“I’ll…remember that.” Some of Annie’s tension lessened, but only a little. The woman was about her mother’s age—but had a kind look in her eyes. She looked like she' spent most of her time baking those cookies, with grandchildren pulling on her apron.
Annie tugged on the edge of the scrub top she wore and brushed a hand over her hair once. Light-brown waves hung in her eyes, reminding her that she probably should have had a trim before doing this.
She should have made certain she looked her very best, instead of like a worn-out dishcloth.
A quick glance down reassured her that, while wrinkled, at least her scrubs were clean. That wasn’t always a given this late in her day.
No doubt she looked as frazzled as she felt. Twelve hours in the busiest ER in Finley Creek would do that to a woman. Not to mention 110-degree July Texas heat.
And fear of losing the people who mattered most.
This man had the power to keep that from happening. Best to seize the opportunity when she could. She could get through this and get on with her life. It was time to do just that.
Annie pulled in another deep breath and pushed open the door.
Time to beard the beast in his den.
2
Mayor Turner Barratt had three-hundred-eighty-seven to-dos on his list, a growling stomach, and a splitting tension headache. But he stayed at his desk. He wasn’t going anywhere for at least another fifteen minutes. One more person to deal with, and it was done.
He schooled his expression to be businesslike and welcoming, though he wanted to snarl at the person about to step into his office.
This meeting was a favor for a family connection. That mattered.
Turner was a Barratt, and Barratts did what they had to do for family.
He’d deal with this nurse with a complaint—he wasn’t entirely certain what the meeting was about—and head home. Take some damned medicine for his head, and then sleep for as long as he possibly could. To begin everything again the next day.
Like every other day before.
Turner knew he was decent at being the mayor of Finley Creek, but it was a tougher job than being a corporate attorney. He’d never thought he’d look back on his time with the family firm as being an easy vocation. At least, he had known what he was doing as an attorney. Even though he’d had two years a deputy mayor, he had never intended to take the top spot.
He hadn’t even run for election. He’d inherited the position when the previous mayor had had a massive heart attack at the very desk where Turner sat now. Sometimes, he felt the ghosts of the city surrounding him.
It didn’t help that his great-something-grandfather was responsible for founding the very town he ran now. Family legacy had him at this desk as much as anything else.
The man he was named after had built the very street city hall sat on. Turner felt a responsibility to his city.
He probably always would.
Crazy, maybe. Sappy, definitely. But he was a Barratt. They were raised to meet their responsibilities.
Sometimes, he felt like the spirits of his predecessors were watching him, waiting to see if he’d rise to the task of running the city.
Richard had loved the city a great deal. Turner wasn’t certain he’d ever be able to live up to the legacy. The man had been a mentor in his own life from the time he was a teenager and his parents had suggested he do volunteer work for the city. Turner had found a calling he hadn’t ever known he’d possessed. Most of his work as a corporate attorney had been helping those who couldn’t quite afford it. It had been his way to keep doing good.
Richard had convinced him he could do just as much good as part-time deputy mayor for the city. Richard had needed him, someone younger and more energetic and passionate about Finley Creek. It had worked; Turner had signed on for the part-time position and tried to the best he could in it.
Richard’s death had changed everything for Turner.
The door opened, and he looked up just as thunder cracked overhead. The lights flickered. Wind swirled outside, almost melodramatically. Turner would never forget how the air had charged in that instant. Ridiculous, maybe. But truth.
Or maybe his pounding headache was messing with his brain or something.
A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway, light from the bay of windows in the hallway behind her just enough to delineate a sweet little figure. A very nice, feminine figure that had him wanting to look a little closer.
The woman gasped and stopped moving. Turner stood. No sense in her bumping an elbow or a knee because of the storm. He didn’t know how it worked if she were hurt in his office. “Hang on. I’ll give you a hand to the chair—Miss...”
“Gaines. I’m Annabelle Gaines. I work with Jillian Beck—Jillian Deane. She set up this meeting for me, through her sister…Mel. Mel’s a friend of mine, too. They said you might be able to help me.”
“Yes. Of course.” He vaguely recalled meeting a handful of nurses a few times at his cousin Houghton’s. Friends of Houghton’s wife, he believed.
He didn’t remember an Annie, though. But he’d been distracted by reorganizing his city after Richard’s death and hadn’t paid much attention for a while there.
His mistake. He should have paid attention. Paid close attention.
The lights flickered on again.
Turner took his first good look at the woman keeping him from going home.
And there she was. Beautiful, nervous, sweet, shy. Big blue eyes looked into his.
There was power in eyes like that.
Turner just stared, like an idiot. Like every Barratt man who’d ever come before him. Instant lust had just smacked him straight in the gut for the first time in his thirty-five years.
That could be why he suddenly couldn’t breathe.
He stared at her, like a boy first noticing that pretty girls were often shaped just a little differently, and in an interesting way.
