In Firefly Valley (35 page)

She emailed the press release with the names of the participating dealers to the San Antonio newspapers and TV stations, then began follow-up phone calls. As she'd hoped, the human interest aspect of the story intrigued the editors and news anchors, and within half an hour Marisa had a promise from one of the TV stations to send a news team to record the delivery of the RVs.

She was giving the anchor directions to Firefly Valley when Blake returned. Though his expression remained neutral, Marisa saw a glint of excitement in his eyes. Whatever his mysterious errands were, it appeared they'd been successful.

“Do you need to check in with anyone?” Blake asked when Marisa hung up the phone. He was fingering his cell phone, as if he wanted to make a call, but with no cell coverage at Rainbow's End, that wasn't possible. If he'd made calls while he was gone, he'd either used the pay phone or driven to the top of Ranger Hill to get a signal.

“I was going to call the mayor,” she told him. “He'll let the town council know what's happening, and they'll tell the residents.”

Blake slid the phone back into his pocket. “Why don't we go in person? I want to see the mayor's face when he hears about the RVs.”

So did Marisa, and she wasn't disappointed. The mayor's expression turned from admiration when he heard the idea of providing RVs in Firefly Valley to astonishment at the dealers' generosity.

“This is the best news Dupree has had since Greg and Kate bought Rainbow's End,” he said.

“There's only one possible glitch,” Marisa said when she explained that Greg had agreed they could park the RVs there for however long it took to find permanent housing and that he'd do what he could to get utility hookups expedited. “I'm not sure how the land is zoned.”

As she'd expected, the mayor shrugged. “It doesn't matter. We'll write up a variance if we need to.” He tapped his phone to call the head of the town council, asking him to tell the others they were needed at the school. “Let's announce the good news,” the mayor said when he hung up the phone.

Blake and Marisa followed the mayor, parking a few yards away from the entrance to the school. Many of the Hickory View children were outside, burning off excess energy in the playground with a few adults supervising, while the other adults remained in the cafeteria, cleaning up after the midday meal. Though Marisa had thought her parents might still be there, one of the women said they'd gone to Lauren's.

Marisa frowned. It was because of her father's suggestion that she'd become involved in the residents' plight. He ought to be here to learn how it was being resolved. She picked up her borrowed cell phone and called Lauren. “Y'all might want to come to the school yard,” she told Lauren. “There's going to be an announcement.”

When Lauren had agreed that she, Drew, and Fiona would accompany Marisa's parents, Marisa raised her voice to be heard over the chatter. “The mayor wants everyone to come outside.” Though she saw lines of worry form between several women's eyes, she didn't want to upstage the mayor. The man liked being the center of attention, especially when delivering good news.

It took longer than Marisa had expected to get everyone assembled, but she wasn't complaining, because by the time they were outside, her parents had arrived. They stood at the far edge of the crowd, one of Dad's bandaged hands resting gently on Mom's shoulder. Lauren and Drew were smiling at Fiona as she made her way to Alice's side. If it weren't for the lingering stench of smoke,
this might have been any other Sunday afternoon. But it wasn't. The mismatched and ill-fitting clothes and the strained expressions bore witness to last night's drama.

When the last of the town council members arrived, the mayor picked up his bullhorn. “May I have everyone's attention?” Once the crowd was silent, he smiled. “I'm glad you're all here, because Marisa has something to announce.”

B
lake couldn't help smiling at the look of sheer horror on Marisa's face. This was the woman he loved—always ready to help others but unwilling to take the limelight. Once she recovered from the shock, Blake was certain she'd be a good spokesperson for their project. The announcement she was about to deliver would be received with cheers and unmitigated approval.

Blake wished he could be as certain about her reaction to his own announcement. Chances were she'd be uncomfortable, but that wouldn't stop him. He'd prayed about this, and he was confident it was God's will, just as it had been God's will that he come to Rainbow's End. Even the writer's block, which had seemed so terrible, had been a blessing. It was because of it that he'd met Marisa, that he'd changed the direction of his writing, and that soon he'd . . . His thoughts ended abruptly as Marisa gripped his hand, seeking support.

“You'll be fine,” he whispered and pushed her toward the mayor.

“Me?” Marisa stared at the mayor as he handed her the bullhorn. She wasn't prepared to make a speech. It was one thing to sit around
a table with clients and discuss tax returns, quite another to stand up in front of half the town and deliver a speech.

