Sparks Fly in Good Hope (A Good Hope Novel Book 10) Page 2

  Wyatt considered how to respond. He’d read the online account of Beck’s pregnant wife dying in an accident caused by a drunken driver back in Georgia. He knew Beck remarried a local woman and had two young children with her.

  Beck’s eyes took on a distant glow. “I planned to leave the practice of law behind and run a small café, all the while keeping to myself.”

  “Seriously? You thought you could keep to yourself in a small town?” Wyatt chuckled. “Even I know that if you want privacy, live in a city.”

  “Looking back, I believe I wanted the connection.” Beck’s eyes softened. “Ami owned the bakery down the street from my café. We started sharing coffee and doughnuts every morning, and our relationship developed from there. I tried to put her off, but Ami can be very persistent.”

  Wyatt had the feeling Greer could be as stubborn, er, persistent, as Ami.

  “Am-mee.” Wyatt repeated the name, wondering if it was simply Beck’s Southern accent that made the common name sound unusual.

  Beck smiled. “That’s right. Am-mee, short for Amaryllis. Her maiden name was Bloom. She and her three sisters all have flower names.”

  Wyatt nodded, wondering how they’d gotten so off track. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you know of a house or apartment I could rent on a month-to-month basis? Until I decide if I’m going to stay.”

  Beck’s gaze turned sharp and assessing. “You’re still considering selling?”

  Wyatt heard the surprise in the attorney’s voice. He understood. Seconds ago, he’d practically waxed poetic about life in Good Hope, and now he was talking about leaving.

  “I’m keeping the option on the table. For now.” Wyatt studied the endless row of trees. “I’ve spent my professional life involved in city government. I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a farmer.”

  “There are plenty of opportunities for civic involvement in Good Hope.” In that moment, Beck sounded like Trinity. “There’s a budget meeting in the courthouse tomorrow night at seven. You might want to attend. With your background, I bet you’d find it interesting.”

  Wyatt nodded. He walked past the building every night on his way to Beck’s café.

  Beck’s watch pinged. He glanced down and expelled a breath. “Duty calls.”

  The wind picked up, and pink flowers rained down on them as Wyatt walked with Beck between the row of trees. “Was there a specific reason you stopped out today?”

  Beck stopped abruptly and shot him a rueful smile. “Thanks for the reminder. Ami and I are hosting a barbecue on Saturday.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Just Memorial Day weekend.” Beck smiled. “You should come. It’ll be a good opportunity for you to get better acquainted with everyone.”

  Though Wyatt’s first instinct was to accept, he hesitated. He wasn’t sure it was smart to get involved locally until he decided if he was staying.

  If not for the election of a new mayor, he’d still be enjoying his work as a city manager in a community on the outskirts of Minneapolis. As his position had been appointed, when a mayor of the opposing party was elected, he was out.

  Wyatt had been considering several opportunities when Beck notified him of his grandfather’s death and his inheritance. Instead of pursuing those leads, he’d come to Good Hope.

  “I appreciate the offer.” Wyatt chose his words carefully, not wanting to appear ungrateful. “But—”

  “There will likely be someone at the barbecue who will know of a place you could rent.” Beck smiled. “The Sweet Dreams motel is nice, but I understand wanting more space.”

  Wyatt grinned. “You should be selling cars.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Beck chuckled. “See you Saturday.”

  The attorney drove off in a vintage truck painted a bright cherry red. As Wyatt watched him go, Trinity’s words came back to him. You’ll always be an outsider if you never let anyone in.

  An image of Greer in her red shirt flashed before Wyatt.

  He wondered if she’d be at the party.

  Wyatt grinned, suddenly eager for the weekend.

  Chapter Two

  Greer sat at the table on the raised dais with three other town board members. Last fall, she’d been elected to the spot on the board that her mother had held for two terms. Greer enjoyed playing a small role in moving Good Hope forward.

  Which was the only reason she’d tossed her hat into the ring when no one else had indicated an interest in running for mayor.

