Have Cowboy, Need Cupid. Rita Herron
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to play footsie with. She was not a nature-loving, horse kind of girl, but a mall-loving, diamond-studded piece of eye candy. He should never have indulged his wanderlust by flirting with her, should never have held her in his arms.
Hell, he didn’t have time to indulge himself with any woman right now, especially one like her. His ranch needed major work. And now with his mother’s health failing, the inside of the house was deteriorating, too. Maria, the Hispanic woman he’d recently hired to help out, was nice enough, but she’d dyed all his undershorts pink. Apparently she didn’t have a good grasp of laundry skills.
Pink undershorts were the least of his worries.
Hopefully, some of the townsfolk would rally to his side against the idea of the new development. At least stalling the project would help get that developer off his back for a while. Maybe then Slim Wallace would cut him some slack. Knowing Rafe had a buyer made it way too easy for Slim to play hard-ball and lower the ax on Rafe. Sell, Slim had told him. Sell it and get out of debt.
Then where would Rafe be?
He would have nothing. His hands tightened on the horse’s reins as he let Thunder guide him over the ridge. His land stretched for miles, the lush green North Georgia mountains rising in front of him, the thick pines and hardwoods and apple houses in the distance a reminder of his heritage. He had grown up here, ridden this same stretch with his grandfather and listened to his stories of the old pioneer days of his forefathers. He wanted to pass that heritage along to his son one day.
Today he would fight for himself and the preservation of Sugar Hill. Let Suzanne Hartwell have the city. Hopefully, she’d already gone back to Atlanta, with its fancy shops and smog and traffic, where she belonged.
“YES, JAMES, I’m almost there.” Cell phone in hand, Suzanne squinted through the high noon sun as she drove toward city hall. “I’m right on time for that town meeting.”
“Good. I want a full report so we know what we’re up against, especially if those small-towners protest the development,” James said. “Have you met Rafe McAllister yet?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he’s bending any?”
“It’s too early to tell.”
“Well, I know you, honey. You can charm the pants off any man.”
If he didn’t charm her pants off first. Annoyance hit her as James’ comment sank in. “James, you aren’t suggesting…?”
“No, of course not, that was just a figure of speech.”
“Good. Because I have no intention of seducing some man just to steal his property from him.” Of course, seducing him for pleasure had crossed her mind the night before.
Quickly, Suzanne tried to change the subject. “How about Forrest Anderson? Did he agree to sell?”
“Yes, but his neighbor Will Samuels refused. And we need both properties to have enough land to complete the proposed site.” James sighed. “Even if they agreed, neither piece of land is as nice as McAllister’s or as convenient to the interstate. I can already envision the houses we could build on that side of the mountain.”
“The property is pretty spectacular,” Suzanne admitted, although she still couldn’t imagine moving out to the country. She liked the bustle of midtown, the art shows and theaters and nightclubs. Although, the traffic definitely got on her nerves. Where would James want to live if she accepted his proposal and they married? His home in Buckhead was nice but cold, and far from homey.
The sapphire ring sparkled from her right hand where she’d decided to wear it until she made a decision. So far James hadn’t pressured her for an answer to his proposal. And she didn’t expect him to, not until this deal was settled.
Business always came first with James.
Not that she could blame him. He had a fortune riding on this project. She hung up with him and studied the fading chipped paint of some of the downtown area. Alison’s bridal shop, Weddings to Remember, had been freshly painted, and the Hotspot, Mimi and Rebecca’s bookstore/café had new awnings, but some of the other buildings desperately needed facelifts. The new development would definitely boost the economy and enable the locals to update their own businesses. She mentally added the argument to her list as she parked in front of city hall. Already cars, SUVs and minivans overflowed the parking lot. Slim Wallace, the head of the bank, raced in, yanking at his baggy trousers.
As soon as she entered the meeting room, she felt the tension in the air. Her uncle Wiley stood at the front of the room, clad in his signature lime-green jacket and checkered pants. Cousins Hannah, Mimi, Alison and their husbands occupied front row seats. Her sister Rebecca and Thomas sat behind them, and locals filled the other rows of chairs. A few she recognized from her short visits into Sugar Hill, but most were strangers.
The hair on the back of her neck suddenly prickled, and she glanced to her left. Standing against the far back wall, looking tall and imposing in his dusty jeans, with his black Stetson tipped low on his head, stood Rafe McAllister. And from the dark stare he slanted her way, he didn’t look pleased to see her.
WHAT THE HELL was Suzanne Hartwell doing at a Sugar Hill town meeting?
Rafe glared at her, irritated that she’d gotten under his skin. She had no reason to be here, no right to get involved in the town’s business.
No right to stir his libido and make him want things he couldn’t have.
The mayor, Orville Lewis, a portly man with a bald spot as big as Rafe’s fist, called the meeting to order. “We’re here to discuss the future of Sugar Hill,” Mayor Lewis said.
“You mean the demise,” Carter Anderson, the owner of the local dry cleaners, yelled.
His comment started everyone talking and shouting and arguing at once.
“We have to put a stop to this land developer coming in and taking over our town!” an elderly man shouted.
“I moved here to get away from the city. There’s too much noise and traffic in Atlanta,” a middle-aged man in a gray suit said. “And now folks want to build a big mall that will draw crowds out here.”
“Cars’ll be clogging our roads, blowing exhaust into the air and bringing all kinds of derelicts around,” a frail woman in a pink knit dress exclaimed.
“But it would be nice not to have to drive two or three hours to buy school clothes for the kids,” Mrs. Ludwig, mother of five, argued.
Myrtle Lowercrust, the children’s church choir director stood up. “The kids won’t have the country air to breathe and the space to run and play.”
“Be a bunch of cookie-cutter houses and apartments everywhere,” her sister, Ethel, added.
“But we’ll have movie theaters and restaurants to choose from, and maybe even a nice dance studio that will offer some culture to this backward town,” another woman protested.
“Our town is not backward.” Hannah Hartwell Tippins placed a hand over her rounded belly. “We have good hometown values. And safe streets for the children.”
“Some progress is good,” Rebecca’s husband, Dr. Thomas Emerson, pointed out. “Maybe we could compromise and find a happy medium. I’m sure you people want the best medical care available.”
“We have a good hospital,” Alison pointed out. “And Brady runs the medical helicopter service for emergencies.”
“I want my kids to smell fresh air and see the wildflowers on the mountains in the spring,” Rebecca said. “Not have high-rises and concrete blocking the views.”
Wiley Hartwell flapped his arms like a peacock. “We don’t need strangers coming in, starting up businesses that will take away from our own. My car dealership, the local hardware store, they’ll all be run off by corporations and chains.”
“You