Love Inspired May 2015 #1 (27 page)

Lovie Darling selected a seat in the middle of the second row and greeted people as she passed them. Spring knew the position would give them eye contact with all the planning commissioners, as well as a good view of any speakers who addressed the panel.

“I thought the developer was supposed to be here,” Lovie said.

“I did, too,” she answered.

The table to the left of the ones where the commissioners sat was designated as the spot for those who would address the body. Two large but empty easels were positioned near the table.

That didn't bode well, Spring thought, knowing that the significance of those easels hadn't escaped her mother's attention. Their presence indicated that there would be plans or architectural renderings to display and show off. And those sorts of plans meant that proposals had been developed already.

She might have to make that phone call to the historical society's attorney, after all.

“I wouldn't put it past Bernadette to have signed a contract already,” Georgina Lundsford, another local resident with a deep and abiding passion for historical preservation, hissed as she leaned forward. “She's probably a silent partner in the development company.”

Spring pulled her phone out of her handbag, put it on vibrate and left it on her lap.

A few moments later, a side door off the room opened and three people entered. Spring stifled a gasp.

Not at Cameron Jackson, her soon to be brother-in-law, or at Gloria Reynolds, the city council clerk. The man with them, in a dark blue suit and tie, the man with a laptop bag hanging from one shoulder and a large artist's portfolio bag from the other, was the one who arrested her attention.

In Cedar Springs for
business
meetings.

“I'm an architect,” he'd said.

She should have put the pieces together. The evidence had been right in front of her. But the context had been all wrong. That's why she'd missed what should have been clear.

“Spring, darling, what's wrong?” Lovie asked.

Spring glanced at her mother, then realized that she was gripping the edge of her chair so hard that her knuckles were white.

Concentrating on regulating her breathing, she nodded. “I'm fine, Mom.”

She released the chair and clasped her hands together in her lap on top of the mobile phone.

She should have known that a man like David Camden was too good to be true. He was a loving father and a man of faith. He was the first man to capture her feminine attention in many years.

And he was here to destroy her family's home and legacy.

Chapter Six

D
avid saw her the moment he turned around to assess the crowd the fire chief had described as “openly hostile” as they'd made their way to the meeting room.

He'd walked in with Fire Chief Cameron Jackson and with Gloria, the helpful clerk who'd arranged for his meetings and helped him set up the items from his large portfolio.

Dr. Spring Darling sat front and center, staring daggers at him. The expression was one he'd always considered hyperbole until he saw those daggers directed his way. He saw disgust, distrust and sadness in her eyes. Her look cut him in a way that might cause actual physical wounds.

He wanted to rush over, to tell her that everything would be all right. But he knew that was not and could not be the case—at least where Spring, her mother and her sisters were concerned.

The main thing David wanted to get across during his presentation was that he was not a developer, that Carolina Land Associates studied and made recommendations on land use. The architectural side of the firm came up with renderings that would later be used by development firms. It was up to governing bodies to decide whether to proceed with a development project or not.

It took him about twenty minutes to run through his presentation. He answered a few clarification questions from the commissioners and then the meeting was open to questions from the floor.

David heaved an internal sigh when he saw who rose.

“How often are your recommendations followed by said governing bodies?”

The query from the audience came from Dr. Spring Darling.

“State your name, please,” the clerk said.

“Spring Darling, MD, and member of the Cedar Springs Historical Society, as you well know.”

David felt that information was directed at him rather than the council clerk, who did well know who Spring was.

He knew the answer, of course. Those data represented one of the benchmarks on which his architectural and consultancy firm could base success. There were a few ways he could answer the question, but the most direct and honest was the best approach.

“Thank you for that question, Dr. Darling,” he said, walking closer to the assembled residents, the digital pointer he'd used to highlight points on the renderings in his palm. “Carolina Land Associates has a strong track record of meeting client needs. Our most recent analysis of that very data shows a 95.8 percent rate of acceptance of our primary recommendations.”

Before Spring could answer, an older woman next to her, who could only have been her mother, rose. She wore a peach-colored dress and had the same coloring, cheekbones and eyes as Spring. He knew he was looking at an older version of the doctor and could see exactly what the pretty pediatrician would look like in thirty years—an older, more mature but still beautiful woman. Right now though, he also saw something close to anger in the eyes of the older version of Spring Darling.

“So you're telling us, Mr. Camden, that your top recommendation for this project, the new urbanism community you're
preliminarily
calling The Township at Cedar Springs, is parcel two?”