  She wanted her beloved Good Hope to flourish. She wanted all the wonderful projects Jeremy had worked so hard to promote to continue. The way she saw it, being mayor would be a win-win. Holding the office would allow her to not only help her community, but allow her to hone her people skills, which were sorely lacking at times.

  Take her encounter with Wyatt Davis. Though his abrupt manner had set her off, when she looked back, there were much better ways she could have handled the conversation.

  Lynn Chapin Bloom, Greer’s mother, would have had the man relaxed and laughing in minutes.

  Unfortunately, Greer was more of an introvert. Meeting new people had always been difficult for her. While that could be a challenge for her while running for mayor, she was determined to give it a shot anyway.

  “This is a public hearing on the proposed budget of the town of Good Hope.” Eliza Kendrick, beautiful and professional in a black linen sheath, surveyed the sparse crowd. Most of those in attendance had chosen seats in the far back of the large room. “We have plenty of chairs closer to the front. We’ll wait while you move forward.”

  While it wasn’t exactly an order, Eliza’s cool gaze had everyone but two men relocating to the first couple of rows.

  Eliza nodded approvingly. “You should all have received a copy of the proposed budget when you entered the room. It was also posted to our website. In addition, a breakdown of the budget summary was made available during regular offices hours at the Office of the Town Clerk. She is with us tonight to address any specific questions the board may be unable to answer.”

  Eliza gestured to the pretty strawberry-blonde seated in the front row. Prim turned in her seat, half stood and gave a little wave.

  “Immediately following the completion of this hearing, a special town meeting of the electors to approve the total town tax levy will be…”

  Greer tuned out the particulars on the next step and focused on those in the audience. She’d been struck by how few people turned out for these meetings. Of course, looking back, she realized how few she’d attended. Though she’d always gotten updates from her mother, she should have taken more of an interest in what was going on her community.

  During her time as mayor, Greer resolved to do what she could to raise awareness and involvement.

  Refocusing on Eliza, Greer was once again struck by the woman’s natural leadership ability. Eliza should be running for mayor, not Greer.

  When Greer had voiced the thought before she declared, Eliza had laughed. Not only was Eliza the executive director of the Women’s Events League, known as the Cherries, she also ran her own business. More important, she’d told Greer, she had a baby girl and a husband who took priority.

  Greer, on the other hand, was slowly taking over the running of the family’s banking empire. She had no boyfriend or children. Unlike Eliza, Greer had the free time.

  A large woman with a mass of brown hair pushed back her metal folding chair with a clatter and stood. “I was wondering—”

  “Please move to the microphone and state your name before asking your question.” Eliza bestowed a surprisingly warm smile on the woman. “We’re recording this meeting, and we want to make sure the person who transcribes it doesn’t miss a thing.”

  Greer wished she had Eliza’s knack for being cool and businesslike one minute, then turning on the charm the next.

  “My name is Mary O’Rourke.” The woman’s voice trembled slightly. “I have a utility pole on my property.”

  She pulled a sheet of paper from a handbag she held like a shield in front of her body. “It says here something about an easement. I—”

  “Mrs. O’Rourke,” Eliza interrupted, “this meeting is specifically to discuss the budget. We won’t be able to discuss your easement concerns today. There should be a name and contact number at the bottom of the letter. If after speaking with that individual, you still have questions, please contact me directly.”

  The woman glanced at the letter as if searching for the contact information. She gave a jerky nod. “I see it here. Thank you.”

  “Thank you.” Eliza glanced around. “Anyone else?”

  Silas Orby, master gardener and all-around pain in the ass, took his time covering the short distance to the microphone. If the grizzled old man wearing overalls and a Vietnam Vets ball cap had physical limitations, the slow crawl would be understandable.

  But Greer knew for a fact that Silas had finished first in the seventy-and-older age division of last year’s 5K Cherries Jubilee Classic. When it suited him, the man could move quickly. Or he could keep everyone waiting, like he was doing now.

