To Get Me To You: A Small Town Southern Romance (Wishful Romance Book 1) (20 page)

Mitch flopped down on the sofa and stretched out his long, long legs. “I should be able to get to that between site visits.”

“I’ve got the list of who needs to get what,” Aunt Liz said. “If you can bring everything by this evening, I can work on getting that sorted.”

“Great. The media campaign is going well. I’m scheduled for an interview at the radio station at the end of the week. That, in conjunction with the spot WCBI did with Molly last week about the coalition, is a really great start. We’re getting the word out and, in a lot of cases, are the first side of this many people are hearing. Now we just have to keep it up so we stay at the forefront of people’s minds. I’m still waiting to hear back from WTVA.”

The front door opened again, and Norah felt her heart leap, knowing it was Cam. A strange mix of emotions swirled through her. Hope that their hard work had paid off, that Wishful was safe. Terror, too, that all this might be over, that her alleged reason for being here was finished, and she would have to make the hard decision about what came next without the benefit of external factors dictating her actions. That she’d have to walk away from him for real.

Cam’s face was rigid when he walked into the room.

Norah was on her feet, across the room to him before she could stop herself. “What?”

“Read it.” He thrust a wad of papers at her.

The economic impact report.

Frowning as he moved off to pace with frenetic irritation, she began to read. Her stomach sank as she hit the second page, but she kept reading, searching for the qualifying argument, the refutation that would’ve signified balanced investigation. It never came.

“This can’t be right. This contradicts almost everything I’ve read in the literature.

“The Council voted. I was the lone dissenting voice. GrandGoods’ proposal was approved, and they’re moving forward with the hearing for a special use permit. No one but me is going to vote against it after this.”

Norah’s mind went immediately to damage control. “That’s a public hearing?”

Cam’s nod was tight. “Public hearing, but still ultimately a Council vote.”

“Then we ramp up our efforts to educate the public, get them out to attend the hearing. You need to put in a formal request to the firm who did the evaluation to have them present for the hearing so they can answer questions. We’re going to get a rebuttal by then. We need a second opinion. Someone
not
hired by Vick.”

“How? It was a minor miracle this got pushed through in a month. Where the hell do you think you’re going to get a second opinion in a week or two?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll find someone. Have a little—”

“Faith?” The word was bitter, brittle with lack of belief. “Because that’s gotten us so far up to now.”

Norah felt the sting of his frustrated dejection. She could see it in the set of his chin, the defeated look in his eyes. God, how could he give up so easily? Was the rest of the town so easily cowed, so devoid of hope? If they were, she was fighting a losing battle, and the enemy wasn’t GrandGoods.

Norah put the thought out of her mind. She had one war to fight right now, one stubborn man to convince. She crossed the room toward him. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been here when the GrandGoods proposal came in? If I hadn’t been here to tell you expressly what it could mean?”

“I’d have fought it, regardless.”

“How? Would you have mobilized the citizenry? Even thought to get an economic impact study? Would you have had the grounds to delay things this far?”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I don’t know.”

Norah nodded. “You’re out of your depth. You knew that when you asked me to stay. Now I know this is frustrating. It’s not what we’d hoped for. But this is just a battle, Cam. It’s not the war.”

“They’re not going to listen. They don’t
want
to listen. How can you possibly combat that?”

All the Campbells had similar streaks of mulish stubbornness. After years of living with Miranda, Norah was well-versed in the various shades of that expression, so she knew she wasn’t making a dent. She shifted tactics. “What were you doing when you were fifteen?”

“What?”

“When you were fifteen. What were you doing? School? Sports? Dating? Getting your learner’s permit to drive?”

“Yeah, all that, I guess. Why?”

“When I was fifteen, I was in Cincinnati with my mom. Public school. New kid…again. And I still managed to get elected class president. While in office, I used my position to orchestrate the clean up and rehab of half a dozen inner-city playgrounds and started an urban gardening initiative that’s still in operation. Sixteen was Philadelphia. Dad that year. Catholic school. I was a youth activist for the ACLU. Seventeen, I was in Boston with Mom again. Private school. I interned with Amnesty International. Oh, followed by a summer internship at the Smithsonian while Dad was in D.C. arguing with Congress. So while you got to live your life and be a normal teenager who did normal teenager things, I was being shaped and trained to be an extension of my parents’ successes. That is what my parents expected of me. Because that’s what Burkes are supposed to do. We save the world. Except not me.

“No, I eschewed Harvard, avoided law school, ran from med school. I built a goddamned good career in a field that has absolutely nothing to do with the humanitarian background my parents gave me. A fact which my father, in particular, takes great pains to remind me is a waste of my potential and the advantages they worked to give me. When he’s not busy cross-examining me about my decisions. That’s what he said to me when I finally talked to him yesterday. That he was
disappointed
in me. That he expected
better
of me. After all but demanding the legal documents related to the sordid affair of Morton to prove I didn’t actually know anything underhanded was taking place.”

Miranda made an inarticulate sound of rage—the same emotion Norah could see echoed in Cam’s face.

“Your father’s an asshole.” She appreciated the growl in his voice that said exactly what he’d like to do to her dad.

