Walk Through the Fire Page 2

  “Gaines. I’m Annabelle Gaines. I work with Jillian Beck—Jillian Deane. She set up this meeting for me, through her sister…Mel. Mel’s a friend of mine, too. They said you might be able to help me.”

  “Yes. Of course.” He vaguely recalled meeting a handful of nurses a few times at his cousin Houghton’s. Friends of Houghton’s wife, he believed.

  He didn’t remember an Annie, though. But he’d been distracted by reorganizing his city after Richard’s death and hadn’t paid much attention for a while there.

  His mistake. He should have paid attention. Paid close attention.

  The lights flickered on again.

  Turner took his first good look at the woman keeping him from going home.

  And there she was. Beautiful, nervous, sweet, shy. Big blue eyes looked into his.

  There was power in eyes like that.

  Turner just stared, like an idiot. Like every Barratt man who’d ever come before him. Instant lust had just smacked him straight in the gut for the first time in his thirty-five years.

  That could be why he suddenly couldn’t breathe.

  He stared at her, like a boy first noticing that pretty girls were often shaped just a little differently, and in an interesting way.

  She was on the small side, especially compared to his six foot four. Her hair was warm light brown and pulled up in a knot on the back of her head. Some of it had escaped and curled around her cheeks. Little dimples peeked out when she smiled nervously at him. She was adorably disheveled, dressed in rumpled hospital scrubs and little white shoes.

  Her eyes were big and light blue. Her skin was pale, and there were freckles over her nose. It was a delicate nose, thin and pretty.

  Pretty described her perfectly. The hospital scrubs she wore were jade green and hung loosely on her body. She didn’t have a lot of curves to fill them out, but what were there had his attention sharpening. Her mouth was soft perfection, but he wanted it to smile.

  For her to smile at him specifically. He wanted to replace the fear and nerves in her eyes with humor, joy. Lust.

  Turner was a healthy male animal, after all. This was a healthy female. He appreciated that. His headache lessened.

  “I’m T—”

  “I know who you are.” She frowned at him, and he fought a grin. This woman was adorable. He’d always found adorable irresistible.

  She was not very pleased with him right now, though. Turner had no idea what he’d done to her. He wanted to know, so that he could fix it.

  “I—please sit down, Miss Gaines. How can I help you?”

  “This.” She held out a letter with a small hand that trembled. He took the letter quickly and read it. He winced.

  Hell.

  He’d known that people would be affected by his plans to clean up Boethe Street—some more so than others. But he hadn’t expected to see one right in front of him today.

  He had been fighting the city council to find a better solution, but while they’d agreed to half his plan, they were playing hardball on the other half. And they were adamant about the planned location. It had to be at the end of Boethe Street just before it turned from commercial buildings to residential. Retailers would benefit from the population living in that region the most.

  They wanted that space for business offices, as well. Even Lucas Tech from St. Louis was planning an expansion in that area. The revenue that company would bring to the city was astronomical. And needed.

  The numbers showed a great benefit to the city. One the city needed. Funds weren’t always available to keep the civic programs Turner wanted going.

  There was plenty of adequate building space less than a quarter mile away that Turner felt would work just as well, with an equally sized population surrounding it. But that population wasn’t as affluent as certain council members wanted. Which had never made sense to him—the population surrounding Boethe Street weren’t exactly upper middle-class.

  He’d tried explaining that himself. Repeatedly.

  There were a few hardcore idiots who were determined to have their way—he half thought it was just to thwart him.

  This woman and her family had apparently fallen on the wrong side of the deal. Now those big, blue eyes were looking at him to fix things. Turner wanted to be her hero. He knew himself well enough to realize that right off the bat. But he didn’t see that happening. “I’m sorry. I...knew some families would be evicted, but I’m trying to work out a solution.”

  “Some? Try thirty-two. In a matter of weeks, I’m going to lose my home. Along with thirty-two other families. Ninety-eight people. Real people. Ranging from the age of two months to ninety-four. Not the people you see on those commercials you've been airing. So what’s your solution going to be, Mayor Barratt?”

  Her words were even more powerful for how quiet they were. How sincere.

  “To be honest, I don't know. I am trying, though. I've got paperwork in motion to get the condemnations stopped for as long as I can. Buy some time. This was not what was intended. Do you have an attorney?” It hadn't even been his plan to begin with. He hadn't been the mayor at the time the plan was first started. He'd thought it was a good plan, though. One that required modification.

  He’d fought for that modification, and Richard had been convinced, but had died before anything could be implemented. Almost days before. Grief for the man who’d mentored him was still a jabbing knife. Richard would have known what to do about the woman in front of him now. Richard would have been able to fix things. “I'm trying to get this fixed, Miss Gaines. I can promise you that. I wish there was a way I could help more.”

  “So that's it? We're just supposed to take your word? And hope that this resolves itself? People are waiting for me to figure out an answer to this. They are counting on me. I won’t let them down.” Her voice wavered.

  Turner put the letter on the desk between them. She was shaking in front of him. He got the impression she was shy and non-confrontational. And he was the ogre she was fighting against. Damn it, that was the last thing he wanted her to feel. “I...”