She was on the small side, especially compared to his six foot four. Her hair was warm light brown and pulled up in a knot on the back of her head. Some of it had escaped and curled around her cheeks. Little dimples peeked out when she smiled nervously at him. She was adorably disheveled, dressed in rumpled hospital scrubs and little white shoes.
Her eyes were big and light blue. Her skin was pale, and there were freckles over her nose. It was a delicate nose, thin and pretty.
Pretty described her perfectly. The hospital scrubs she wore were jade green and hung loosely on her body. She didn’t have a lot of curves to fill them out, but what were there had his attention sharpening. Her mouth was soft perfection, but he wanted it to smile.
For her to smile at him specifically. He wanted to replace the fear and nerves in her eyes with humor, joy. Lust.
Turner was a healthy male animal, after all. This was a healthy female. He appreciated that. His headache lessened.
“I’m T—”
“I know who you are.” She frowned at him, and he fought a grin. This woman was adorable. He’d always found adorable irresistible.
She was not very pleased with him right now, though. Turner had no idea what he’d done to her. He wanted to know, so that he could fix it.
“I—please sit down, Miss Gaines. How can I help you?”
“This.” She held out a letter with a small hand that trembled. He took the letter quickly and read it. He winced.
Hell.
He’d known that people would be affected by his plans to clean up Boethe Street—some more so than others. But he hadn’t expected to see one right in front of him today.
He had been fighting the city council to find a better solution, but while they’d agreed to half his plan, they were playing hardball on the other half. And they were adamant about the planned location. It had to be at the end of Boethe Street just before it turned from commercial buildings to residential. Retailers would benefit from the population living in that region the most.
They wanted that space for business offices, as
well. Even Lucas Tech from St. Louis was planning an expansion in that area. The revenue that company would bring to the city was astronomical. And needed.
The numbers showed a great benefit to the city. One the city needed. Funds weren’t always available to keep the civic programs Turner wanted going.
There was plenty of adequate building space less than a quarter mile away that Turner felt would work just as well, with an equally sized population surrounding it. But that population wasn’t as affluent as certain council members wanted. Which had never made sense to him—the population surrounding Boethe Street weren’t exactly upper middle-class.
He’d tried explaining that himself. Repeatedly.
There were a few hardcore idiots who were determined to have their way—he half thought it was just to thwart him.
This woman and her family had apparently fallen on the wrong side of the deal. Now those big, blue eyes were looking at him to fix things. Turner wanted to be her hero. He knew himself well enough to realize that right off the bat. But he didn’t see that happening. “I’m sorry. I...knew some families would be evicted, but I’m trying to work out a solution.”
“Some? Try thirty-two. In a matter of weeks, I’m going to lose my home. Along with thirty-two other families. Ninety-eight people. Real people. Ranging from the age of two months to ninety-four. Not the people you see on those commercials you've been airing. So what’s your solution going to be, Mayor Barratt?”
Her words were even more powerful for how quiet they were. How sincere.
“To be honest, I don't know. I am trying, though. I've got paperwork in motion to get the condemnations stopped for as long as I can. Buy some time. This was not what was intended. Do you have an attorney?” It hadn't even been his plan to begin with. He hadn't been the mayor at the time the plan was first started. He'd thought it was a good plan, though. One that required modification.
He’d fought for that modification, and Richard had been convinced, but had died before anything could be implemented. Almost days before. Grief for the man who’d mentored him was still a jabbing knife. Richard would have known what to do about the woman in front of him now. Richard would have been able to fix things. “I'm trying to get this fixed, Miss Gaines. I can promise you that. I wish there was a way I could help more.”
“So that's it? We're just supposed to take your word? And hope that this resolves itself? People are waiting for me to figure out an answer to this. They are counting on me. I won’t let them down.” Her voice wavered.
Turner put the letter on the desk between them. She was shaking in front of him. He got the impression she was shy and non-confrontational. And he was the ogre she was fighting against. Damn it, that was the last thing he wanted her to feel. “I...”
He didn't know what to say. He knew the law, and it wasn't on her side. The city could take her home, and her neighbors’, for its purposes. It was perfectly legal. She could contest it, and Texas had steps she could take, but ultimately, she would most likely lose.
Most eminent domain cases were found in favor of the cities involved. But most cities also offered lower offers than they should. It wasn’t a policy he agreed with, but he understood the financial necessity for it. Far too much of his day was spent trying to make pennies turn into dimes so his city would have the resources it needed. He always settled for pennies into nickels instead.
Turner hated math. Especially business math. He was much better at dealing with people.
Mostly.
He was used to helping people. It didn’t feel like he’d done much to help people lately, though.
“Fight it. You’ll get a better deal.” That was all the advice he could truly give her.
The thirty-something families that would be displaced would eventually be offered fair market value for their homes; but he doubted many of the homes on Boethe Street were worth very much. They were the lowest-valued homes in his downtown area. There were city council members pushing for the lowest possible offer.
That might be standard in eminent domain situations, but it wasn’t exactly how a Barratt did things.
Barratts ran their businesses—or their city—with honesty. And always had. Always would.
