then he remembered what his mother had taught him: rock-skipping had nothing to do with strength and everything to do with technique. He picked up another rock and tossed it—this time letting the rock easily sail from his fingers rather than forcing it. It skipped past Cory’s spot and then disappeared into the darkness of the water. Just as so many memories of his mother had disappeared from Deacon’s life. And suddenly he couldn’t stand the thought of one more disappearing.
“So do you want me to start Monday?” Cory asked.
He turned to Cory. “I don’t want you to start at all.”
Cory looked confused. “Look, Deke, if you’re worried about moving the camp, you don’t have to be. The camp could stay right where it is.”
“Yeah, but what good is a camp if there’s a bunch of condos blocking your view?”
Cory laughed. “You’re sounding a little like Nash. He’s the one who’s always looking out for the underdog. I thought you were more about making money.”
It was true. Or at least it had been. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the young girls missing out on their camping summers. Or the thought of his own daughters coming here to swim and fish and…dance around fires.
“People change,” he said.
Cory studied him for a second. “Yeah, I guess they do. So you want me to have the equipment picked up?”
“Yes, bill me for the cost. And I’d like you to do another job for me as soon as I get my finances settled.”
“More condos?”
Deacon grinned. “I was thinking about fixing some cabins.”
Cory lifted his eyebrows. “And how is that going to make you money, Deke?”
“Haven’t you heard that money isn’t everything?”
Cory laughed. “Yeah, I’ve heard that. But never from Deacon Beaumont.”
***
After Cory left, Deacon hiked up to check on the girls. He was actually disappointed to find them gone. The fire was out, properly doused with water and covered with dirt. He checked for any live embers before he headed to his rental car. He wanted to get back to San Francisco and Olivia, but he’d never believed in putting off until tomorrow what you could do today. Now that he’d decided to scrap the condo project, he needed to talk with Francesca.
Francesca came from old money, and her house reflected that. Built in the early eighteen hundreds by a French ancestor, the plantation-style had towering columns and wide verandas. At one time Deacon had been impressed by the grandeur of the house. Now it just looked old. It even smelled old. Once he was directed into the front sitting room by the maid, he couldn’t help noticing the musty scent that seemed to come from the dark rugs and antique furniture.
He had been in the room before on two separate occasions—once to present his proposal for the condos and ask for money and once to escort Francesca to one of her charity events—and both times he’d felt as uncomfortable as he did now. Not wanting to sit, he walked to the fireplace and looked at the pictures on the mantel. Most were of Francesca. Which wasn’t surprising. The woman had an ego the size of Louisiana. But a few were of a dark-haired man close to Deacon’s age. Obviously Deacon wasn’t the first younger man Francesca had been interested in.