  He didn't know what to say. He knew the law, and it wasn't on her side. The city could take her home, and her neighbors’, for its purposes. It was perfectly legal. She could contest it, and Texas had steps she could take, but ultimately, she would most likely lose.

  Most eminent domain cases were found in favor of the cities involved. But most cities also offered lower offers than they should. It wasn’t a policy he agreed with, but he understood the financial necessity for it. Far too much of his day was spent trying to make pennies turn into dimes so his city would have the resources it needed. He always settled for pennies into nickels instead.

  Turner hated math. Especially business math. He was much better at dealing with people.

  Mostly.

  He was used to helping people. It didn’t feel like he’d done much to help people lately, though.

  “Fight it. You’ll get a better deal.” That was all the advice he could truly give her.

  The thirty-something families that would be displaced would eventually be offered fair market value for their homes; but he doubted many of the homes on Boethe Street were worth very much. They were the lowest-valued homes in his downtown area. There were city council members pushing for the lowest possible offer.

  That might be standard in eminent domain situations, but it wasn’t exactly how a Barratt did things.

  Barratts ran their businesses—or their city—with honesty. And always had. Always would.

  What the letter said the city was offering wasn’t much more than enough for a down payment somewhere else. In a down housing market. Chances were good the evictees would face a tougher economic situation than they currently lived with. That was not what Turner had ever intended to happen. Talk about a publicity nightmare, at the very least. He wondered if the councilmembers who were pushing for this—there were four of them he could think of in full support—realized how unfavorably the public would view th
is.

  Hell, Turner viewed it unfavorably, as well. He just didn’t know how to fix this.

  It was no wonder people weren’t happy. Sometimes, the city council forgot the human element of the city.

  Turner hoped he never did.

  “I need to know what we are supposed to do. I have neighbors counting on me to find the answers for them. They…some of them are homebound, Mayor Barratt. A move right now will change their entire world. And not in ways that are good. It means nursing homes and elderly apartments that aren’t in the greatest of shape, and the loss of life savings they were counting on. This is not good. For any of us.”

  There weren't any tears in those blue eyes, but he sensed she was close to it. No. There was no way he was going to be responsible for making her cry.

  Nor did he want to be responsible for sending elderly shut-ins to the poorhouse.

  Turner stood and rounded his desk. He stepped in front of her chair. She looked up at him, those sweet blue eyes sad and a little scared and far too powerful for his peace of mind. Filled with a hope that he could fix this. Never had he felt more useless as a mayor as he did in that exact moment.

  “Miss...Annie...I don't know yet. But I'm going to try to find an answer for you. I have a cousin, Powell. Powell owns a million properties. I'll find you someplace else to stay myself. She’s a property attorney. I’d be happy to put you in touch with her; she can help you with the process of this. But to be honest, I’m trying, and I’ve talked until I’m blue in the face. But there are those on the council who are hellbent on this. And they have far more sway than I do. They won’t budge even a hundred feet on the location.”

  “I can afford another home, Mayor Barratt. I’m not worried about finding a place to live.” Pride had her chin lifting. For some reason, Turner thought his offer had insulted her. That had been the furthest intention he had.

  “But what about the rest of my neighbors? The Bennetts are in their mid-eighties. They've been in their home for almost sixty years. As have the Hendersons. Gia Martinez and her six-month-old daughter just moved into their house. She bought it with life insurance money from her mother. It was all she could afford. She can't afford a house payment right now. She just can't. My sister watches her baby for her because she can't afford daycare. What about them, Mayor Barratt?”

  She shifted in the chair, glancing toward the window behind his desk. But he got the feeling she didn’t see the clouds building outside.

  “These are real people, with real stories. You can't let this happen to them. And, while I can afford to move, I shouldn’t have to be forced to. That house has been my home since I was twelve years old. I was paying the mortgage on it by the age of fifteen. I replaced the roof on it with my own money at fourteen. It’s in my name now. I shouldn’t have to lose that.”

  He nodded. He knew they were real people, with real stories that he wouldn’t comprehend, considering his privileged background. He understood what she was trying to do. She was trying to protect the people she cared about. Same as he would in her same position. “I've been trying for several months to get this figured out. I promise I'm not just letting this happen to you, or anyone else. If nothing else, I’ll make sure you’ll get a fair deal. The best deal possible.”

  “Then why is it happening at all?”

  “Because we haven't come up with a solution to it just yet.” And unfortunately, he didn’t think there would be a solution that worked for everyone. The Boethe Street project was a sound business move—that would greatly benefit the city. The revenue from that shopping complex would bolster the funds for the rest of the neighborhood in a way that was greatly needed.

  That a few houses would be torn down was just an unfortunate but necessary consequence. As much as he wanted to make it work for her, he didn’t think he could. Turner wasn’t naïve.

  He’d just about been ready to give in to the pushing from his two most vocal city council members. Like it or not, he was needed in other parts of the city far more than an eight-block section of the most run-down street in the city.