“He’s an idealist with a very explicitly defined vision that doesn’t take anyone else’s wants into account. And he happens to know exactly which ribs to shove the knife between to try to manipulate me into doing what he wants. The fact is, he’s right. After everything that happened in Morton,
I
expect better of me. I
was
given every advantage, every possible form of training to do great things, to take on any challenge and come out the victor. I may disagree with my parents on the nature of what those great things are, but through circumstance or fate or the alignment of the goddamn stars, I was brought here, right now, for this.”
For you.
The certainty of the thought gave her pause, but she didn’t voice it. “I have exactly the skillset and the indefatigable ego needed for the job. I may not be saving the world by my parents’ standards, but by damn I’m going to save yours. So you have five more minutes to waste on this useless pity party before I expect you to get your ass back to work. Do I make myself clear?”

From somewhere behind her, Mitch said, “And though she be but wee, she is mighty.”

Norah felt her lips twitch, but didn’t look away from Cam.

“Are you always this fearless?”

Fearless. What a joke. But Norah supposed it probably did look like that from the outside. Because she acted rather than standing paralyzed in the face of challenge.

“Courage isn’t the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important. Wishful is more important.” And so was Cam, though Norah didn’t give voice to that thought either.

“What about your job search?”

“I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it. If that means further damage to my career, then at least I’ll be able to sleep at night.” She turned away because she couldn’t bear the hopeless expression on his face. “Mitch, can you move those site visits this afternoon?”

“I can and will. What are your orders, my general?”

“You’re coming with me.” She pulled out her phone and dialed before the plan had fully solidified in her brain.

“Edison Hardware.”

“Tyler, it’s Norah. Have you got somebody who can man the store for a few hours?”

“I can call in Dad. What’s up?”

“I need your design skills.”

Norah could hear the other woman’s interest pique. “For what?”

A miracle
.
“
Tell you when I get there. Mitch and I will be in to pick you up in half an hour.”

She called Molly next, arranged for the coalition chair to meet them downtown. Then and only then did she turn to Cam. He hadn’t moved from where she’d interrupted his pacing. She couldn’t read his shuttered expression, couldn’t tell if she’d crossed a line or pissed him off.

“Five minutes are up. Are you coming?”

“There’s something else I need to do first.” Without another glance her way, he stalked from the room.

Speechless, she stared after him. He’d walked away. She didn’t know what she’d wanted, exactly. For him to leap enthusiastically back into the cause. To say, “I trust you. I’m sorry I doubted. What next?” To say he believed in her and her ability to pull this off. To show
any
kind of willingness to keep fighting. Because, Lord knew, she could use some of that support right now.

But maybe he didn’t believe.

And that meant she’d failed where it mattered most.

Aunt Liz wrapped an arm around Norah’s shoulders. “He’ll come around.”

Norah wasn’t at all sure that he would. But that was a disappointment that would have to wait until she’d finished her own fight.

~*~

Hush’s berserker mode let Cam know that Norah had finally come in search of him, despite the drizzling rain. He continued to sip at his beer, simply calling out, “It’s open!” when she knocked.

The fruits of the afternoon’s labor sat in a neat stack on the counter, highlighted and cross referenced with the same level of precision he expected from Norah herself. He wasn’t leaving anything open to misinterpretation. Giving this to her at all was a calculated risk. But it was one he had to take or he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. She had a right to know.

Though she lit up in response to the dog, Norah had lost her smile by the time she made it through the gauntlet of Hush’s enthusiastic greeting and crossed the room. “You never made it downtown.” Her tone was cool.

“Sorry. I had some Council business to take care of.”

One delicate brow arched.

“The firm that did the impact study will be attending the hearing when it’s scheduled.” No reason for her to think he was bailing now.

“Good. Were they difficult to track down?” Translation:
Where were you the rest of the afternoon?

“No. I was also working on lining up a second evaluation. Avery’s boyfriend, Dillon, is working on his MBA up at Ole Miss. He’s checking to see if any of his professors could do it, or know of someone who can. There’s also the possibility of getting one or more of them to the hearing to rebut based on the literature, even if we don’t manage to get a full second evaluation. We should hear something in a day or two.”

Her poker face melted into a smile of approval. “Excellent.”

Cam hesitated. “There’s something else. I was following up on some leads.”

She sat at the counter. “On what?”

“I think it’s better if you read that for yourself.” He handed the sheaf of papers to her. “I highlighted the relevant passages.”

Her long, graceful fingers flexed at the edges of the paper as she read the letterhead:
City of Morton, Indiana.
The blood drained out of her cheeks, only to creep back up from her neck in a flush of shame. Not the reaction he’d expected, and not at all his intention.

“Where did you get this?” Her words came out in a thin, almost whisper. She didn’t look up, didn’t turn past the cover letter.

“I made some calls. Skip to the highlighted stuff.”

She didn’t skip ahead. She read through every line, and Cam struggled not to rush her.

Neon yellow highlighter screamed from the page. Norah’s flush faded as she read it. Her hands fumbled, flipping to the next page and the next, reading the evidence he’d gathered. It all painted a pretty damning picture. Of Philip Vargas.

Fumbling gave way to stillness as she read the final page. She drew a shuddering breath and laid the paperwork on the counter with the same careful deliberation she might use handling a bomb. A sure sign she was trying to control some strong emotion. Cam expected relief or shock, or maybe even anger. But when Norah lifted her head, the mask of professionalism was shattered by…pain.

Thinking perhaps she’d misunderstood, Cam leapt to reassure. “It wasn’t you. That proves it.”

She just shook her head. “Only you. Only you would think to do this.”

Something was horribly wrong. He’d made some egregious miscalculation. This wasn’t how she was supposed to react.

“Norah—”