To Get Me To You: A Small Town Southern Romance (Wishful Romance Book 1) (43 page)

“They’re offering a settlement. A severance package of six months’ salary, plus all your legal fees.”

“That’s better than nothing, but six months’ salary isn’t going to help me if no one will hire me because of the damage to my reputation,” she said.

“That’s where it gets interesting. I have, in my hands, documented retractions and a glowing letter of recommendation for you, signed by Philip Vargas himself.”

“That’s…I don’t even know what to say. Is it legit?”

The door opened behind her. She knew without turning that it was Cam.

“It’s a hell of an offer. You could take it to trial and hold out for more money in damages, but I’m not sure you’d get anywhere and it might destroy whatever temporary insanity possessed him to make this offer.”

Cam moved in behind her, grasping the bench on either side. She leaned into him but didn’t release her hold.

“Yeah, no, I agree. Let’s take it.”

“Okay. I’ll make it happen, get the settlement paperwork in the mail ASAP.”

“I’ll look for it in the next few days. Thanks Marcus.” She hung up, shifting to slide the phone into her pocket.

“You’re shaking.”

“Shock, I think.” The long, slow exhale didn’t help. “It’s over.”

When she said nothing else, Cam turned her to face him. He was braced for the worst, prepared to be her rock.

“And?”

“Helios is going to settle. Six months’ salary and attorney’s fees, plus documented retractions of all allegations. Marcus said I could hold out for more in damages, but…”

“That’s not what this is about for you.”

“No. It’s so much more than I’d hoped for.” Her throat tightened as all the stress and strain of the past weeks came to a head. She pressed a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking harder as she dropped her head to his chest.

Cam gathered her in, stroking her back in that way he had of soothing. But it wasn’t tears that spilled out between her fingers, it was laughter.

She lifted her head and reached to frame his face. “Oh my God. Cam! Their lunatic plan worked! I’m getting my reputation back!”

Fueled by boundless relief and joy, she cut off whatever congratulatory remark he started to make, with an enthusiastic kiss. Dropping back to her feet, she beamed. “I don’t know what to do with myself. If I wasn’t so damned tired, I’d turn cartwheels.”

“Well,” Cam said, a trifle breathless, “as it happens we’re at a party, so I say we celebrate.”

~*~

After attempting one last head count of the people lining the bleachers in the community center, Cam went in search of the lady of the hour. He found her in a huddle with Cecily and Christoff—her default position the last several days. After the last few months, he’d thought he knew what Norah was like when she brought her A game. Having her team back showed him exactly how wrong he was. The three of them had a kind of synergy that was a pleasure to watch. They’d turned the Chamber of Commerce press conference about the referendum into an event that drew media—print, TV, and radio—from all over the state, even a few from neighboring Alabama, Louisiana, and Tennessee. Their David vs. Goliath fight was making regional headlines. In the few days since, the coalition had been contacted by other small Southern towns interested in learning from Wishful’s example.

“—not coming tonight, but whenever he makes it down for the initial business meetings with the city, I want to introduce you both,” Norah said. “Gerald wants me and my skills, and you’re an extension of that in the best possible way. I think Peyton Consolidated could be a good fit for you.”

“I certainly won’t turn down the connection,” Christoff said. “I could learn to ski.”

“Has Peyton figured out that if he gives you an inch, you’ll take a mile?” Cam asked.

“He hasn’t complained yet.” Norah moved toward the gymnasium doors with her team at her back. “What’s the crowd like?”

“It’s standing room only in there. Lotta people came out.”

“Good. We’ll need them all.” Turning to Christoff and Cecily, she put out a hand. “All in.” They layered their hands over hers. She looked at Cam, expectant, so he added his to the pile. “Let’s lock and load, people.” They broke formation, and she stepped into the roar of voices without a backward glance.

The mob inside felt like loosely-controlled chaos to Cam. Too many bodies in one enclosed space, all of them talking. He was pretty sure this might be one of the circles of hell. As he tried to sort out the best means of calling their attention, Norah slid two fingers between her lips and let out a piercing whistle that left his ears ringing. Apparently Tyler had been giving lessons. The crowd silenced, all attention shifted to her.

“That’s better.”

With a friendly smile, Norah stepped up onto the low stage erected at one side of the room. After a brief glance at the podium, she kept in front of it, at ease and confident in a way Cam envied. He hated public speaking. No matter how often he did it, having to address more than half a dozen people made his skin crawl. She held no notes, no clicker to advance her slides, nothing to keep her hands occupied. Christoff was manning the laptop and projector, a feat he managed with alacrity, since the two could evidently share a mind meld at will.

“Thank y’all for coming out tonight. As you all know, tomorrow is the public referendum wherein the citizens of Wishful have the opportunity to cast their vote for or against a statute that would institute a size cap on businesses operating within its boundaries. I urge you all to uphold your civic duty and hit up the polls.” She paused, scanning faces. “But that’s not what we’re here to talk about tonight.”

The PowerPoint presentation popped up on the screen behind Norah, but she didn’t give it a glance. “There’s been a slow erosion of the tax base, of profit margins, of straight up population in Wishful for the last twenty or thirty years. What we’re here to talk about is how it got that way and what we can do to stop it.”

Quick and efficient, she spouted relevant statistics, citing the change in population and work force through various stages of the town’s economic downturn as the furniture manufacturing industry, and all the peripheral manufacturing that went with it, moved elsewhere. The malaise that seemed to settle over the assembly was palpable. Cam knew her tactics, trusted they’d work, but he wasn’t any more immune to the spell she was weaving than anyone else.

“Efforts have been made to recruit other industries that could piggyback on the existing infrastructure and workforce remaining from the manufacturing base. But Wishful is having to compete with larger micropolitans, like Lawley. And even if such an industry set up shop, they could leave. Exactly like Heirloom. And then where would Wishful be? Exactly where it is now. Maybe worse.” She paused to take a sip of water and let that sink in.