What the letter said the city was offering wasn’t much more than enough for a down payment somewhere else. In a down housing market. Chances were good the evictees would face a tougher economic situation than they currently lived with. That was not what Turner had ever intended to happen. Talk about a publicity nightmare, at the very least. He wondered if the councilmembers who were pushing for this—there were four of them he could think of in full support—realized how unfavorably the public would view this.
Hell, Turner viewed it unfavorably, as well. He just didn’t know how to fix this.
It was no wonder people weren’t happy. Sometimes, the city council forgot the human element of the city.
Turner hoped he never did.
“I need to know what we are supposed to do. I have neighbors counting on me to find the answers for them. They…some of them are homebound, Mayor Barratt. A move right now will change their entire world. And not in ways that are good. It means nursing homes and elderly apartments that aren’t in the greatest of shape, and the loss of life savings they were counting on. This is not good. For any of us.”
There weren't any tears in those blue eyes, but he sensed she was close to it. No. There was no way he was going to be responsible for making her cry.
Nor did he want to be responsible for sending elderly shut-ins to the poorhouse.
Turner stood and rounded his desk. He stepped in front of her chair. She looked up at him, those sweet blue eyes sad and a little scared and far too powerful for his peace of mind. Filled with a hope that he could fix this. Never had he felt more useless as a mayor as he did in that exact moment.
“Miss...Annie...I don't know yet. But I'm going to try to find an answer for you. I have a cousin, Powell. Powell owns a million properties. I'll find you someplace else to stay myself. She’s a property attorney. I’d be happy to put you in touch with her; she can help you with the process of this. But to be honest, I’m trying, and I’ve talked until I’m blue in the face. But there are those on the council who are hellbent on this. And they have far more sway than I do. They won’t budge even a hundred feet on the location.”
“I can afford another home, Mayor Barratt. I’m not worried about finding a place to live.” Pride had her chin lifting. For some reason, Turner thought his offer had insulted her. That had been the furthest intention he had.
“But what about the rest of my neighbors? The Bennetts are in their mid-eighties. They've been in their home for almost sixty years. As have the Hendersons. Gia Martinez and her six-month-old daughter just moved into their house. She bought it with life insurance money from her mother. It was all she could afford. She can't afford a house payment right now. She just can't. My sister watches her baby for her because she can't afford daycare. What about them, Mayor Barratt?”
She shifted in the chair, glancing toward the window behind his desk. But he got the feeling she didn’t see the clouds building outside.
“These are real people, with real stories. You can't let this happen to them. And, while I can afford to move, I shouldn’t have to be forced to. That house has been my home since I was twelve years old. I was paying the mortgage on it by the age of fifteen. I replaced the roof on it with my own money at fourteen. It’s in my name now. I shouldn’t have to lose that.”
He nodded. He knew they were real people, with real stories that he wouldn’t comprehend, considering his privileged background. He understood what she was trying to do. She was trying to protect the people she cared about. Same as he would in her same position. “I've been trying for several months to get this figured out. I promise I'm not just letting this happen to you, or anyone else. If nothing else, I’ll make sure you’ll get a fair deal. The best deal possible.”
“Then why is it happening at all?”
“Because we haven't come up with a solution to it just yet.” And unfortunately, he didn’t think there would be a solution that worked for everyone. The Boethe Street project was a sound business move—that would greatly benefit the city. The revenue from that shopping complex would bolster the funds for the rest of the neighborhood in a way that was greatly needed.
That a few houses would be torn down was just an unfortunate but necessary consequence. As much as he wanted to make it work for her, he didn’t think he could. Turner wasn’t naïve.
He’d just about been ready to give in to the pushing from his two most vocal city council members. Like it or not, he was needed in other parts of the city far more than an eight-block section of the most run-down street in the city.
But he had never expected to have one of the residents of that section in his office today. It made it a lot more real, and a lot more personal.
Turner's phone beeped, then turned to a long, loud warning signal. He grabbed it quickly; protocol demanded he evaluate every warning to come through. “I'm sorry. I need to check this weather warning. Duty calls.”
“No, I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have taken up your time. I need to...” She stood, giving a look around. One that told him she was overwhelmed and confused. And…disappointed in him. She’d lost her hope. Because of him. That stung. “I honestly don’t know what I expected to happen here. I knew it was a long shot, but Mel and Jillian were insistent I talk to you. They said you might be able to help. Mel…”
Mel. His cousin’s wife was family. And if he couldn’t help with this, it wasn’t just Annie he had let down.
Barratts did what they could for family, after all.
“Just give me a minute, Annie. Let me see what this notice is about, then you and I can sit down. Try to find a solution together.” He’d never been a quitter. He was a Barratt. He had to try at least one more time. “You know the people involved much better than I ever could. Maybe you'll find a way that I can't see. At the least, I can call Powell, and we can ask her any legal questions you might have. I’ll play the family discount card. She owes me several favors.”
Walk Through the Fire (Finley Creek Book 10) Page 2
