She was still on the clock. Annie knew better. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking.
“Turner and I were in city hall together when the storm hit. He…saved my life.”
“No, I didn’t. We saved it together.” Turner shot her a look, one she would need a few days to interpret, Annie thought. “And now she’s stuck in my head and won’t get out. And I don’t want her to get out. But Annie is playing hard-to-get.”
“Seriously? Just because a woman tells you no, bro, doesn’t mean she’s playing hard to get.”
Yes, Annie did like Tucker Barratt. She’d have to introduce him to Izzie. Even though his suit was even more stuffy than any she’d seen Turner or his cousin Houghton or even Rafe wear, he seemed to be reasonable. Steady.
No doubt Izzie would like him, too.
“I like your brothers, Turner. Tucker reminds me of Houghton. Trevor, not so much, but I liked him, too.”
Trevor had taken one look at Delancey and promised he’d stick close, to add another non-TSP barrier between her and whoever would hurt her.
“So she’s already met the family? And she hasn’t gone running?” Tucker asked, as she started cutting Turner’s shirt away. “So…when’s the wedding?”
“What?” Annie pulled the sheers back and looked at the man next to Turner.
“Geesh, Tuck, way to rush her right out the door. Or make her freak while holding scissors next to my skin. I haven’t quite gotten that far with her…yet.”
“I think you should just pull a Houghton then. Once you aren’t all bruised up and useless, anyway. She’s small and light enough. Just toss her over your shoulder and take her off to Mexico. I’ll even help. I’ll drive you to Houghton’s private jet.”
Ok, maybe she didn’t like Tucker Barratt all that much after all.
63
Turner didn’t know if Tucker was helping his cause with Annie or making it worse. She had a rattled look in her eyes that had him forgetting the pain—mostly—and wanting to cuddle her right onto his lap forever. She looked tired.
No doubt today’s events were the primary cause of that. And she’d been at the hospital for hours. It was time she went home. “He’s kidding, Ann. I promise. Mel would never let us borrow the jet to spirit you away to Mexico. And it wouldn’t work, anyway. Do you and the boys have your passports?”
Annie shook her head. “No. I’ve never been able to take them out of the country, even if I could afford to. Not with them in the custody of the state.”
“After the adoption is final, you should let me take you to Houghton’s estate in Mexico when they’re down there. The boys would love it. Houghton has a waterslide in the back pool.”
“Seriously? Isn’t he a bit old for that?” Although it didn’t surprise her a bit. He’d spoiled her boys rotten when he’d had them—he was a big kid at heart.
“It doesn’t look like a waterslide, and there’s a floating river around it. He had it installed as a gift for Mel and her nieces and nephew a few months ago. Mel can float down the river without tiring out. But they are part of the landscape, and you don’t notice it,” Tucker said. Turner watched his brother for a moment. “If you don’t want to go with the doofus here, I’ll give you a lift.”
Tucker found her attractive; it was obvious in the way his brother was watching her. And his brother, a full ten years younger than he was, had a way with women that Turner just did not.
Big jerk.
It was far too easy for Tucker sometimes. Rich, good-looking, a music executive, Tucker could have his pick of the most glamorous women in the world. But Tucker, like every other Barratt male out there, preferred women with substance.
Like Annie.
Nope. That wasn’t about to happen. Annie was his.
What he was thinking wasn’t lost on him. Turner knew the truth—this was the woman he wanted in his life for a very long time to come.
Until his last day on earth would be a good place to start with that. “She’s mine, Tuck. I found her first.”
Annie’s blue eyes widened. Turner shot her a grin, letting her think he was just teasing.
But he wasn’t.
As his brother’s gaze sharpened, he knew Tucker understood that, too.
Tucker nodded. “I’m going to go to the restroom now that this schmuck is in good—and very pretty—hands. I’ll be right back.”
Like a good brother, Tucker left him alone with the woman Turner wanted.
“What happened?” Annie asked, softly. There was swelling and contusions forming on his otherwise very nicely sculpted male chest. “Were you in an MVA?”
His expression tightened. “No, honey. I’m getting Elliot Marshall here. Tucker will call him for me.”
“Someone did this to you.” She wasn’t stupid. He didn’t want to tell her what had happened. She had no doubt about that. “I’ll get Allen. Leave you alone.”
She wasn’t certain she wanted to know any more details than she already did.
His hand rose to her cheek, startling her. “Stay.”
“It’s none of my business. I’d prefer it that way. The less I know about anything you’re involved in, Mayor Barratt, it’s probably better. Trouble seems to be following you right now.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
His finger brushed the corner of her lip. Annie thought about moving away. They were in her place of work—someone could walk in at any time.
This was the first time since the storm that he had touched her like this, with the notable exception of the night Izzie had almost died. His arms around her had been just about all that had kept her sane that night.
Just like the last time she had needed his arms around her. That thought had her rocking back on her metaphorical heels.