  Eliza’s fingers drummed lightly against the podium, her smile tight and controlled.

  Greer wanted to cheer when finally, blessedly, the man reached the stand. “Silas Orby, master gardener.”

  After a moment of silence, Eliza prodded, “What is your question, Mr. Orby?”

  “I want a law passed that dogs can only pee on their own bushes. LaVonne Whittle’s mutt, Mr. Finley, is killing my flowers. She lets him venture down my fairy garden path and…”

  It took every ounce of Greer’s self-control not to laugh as the man went on to describe in great detail Mr. Finley’s favorite spots to pee.

  “Mr. Orby, I’m sorry to inter
rupt. But as previously stated, this meeting is to discuss the budget and—”

  “This is about the budget,” the man insisted, rolling over Eliza’s protest. “People come to these parts to see my flowers. Tourists put money in everyone’s pockets. Mr. Finley’s pee is—”

  “That is quite enough,” Eliza snapped. “This is not the proper forum for that discussion.”

  When the man opened his mouth, Eliza pointed at him. “Not one more word. You may contact the sheriff if you have concerns about the behavior of one of your neighbors’ animals. You may contact the mayor’s office or one of the town board members, if you’d like to suggest a policy change.”

  Eliza’s voice was razor-sharp. With her gray eyes glinting in the overhead light and her jaw set in a firm line, Eliza reminded Greer of a drill sergeant staring down a recruit. “We will not spend one more second at this meeting on Mr. Finley’s urinary habits.”

  “If that’s how you feel, I’ve wasted my time here.” Huffing out a breath, Silas pivoted on his heel and marched from the room.

  Eliza’s gaze remained impassive as she scanned the room. “Would anyone else like to speak on the budget?”

  A woman with dark hair who appeared close to Greer’s older brother’s age moved to the microphone.

  “I’m Cathy Scott. My husband, Jim, and I are foster parents. We’re relatively new to this, but I want to bring up an issue that concerns me. What happens to these children when they age out of foster care? Like I said, we’re new to this, but isn’t there something we can do as a community to help ease the transition?”

  Though Eliza’s smile never wavered, Greer could practically hear from where she sat the board chair grinding her teeth. Had everyone missed that this was a budgetary meeting?

  Greer waited for Eliza to repeat what she’d already said twice before. Instead, the board chair surprised her by fixing her steely gray eyes on Greer.

  “Would you like to respond, Ms. Chapin?”

  When Greer hesitated, Eliza made a hurry-up motion with one hand and stepped back from the podium.

  With her heart fluttering in her chest, Greer rose and stepped to the microphone. She wasn’t sure why she was being singled out to answer, or rather, to tell the woman her question was inappropriate for this meeting. But she wasn’t about to argue.

  “Mrs. Scott. First, I want to thank you and your husband for becoming foster parents. Even in a community as small as Good Hope, there’s a need.” Greer licked suddenly dry lips. “I’m sure you’re aware it’s the federal government that provides funds to states for foster care services. Those services are not funded at the local level.”

  “You’re saying nothing can be done. That you won’t help.” Tears filled the woman’s eyes as her voice grew thick with emotion.

  Two men at the back of the room emitted sounds of disgust and pushed to their feet. Seconds later, the door slammed shut behind them.

  Greer waited while the woman swiped at her eyes and composed herself. “You’ve heard of the Giving Tree.”

  Mrs. Scott nodded.

  “I’d like you to contact me so we can brainstorm what we can do to help these children. It sounds as if there is a need, and neighbors helping neighbors is what the Giving Tree is all about.” Greer offered the woman a smile. She thought about adding that this was a budgetary meeting, but there was no need as the woman voiced her thanks and resumed her seat.

  Greer didn’t have a chance to ask Eliza why she’d directed that question to her. Several people with actual budgetary questions stepped to the microphone.

  Once the meeting concluded, there was a brief meeting of the electors and the budget was approved. Eliza was nearly out the door when Greer caught up to her.

  “Eliza.”

