“How hard can that be?” I asked. Salvation was a farming community. How could the town not support the very foundation it was built on?
“This prison will offer jobs that many people in town need. Family farming is seen as a dying occupation,” Sinclair explained.
“People still want their hamburgers, don’t they?” My tone was sharper than I’d intended.
Sinclair wasn’t affected. “Like most other industries, family-owned businesses are being usurped by big corporations. We let it happen in the name of cheaper prices or progress. I don’t know if we’ll win, but I don’t plan to stand idly by while Stark buys land for less than it’s worth. I don’t want farmers shafted so other residents have a job that will probably underpay too.”
“They’ll take this farm over my cold dead body.” I nodded at her so she knew the seriousness of my vow.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
4
Sinclair
I can’t breathe. I was already tense when I drove up to the Jones’ property knowing this was the place Wyatt had grown up in. I’d never been here before. I didn’t think Ryder had spent much time here either except on a few occasions when he did some work for Wyatt’s father on the ranch. Wyatt never talked much about his family and I got the feeling that was on purpose. I wasn’t sure why although rumors were that his father was an alcoholic and abusive. Whatever the reason, Wyatt never invited his friends over and so this would be my first time at the place he’d grown up in.
Several times over the last ten years, I’d driven here wanting to talk to his parents to see if they knew where he was, but I never made it up the driveway. He’d left. If he’d wanted contact with me, he knew where I was and how to reach me. He never called or texted or made any effort to talk to me, and that was my answer. He left, breaking all ties to me and everyone in Salvation.
That was what I reminded myself of as I drove up the drive and parked in front of the old, tired yet charming farmhouse to talk to his mother. I knew who Peggy Jones was. Everyone in Salvation knew of everyone else. But that didn’t mean I knew her personally. I’d never spoken to her before. I suspected she knew my brother, as Wyatt and him had been best friends since grade school, but she probably knew me the same way I knew her. To her I was Ryder’s sister or perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Simms’ daughter.
The woman who answered looked as tired and worn as the house, and yet her hazel eyes were friendly. I introduced myself and told her I was from the mayor’s office and had some questions. I’d relaxed until she pointed behind me and told me her son Wyatt should join us in any discussion about the property.
My heart jumped to my throat as I turned and saw Wyatt crossing the grounds from the barn toward us. Immediately I was thirteen years old and watching Wyatt, with that same sexy smile he wore now, as he and my brother played basketball on the makeshift court my father made at our house. Wyatt had been shirtless then too.
The boy I’d seen then was now a full-grown man. Even more so than the last summer we spent together. His chest was broader, harder, more sculpted. He had scars; one on the skin over his heart and one below his left pec that hadn’t been there before. I wondered what he’d been doing that caused it. For a moment, I longed to press kisses to the scars to heal whatever wound was there.
His once slightly-too-long dark hair was short all around except for on top, where it looked like it had been combed back by his fingers. He was the epitome of sexy cowboy.
I wasn’t sure how I got through the first few minutes of our discussion. I felt like I was in a firestorm and my brain had melted. I was glad when he left to put a shirt on and I could compose myself.
Now, sitting across from him, my mind was in a whirl. Where had he gone to? Why didn’t he contact me? Why was he back? Was he here to stay? It sounded like it, but who knew? And how was that going to impact me? That last question sent a shiver of panic up my spine.
“How does the mayor’s office expect to beat a man like Mr. Stark who has such deep pockets? Won’t he offer more money? There are plenty of people around who’d be tempted by that,” Peggy asked me.
I tore my gaze away from Wyatt. “Well, if people stick to their guns, eventually he won’t be able to offer enough to make it profitable. If no one sells, he’ll be forced to look elsewhere.”
“We won’t sell.” Wyatt took his mother’s hand. “This is our home.”
She looked at her son with such love and gratitude it made my chest fill with warmth. He was still the sweet man I knew. A sweet man who abandoned me, I reminded myself.
“What do you need us to do besides not sell?” he asked.
“If you could talk to your neighbors and convince them not to sell, that would be a help.” I took a sip of the cold tea, hoping i
t would cool me down and settle my nerves.
“I think Martha and James are going to sell,” Peggy said of her neighbors. “I don’t want to offend you, Ms. Simms, but is the mayor’s office going to do more than just talk?”
“I understand your concern.” I clasped my hands together on the table to keep from nervously fidgeting. “Another tactic is to garner farmer support from the community and pressure the board of supervisors to not grant permission to build. I have to be honest, Mrs. Jones, the mayor’s office is limited to what it can do. The mayor believes he needs to do what is best for the community-”
“This is a farming community,” Wyatt said, clearly irritated.
“Yes, I agree. That’s why I’m here. The community needs to come together on this and pressure the board of supervisors and yes, the mayor.”
“The mayor should support us,” Wyatt said.
I hated having to defend the mayor on this, but I wanted them to know what we were up against. “The prison would bring jobs and tax revenue that Salvation needs. Plus, it would help businesses because families of inmates would visit and stay in town.”