Seeing the look in Fred’s face, Gideon rushed on before the man could say anything. “Say Miki did sell us use of the land, and say we could get a tractor in there to cut a road. Do you really think those fishermen would be willing to pull their thirty thousand dollar boats down ten miles of dirt road? Add a little rain and it’d be a mudslide.”
Gideon watched the faces around him reflect the same shock he’d felt when he’d heard the kind of money involved. Men could afford boats in that price range, they weren’t looking for a cheap deal. They’d pay to stay at the Lodge, to eat at the diner.
“It’s too bad we don’t have a fancy restaurant around here,” Reba mussed.
“Not that the diner isn’t fine,” she assured Joe, who looked like he wanted to bean her with one of his frying pans. Unperturbed, Reba went on, “But you have a fancy place to eat, something spiffy and nice, and those men with their pricey boats would likely bring along their wives and girlfriends. I’ll bet those women would love to shop or go antiquing here in town while their men were out on the water.”
“Nobody can cook more than burgers since Bea went into mourning. We could offer down home food, though,” Marcia pondered. “You know, meat and potatoes.”
Reba gave a discontented shrug. “I doubt too many guys would be willing to pay extra to haul their ladies along to feed them meatloaf.”
“Miki’s a chef,” Gideon murmured.
“What?” Marcia snapped. “What difference does that make to us? She’s a fancy uptown type. I’m sure her cooking involves raw fish, tiny portions, and unpronounceable dishes.”
“I don’t see why she won’t just donate her land,” Deloris muttered. “That’s a mighty disagreeable woman to put her selfish wants before the good of the town that’s her new home.”
A steady hammering of pain pounded through Gideon’s right temple as he gave his mother a cold look. She didn’t agree with the plan to bring in the tournament. She’d only given in to Gideon’s nagging for use of the Lodge when he’d informed her that they didn’t need her or her empty hotel to make this venture a success. The only thing Deloris Ross hated more than being bested was not being included.
“Miki didn’t refuse the use of her land,” he repeated through clenched teeth. “She doesn’t know anything about it.”
“Well, it’s not like she cares one way or another about Rossdale. She’ll be gone just as soon as you finish repairs on her house and she can put it on the market,” Deloris claimed, clamping her arms across her chest in a gesture of finality. “It’s just as well we not expect anything from her. Not her land, not her time. Definitely not any sort of... commitment.”
The hammering in his temple increased.
“You do understand what I mean, right, son?”
“Right. I got the message. So did the other twenty people in the room.” He looked around and they all nodded, looks ranging from sympathy to warning on the faces gathered around. “Now that you’ve made it clear you think Miki Lansing is a pariah, maybe we can focus on why we’re here? Are we ready to bring this before the Town Council?”
The discussion turned to strategy, since everyone there knew Reggie was going to be put out that someone other than himself and his factory might be a source of income to the town. They’d all have to have their arguments firmly in place so he couldn’t find any loopholes to refuse the proposal.
An hour later, Gideon glanced at the clock on the wall. Anticipation surged through him, along with a healthy dose of desire. He’d told Miki he’d be out at her place at nine, that was in a half hour.
“So we’re all set? Everyone who wants in on the profit of this venture knows what they need to do, what preparations to make. I’ll spearhead this at the meeting Wednesday. The key is going to be making sure Reggie doesn’t have any wiggle room.”
As everyone gathered their stuff, Gideon stood. Deloris stood too, and placed both hands on the wide library table in front of her. She gave him a nod to indicate he should sit back down. Gideon frowned, but sat.
“Now that we’ve seen what my son can do for Rossdale, I’d like to bring my plan to the table.”
The anticipation in his stomach turning to dread, Gideon watched his mother pull out a pile of manila folders, some large poster boards, and a stack of fliers.
“With the probable success of this tournament and all that it’ll mean to Rossdale, I foresee the town being free of Reggie Compton’s control. Once the Spud Doll Factory isn’t the only source of jobs and income, Reggie’s final hold will be broken.”