David glanced back at the easels and used the pointer to pinpoint the parcel she referred to. “It's larger, at just about two hundred acres, and this parcel is ideal for a mixed-use development,” he said. “It wouldn't require the easements or the purchase of any existing construction or property. As you can see, unlike parcel one or parcel three, it has little developed land and abuts a trail that could be expanded into a nature—”

“Didn't you say your condo, retail and business development project needs a minimum of three hundred and preferably three-hundred seventy-five acres?”

“Yes, but—”

Before he could finish, the woman next to Spring Darling's mother was on her feet.

“And you plan to steal those additional two hundred acres via eminent domain. And before you can ask, Gloria, my name is Georgina Lundsford, and you,” she said, pointing a hand that trembled with rage at David, “can build it over my dead body.”

“Point of order,” one of the planning commissioners said. “Georgina, sit down before we have to call the cops to haul you out of here.”

“Was that a threat?” Mrs. Lundsford said, making as if she was about to climb over the chair in front of her and do something about it.

Several in the audience apparently interpreted the words as such and rose to Mrs. Lundsford's defense.

“It's just these bully tactics that are giving Cedar Springs a bad name!” someone called from the back.

“You tell 'em, Ross!”

Mrs. Lundsford reached down, and David briefly wondered if she would straighten up with a .38 or .45 aimed at him.

David wisely retreated to the table, where he stood behind both it and a chair.

Chief Llewelyn apparently hadn't been joking about the possible need for Kevlar or other protective gear in the planning commission meeting. David had foolishly thought that mere hyperbole. While Spring Darling and her mother may have been wishing him ill, Georgina Lundsford might very well act on that anger.

A moment later, though, she started reading—at the top of her lungs—from a booklet she held. And it sounded a whole lot like the US Constitution.

He glanced at Spring. She was leaning across her mother and trying to get the Lundsford woman to sit down and stop hollering at him and the commissioners. David had been following the reports in the
Cedar Springs Gazette
with a modicum of skepticism, but now he discovered the newspaper's online accounts had failed to capture the animosity that existed about this proposal.

David didn't have a personal opinion one way or the other. His goal was to get the planning commission to approve the preliminary plans, which would pave the way for the city council to give Carolina Land Associates the contract to draw up detailed architectural renderings for whichever site the city deemed suitable for a mixed-use project of shops, restaurants, businesses, residences and entertainment venues.

As more rumbling and grumbling came forth, David got a pretty good idea of just how angry mob mentality led to violence.

The chair of the planning commission was on his feet and still arguing with the man who'd accused him of being a bully. Georgina Lundsford had reached the Fourth Amendment and was practically screeching about “the right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures.”

The ever-growing hubbub included voices shouting encouragement like “That's right!” and a chant that was building up over the words of the Constitution: “We're gonna sue. We're gonna sue.”

A big voice suddenly boomed over the din.

“Why doesn't everybody just take a seat?”

Heads turned to see Police Chief Zachary Llewelyn come in from the back, two officers flanking him. The chief made his way toward the front of the room while the two cops stood on either side of the assembled residents, who slowly looked around. Many sat again with uncertain looks at the officers and the police chief.

David hadn't anticipated being glad to see the law, but he sure hoped the big police chief could control his town. Cedar Springs, North Carolina, was supposed to be a sleepy little suburban city populated by professionals who worked in the Research Triangle area and commuted home to serenity every evening. Its residents were supposed to be retirees who liked the small-town vibe with city amenities, those who preferred a more altruistic approach to life. Apparently, they were willing to defend that to the core.

“You all right over there, Mr. Camden?”

David nodded to the police chief.

“You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves,” Llewelyn told the gathered assembly. “Mrs. Lundsford, I told you after the last city council meeting that if you disrupted another public meeting, you were going to be cited.”

“But, Chief, he...”

The police chief held up a hand. “With all due respect to you, Mrs. Lundsford, you were warned. The fine is going to cost you seventy-five dollars. Please don't up that misdemeanor to a felony. I don't want to arrest you.”

She huffed and sat down with her Constitution, clearly not happy.

“Dr. Darling?”

David watched as Spring looked up at the police chief.

“I know you and your family have a vested interest in these proceedings, but you're going to have to control your historical society members.”

David watched her reaction to the rebuke and felt for her. Her expression didn't change, but he thought he detected weariness in her eyes.

