“Seems like this is a good time to remind you that I was against the idea of you running for mayor,” he said with a little more heat than the situation warranted. “I’m a sidelines guy when it comes to authority.”
“Really, Marchande? That’s how you’re gonna be about this when I’ve come to you for help?”
All Caleb got for his trouble was a nonchalant shrug. “Don’t be such a baby. I’m here for better or worse. But you need someone who knows the score. I don’t have a clue what a fire chief does. Besides, I like to play with fire, not put it out. You got a crew doing demo? I’m your man.”
That was the problem—they weren’t demolishing anything. Not anymore. This was about building on the foundations of a town that had welcomed them with open arms. Creating a place to flourish.
Maybe he was the only one who wanted that. Or maybe Tristan Marchande needed a swift kick in his laissez-faire attitude. Not hard. Just enough to get his butt in gear. They’d all been affected by the honorable discharge; that’s why they’d relocated to someplace that wasn’t crawling with guys still in the Navy. Tristan needed to get on board and do it fast.
“This is your chance to figure out what a fire chief does,” Caleb said. “Google it.”
Tristan spread his hands, palms out, the nonverbal equivalent to not my circus. “I’ll screw it
up.”
Which wasn’t the same as not being interested or not having the skill set. That was pure fear talking. Caleb wasn’t the only one carrying around a boatload of emotional crap from al-Sadidiq, and that alone was enough of a reason to mellow out. He could cut Tristan some slack.
“Not like you’ll have to live up to the previous one,” Caleb reminded him.
“Oh, Dieu merci!” he shot back, so heavy on the sarcasm that it was apparent he wasn’t actually thanking God. “That makes it all better.”
Okay, Marchande wasn’t biting. Obviously. Frustration curled Caleb’s hands into fists, but he held back from driving one into the solely out of respect for Serenity’s property. How did Marchande not see that this was his chance to vanquish the demons? Whatever they’d brought home with them from Syria, hiding from it wasn’t going to fix anything. Tristan should take this opportunity and run with it.
All at once, the conversation he’d had with Havana crowded into his mind—this was where he needed to take a step back and figure out how to win Tristan’s allegiance instead of brute forcing it down his throat. Caleb had a tendency to push people past the point of comfort. Usually for their own good.
And just maybe Havana hadn’t been too far off about Caleb’s hero complex. Except it wasn’t that he wanted to win this argument with Marchande because of an overly aggressive need to arrange everything like chess pieces. This was Caleb leading from the heart, with a genuine desire to make sure his guys were taken care of.
Wow. When exactly had he started thinking of himself as a leader anyway?
He blew out a breath, his thoughts a jumble.
“You’re right. This is not the job for you,” he told Tristan. Not yet anyway. “If I get the guys together, will you at least hear me out? Figure out where you fit?”
Cautiously Tristan shrugged. “Sure, ami. I’m not aiming to be difficult, just… you know.”
Yeah, he knew.
There was no time like the present to move the dial on this hoedown. Caleb rounded up the others, and as had become custom, they wound up at Ruby’s in the corner booth. The diner shouldn’t have started to feel like home so quickly, but the cracked plastic over foam already knew the shape of his butt, conforming to it instantly as he slid into the middle spot, Rowe on his left, Tristan on his right, and Isaiah next to him. Hudson took a chair from the nearest table, the same one he always grabbed, and turned it backward in a move so smooth it looked choreographed.
Implausibly, they’d already found a groove. Now they all needed to step up and give back.
“For whatever reason, the citizens of this place elected me mayor. I’ve got to find a way to honor that trust,” Caleb told his team, meeting the gaze of each one individually so they really got the importance of what he was saying. “I need you guys more than I ever have before, and that’s saying something.”
“Name it and it’s done,” Hudson said before he’d stopped talking, bless him.
The others nodded, Tristan included, which hadn’t been so much of a given. But at the end of the day, they were all good men who needed a bit of guidance from Caleb.
“Appreciate that. Here’s the deal. Superstition Springs needs a police department. A school. A fire department. A thousand other things I haven’t thought of yet. And I have six months to get it operational. How do I do that?”
“With our help,” Isaiah suggested as if that was obvious. “Are you looking for us to pick up a hammer or start making a list of the thousand things?”
“All the above. I’ll assign things if need be, but I’d rather you do what makes sense for you.” This is what he should have done in the first place instead of making a potentially serious misstep with Marchande. “I need a police chief, a fire chief, some people to help get this town on the map. A PR genius would be stellar. Get people in Austin to relocate their businesses here. Someone has to run the school. Stop me when you hear something that appeals to you.”
The rundown alone exhausted him, let alone the thought of the work involved. Six months seemed like a blink of an eye. Not nearly long enough to scratch the surface of this task, let alone get the town profitable and attractive to a resort guest.
“Here you are.”
Havana’s voice slid into his gut and unfurled, inexplicably calming him at the same time it pulled a sharp thrill through him. His inner turmoil would never be strong enough to block the way she affected him. Caleb glanced up to see her standing there, red hair drawn up in a saucy ponytail and a pretty brown-haired woman behind her.