Every person in this room either owned a building in the ghost town—civic or commercial—which gave them a vote in the society, or their income was directly linked to the money the tourist season brought in.
Gotta love small-town Friday nights.
“Now, Peter, I hear what you’re saying. I do. But it’s not about us giving them the caramel corn as much as it is them keeping it. It’s unfair to take their time-honored tradition when they’ve perfected it over the last fifty years,” Walter Robinson responded, peering over his reading glasses from the center of the horseshoe-shaped dais where the council sat.
I shifted in my folding chair in the back of the room and glanced over this week’s agenda. We were twenty minutes into the meeting and still dealing with item number three, where voting members requested changes to their summer business plans. Luckily, I had snacks, because it could get Survivor in here real quick, and I had to make it to item seven to present my new Alba logo for the marketing plan.
“He bitches about this every year,” Thea muttered next to me. “Get over it, Peter, and be happy with your cotton-candy machine, for God’s sake,” she called out.
My pretzel went down the wrong pipe, and Thea pounded on my back until I stopped coughing.
“Mrs. Lambert, if you could avoid interjecting commentary,” Dad said into his microphone. As a founding member, he had occupied his seat on the council since Grandpa died. Five seats on the council were reserved for the eldest surviving members of the founding families, and the other four were elected annually from the voting members.
Basically, if the founding families wanted something—or didn’t—they got their way.
“I’ll avoid the commentary if he stops asking for the same thing year after year.” Thea folded her arms across her chest.
Oh man, I knew that look, and Dad was not happy.
“Okay, if we can stay on topic,” Walter said, leaning forward in his foreman’s seat. “Peter, I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to decline your request. I know we all believe in capitalism, but it’s not in our best interest to compete with each other when it comes to the season, and you know it. Caramel corn is pretty much what keeps Mrs. Halverson’s feed store in business. And besides, last time I checked, you were the only vendor allowed to sell sunscreen. Did you want to offer Mrs. Halverson a trade? Her caramel corn for your sunscreen?”
Peter glanced at Mary Murphy, the society’s secretary, as she lifted her pen, ready to record. “No.” He quickly shook his head. “I’m happy with what I have. Thank you.” He took his stack of papers and sat on the edge of the third row.
“Greedy asshat,” Thea whispered. “He owns the drugstore. He makes more money than almost anyone else up here during the season.”
“Not that your mom doesn’t score with her restaurant,” I reminded her.
“True, but you don’t see her trying to take Jennifer’s freaking caramel corn.”
“You have a point.” I doodled on the notebook I’d brought with me, sketching out an idea for a logo I’d gotten a commission for today. Business was good, and it was even better that I could work remotely.
James Hudgens took the podium and pitched the changes in his summer plan for the old Alba firehouse. How that man had ever produced an ass like Oscar, I’d never know.
A body occupied the seat next to me as I added shading to the design I was tinkering with.
Thea nudged me with her elbow, and I yelped, shooting her a glare.
She raised her eyebrows and glanced pointedly to the seat on my other side.
“He really thinks that Alba FD beer koozies are going to sell?” Cam’s voice rippled through me like an avalanche, crumbling what measly defenses I’d tried to construct in the almost week since I’d seen him. Not that I was counting.
I tried to steady my heart with a deep breath, but the darn thing wasn’t listening. Apparently I could go six years without seeing him and be fine, but six days turned me into a teenager. Awesome, I actually was counting days.
“It’s hard for the guys like James,” I told him quietly. “The supplemental fund helps, but you know the owners of the civic buildings don’t make much.”
“I’m not taking exception to his merchandising, just the merchandise.” He shrugged.
Ugh, his profile was annoyingly imperfectly perfect. He knew it, too. Even his eyebrow had an arrogant curve to it. His beard was trimmed close, softening his jawline, but I knew from the way he ran his thumb over it that he’d shave it soon.
I hated that I knew that.
Couldn’t he have gotten uglier in the last decade? At least have a receding hairline or something?
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I thought you told me to come,” he replied, still focused forward.
“Right. And when was the last time you listened to me?”
“Apparently right now.” He smirked.
I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at him like we were back in elementary school. Everything had been so orderly two weeks ago, so…safe. Predictable, even. The very reasons I liked Alba no longer existed with Cam in town.
“What’s that?” I asked, spying a manila envelope in his hands.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he replied in a singsong voice.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one struggling with acting my age.
“If that’s our last request, then I move to enter all summer business plans as final for this season,” Dad said.
Cam’s jaw clenched.
“Actually, I know there’s a matter of business on the agenda being brought by Mrs. Powers later that may affect summer plans, so I’d like to keep this matter open until the end of the meeting,” Mary Murphy stated from her council seat, her fingers twisting her single strand of pearls.
“Mrs. Murphy has a seat now, huh?” Cam asked, stating the obvious.
“She was elected about five years ago,” Thea replied. “And it’s nice to see you, Cam.”
“You too, Thea. How’s Patrick?” He leaned forward and offered Thea a quick smile.
