For Jessie's Sake. Kate Welsh
was why Abby had spent these past years studiously hiding behind a carefully built wall of self-discipline and self-denial. She couldn’t trust her own judgment. Not where men—and certainly not love— were concerned.
And she never would.
“…so after that,” Abby heard Colin saying, seemingly from a distance, “when you saw my sister, Tracy, you nearly always saw Abby Hopewell.”
Abby winced as memories and emotions flooded her thoughts. The pain of Tracy’s death had never really dulled as Abby had been promised it would. Much as she blamed Colin for somehow causing the rift between them, she blamed herself just as much for giving Tracy a craving for the kinds of things only money could buy.
Abby shook off the painful memories. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to meet my mother,” she lied, and fled down the porch steps. She’d wait for Juliana over at the winery even if she broke her neck stomping along the cracked-stone driveway in her high heels.
As she entered the town hall at exactly two minutes to seven, Abby looked around for her core group of lovable troublemakers. Sure enough, they were all there, seated down front and ready for action. Jean Anne, co-owner of the Hopetown Hotel and the Blue Moon Restaurant and Bar, turned around and waved to the seat they’d saved her. Jerry, Jean Anne’s husband, wasn’t there—probably the one home minding the kids and the hotel. As Abby strode down the center aisle, Harry Clark, owner of a local biker boutique, stood and turned toward her. Deep frown lines wrinkled his forehead. Harry looked like the kind of man you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley—or even mess with in broad daylight—but he was a pussycat.
“What’s up?” she asked, seeing that even Muriel Haversham seemed disturbed.
Muriel was the owner of Seek and Find, one of the many antique stores that dotted the town. She was usually unflappable and sunny. She didn’t look a bit sunny tonight. “Harley’s changed the agenda—tabled the federal grant discussion.”
Abby frowned. “What could be more important than getting federal help to solve the town’s flooding problem? Is he waiting for a fourth flood? Three in the last eighteen months isn’t enough?”
Harry waved the agenda. She stooped down and picked a copy off the chair she was apparently meant to occupy. “It just says development.”
“I don’t like the mystery,” Harry grumbled. “He’s probably trying to use tonight as a platform for his reelection. He’ll probably start trying to blame the Hopewell complex for the flooding again.”
“Don’t worry,” she promised. “I’m not about to let Harley Bryant get away with any posturing or diversionary tactics. When they did the perk test to check for our drainage it proved nothing runs off that plateau.”
“We have confidence in you, kid,” Albert Canter said in his gruff voice. Al was a blacksmith and seventy-five if he was a day. For any tourist who asked, he demonstrated his craft as gleefully as he displayed and sold his handcrafted iron work. Al just loved the town he’d retired to. He still considered himself retired even though he probably worked sixty-hour weeks during tourist season. Which had pretty much become year-round for the town.
After she took her seat, a steady stream of interested citizens entered the hall. Abby wished some of the other business owners would stand up to Harley, but she’d come to understand that going against him was uncomfortable for them. Some had spouses or children who worked for Harley at Bryant Savings and Loan. Others were friendly with Shirley Bryant—the shy, lovely woman he’d won over to the shock of nearly everyone in town. Still others had known his parents. Hopetown remained a small town, despite the large tourist trade.
Before long, Harley sauntered toward the podium and tapped on the microphone. “Can I have your attention?”
Just then the doors at the back of the hall opened and drew all eyes, Abby’s included. Colin McCarthy walked boldly up to the front row on the left side of the small hall. He turned toward Abby and grinned before sitting down. He certainly seemed to be jumping into life in Hopetown quickly, she thought cynically.
Abby straightened her shoulders, refusing to let him see that his mere presence set her on edge. Then Harley began speaking. “I’m sure you’re all wondering why I tabled the grant discussion tonight. First off, we have six months after our little water problem along Main to deal with that application. Second, I don’t have figures from everyone, so if that includes you, get them to my office. And third, I have something more exciting to talk about tonight. I’d like to introduce my old friend, Colin McCarthy. Colin, come on up and get reacquainted with everyone.”
Colin stood and loped confidently up to the podium as Bryant continued, “Colin has returned to Hopetown as quite a success story. An award-winning architect and successful builder on the Left Coast, he’s come back here to live and to make Hopetown part of his next venture. I’m asking the zoning board for rezoning and an acreage variance on the land Colin owns so we can expedite matters and get the ball moving on his project. This will be a real shot in the arm for the town’s coffers. Colin, suppose you give us a brief explanation of your plans.”
“Thanks, Harley,” Colin said, looking unruffled and self-assured as he stepped to the microphone in spite of grumbling from some in the audience. “I’ve returned to develop the land that was the site of my family’s farm for generations.”
Abby couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Develop upstream from the town? Was Colin off his rocker? Was Harley?
“Torthúil Gardens will be a townhouse and condo community with a large segment along the river dedicated to over fifty-five adult living surrounded by condo-association-owned land,” Colin went on. “In this way we limit population increases of school-age children and the burden of increasing property taxes to fund new schools. I’m also considering a clubhouse, pool and exercise center that any resident of Hopetown can use with the purchase of an annual membership.”
The grumbling grew louder as Colin put up his hand, quieting everyone. “This is all in the proposal stages. I should be ready with detailed drawings and plans within a few weeks.”
Then Harley spoke. “I’m proud to have secured the financing Colin needs for this project. The tax revenue alone will do more for Hopetown than any federal grant.”
Abby popped up out of her seat. “And if you develop Torthúil the way it sounds like you plan to, you’ll need even bigger federal grants to clean up the mess the additional run-off will cause the town.” Shouts of agreement came from pockets around the room.
“Harley, how can you even consider this after all the flooding?” she demanded. “Oh, wait,” she continued, narrowing her eyes as she stared Bryant down. “Since you secured the financing, your bank’ll make a bundle on this, won’t it? But what’s the tax base going to look like if there’s no town left, Harley?”
She turned toward the zoning board. Her family had tangled with most of them before. “I beg all of you to remember that this town is about more than tax revenue. It’s our duty as Hopetown citizens to guard our historical landmarks. I urge the committee to table this discussion for tonight and consider carefully any plans submitted.
“And I’d like to remind you all how hard Harley Bryant fought behind the scenes to keep my family from expanding our operation.” She knew he’d wanted them to fail so his bank would be free to foreclose and gain control of the winery. Unfortunately she had no proof. “I’d also like to remind you that because we sit so high, we have hundreds more feet of drainage under our complex than Torthúil. Plus, a very large percentage of the plateau where our facility sits was always planned as farmland and a nature preserve. The perk tests you all reviewed proved our use of the land has zero impact on the river.”
Abby finally took a chance and looked up at Colin. His jaw was rock hard, his eyes cold as he stared down at her. She glanced away and over to where the zoning board sat.
After a few moments’ deliberation, they approved only the proposed work on Colin’s farmhouse, tabling further discussion