Angels Don't Cry. Amanda Stevens
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most of you know, Riverside Development is a division of Braeden Industries of Dallas, the firm I’ve been employed by since graduating from UT. My background in Crossfield gives me a unique appreciation of small town values and concerns. At the same time, my long-time standing with Braeden Industries and now with Riverside Development enables me to tell you without hesitation that they can bring much to this community.”
Drew’s commanding air of self-confidence had an immediate effect on the crowd. Except for the smooth, liquid tones of his voice, a dropped pin could have been heard in that room.
Ann bit her lip in consternation as she took in the absorbed faces around her. He had them in the palm of his hand already, she thought with a sinking heart. He was seducing every last one of them without batting an eye. Even Viola Pickles’s austere features were tempered, and Bernice and Wilma looked positively enraptured.
“What Riverside is proposing, ladies and gentlemen, is a partnership. A partnership that will ensure a bright and prosperous future for generations of Crossfield citizens.
“I’ll be around for a while, several weeks in fact, meeting with Mayor Sikes and the town council as well as various special interest groups and individuals.” Again his eyes grazed Ann. “If you have any questions or concerns or comments, please feel free to come to me with them. Mayor Sikes?”
“Thank you, Drew. I’m sure everyone joins me in saying welcome home. Now, does anyone have any questions?”
Evidently, Mayor Sikes’s re-emergence worked like a dousing of cold water on Wilma and Bernice. Both of them were on their feet, hands raised high.
With a glare of disapproval over his bifocals, Mayor Sikes said, “Bernice? You have a question?”
“I certainly do,” she stated emphatically, directing her question to Drew. “Just what is your company’s intentions concerning all those old houses along Riverside Drive? Young man, you can’t come in here, bulldozing away the past without regard to the heritage of our town. Many of those houses have great historical value, not to mention the families who still live in them.”
“Miss Ballard, Riverside Development is not forcing anyone out of their homes. We’re making legitimate offers to property owners along the river, and frankly, many of them have responded quite favorably.”
“And if that area is rezoned for commercial building, what will become of the ones who don’t want to sell?” Wilma chimed in. “They’ll end up with parking lots and convenience stores for next door neighbors.”
“That will be a matter for the town council to decide. As you know, Riverside’s request for rezoning the waterfront has not yet been accepted by the council.”
“And never will be,” Viola proclaimed loudly. “Right, Ann? Ann?”
Ann jumped slightly as Viola nudged her into awareness. She looked around at all the expectant faces waiting for her to take up their cause. A sense of overwhelming vulnerability washed over her. She knew what had to be done, what needed to be said, but all she seemed to be able to focus on was how utterly compelling Drew’s eyes still were, how openly inviting his mouth had always been—
“I have serious reservations about these proposals,” she said finally. Several women from the Historical Society turned in their chairs to stare at her, and Bernice, Wilma and Viola were openly gaping. “Very serious reservations,” she added lamely.
“That’s why I’m here,” Drew said, looking directly at her with those vivid, penetrating eyes. “I want to hear all your concerns and questions. All I ask is that I be given a chance to present my side.”
The warm, enveloping sound of his voice aroused tremors all through her, and Ann had to wonder whether they were still talking about the development project or something more personal—something much more threatening.
She forced a challenge into her gaze as she turned to face Drew. “And those of us who oppose this project want the same consideration. The farmers around here have had a lot of tough years. For those who want to sell Riverside their land, the escalating property values are wonderful. But to those of us who don’t wish to sell, and never will, the increase in property taxes will be just another burden for us to carry.” She paused for a moment, her chin lifting slightly as she continued to defy Drew. “You seem to think that your development plan will somehow give Crossfield a better way of life, but a lot of us think it’s just fine the way it is. We don’t call escalating crime rates, traffic jams and the destruction of the countryside `a bright and prosperous future.’”
“Here! Here!” Bernice applauded, only to be targeted by Mayor Sikes’s deepening scowl.
“I’m not denying there’s a price to be paid for progress,” Drew said calmly. “But the rewards are often greater. Crossfield has lived in the past too long. It’s time to take a step forward before this town goes the way of so many other farming communities these days.”
There were murmurs of assent from the crowd. Nathan Bennett, one of Ann’s neighbors and an avid supporter of the development project, stood up, his face flushed dark red with excitement and possibly a nip or two of something else. “You’re right, Drew. Some of us are more concerned with the opportunities your project could bring—like jobs and new businesses, better schools and roads. How do a few termite-infested old houses down by the river compare with our children’s futures? We don’t want the deal queered by a bunch of old battle-axes who don’t have anything better to do with their time—”
Bernice was back on her feet in a flash. “Now, see here, Nat Bennett, I’ll have you know I’m just as concerned with your children’s welfare as you are. Maybe more so, judging by the condition that house of yours is in—”
Mayor Sikes’s gavel sounded over the dull roar of the crowd. “Now, hold on a minute. We’re all friends and neighbors here. No need to get so hot under the collar. We can state our opinions and concerns without getting personal. I think we’ve all said enough for tonight. More will be accomplished if we let Drew take up these matters one on one rather than in a shouting match. This meeting stands adjourned. Cake and coffee’s been set up in the lobby—”
“Come on, girls,” Bernice said, gathering up her purse and placard. “We need to plot a new strategy.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Viola protested, trailing after Bernice. “I’m the president. I think I should be the one to decide—”
“Wilma! Are you going to sit there all night or are you coming with us?”
Ann let the voices swirl around her as she stood. For just a moment her gaze caught Drew’s and a spark of something—anger?—ignited between them. Then she turned, tucking her purse beneath her arm, and walked out of the room.
Ann stood on her front porch, letting the night surround her like a soft, velvet cocoon. She’d been home from the meeting for over an hour, but had only gone inside long enough to dispense with her shoes and stockings. Out here, with the cool breeze from the river gliding along her bare arms and legs, the evening was like a fragrant balm.
Down by the river the crickets and bullfrogs had begun their evening serenade. The leaves rustled overhead, sounding like rain, and the scent of roses and honeysuckle carried on the wind as heady and maddening as a drug. Ann rested her head against a wooden support, blinking back a mist of unfamiliar tears at the memories the summer night whispered to her. Warm, starry evenings, the sliding shimmer of the river, and she and Drew swimming in the moonlight...
Somewhere in the distance a car engine sounded on the highway. Ann waited for it to bypass the turnoff to the farm, but it didn’t. Instead she watched the headlights bouncing down the gravel road toward her. She watched as the beautiful, gleaming car came around the last bend in the lane and stopped at the end of the driveway. She watched as the driver got out of the car and came slowly across the yard toward her.
Only