The mayor nodded. “It was your idea, Marisa. Your work. You should get the credit.”

“But Blake was a big part of it.”

Though she'd hoped he would accept the bullhorn, Blake shook his head. “You can do it,” he said softly. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

That made twice in less than twenty-four hours that someone had expressed that level of confidence in her. Buoyed by their faith in her, Marisa took a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach. She would pretend she was sitting at a conference table, addressing two or three clients. She exhaled slowly. She could do this. She
would
do this.

“I have some good news,” Marisa began. When she finished her explanation, there was a round of cheers and applause. Marisa smiled and managed to make eye contact with several of the residents while she answered a few basic questions. When her gaze reached the back of the crowd, her heart lurched at the pride she saw on her father's face. The way he looked, you would have thought Marisa had won the Nobel Peace Prize.

“I don't want you to think this was all my idea,” she said when the final round of applause died down. “It was actually Blake who suggested RVs, and he made most of the calls. Let's give Blake Kendall a big hand.”

“Thank you,” Blake said when the crowd was once more silent. “I'm happy to have been part of today's planning.” Marisa noticed that although he did not use the bullhorn, Blake had no trouble being heard. “The RVs will give you a place to live while the new apartments are being built.”

New apartments. What was he talking about? Marisa stared at Blake. He shouldn't be promising something that wasn't assured. Andrew Lundquist had already said he had no intention of rebuilding, and even if new buyers emerged, there were no guarantees that
they would build another apartment complex. They might decide duplexes or single family houses would be a better investment.

“Blake,” Marisa said, putting her hand on his to stop him.

He merely shook his head and continued. “It's too soon to have blueprints,” Blake told the audience that was staring at him with a mixture of awe and disbelief, “but I can assure you that the new units will have everything you need. As the first tenants, you'll be able to select the carpeting and the kitchen appliances.”

What was going on? Only an hour ago, they were arranging for RVs. Now Blake was promising new apartments.

“Sounds expensive,” one of the men called out. “How much is this gonna cost us?”

Indeed. And who was going to build the apartments? It certainly wouldn't be Andrew Lundquist.

Blake slapped his forehead. “I forgot the most important part, didn't I? The rent will be the same as you've been paying.”

“You're the one who's gonna rebuild Hickory View?” a woman asked, her voice mirroring the astonishment Marisa felt. Blake was certainly sounding as if this was his project. A dozen questions whirled through Marisa's head, the most important being
why
. Why was Blake doing this?

He shook his head as he addressed the woman who'd asked if he was the developer. “I'm not, but the St. George Building Foundation is.”

Marisa's gaze shifted from Blake to her parents. They looked as mystified as she felt. Though the crowd murmured, as if trying to digest what Blake had said, Marisa started to sputter. He had gone too far. First he promised there would be new apartments; now he was claiming that they were going to be built by a nonexistent foundation that just happened to have her family's name on it. What was going on?

“Blake,” she protested, but once again he ignored her.

Keeping his gaze fixed on the audience, Blake continued to speak. “The decision hasn't been made, but I recommend that the new
apartments be called the St. George in honor of all that family has done for Dupree. I haven't been here for a long time, but I've heard about all the kids' bikes and toys that were repaired for little or no cost and the delicious meals that just happened to be delivered when a family needed them. And at least two people owe their lives to a St. George. It seems to me that's a better name than Hickory View.”

“Hear, hear!” The man who'd questioned the cost began to cheer.

Mom was staring at Blake as if she couldn't believe what she'd heard, and Dad's face was flushed, but they both looked pleased when the people standing next to them began to hug Mom and shake Dad's hand. Though the questions that raced through her mind had multiplied, Marisa could not argue with the pleasure Blake's suggestion had brought her parents. The years of whispered criticism seemed to be over, replaced by public recognition. All because of Blake.

When the cheering died down, Alice raised her hand as if she were in school. “Hey, mister,” she shouted. “Can we have pets?”

As the crowd laughed, Blake nodded seriously. “We might be able to arrange that.”

“Yay!” Alice pumped both fists into the air and twirled around, her enthusiasm translating into kinetic energy.

There were a few more questions for Blake to field, then the crowd began to disperse, the adults leaving in small groups and casting looks at Blake as they returned to the school. Their expressions reflected the same incredulity that Marisa felt.

“That was quite an announcement,” the mayor said, clapping Blake on the back. “I want to hear all the details.”