Turner Barratt had turned into her only port in the storm during two of the most life-shattering moments of her life. She’d walked through the fire those times, and he’d been beside her the whole way. Annie forced herself to step back before she did something stupid. Like let him in even more.
He wanted that; she knew enough about men to know when one was seriously interested. She wasn’t naïve or stupid at all.
She just couldn’t handle a man like the mayor of Finley Creek.
Annie knew her own limits. It was time she remembered that.
“I can’t deal with any more trouble right now, Mayor Barratt. I…just can’t.”
Annie did the only thing she could do. She turned and walked away.
64
Carl took one look at Turner when the younger man came in around ten that morning and bit back a curse. “What in the world happened to you?”
“Someone around Finley Creek doesn’t like my particular type of politics.” Turner was bruised, with a nice shiner on his left eye and a few stitches in his lip. “You’ll need to be the public face for a while.”
“Who did this? Did you report it? What did they say?”
Turner hesitated. “Last night. It’s related to that corruption ring going around now. I’m supposed to keep my nose out of things and focus on getting all the power and water back on. Stay out of their way, and they’ll stay out of mine. At least that’s what the message on my cell said this morning.”
Carl bit back another curse. This was getting serious, then. Richard used to get threats like that every so often. Carl never wanted to think about it, but he was almost certain the previous mayor had given in to those kinds of demands. In exchange for other favors when it was necessary. Richard probably hadn’t had much choice, considering the world of corruption they’d lived in during that time.
They were just now on the tail end of that, hopefully. If Turner and men like him could keep cleaning up Finley Creek day by day.
“What does the TSP have to say about this?”
“They’re working on it. They aren’t too happy with the reports of people getting intimidated on the streets. Elliot Marshall is working on it.”
“In the meantime—”
&nb
sp; “Watch our backs. Get things done. No one is going to tell me what to do when it comes to the benefit of my city. And no one is going to play these games with the people of Finley Creek.” There was real passion, real zeal in the boy’s words.
It had Carl worried. Turner was just one man. Anything could happen. It had to the Marshall family all those years ago. Murdered in their own home when the father had tried to fight corruption in the TSP. Turner’s own aunt had been murdered under mysterious circumstances, as well.
Turner was just one man. And he’d already become a target.
“What do you need me to do, son? You don’t have to do this alone.”
65
Annie had pulled a brush through her hair before she’d left the hospital, but the wind destroyed that effort far too easily. She’d walked to the community center, where the meeting was being held, the night after she’d left Turner in the ER and run away like a coward. She’d been beating herself up about that since—and dealing with Wanda and Cherise and Lacy and everyone else who had questions.
Parking was scarce at the center, and she’d walked the path between her home and the center six blocks away more times than she could count. The landscape had changed some, thanks to the storm, but the sidewalk still had the same cracks as before. Half of the trees were still standing. They’d had two houses north of hers be leveled by straight-line winds when the storm had surged up one more time. She’d been lucky; the storm had lifted for a few moments after destroying the TSP building before sitting back down north of the community center. After that, it had destroyed almost everything in its path until it sputtered out somewhere in Oklahoma.
It was one of the longest tornado paths for a multivortex tornado in Texas and Oklahoma history.
The death toll stood at sixty-eight, though she knew there were at least a dozen people still in the hospitals dealing with bacterial infections or severe injuries. Some of them probably would add to the total count.
Just how lucky she had been wasn’t lost on her.
She would have been driving home with the boys at the moment the storm struck, had she not been with Turner that day.
She and Izzie had spent many, many hours in the community center, studying together in a place of peace, talking, playing board games, and watching TV. Annie had cried when she’d seen it and realized the damage it had taken had been minimal. Had it been destroyed, it would have been one more horrible blow.
Now Annie and Izzie were on the list of a dozen volunteers that kept it open for the next generation. She was as familiar with the Boethe Community Center as she was her own home. Her own boys had played with the toys in the preschool area a thousand times since she’d been given them.
It was as home to her as her house.
That didn’t mean she wanted to be walking there tonight.
People were angry, and that meant stupid.
Mob mentality was a real thing. And not anything Annie wanted to be a part of. But she had neighbors who had asked her to be there, to represent their interests, too.
It wasn’t just the evictions now. Many of her neighbors were still without consistent utilities as the city worked to rebuild the infrastructure. Boethe Street ran beside all three of the hospitals and most of the commercial areas of the city. Sometimes, there just wasn’t enough power to go around right now. Same with water.
They’d been under a boil advisory since the night of the storm. She’d had to boil water before she could boil water for macaroni and cheese three dozen times now.
Her neighbors wanted answers.
It wouldn’t surprise her at all if some of her neighbors weren’t ready to take the offers from the city that had come before the storm and just start over somewhere else. If they combined that money with insurance checks, it might just work. For some of them.
For some of them, it probably wouldn’t.
Annie still didn’t know what she wanted to do.
She didn’t have the money to hire a private attorney of her own. Not with her hiring her own attorney to ensure the adoption went without a hitch. The adoption was far more important than a settlement from the city. At least for her.