  The woman spun on her heels.

  “Why did you direct that question to me?” Greer inclined her head, puzzled by the odd behavior. “You have as much knowledge in that area as I do.”

  Eliza’s lips lifted in a slight smile. “I’m not running for mayor.”

  Wyatt sat alone in a corner booth at Muddy Boots. With its quaint decor and amazing comfort food, the café Beck and his wife, Ami, owned would have been a success in any size city.

  The ambience wrapped around Wyatt like an old flannel shirt. Comfortable and in no hurry to rush back to his room at the motel, he studied the dining area. His chair was positioned so that he had a direct view of the mural painted on a far wall. It was of a young girl in a red raincoat, kicking up water.

  Wyatt added another dollop of cream to his coffee and decided the scene fit the atmosphere in the busy café. The number of tables and the happy chatter said the tourist season was in full swing.

  He took a sip of his rich Colombian brew. One more thing to appreciate.

  When he’d learned he’d inherited property on the Door County peninsula, Wyatt had researched the area. He knew the effect cherries and tourism had on Good Hope.

  It explained why so many specialty shops could exist in such a sparsely populated area. What had Beck told him during that first meeting in Minneapolis? That Good Hope had all the advantages of big-city living while offering a slower-paced way of life.

  Though Wyatt still hadn’t decided to stay, he was leaning in that direction. He considered what Trinity had said about opening his eyes to opportunities for involvement.

  He’d just taken another sip of coffee when two burly guys with beards, ball caps and sour expressions pulled back chairs at the small table to his right.

  “That board meeting was a joke.”

  The other man flipped open the menu. “Your sister-in-law did a good job at the microphone.”

  “Cathy cares about her foster kids.” The one with the red beard sighed, his tone more resigned than angry. “She’s terrified of speaking in public, but this was important to her.”

  “Greer Chapin shot her down. Just said no.” His friend snorted. “You know she turned down Tom’s loan? It pisses me off to think that piece of work is going to be our next mayor.”

  “Maybe not,” Red Beard began. “She—”

  “No one else is running, Darrell,” his friend reminded him.

  “To be fair—” Darrell stopped when a waitress appeared to take their order.

  Once the burgers and fries were ordered, Wyatt expected the topic to return to Greer. Instead, Darrell mentioned something about the upcoming Independence Day fireworks, and nothing further was said about Greer.

  Wyatt ate his meatloaf. He tried to ignore the stirrings of emotion the man’s words had aroused. He’d spent enough time in the political arena to know there were many sides to an issue.

  He also knew that a politician’s background and attitude often set their priorities. He’d done his research on Greer Chapin since meeting her in the orchard. Someone who’d grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth would likely find it difficult to relate to people barely scraping by.

  The tasty dish turned to sawdust in Wyatt’s mouth. Though he’d been of the same political persuasion as the mayor he’d worked under, over the years many issues Wyatt had championed had been pushed aside in favor of those the mayor saw as more important.

  The issues Wyatt championed had never been brought to the forefront during the mayoral race by either candidate. If they had, they might have gotten the consideration they deserved.

  She’s running unopposed.

  The statement circled in his head as he finished his meal.

  Once the last delicious morsel had been consumed, Wyatt picked up his phone and looked up the eligibility requirements for elected office in Good Hope.

  Eighteen years or older. Wyatt had reached that requirement more than ten years ago.

  High school education. His master’s in public administration seemed like overkill.

  Resided in the area for three years. Wyatt’s heart sank until he read on: or landowner in area.

  “Or” instead of “and” was significant.

  Wyatt might have been in Good Hope for only a short time, but he owned well over a thousand acres of land, as well as a processing plant.

  He narrowed his gaze on the filing deadline. Tomorrow.

  One night to decide whether to throw his hat into the ring. This could certainly be one of those opportunities Trinity told him to be on the lookout for, and he did miss the part of his old life that allowed him to get involved and help people. But was he ready to commit to staying in Good Hope? Was he ready to become a local?