“Probably bored out of his mind right now.” She pointed to where her husband sat two seats down from my dad. “He was elected to the council last year after his dad passed.”
Cam’s eyes sought out Patrick. “Wow, I didn’t recognize him.” The light in his eyes died, and he dropped his gaze to the folder in his lap.
“I’m sure he’d love to see you,” Thea lied.
“Right. I somehow doubt that.” He pushed the sleeves of his shirt up his forearms, then seemed to think twice about it and pulled them back down.
“What’s got you nervous?” I asked as Tyler Williamson took the podium to introduce new business.
He finally looked at me, and butterflies shot through my belly. Don’t react. Do. Not. React. Funny thing about my body: it always betrayed my logical brain when Cam was near.
“I’ll tell you later,” he promised as Dorothy Powers took the podium, leaving Arthur Daniels next to the seat she’d vacated.
“It’s still weird to see Xander in your dad’s seat.”
As if Xander heard me, he saw Cam in the crowd and forced a fake smile.
Cam gave him a two-fingered wave and looked away quickly. My bewilderment only grew when Art looked back at Cam and gave him a subtle nod.
What the fresh hell was going on?
“As you know…” Dorothy leaned into the microphone, her voice booming through the hall. “One of Alba’s own has recently returned to our fair town. I’m excited to say that Camden Daniels would like to submit his summer plan. Now, what he’s proposing might not be feasible until the end of the season—”
I blinked. Surely I didn’t hear what I thought I did.
“Respectfully, Mrs. Powers, let me stop you there,” Dad interjected. “Only a voting mem
ber can propose a summer plan, and seeing as Art is happily still with us, the Daniels family only maintains one voting position in the Historical Society.”
“You have a summer plan?” I hissed at Cam, irrationally insulted that he hadn’t told me. Having a summer plan implied that he wasn’t just home…he really was staying. My heart stuttered, then raced.
Cam ignored me, but he gripped his folder tighter.
Every council member’s attention flickered between Dorothy and Cam in obvious, open shock.
“Respectfully,” Dorothy replied, saccharine sweet, “I’m well aware of our rules, Mr. Bradley. I’ve been a voting member for the last twenty-five years. If my memory serves me right, you’ve been in that seat for the past…seven?”
Dad’s mouth twisted, but he didn’t open it. Man, was I glad I didn’t live at home anymore, because he was going to be livid for days.
“Now, you’re right, of course,” Dorothy placated him, “but if you’ll take a look at these—” She nodded to Mom, who walked up to the dais with a folder and began handing a set of papers to each council member. “You’ll see that when Cal Daniels passed away, he left all of his estate to his nephew Camden. He didn’t split it between the Daniels boys. He chose Cam as his sole heir, which also transfers his membership seat.”
The council buzzed, covering their microphones so we couldn’t hear them. People blatantly turned around in their seats to gawk or glare at Cam.
“Milton?” Genevieve asked from her council seat.
Milton Sanders, Alba’s only practicing lawyer, seeing as Simon practiced in Buena Vista, stood and made his way to the podium. He ran his hand through his head of thick brown hair as he read over Dorothy’s documents.
“He hates me,” Cam muttered.
“That won’t matter. He’s the Historical Society’s lawyer,” I whispered, which earned me a glare from three of the women sitting ahead of us.
Mrs. Rhodes shook her head at me before turning back around.
Well, that was uncalled for.
“This is Alba. It matters,” Cam concluded.
My eyes met those aimed in Cam’s direction, staring down each of our townspeople until they looked away. He didn’t deserve this kind of treatment.
“Actually, this looks like the boy has a seat,” Milton answered.
The buzz in the room grew to a roar.
“We can’t leave voting memberships in our wills,” Dad countered.
“No, but section seven, paragraph three of our bylaws states that seats pass to our recognized familial heirs, and Cal’s will is worded such that it names Camden as his sole, recognized familial heir.” Milton shrugged.
“He knew what he was doing,” I whispered.
“Always did.” Cam kept his eyes locked on the council.
“Then, it’s not valid!” Genevieve squawked.
“Well, it seems Judge Bradley accepted the will as valid when Cal died, so…” Milton looked up at Dad, whose face now resembled a tomato. I wasn’t sure if it was in embarrassment or anger, but either way, the man was red.
“But he doesn’t meet the requirement,” Pat interjected from his council seat. “He has to have been a full-time resident of Alba for a year before he can exercise his membership.”
Thea crossed her arms. Pat was going to get an earful at home.
Were they all against him?
Heads around us nodded in agreement.
Guess so.
“That would normally be so, but paragraph five states that the residency stipulation is waived upon any return from military service, given that the member does not delay in asking for it.” Milton turned to look over the crowd. “Camden? Are you asking for the residency stipulation to be waived?”
“I am.” Cam stood, attracting every eye that hadn’t been able to see him before.
“Well, as much as I hate to say it, Camden Daniels qualifies for a voting membership seat,” Milton told the council. “We now stand at twenty-seven voting members and nine council members.”
“And what personal property does he list for inclusion of the historical district?” Xander asked.
