Chapter Eleven
Shane shoved his rolled shirt cuffs up his forearms and checked his watch as he made his way across the open expanse of land once valued for its ability to produce cotton. Now the value took a different form—as the future site of the Whitehall Resort Golf Course.
As testament to that, two of the three engineers from the company Haggerty had retained to do the water report set up survey equipment by the creek bank. The third stood in deep conversation with Ricky Pinkerton.
Shit. He quickened his strides. Mayor Campbell expected him at a meeting across town with the developers of a subdivision, and after that, he had a flight to catch. His schedule didn’t really allow for this unscheduled stop, and the engineers didn’t need him looking over their shoulders, but he didn’t want Ricky attempting to direct the scope of the project or the outcome.
The head of the team looked up from his tripod-mounted laptop and spotted him. The middle-aged engineer disengaged from Ricky and ambled over, saving Shane some extra steps. He carried a Spectra Ranger data collector in his hand, and a well-worn utility belt around his waist held other tools of the trade. Someone accustomed to field work, Shane deduced, as the man extended a hand and introduced himself as Raj Patel. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Patel. Did Jack Haggerty explain our concerns?”
Ricky trailed the engineer, like a pissy shadow in his ugly yellow sweater. “I was just giving Raj here the overview, and explaining that the creek never floods.”
“That’s not true—”
The older man held up a hand. “Three things, as I understand. You are seeking confirmation of this land around the creek as a flood fringe”—he glanced at the creek as he spoke, then back to Shane—“and wanting to know how extensive the bank fortifications should be to prevent spillover. Lastly, you wish to understand how the fortification will affect the water level downstream.”
“That sums it up,” Shane agreed. “Any preliminary impressions?”
“Well, we are definitely standing in a flood fringe. You don’t need a hydraulic study to tell you that. The topography speaks for itself.”
“Yeah.” He couldn’t help shooting Pinkerton a “fuck you” look. “That’s what I thought.”
“Okaaay.” Ricky rolled his eyes. “Never mind that the creek hasn’t flooded in longer than anyone can remember, how high do we have to go to convince the city to issue the permit for the golf course?”
Fine. Pinkerton wanted to cut to the chase? They’d cut to the chase. “Assuming they fill the fringe up here to get the full half-foot leeway, what happens downstream?”
Raj shook his head. “Filling up here widens the floodway there.” He gestured down the slope, toward the tree-line, and, ultimately, Sinclair’s barn. “Narrow, shallow creeks like this one can sustain only so much influx. One good rain, and…” He widened his hands to demonstrate. “Luckily, Mr. Pinkerton informs me there aren’t any developments along the lower portion of the creek, and so long as none are planned…” He trailed off and shrugged.
Careful, Shane cautioned himself. The city wasn’t paying for a survey to help save Sinclair’s barn, and Haggerty would chew his ass if he got wind of Shane having a personal agenda. “Mr. Pinkerton’s statement isn’t accurate, which he’s well aware of, but for the sake of argument, let’s say downstream development is part of the plan—”
“It’s not part of the plan,” Ricky inserted.
“Hypothetically speaking,” Shane continued, ignoring Ricky. “What would it take to do it safely?”
Raj puffed his cheeks and let the air out in a gust. “Lots of money. Fortifying these banks up here is not such a big deal. Negligible cost or environmental impact in shifting dirt around. No interruption to the natural course of the creek. Diverting the water flowing downstream, conversely, means installing drains, aqueducts—”
“No fucking way,” Ricky said. “The resort’s not paying for that. Not for one lousy barn. Neither is the city. I’ll say it again for the hard of hearing. The creek never floods.”
“Because it widens up here,” Shane bit out. “It won’t after you fortify.” His gut tightened. The ill-advised promise to Sinclair echoed in his brain. He gave Ricky his back and directed another question to Raj. “What about for a very small diversion, like, for a house or two?”
The engineer shook his head. “The size of the development doesn’t change the basic solution. Whether to avoid one structure or a thousand, the water needs to go somewhere else. Frankly, only a large development would warrant the investment.”