Gideon frowned as she held up the first of her posters. His dread turned to nausea.
“I’ve already begun steps to impeach our incompetent mayor. I now propose to you all that you offer your support to my candidate for mayor.”
She gave her son an indulgent smile that reminded him of the fact that sharks often ate their young.
“I think you’ll all agree. Gideon Ross for mayor is the answer to Rossdale’s future.”
* * *
Gideon shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans as he strode through the wrought-iron arch to Town Square. The warm night air washed over him and the starry sky above lit the cobblestone path. The moon, only a quarter full, glowed a hazy welcome.
After refusing his mother’s call to action, he’d stormed out of the meeting. Her accusations ringing in his ears, he’d called Miki and begged off for the night. There was no way Gideon could lose himself in the pleasure of her company with all this turmoil rattling through his aching head.
And no way he wanted to explain the source of his problems. After all, what woman wanted to listen to a man bitch about his mother and his ex-wife?
He kicked a stone off the path and made his way to the gazebo. His mother’s declaration of his candidacy rang in his head. She really believed he was the answer to the town’s future.
Of course, he knew better.
Rather than its future, he was the key to its end, if Tilda’s warning was anything to go by. Gideon recalled the poster proclaiming him Rossdale’s golden boy of politics. The last thing his ex-wife had said before she’d flown off on her proverbial broomstick was that if Gideon ever ran for mayor, she’d destroy the town with the snap of her fingers.
Since she’d totaled their house with those same fingers, Gideon hadn’t bothered doubting her. The woman had a bitch of a temper, blamed Rossdale for all their marriage woes, and was a bona fide witch.
The temper and the blame had been the actual issues in their marriage. The witch part?
In those honest moments in the middle of the night, Gideon was able to admit to himself the witch part had been why he’d married her.
Gideon climbed the steps of the gazebo and stood before the well. Much as Miki had done a couple weeks before, he rubbed his hand over the moss-covered plaque inscribed with Rosalee Wenton’s words.
Peace and prosperity I bring to thee, in gratitude for what was given to me. My blessings continue to flow from above, as long as you welcome faith, magic, and love.
Which was the part of the town’s history most people tried to ignore these days. Thirty years before, Rossdale had been a prosperous town. Not only had the Spud Doll Factory been going strong, but there had been a local logging company, tourism out at the lake, and skiing nearby. It was as if any business that opened with a Rossdale address was guaranteed success.
Except some people had been less than enchanted with a few of the businesses. Nowhere near as popular or accepted as it was today, the occult had been cloaked in hush-hush back then. Except in Rossdale. Probably because of the prophecy, or the town’s long-held belief in witches and magic.
Gideon hadn’t even been born when the change had happened. And, shockingly in a town that lived on gossip, the details were never discussed. So to this day, he didn’t know why the town had gone from accepting and welcoming magic to rejecting any and all who professed even a speck of belief.
He did remember the mass exodus of residents though. S
ome left for good, some moved out to the lake, forming their own community. He’d snuck out there a few times at night as a teenager, but had been disappointed. He’d expected orgies or coven rituals or at least naked people all over the place.
What he’d found were the same townspeople who’d given him cookies or patted his head when he’d been a child. They’d simply chosen to take their belief in magic and, as his old first grade teacher had explained, keep the prophecy alive the best they could.
Gideon had never been able to get behind his parents’ objection to magic after that. He’d tried to convince them, only to meet with stony silence on his father’s part and vitriolic ridicule on his mother’s.
He dropped down to sit on the step, leaning his head back against the well. He ignored the crunching sound of the dead leaves behind his head and breathed deep the night air.
The stupidest thing he’d ever done was because he’d thought he was the answer to Rossdale’s future. One night on leave, he’d met a stunning blonde with a body of steel. Sexy, provocative, and a witch in every sense of the word, she’d cast her net and caught him but good. Gideon, under the impression bringing magic back to Rossdale would fix the economic down slump that so worried his father, hadn’t thought twice about proposing.