My heart sank. Xander was actually speaking out against his brother? Even on our worst days, I’d never stand opposite Charity.
Cam didn’t show a single sign that he was surprised. He’d expected Xander’s lack of support?
“Come on up here, Cam,” Dorothy urged, waving him up.
Cam walked up the center aisle, his head high.
“This is the best Historical Society meeting I’ve been to in ages,” Thea remarked.
That earned a good glare from the three women ahead of us, but I noted that Mrs. Rhodes didn’t glare at her. She aimed that sour face right at me. “It’s not like he can claim the bunkhouse as his property, now, is it?” she remarked with a hiss. “You barely made it out of that fire alive yourself, Willow Bradley. I would think you’d know better.”
My jaw slackened as she turned around with a judgmental shake of her head.
“He didn’t—” I started, but Thea put her hand on my leg.
“Don’t bother. They’ll think what they want to anyway.”
“I’m glad you asked, brother,” Camden said into the microphone. “I am the owner of the Rose Rowan building on Main Street. Cal bought the property from the mining company and left it to me in that same will.”
If my muscles tensed any more, they were going to snap in half.
“Are you serious?” Xander asked as Dad smirked.
“I am,” Cam insisted. “And though it is not in any condition to—”
“There’s three feet of snow sitting inside that building right now, because it doesn’t have a roof,” Xander continued.
“Correct, and according to section two, paragraph four of our bylaws, an owner wishing to exercise his vote has two seasons to renovate his property to be considered for the benefit of the Historical Society but may use his status as a voting member immediately.”
“What would he want with it, anyway?” Mrs. Rhodes snapped.
“Probably wants to burn the place to the ground,” another woman answered. “That boy’s never cared about this town.” I didn’t bother to see who said it, not when it would have taken an act of God to look away from Cam.
“You understand you’ll need a restoration expert,” Dad fired into his microphone. “A Historical Society–approved expert.”
My scalp tingled. Oh God. I wasn’t going to have to say it, was I? Surely—
“Well, I’m certainly not volunteering to help him,” Genevieve added with her nose in the air. “You’ve done your fair share of damage to this town, Camden, and I’m not willing to lend my expertise so you can take down the Historical Society. We’re all that keeps Alba in business.”
A murmur of agreement went through the room.
Crap. I liked my uncomplicated little life. I liked designing logos and such for the Historical Society but not getting pulled in any deeper than I had time for. I liked my boundaries, and I had a feeling I was about to break them all for the boy I’d sworn I’d never give anything else to.
Except that reckless boy was now a man who appeared to be doing his best to prove that he’d changed to a town that didn’t want to let him.
“I think that settles it,” Dad said. “Doesn’t it, Foreman?”
Walter’s eyes were heavy as he looked at Cam. “I’m sorry, son, but unless you have a society-approved restoration specialist up your sleeve, I’m bound by the bylaws, even if certain members are just acting out of spite.”
Dad smirked.
It was cruel and ugly and sparked something within me too loud to ignore.
I found my feet, my notepad falling to the floor with a thud as indignation flooded my cheeks with heat.
“I’ll do it,” I blurted.
The noise level only increased, so I climbed up on my chair, put two fingers between my lips, and let loose a shrill whistle.
Silence followed, with a whole lot of people staring right at me.
“I said, I’ll do it!” Pretty sure everyone down to Buena Vista heard that one.
“Willow Bradley, you get down off that chair!” Dad bellowed.
I did, out of sheer habit. Then I sucked in a deep breath and headed for the aisle, walking down the ominous path to where Cam waited, watching me with a focus so intense, I nearly tripped.
“What are you doing?” he whispered once I reached him.
“You took a bullet for me, so I’m taking one for you. Now move over and let me.” I didn’t bother to mask my determination as I stared up at him. Who cared what the town thought or how angry my dad was going to be?
Just when I thought Cam wasn’t going to relent, he stepped to the side and then stood by mine as I walked up to the podium. My fingers shook as I lowered the microphone.
“I’ll be his restoration expert.” My voice was a lot steadier than my nerves, thank God. They already saw me as a child; the last thing I needed was to act like one, too.
“Willow, we know your heart is in the right place.” Genevieve’s voice dripped with sympathy. “After all, Camden is Sullivan’s brother, and I know you must feel obligated to help him on Sully’s behalf. But, honey, how on earth are you going to be a restoration expert? Don’t you draw things on the computer? That’s hardly historical, dear.”
My resolve hardened from steel to titanium.
“This isn’t about Sullivan. This is about Cam. More than that, it’s about doing the right thing. Cam has a right, and you’re trying to deny it out of sheer pettiness.” I shook my head in disgust. “I graduated last year from Rutgers, which is one of the top five art schools in the country,” I said, turning my focus to Walter. As foreman, he’d have the power to approve me.
“In graphic design,” Dad interjected. “Not the same thing.”
I thought of that little onyx rook on my desk. The knight I kept in my nightstand drawer. The other pieces I’d tucked away, all memories from the boy who stood next to me in a man’s body.
Great and Precious Things Page 11