“You got that right,” Ricky chimed in from behind him. “And a large development won’t happen as long as my grandmother’s alive. I’ve heard enough. I’m done here. We’re talking fairytales now.”
Ricky strutted off. Fuck. Shane tugged at his tie, trying to relieve the noose-like tightness around his neck. A trickle of sweat slid between his shoulder blades. “What about managing the water upstream?” He was grasping at straws now, but he didn’t have any other ideas.
“Ah. Well, then, you would be talking about a dam, and that requires a suitable reservoir area. Assuming such an area exists and could be secured for the purpose, you would also need a permit to build the dam, to impound water, and, perhaps more dauntingly, a shift in public opinion. Outside of farming communities, people dislike dams. Necessary permits might prove very challenging.”
“What about…?” No alternative sprang to mind. Meanwhile, seconds ticked off in his brain. He needed to get going or he’d be late meeting the mayor, which wouldn’t earn him any points. Face it. This isn’t going to get solved today.
Obviously, Raj agreed, because he held up a hand to halt the conversation. “Mr. Maguire, we would be happy to draw up an addendum to the contract for the engineering of a water-management solution, but that’s a longer, more involved assignment. I understood you wanted the report as soon as possible.”
“I do.” He needed to back off and let this guy do his job. There was still time. The report would take six weeks, and then the city planning commission would have to meet and review the findings. Somewhere between now and then, he’d come up with a viable solution. He had to.
…
“How was Tahiti?” Sinclair held the phone to her ear and glanced at the clock over the stove. Her stomach gave a stupid and totally uncharacteristic flutter as she read the time. Shane was due any moment for tour number four. “Dress for a hike,” was all he’d told her yesterday when he’d called.
“Three words,” Savannah replied, sounding relaxed, replete, and possibly a little smug. “Over. Water. Bungalow.”
“I trust you were naked the entire time?”
“I’m still naked. Are you still planning to be in Atlanta next month for the jewelry expo?”
Definitely smug. “Yes, but I’m not coming for dinner afterward unless you put some clothes on. The honeymoon’s over.” She peeked through her sheer curtains at her empty driveway.
“Oh, Sinclair,” her sister sighed, “as long as Beau’s got a pulse and a tongue, the honeymoon’s never over.”
She let the curtain drop back into place and grinned, despite her nerves. “I’m scandalized, Mrs. Smith-Montgomery. But it sounds like you had fun, and you weren’t sick the entire time.”
“I’m not going to lie to you. First trimester is not the ideal time to go on a snorkel boat.”
“So noted, although I don’t think it’s going to be a problem for me. All’s well on the baby front?”
“Yep. Baby likes the beach, as it turns out.”
“Convenient, since mommy likes the beach.” She paced over to her drafting desk and started straightening sketches.
“What can I say? He’s his mommy’s boy.”
She stopped tidying. “Boy?”
“Yes.” Savannah took an audible breath. “We just found out today. We’ve got a healthy baby boy in the works. I know I said I’d be thrilled either way, and I would, but—”
“But a boy is wonderful,” Sinclair finished for her sister and gave fate an invisible high five. Beau had lost his first wife and their four-month-old daughter in a car accident a couple years before Savannah had moved into the apartment beside his. Falling in love again, the baby…all of it had been an emotional minefield for him. Having a baby boy was a completely new experience for both of them. Something solely theirs, that they didn’t have to share with the past.
“Mom and Dad don’t know yet,” Savannah added.
“They won’t hear it from me.”
“Thanks. Mom’s next on my call list. You don’t have to keep it to yourself long.” Savannah sighed. “So…what’s new with you?”
“Me?” Was it her imagination, or did this sound like more than a casual inquiry on her sister’s part? “Not too much. A national retailer expressed interest in carrying some of my pieces, and I picked up a few hefty new custom commissions.”
“Sounds like you’re kicking ass professionally, but to be honest, I’m more curious about your personal life. What’s new there?”