There were vehicles everywhere in the community center parking lot, from utility trucks to TSP cruisers. It was now or never.
Annie’s breath tightened as she opened the door and stepped inside.
66
Annie hated crowds. Especially crowds like this. Even though she recognized a good portion of the attendees, she wanted to be anywhere but where she was. She’d been elected to be the voice of her neighborhood by the community center staff—and her neighbors. She would do a good job.
But she had a new appreciation for Turner, and for Marcus Deane, and for every elected official everywhere. The eyes of people who were counting on you to be their voice could burn holes right through you. At least, if you were doing it for the people in the first place. Annie never wanted to be elected to anything ever again.
She probably should have made that clearer when the committee was meeting. If she hadn’t been called in to the hospital on an emergency all-hands call, she wouldn’t be the one faced with doing this tonight.
On that thought, Annie looked up—toward the back of the community center, where someone important must have just entered. The wild buzz that went through the crowd gave that away. The crowd shifted.
And there he was. Annie stopped walking.
She didn’t move again until the Hendersons bumped her on the way to their seats. Mr. Henderson asked her if she was ok, if he needed to get her young man for her. And asked where he was.
He’d thought Jake was her husband more than two dozen times before. She had corrected him at first, but he struggled to remember things lately. The boys adored the Hendersons.
So did Annie.
“Jake’s not here tonight. He’s…working. I’m fine. Just a bit nervous in the crowd.”
“You’ll do fine, sweetheart,” Mrs. Henderson said. She was a good fifteen years younger than her husband, and able to handle just about anything that came her way. Annie wished she had half Gabney Henderson’s confidence tonight. “Just be honest in what you say. Everyone will respect that. And the mayor…I believe he’s a reasonable man. He always was when I had him in the fourth grade.”
“You were Tur—the mayor’s teacher?” Mrs. Henderson had taught at the larger Hughes-Barratt Elementary School for thirty-something years before retiring to take care of her husband when she’d been fifty-seven.
“Yes. All of the Barratt boys, at one time or another.”
“What was he like?” The question slipped out before she could stop it. Mrs. Henderson’s eyes twinkled for a moment. Annie fought the blush. “I mean…I…”
“I know, sweetie. He’s grown into a fine-looking man. If you had to be pinned to a man, Turner is a good one. He was always a kindhearted boy. But a definite charmer. Politics suits him. He’ll do well leading the city. He always did want to help people. We need more politicians like him, and Marcus Deane.”
Annie’s gaze shifted to the man in question.
Just as he looked up. And his eyes met hers. His lips moved, saying something. She just knew it was her name.
He took a half-step toward her, until the city councilman next to him stopped him.
Annie’s breath caught. It was the first time she’d seen him in the week since Delancey McKellen had been relocated to Mel’s and Turner had been beaten up in his own front yard.
Mel and Jillian were keeping her updated on how the woman was doing.
She’d wakened and was now spending most of her time being entertained by Turner’s brother, Trevor.
That was all anyone would tell her.
Turner watched her for a moment, and she knew it was her that had his attention. His eyes always told her exactly what he was thinking when he looked at her.
The man wanted her. Badly.
The mayor was detrimental to her sanity. It was time Annie admitted it. A part of
her wanted to do something crazy and go to him.
But that was just crazy. She shouldn’t be acting like a fourteen-year-old being smiled at by the high school quarterback.
Annie had more common sense than that.
“I need to take my seat,” she murmured.
She took her seat next to her sister, feeling like the entire room was going to press in on her.
Annie looked up. Turner was watching her again.
She just knew. She’d be talking to him before the night was over.
67
Dennis Lee had to say, the Boethe Street Community Center had a good turnout tonight. His constituents were the kind who took things to heart. Good people for the most part, just not a lot of middle-class ones in the bunch. Blue-collar all the way.
Dennis Lee didn’t consider himself a classist, by any means. He’d started off hauling trash each night from three restaurants near the center of Boethe Street more than four decades ago. It had always been Boethe Street for Dennis Lee.
He’d been born there, lived there, married there, worked there, and beaten there. When he’d left, he’d always returned there, until he’d just accepted that Boethe Street was where he was meant to be.
He’d made his first million dollars building there twenty-five years ago.
And he would make his one hundredth million now.
Dennis Lee was the kind who counted that type of thing.
He had fourteen of his men in the crowd. They were to take notes of any talk they heard around them. Make notes of who was going to be problematic.
And then they were to report back to Dennis Lee. The mayor, that damned Barratt asshole, was going to be there tonight. Dennis Lee wanted to hear what he had to say. See if he could do his own version of crowd control somehow.
Officer Eugent was at the back of the room. He had an apartment—subsidized by Dennis Lee—near the center of Boethe Street’s residential area. It was a small complex, no more than twenty units, but it was profitable. Dennis Lee had been born in the corner bottom unit. It held a special place in his heart.
Walk Through the Fire Page 19