He opened his eyes and looked around the ruined Town Square. Tilda had done this. He hadn’t seen past his idyllic idea of Rosalee Wenton or Tilda’s sexy blonde packaging. And Rossdale had paid.
From the minute Tilda had set foot in the town, she’d seemed to seep the life, the magic, out of it. And when she’d finally called their marriage the travesty it was, she’d promised Gideon that in return for not giving her the love she felt she was due, he’d never have the one thing he thought he wanted most.
The chance to step into his father’s shoes. To lead the town. To be mayor. Then she’d metaphorically stomped off. The reality had involved a lot of flashing lights, claps of thunder, and a pile of rubble where their house had stood.
Like any smart man, Gideon had ignored her. At his parents’ urging, he’d agreed to run for mayor in the next election so his father could retire.
The next thing he’d known, his father was dead in a freak accident. Gideon had pulled his name from the ballot and actively hated magic and witches ever since.
He stood and climbed down the steps. He turned back to look at the gazebo and its magic wishing well. Squinting, he noticed there, among the dead leaves and dirty brambles, tiny white flowers blooming.
He rocked back on his heels and pursed his lips in contemplation. It looked like life might have a chance here. New growth. Possibilities.
It had been six years. Tilda had long since moved on, he’d found a way to save the town despite his restrictions. He’d met a woman who brought out emotions in him he’d never expected to feel. Just the sight of Miki’s smile warmed his heart, the sound of her laughter made him believe in happy ever after.
Maybe it was time to hope again.
There’s a New Witch in Town: Chapter Twelve
The morning after her failed attempt to push her son into politics, Deloris clomped up the unpainted steps to Mikaela Lansing’s house. She secretly hoped a board would crack or break underfoot so she could sue. She shot a look out of the corner of her eye at Reba, whose heavy breathing made it clear she wasn’t liking the pace of Deloris’s stomping.
“You’re crazy,” Reba wheezed. “You can’t just go making up rules like this, Deloris. Even if that uppity gal lets you get away with it, Gideon’s gonna pitch a fit when he finds out.”
“Pshaw,” Deloris spat. She paused at the small wicker table to one side of the wide, wrap-around porch and poked her finger in the dirt of the brilliant red geranium. Barely moist. Huh, maybe she was overwatering hers. They never grew so full and colorful as this one.
“Deloris,” Reba hissed, hanging onto the chip-painted spindle rail while she caught her breath. “You’re gonna push it too far. You should be trying to get the girl to work with us, not shoving at her until she fights.”
“I shove, she leaves. I don’t need no uppity city gal ruining my son’s life. Not again, thank you. That last one was bad enough. But thanks to this one, my boy’s refusing to take his rightful place as mayor. That’s simply not acceptable.”
Deloris raised a fist and pounded on the new front door. Her motherly pride at the obvious quality of the repair warred with her anger. Well used to channeling her emotions, she shoved the pride aside.
“Gideon’s always refused to run for mayor,” Reba claimed. But she squared her shoulders and joined Deloris at the door, just as Deloris’d known she would. “You can’t be laying that at this girl’s feet.”
“Gideon will run, his name’s already on the ballot. This girl leaves, I’ll have one less distraction to worry about.”
This girl opened the front door.
Perfectly arched brows rose in surprise as she looked them over. Deloris raked a quick glance over the younger woman. The jeans were decent enough, but too tight. The tee shirt with a naked woman with wings sprouting out her back gave Deloris an excuse to sneer.
Too bad the sneer was hard to keep in place given the rich scents wafting out the open door. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was beef roasting in there, along with something that smelled cheesy and rich. Deloris’s taste buds screamed for a sample. She told them to shut up.
“Um, hello?” the interloper, as Deloris had dubbed her, said at the prolonged silence.
“We’re here as representatives of the Rossdale Historical Society,” Deloris claimed. “We’d like to speak with you.”