So did Marisa's parents. That was obvious from their expressions as they approached Blake.

“Sorry, folks,” he said with a smile that betrayed not one smidgen of regret. “Marisa and I have a couple things to take care of, including finding spots for twenty-four RVs. We'll see y'all tomorrow.”

We. He was acting as if they were in this together, when she was as mystified as the others.

“Talk to me, Blake,” Marisa said as he led the way to his car.

“I will,” he promised. “Once we get there.”

There
turned out to be Firefly Valley. When he'd parked the car and they'd walked a few yards from the road, Blake turned to Marisa. “Where do you want me to start?”

“How about the beginning? There's no St. George Building Foundation.”

“Not yet,” Blake agreed. “As soon as I get the paperwork filed, it'll be official.”

Marisa stared at him. From the time he'd returned from his mysterious errands, he'd been acting in a very un-Blake manner. “I don't understand.”

“You will. The fact is, you're responsible for the foundation. When you started talking about press releases and publicity, I knew what I had to do.” Blake reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. His touch was warm and reassuring, and the way he looked at her made Marisa's heart race.

“I should have seen it sooner, but we both know sometimes I need a nudge. You gave me that. Again.” Blake's eyes were warm, holding a hint of amusement and something else, something Marisa couldn't quite identify, something that kicked her pulse up another notch.

“While you were on the phone with the newspapers and TV stations, I made a few calls of my own. Those were my errands, and I'm glad to say they were successful. The first was to Andrew Lundquist. As I'd expected from what you said, he was more than happy to sell the land. He called it an albatross.”

“So Mr. Lundquist is willing to give you a fire sale—pun intended—on the land. That still doesn't explain how you propose to pay for the construction and for funding subsidized housing. The town can't afford any new taxes.”

Blake paused to look at Marisa. “I know. That's where the foundation comes in. It'll be like the one Greg has for Rainbow's End, only in this case it's designed to help people who need a little assistance.”

“I understand the concept.” Marisa had set up a separate set
of accounts for Greg's foundation so he could have a complete picture of its profits and losses and would understand how much he could afford to contribute to Rainbow's End. “What I don't understand is where that money is coming from and why you named the foundation St. George.” Greg's foundation carried his name.

Blake gave her a smile. “The second call I made was to my agent. I told him I'd do the talk show circuit the way he's been begging me, so long as everyone knows the money is going to the foundation.”

Marisa stared at Blake. She'd been shocked by his announcement of the St. George Building Foundation, but that surprise paled compared to this. Blake on TV?

Before she could say anything, he continued. “From what Jack has told me, the networks would be standing in line to be the first to interview reclusive author Ken Blake. Jack's also expecting a big spike in sales, so I'm planning to contribute those additional royalties to the foundation.”

As the blood drained from her face, Marisa leaned against a live oak tree, her fingers gripping the rough bark. “You're going on TV?” she asked, still not believing what she'd heard. “You're going to reveal that you're Ken Blake?”

Blake shrugged. This was the man who'd declared that he would never give up his anonymity. Now he was going to reveal his identity on television so that he could give two dozen Dupree families new homes. If that wasn't a miracle, it was awfully close.

Blake shrugged again. “I'm not planning to tell them my real name, but my face will be on book covers and TV screens. It probably won't take long before people make the connection to Dupree and come here.”

His lips curved into an engaging grin. “Some enterprising person who loves books and has a flair for numbers might want to open a bookstore and stock autographed copies.” He gave her a piercing look that left no doubt about that person's identity.

Marisa had thought Blake had exhausted his supply of surprises, but he hadn't. “Are you suggesting I run a bookstore?” she asked.

“Why not? The town can use one. Think about the additional tax revenues, not to mention the fact that you can hire a couple employees and further boost the economy.”

“But . . .” He was acting as if opening a store was easy.

Blake gave her another smile, this one obviously meant to convince her. “I'm confident you can do anything you set your mind to. Look at all you've done for Rainbow's End—and don't tell me that was in your job description, because the last time I checked, general managers don't make tablecloths and plan variety shows.”

“You're going way too fast for me. I'm still grappling with the idea of rebuilding Hickory View.”

“The store would be good for Dupree.”

“I can't argue with that, but you sound like you're planning to stay here. Are you?” Marisa had never considered that. While it was true that he could write anywhere, she had assumed Blake would want to return to California. Now he was acting like a resident of Dupree.