Barefoot in the Sand (35 page)

“I thought we might go up to Barefoot Bay and check it out,” Clay said. “Let’s take Ashley.”

“Take me where?” Ashley asked.

“You’ll see.” Clay turned and smiled. “I think you’re gonna like it.”

At least she didn’t argue. When they arrived at the property, Clay brought the rolled-up sketch and they walked north.

“What are we looking for up here?” Ashley asked. “More flyers?”

Clay slowed his step and got on her other side so that he and Lacey were flanking her. “What are
you
looking for?” he asked Ashley.

She scowled at him. “Is that a trick question?”

“Nope, I’m serious. What’s missing in your life?”

“A boyfriend, and Mom probably just killed the deal by dragging me away from Ms. Icey’s.”

“If that Justin Bieber-y thing was your boyfriend—”

“Eww, Mom. Totally gross. Matt’s so much cuter than Bieber.”

“Answer his question, then. Something more important is missing in your life, isn’t it?” Lacey couldn’t keep the note of anticipation out of her voice.

She froze, horror on her face. “Oh my freaking God, you two are getting married.”

This time Lacey’s steps slowed as heat that had nothing to do with the late-day sun blasted her. But Clay laughed easily, seemingly not fazed by the question. Maybe it was so out of the realm of possible that he didn’t take it seriously.

“Just answer the question,” he said. “What don’t you have that you wish you did?”

“Well, besides all my old clothes, my favorite Wii games, my collection of stuffed dogs, my yearbooks
going back to kindergarten, and every Christmas ornament Mom ever got me, I guess my own room.”

The list of missing treasures made Lacey’s heart hitch. Clay must have felt the same way, because he put a gentle arm on Ashley’s back and led her toward the far corner of the Tomlinson property line. “That’s right, Ashley. You need a home.”

“No sh—” She stopped again, looking from one to the other. “I thought you two wanted to build a resort.”

“We do, and we will.” Clay’s confidence gave Lacey another thrill. “But we want to build something else, assuming we can get our zoning issues approved and get these two properties back.” He looked at Lacey. “And I know we will.”

“What?” Ashley asked, looking at Lacey for the answer. “What are you building?”

“This.” Clay unrolled the blueprint and spread it on a patch of grass. “Your home.”

“A house? For us?” Ashley’s voice rose just enough to make Clay look up and smile.

“I hope you like it.”

She dropped to her knees exactly as Lacey had when she’d seen the plans. “Ohmigawd, it’s beautiful! Mom, did you see this? It’s so awesome.” She rocked back. “We could live there?”

“We’re going to try,” Lacey said, so completely hopeful about the idea that it scared her. What if it didn’t happen? What if she couldn’t afford it or the zoning didn’t get approved or the property—

“That’s my room?” Ashley shrieked as Clay turned the page and showed the floor plan, pointing to the space that said “Ashley’s Room” in tiny, squared-off letters.

How did he know? she wondered again. How did he know just what mattered the most? “That whole thing is my room? With my own bathroom?” For a minute Lacey thought Ashley would throw her arms around Clay and kiss him.

Lacey knew exactly how that felt. “Isn’t it amazing?” Lacey asked. But what she really wanted to say was
Isn’t he amazing? Isn’t he brilliant and special and thoughtful and don’t you just love him?

Because sometimes, like at this very moment, Lacey thought she could love Clay. Maybe she already did. Was that possible?

“Look at the kitchen, Mom! All that space for you to bake.”

The comment touched Lacey enough to bring her down to her knees.

“She’s quite a baker, too, your Mom.”

More warmth crawled up her cheeks. Lacey didn’t dare look at Clay because she didn’t want to see the expression that went with that comment. The chocolate ribbons had gotten pretty sexy.

Wasn’t that what he was thinking? While she was standing here dreaming about the L-word? She finally looked at him, self-consciously pushing a hair from her face

His gaze wasn’t the least bit sexual. His gaze said he might be thinking the same thing.

“And my dad’s a beast cook,” Ashley said, crashing the moment with a dose of David. “He’d totally rock that kitchen. In fact, he texted me that he’s making steak tonight. You should come over for dinner. Can he, Mom?” The note of hope in Ashley’s voice must have surprised Clay as much as Lacey, as he suddenly stood, brushing some sand off his cargo shorts.

“Of course he can,” Lacey said.

“Cool. Then we can we show Dad this house. He’ll love it.” Ashley smoothed down the curling edge of the blueprint. “It might be the kind of thing that would convince him to stay.” There was even more hope in that statement. Just enough to break Lacey’s heart.

David wasn’t staying, but how could she convince Ashley of that? She looked up at Clay, who was gazing out to the Gulf, lost in thought.

And who was going to convince Lacey that Clay wasn’t going to stay, either? “Do you want to come over, Clay?” Lacey asked.

“I’m going take a pass,” he said. “I need to work through dinner tonight. That September fifteenth deadline looms right around the corner, Lacey.”

“Another time, then,” she said quietly. “Anyway, Zoe and Tessa are coming over.” And maybe they’d talk Lacey off this love ledge before she fell right off and broke something. Like her heart.

A
fter Clay took a long swim in the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico, he headed over to the Super Min to buy some snacks to get him through the night of work. Instead of one of the older women he expected to see, Gloria Vail sat behind the counter. He could tell the G-cousins apart now, and Gloria was definitely more friend than foe, and he meant to thank her for tipping Lacey off to the secret meeting.