“I don't want to or plan to step on anybody's First Amendment rights to speak,” the police chief told her, “but it has to remain civil. Understood?”

Spring nodded. She rose, followed by her mother and Georgina Lundsford. Others in the row made way as the three passed. Then about a dozen others who had been scattered throughout the audience joined the trio.

One of the officers who'd come in with the chief trailed them out of the room. When the door closed behind them, David looked at the planning commissioners, whose faces reflected varying degrees of shock and dismay.

“Well,” Chief Llewelyn said to the front panel. “Looks like you'll be able to finish your meeting in peace.”

He walked to the back of the room and took a seat. The other officer remained on guard at the side of the room, presumably to escort out any other troublemakers.

The chair of the commission cleared his throat, then looked at his colleagues. “Uh, are there any other questions from the floor?”

No one said a word.

“All right. Is there a motion to accept and approve the preliminary plans from Carolina Land Associates?”

The woman to his left raised her hand. “I make a motion to accept and approve the three parcels within the city of Cedar Springs presented by Carolina Land Associates and to send the proposal to the city council with our recommendation to approve Carolina Land Associates as the architect and land use company of record for a mixed-use development in Cedar Springs.”

Within moments, the motion was seconded and unanimously approved. The chair called the meeting adjourned, and David stared at the three charts on the easels.

He'd won.

Then why, he wondered, did the victory feel so hollow?

* * *

In the hallway, Spring seethed. Not only had she been publicly chastised and embarrassed; David Camden had played her for a fool, not once but twice.

She wasn't sure which hurt the most.

That was a lie.

David's betrayal hurt more. She'd expected the planning commission meeting to be pro forma. She'd just wanted them, and therefore Mayor Bernadette Howell, to know that they were on notice with the Cedar Springs Historical Society that this battle would not be an easy one.

What she hadn't expected was to be blindsided by her emotions.

She'd made a connection with David Camden, a connection that he'd thoroughly exploited.

Her mother and Georgina went to see to Georgina's police citation. Spring had a good mind to call their attorney to see if that could be challenged, but as people began filing out of the multipurpose room, she realized the meeting had ended.

“What happened?” she asked the first person who approached—Ross Parsons, who'd jumped up to defend Georgina. He wasn't a historical society member, but he owned land adjacent to one of the three parcels. Like Spring, he saw what was coming down the road and didn't think it boded well.

The man shook his head. “Rubber-stamped to the council with a gift bow slapped on top.”

Spring shook her head in disgust; she'd expected as much. “Figures.”

She was about to go in search of her mother when someone called her name. She turned to find David Camden hurrying to catch up with her and the historical society members.

“I have nothing to say to you,” she told him.

“Let me explain,” David said.

“Explain? You lied to me.”

“I did no such thing,” David said.

“First, you let me believe you were homeless, and now,” she said, gesturing toward his large portfolio, “you gave a lie of omission.”

“Did I?” he asked, not bothering to mask the sarcastic tone of the inquiry. “Was that when I told you and the receptionist at the free clinic that I could pay for my son's care and that I had insurance? Or maybe it was at the hospital when you were so busy throwing facts and figures at me about Common Ground's community care projects? Is that when, Spring? I told you in the hospital's cafeteria that I wasn't homeless. But you had a notion in your head and decided not to hear me. And I told you I was an architect in the city for business. I didn't know I was required to tell my kid's doctor my entire life story with a résumé and reference letters.”

For several awful moments she wordlessly stared as he walked her back through all their encounters.

He'd arrived at the community care clinic with Jeremy in his arms. She'd just assumed...

And when they were talking in the hospital cafeteria, he'd said they weren't homeless and was about to say something else when she'd been called to the emergency department to help with its short staffing. That was unusual enough to warrant her justified distraction from their conversation—a conversation they'd never finished.

Embarrassed, Spring glanced at the floor. “I've been...” she started, swallowed and then looked up to meet his gaze. She'd made a major error. Her judgment had been clouded by what was on the surface—maybe in an attempt to quell the almost immediate attraction she'd had toward him, an attraction that was overwhelming in its sheer being.

“I made some assumptions,” she told him. “And that's something I shouldn't have done. I'm sorry, David.”

He sighed, the anger seeming to drain from him as he shifted the laptop bag on his shoulder.

“I didn't mean to lose my temper with you,” he said. He nodded toward the room they'd recently vacated. “I wasn't prepared for that type of reception.”