At first, it looked like the interloper might refuse to let them in the house. Deloris plastered on her most intimidating look. It obviously worked, since the younger woman frowned, then gave an ill-tempered shrug.
“Okay, sure. Come on in and we’ll talk,” she invited. Moving aside to let them in, Deloris was able to get her first view of the house in a year. It was like night and day. Or a nightmare and a lovely home, to be more precise.
Evidence of repair and renovation was everywhere, from the stripped wallpaper in the entryway to the new banister leading up the stairs. Deloris followed the outsider down the hall to a living room that had her gasping in horror.
“It’s like something out of a Crayola box,” she exclaimed. The younger woman just rolled her eyes.
Color was everywhere. Rich gold on the walls, deep burgundy on the couch. A whole rainbow of colors glinted from crystals strewn around the room, and a furiously bright paisley easy chair was snugged up in the corner.
Reba gave a gasp of her own, and Deloris glanced over to commiserate. But the other woman was too busy stroking her hand over the velvet paisley to offer any support.
“You have lovely furnishings,” Reba said softly. Then she looked up, caught Deloris’s glare and clamped her lips shut.
“Thank you.” From the look on the interloper’s face and her doubtful tone, she didn’t sound much like she meant it, though. “Why don’t you both get comfortable and you can explain what you need to speak with me about. Mrs. Ross? Have a seat.”
Deloris perched on the edge of the squishy couch, folding her hands over the straw purse in her lap. The irritating young woman had the nerve to meet Deloris’s gaze head on, one snooty brow raised in inquiry.
“So why don’t you tell me why you’re here,” the interloper prodded after a few moments of silence.
“As I said, I’m here representing the Rossdale Historical Society. This house, being seventy years old, qualifies as a historical site per our standards.”
“Okay... So what? I get a plaque or something to put outside?”
“Hardly,” Deloris said with a sniff. She wished her nostrils hadn’t been assaulted with the rich scent of roasting beef as she did, though. Her stomach threatened to growl.
“Your house, being a Rossdale historic site, falls under the jurisdiction of the Historical Society.”
The interloper looked like she
was going to roll her eyes again. But she stopped short and just squinted instead. She cast a look between Deloris and Reba, then shook her head.
“What, exactly, does that mean?” Her tone was a dare, like she didn’t believe them. How dare she?
Reba made a sound from the chair she’d been stroking. Afraid she’d open her big mouth and ruin everything, Deloris leaned forward and claimed, “Which means any and all renovations, construction, and changes to this house must be approved by the Historical Society. Nothing can be done unless it’s to code. It must be in keeping with the era of the house.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
The younger woman sounded surprised, and perhaps a little sarcastic. But she didn’t, to Deloris’s frustration, sound worried or anxious.
“I’m quite serious, as is this situation. You’re going against the law by doing repairs without the approval of the Historical Society.”
Miki peered at them with a look of suspicion. “Isn’t Gideon the local building inspector? I could have sworn I read that on his letterhead.” Deloris sputtered, but like any self-absorbed city gal, Miki just kept talking. “I’d think he’d know what was legal around here and what wasn’t. It’s not like I brought in an out-of-town contractor or anything.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Deloris asked with a gasp.
“Not at all,” the interloper said, obviously not impressed with Deloris’s show of affront. “I’m just saying I’m surprised to hear this is an issue.”
“Obviously Gideon was distracted by something...” Deloris trailed off, leaving her meaning clear. “I’m surprised he agreed to work for you, to be honest. He’s usually much more particular about out-of-town clients.”
“Seeing as I’m living here, I don’t think I qualify as out of town, do you?”
“You’ve only been here a month,” Deloris dismissed.
Used to sizing up her opponent and knowing just where to strike to hurt the most, she pursed her lips and inspected the other woman. Obviously a pushover, it shouldn’t take much to intimidate her. A few well-chosen words to play on the insecurities, the fresh divorce. A comment or two to rip the woman’s claws out of Gideon, and Deloris would consider the day well spent.
Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers Page 76