  But he had never expected to have one of the residents of that section in his office today. It made it a lot more real, and a lot more personal.

  Turner's phone beeped, then turned to a long, loud warning signal. He grabbed it quickly; protocol demanded he evaluate every warning to come through. “I'm sorry. I need to check this weather warning. Duty calls.”

  “No, I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have taken up your time. I need to...” She stood, giving a look around. One that told him she was overwhelmed and confused. And…disappointed in him. She’d lost her hope. Because of him. That stung. “I honestly don’t know what I expected to happen here. I knew it was a long shot, but Mel and Jillian were insistent I talk to you. They said you might be able to help. Mel…”

  Mel. His cousin’s wife was family. And if he couldn’t help with this, it wasn’t just Annie he had let down.

  Barratts did what they could for family, after all.

  “Just give me a minute, Annie. Let me see what this notice is about, then you and I can sit down. Try to find a solution together.” He’d never been a quitter. He was a Barratt. He had to try at least one more time. “You know the people involved much better than I ever could. Maybe you'll find a way that I can't see. At the least, I can call Powell, and we can ask her any legal questions you might have. I’ll play the family discount card. She owes me several favors.”

  It wasn’t just that.

  He didn't want her to go. He wasn't ready to let her disappear. Not until he figured out what it was about her that had his gut tightening and his hands shaking with the urge to touch her.

  Instant lust had never hit him like this before. Especially for a woman in hospital scrubs and a disheveled ponytail.

  His phone shrilled again, just as a siren sounded overhead. A long siren that made it hard to hear. The emergency sirens were attached to the fire station on the north side of the city, and on the TSP building near the south side of the city.

  They were designed to make certain no one missed what was coming. Turner bit back the curse at what it meant.

  He’d never hated weather warnings before; mostly, he’d just taken necessary precautions and then ignored everything—often working away on his laptop until the warnings were over.

  But that was before he’d become the public face of a city of fifty-seven thousand people. He might not freak from storms, but there were plenty of people he was responsible for that would.

  It was his job to help them prepare and keep them calm until this threat had passed.

  Severe weather was coming to his city. That meant he had to be ready for anything. But first...He wasn’t letting her go just yet. The weather was as good an excuse as any. “Come on. We need to get downstairs to the basement. We can talk down there. Come up with some sort of solution. The last thing I want to do is evict someone’s great-grandma.”

  The sirens echoed around the room.

  “What is it?” She almost had to shout for him to hear her.

  “Tornado warning. We need to get downstairs.” There shouldn't be anyone else in the building this late in the day, except security.

  He wrapped one hand around hers, and she let him. He wasn’t afraid of tornadoes and storms—he knew the statistics—but he wasn’t going to let her go out into one right now. He could at least do this little thing to keep her safe.

  “I need to call my family. Make certain they’re safe.” Big blue eyes showed worry and fear. She darted a glance toward the window.

  Turner’s gaze dropped to her left hand where he held it. No ring, at least. And no tan line where one had been. She wasn’t married. That was good. Very good.

  She had her phone in her right hand. Hail slammed into the windows, echoing through the hall. She wouldn’t be able to hear on the phone now. Turner pulled her closer.

  “Do that once we’re downstairs. That's hail on the roof. And it sounds big. Downstairs, hurry.”r />
  They didn't speak as he led the way toward the storage room in the basement that had been used as a tornado shelter since the beginning of his tenure as mayor. It was on the opposite end of the city hall building from the security office.

  Standard procedure would have the two security guards on duty checking each office, then hurrying down to their department as soon as possible. Essentially, he and Annie would be alone in the basement until the all-clear was given. However long that would be.

  Turner was a master strategist. Being in a dark basement with a woman he found extremely attractive could never be a bad thing, in his opinion.

  He’d use that time as wisely as he possibly could. Even if just by trying to save her neighborhood.

  Something slammed into the side of the old brick building.

  The walls rattled clear down to their studs. Wind roared overhead. Glass shattered in the hall window. It sounded like a train, full-steam, was shrieking just overhead.

  Ok, now he was starting to get serious. His phone rang in his hand, but he didn’t bother even trying to answer it.

  He yanked on her arm, moving her more quickly when she hesitated. “Go! Downstairs!”

  He had to shout over the sounds of the wind.

  They had maybe fifty feet left to go when the remaining windows shattered in the hall around them.

  He ran faster. The roaring got louder.

  The power went out. Annie screamed. Talking was impossible. A long crack of thunder followed by a wailing unlike any he’d ever heard before echoed around them. It sounded like a damned banshee. None of that train business, it sounded like a soul-stealing banshee out there now.

  Turner cursed and practically lifted Annie into his arms.

  He'd lived in Texas long enough to know what it meant. This wasn’t exactly his first tornado rodeo.

  They were about to be hit. Hard.

  Turner had been in the center of a tornado before. When he’d been twelve, and his cousins Houghton and Clay had both been a few years or so older. They’d been outside on the ranch when it had rolled up on them. Houghton had rushed them into a nearby barn. The barn had lost part of its roof with them in there. Clay had covered Turner’s head with his own arms at the last minute.