Yep, Savannah was definitely chasing after specific information, and she’d studied at the knee of a master. She could be single-minded when she wanted to be, like a shark chasing prey. “Why do you ask?”
“I saw you dirty dancing with Shane Maguire at the wedding—”
“We were not dirty dancing. It was just a dance. One dance.”
“I gave him your purse, and then the both of you disappeared, so in my book, it wasn’t just a dance. You were wearing a different dress when you came back to the reception, which leads me to believe the escapade involved him tearing your clothes off.”
“I didn’t leave with him. There was no escapade. Jeez. Is that what everyone thinks? I couldn’t keep my hormones under control through my own sister’s wedding? He’s an old friend. He happened by while I was having a problem with my dress and helped me out. I drove myself home and changed. Now you have the whole sordid story.”
“That’s not the whole story, and we both know it,” Savannah said gently. “He’s the guy, isn’t he?”
Shit. She released a breath and rubbed her chest. “Yes.”
“Does he know?”
“He does now.” As briefly as possible, she explained their deal, and how that had evolved into…whatever it had evolved into.
“Wow,” Savannah said when she finished. “So, what now?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “He wants a second chance and says he plans to stick around, but…” She walked over to the window again.
“You don’t believe him?”
“I don’t know.” She was becoming the queen of I-don’t-knows. “I’m not the kind of girl men stick around for—”
“Bullshit.” The gentleness disappeared from Savannah’s voice. “He didn’t stick around. He couldn’t, and deep down you know that, but since then you haven’t let anyone get close enough to stick. I can name two reasons why that’s the case, but neither has anything to do with you not being sticky enough.”
“Okay, fine. Maybe I’m not looking to get stuck? I know this might be hard to believe, but if you look past the glow of your own happiness, you’ll see a whole bunch of people—me included—who prefer casual, non-stick arrangements.”
“How would you know what you prefer? You got hurt once. Things took an unplanned turn, and you got in way over your head. The experience left a scar. I understand. But you’ve been guarding yourself ever since. You’re not sixteen anymore. You’re a grown-ass woman. And a grown-ass woman knows how to handle a relationship without getting in over her head.”
“You sound just like Mom.”
“She’s astute, our mother. But I bet even she doesn’t have a clue as to the other reason you’ve avoided handing your heart to anyone again. It’s because—”
“Why is it that everyone who gets into a serious relationship suddenly becomes an expert on love?” The heart in question started to pound, but she mustered up a laugh. “Henpecked single people everywhere want to know.”
Savannah went on as if she hadn’t interrupted. “You haven’t given your heart to anyone else because the best parts of it are already spoken for. Shane has them. He’s always had them.”
“That’s not true.” She forced another laugh, which came out hollow because her lungs refused to hold air.
“Whether you like it or not,” her sister insisted.
“I don’t like it.” The words flew out of her mouth, loud and angry, and not at all the outright denial she’d intended. She dropped down in a chair at her kitchen table and rested her forehead in her hand. “I don’t like it,” she repeated, letting the underlying truth settle over her. “Shit. What am I going to do?”
“He wants a second chance, Sinclair. You both deserve that much.”
The sound of tires rolling up her driveway propelled her into motion. She got up and crossed to the door. “There’s so much baggage between us.” A lift of a handle, a hard tug, and the big door rolled open. She stepped out onto the stone porch and pulled the door shut behind her with a bang. The Range Rover rolled to a stop just a few feet away. “What if it doesn’t work out?”
“What if it does?”
“Spoken like a newlywed.”
Shane came around the front of the Rover, all masculine grace and rangy muscles in a black Henley and army-green utility pants. The late-afternoon sun put copper highlights in his uncharacteristically windblown hair, but the thing that really made her knees go weak was his face. A good day’s worth of stubble lined his jaw, and the look in his eyes suggested she could expect to feel the rasp of it on every inch of her skin.
“Gotta go,” she mumbled in the general direction of her phone and hit disconnect a moment before two strong arms pulled her up against the hard bluff of his body and a hot mouth covered hers.