She sat on a stool, chatting with a man who stepped away from her the minute Clay walked in.

Not a man, though.
The
man. In a sharp sheriff’s uniform, a Glock on his hip.

“Oh, hi,” Gloria said to Clay, giving her bangs a quick fluff. “Nice to see you again.”

Feeling the sheriff’s attention on him, Clay gave her a nod, walking to the cooler to get a liter of soda. When he came back, the sheriff had moved to the candy display.

Clay grabbed some chips and his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had next to nothing to eat in the apartment and he’d turned down a dinner invitation.

“How’s it going?” Glo asked.

“Good.” The smell of the hot dogs and burritos rolling out of a heated cooking unit drew him closer. “Starved.”

“Well don’t eat those,” Gloria said quickly. “They’re awful.”

The sheriff chuckled as Clay took the rest of his purchases to the counter. “She’s not lyin’,” he said. “Charity sells the worst hot dogs on the island. Maybe in the state.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Clay slid the soda toward Gloria. “That’s the second time you’ve given me good advice.”

“Just remember, don’t tell my aunt. I’ll be disowned.”

The sheriff took a step closer, tanned and sharp-eyed, a sizable dude who was no stranger to the gym. “You’re too scared of her, Glo.”

“I’m not…” She caught the other man’s eye and shrugged. “Sometimes. Who wouldn’t be, Slade?”

“She can be scary,” Clay agreed.

“You two know each other?” the sheriff asked, eyeing Clay a little suspiciously.

“Clay Walker.” He held out his hand.

“He’s the architect I told you about, doing Lacey Armstrong’s property up in Barefoot Bay.”

“I’m Slade Garrison.” He took Clay’s hand and gave a tentative smile but a strong shake. “I heard you landed a few on Charity’s chin recently.”

“Not literally,” he assured the lawman.

“Enough that you’ve become a little bit of a folk hero around here.”

Clay almost choked. “I have?”

“Rumors and stories fly on Mimosa Key,” Gloria told him. “By the time the tellin’ was done, there were people saying you tore up the bylaw book and threw the paper shreds at Charity just for laughs.”

“Wish I’da thought of that.”

“I know,” she said. “But people like the idea of someone taking her on. And congratulations for Lacey getting on the zoning meeting agenda.”

“Any curveballs we should expect?” he asked.

Gloria rang up the soda and chips, shaking her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

The bell behind him dinged, followed by some conversation and laughter, both of which stopped almost instantly.

Clay turned to face the very woman they’d been discussing, Charity Grambling, accompanied by her daughter, Grace, and a heavyset man. Seriously heavyset.

“We get robbed or something, Slade?” the man asked as he headed to the back cooler.

The sheriff crossed his arms and stared the other guy down. “You better plan on walking if you pick up a Bud Light, Ron.”

He got a laugh in response. “Like I’d drink piss-water beer. Anyway, Gracie’s drivin’ and she’s sober as a judge.”

Meanwhile, Charity leveled Clay with a hard look, moving toward the counter. “Hope you’re not planning on hanging any more of these out there.” She slammed a fistful of bright pink papers on the counter.

He frowned, looking closer at the words:

SAVE ASHLEY ARMSTRONG’S HOME!!! Vote Yes For Zoning Changes!!!

So Ashley had made her own street team, just like she’d mentioned.

“I had to stop those little hooligans from putting them up outside the Fourway,” Grace said, scowling at him. “You should arrest them all, Slade.”

“Is it against the law to hang a flyer?” Clay asked.

“Thought you had the local laws memorized,” Grace shot back.

“Not against the law to hang flyers, but”—Charity flipped the back countertop and stepped to the register, practically shoving Gloria aside—“last time I checked
the use of marijuana
was illegal.” She pointed a finger at the sheriff. “So maybe instead of hanging out in my fine establishment trying to work up the balls to ask Glo on a date, you should be rounding up some criminals down at the Mimosa High football field.”

Shit. Was Ashley there?

“You certain about that, Charity?” Slade asked, his voice deeper and more authoritative than when he’d been hitting on Gloria.

Charity put a hand on her hip, snorting softly. “I’m sure. Those kids are hanging around the same place kids have been gettin’ high since I was a freshman at that school.” She gave him a slow, easy grin, turning her face into a web of creases. “No jokes about what year that was. Get down there now and you’ll find ’em. Got all their stupid flyers up and now they’re doing what kids do.”

Clay grabbed the plastic bag with soda and chips, nodded to the others, and headed toward the door, mentally flipping through his options. Call Lacey and tell her? But could she get up to the football field in time to get Ashley out of there?

He slid behind the wheel of his truck, catching Slade and Gloria walking out in his rearview mirror. They
talked for a minute, and Slade put a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

Take your sweet time getting the phone number, Sheriff Garrison. Clay needed to get Ashley out of there.

He pulled out of the lot slowly, not wanting to draw Slade’s attention, headed down to the first intersection, and then gunned it to the high school. When he reached the side street that ran along the football field, he parked the truck close enough to make a fast getaway and jogged toward the stands.

An impromptu party was well underway, about twenty kids messing around, laughing and standing in small groups. The bittersweet aroma of weed, the sound of teenage trouble, the thrum of a small-town summer night all hung under the bleachers that probably shook on Fridays in the fall.

“Have you seen Ashley Armstrong?” he asked a couple leaning against a post, arms around each other.

The guy shook his head, but the girl pointed to the other side of the field. “She’s with Tiffany and Matt.”