“More recently there’s been the issue of GrandGoods. A big box store that’s made a lot of empty promises about the benefits it could bring to this community. Now it’s true, if they came, there would likely be some possible short-term benefits. They agreed to contract for local labor to build the store, to use local suppliers for materials where possible. They’ve even agreed to pay for the necessary infrastructure upgrades to accommodate the exponential increase in traffic and utilities. But that’s a slippery slope. Once a place like GrandGoods gains a foothold, then come other chains. Big businesses that don’t know us, don’t care about us, and don’t add value to the quality of life in this town. With that comes the same kind of sprawl, traffic congestion, environmental degradation, loss of community, and the economic and social segregation that’s seen nationwide. And that’s touted by many as progress.” Her eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with a disdain that had the crowd shifting.

“But I’m here to present to you a different vision of progress. One that plays to Wishful’s strengths. The solution lies not in bringing in outsiders to save the town but in leveraging the resources the town already has.”

The first glimmer of positive had the crowd’s focus sharpening. Bodies leaned forward, attentive.

Reel them in, sweetheart.

“So we’re a little caught in the past. We can play to that. Focus on the glory of bygone days and ramp up the nostalgia. Wishful is a little slice of Southern Americana. A place where people can come and remember what life used to be like. A place that's about community and, most of all, about family.” Cam saw her search out Miranda’s parents and nod. “It's something that people in this country so desperately long for in a society that's over-connected and simultaneously as isolated as it’s ever been. Wishful is a place that can remind people of what's really important in life. It can give the most vital resource and commodity of all: hope. Because Wishful is the town where hope springs eternal. Literally. And we can capitalize on that with a fully developed rural tourism campaign.”

Listening to her outline the concept, the assets already in place, and how they might be utilized, Cam recognized the disservice he’d done when he’d pushed her into a quick and dirty presentation for the Council. This was so much more full-bodied and emotionally-charged. All around the room, he could see and sense the tide turning, exactly as she’d said it would.

“Rural tourism has positive benefits for the economy. Most of the revenue generated from outside visitors would stay within the local economy—unlike GrandGoods, whose profits would be returned to the parent company and spent on foreign suppliers. Beyond the gains from direct sales of goods and services to visitors, tourism creates new jobs within the community, which helps prevent population drift and maintains the tax base. Income derived from tourism can help maintain and improve local infrastructure and services, which in turn, improves the quality of life for the community at large. Rural tourism also promotes environmental conservation and protection. GrandGoods came here planning to buy Abe Costello's land and build their store right on the shores of Hope Springs, one of Wishful's greatest assets. Well, that’s not going to happen. I believe so much in what we’re trying to accomplish here that I bought it myself. The property will be donated to the city with express instructions that it be preserved and cultivated into a public park that will benefit locals and tourists alike. Landscape architect Campbell Crawford is here to present the design.”

Norah stepped back, arms open to welcome him onto the stage. With a bracing breath, Cam joined her. Feeling the weight of so many eyes, he wished desperately for something to do with his hands. He took up a position behind the podium and gripped the edges to keep from shoving them in his pockets.

“Those of you who know me know I’ve wanted to put a park out at Hope Springs for years. I’ve toyed with the design off and on, but I never truly thought I’d get the opportunity to make it a reality.”

He shared a long look with Norah that had his nerves smoothing out. She’d done this as much for him as for the town. She’d given him this dream and inspired bigger ones.

“Tonight, I’d like to give the rest of you a glimpse into that reality.”

Behind him, the screen flashed to the first of his slides, and the crowd burst out with audible ooos and ahhs. Through some serious graphic design mojo, Cecily had turned his concept renderings into art that the audience could almost step right into. And that was why someone, someday, was going to pay her the big bucks.

Cam lost himself in the presentation after that, taking his audience on a virtual tour of the park that would both enhance and respect the environmental integrity of his favorite place on earth. By the time he handed the reins back to Norah, he held the assembly in almost as much awe as she did.

“Thanks Cam. That’ll be beautiful.” She waited for him to step down before she continued. “Now I know this may seem pretty out there to some of you, but the fact is that successful small-town development has mostly shifted away from traditional strategies and is now being driven by smaller, local efforts, with a very inward focus. Those towns that have managed to reinvent themselves aren't focused on luring huge corporations that could pick up and leave exactly as Comfort Coil and Heirloom Home Furnishings did. While funding may be national, regional, or state level, the knowledge base and the action is very much local. Small towns are the heart of the South. While other parts of the country are trying to recover a sense of pedestrian scale and small town life, Wishful is right here with all these qualities intact—just waiting for revitalization. The success of such a revitalization will be as a result of historic preservation, sustainable new development and planning. There has, up to this point, been a significant lack of technical planning skills and resources in city government. That’s not meant as a criticism of the system, but a statement of fact. The world has changed and Wishful hasn’t had the economic resources or support needed to change with it.

“That changes today. I stand before you as an authorized representative of Peyton Consolidated. Through their non-profit arm, Peyton Consolidated has been at the helm of numerous urban renewal projects around the country.” Behind her, the slides flashed by as she listed each, showing the dismal befores and the astonishing afters. “With Wishful, Peyton Consolidated wants to expand its mission to include the revitalization of small town America. The Mayor’s Office has been provided with a Memorandum of Understanding from Peyton Consolidated, outlining, in very clear terms, the funding and resources the company is prepared to leverage in support of this venture. In addition, Wishful has been presented with a mentorship agreement with Balenmore, Colorado, a small-town that’s made rural tourism a rousing success. They’re eager to partner with us in order to help us realize our own rebirth.”