had actually hurt not to look at her. Hurt not to hold Lacey’s stunned and devastated gaze and give her some kind of sign that everything would be okay. But Clay couldn’t look her in the eye until it was okay.
First he had to deal with Ira Howell, who’d promised late last night that he’d honor the change in ownership if Clay made it to Mimosa Key with the official paperwork before the town council meeting.
That had been thirteen hours and seven hundred hard miles ago. And at least six cups of gas-station coffee, all of which burned in his belly right now. Clay had driven to and from North Carolina without sleeping and he felt every mile on his body. But he couldn’t rest now. Not yet.
“Do you have everything?” he demanded of Ira as they powered through the lobby and into the lot.
“Do you?” Ira shot back.
Clay guided him to the van with the lettering “Clayton Walker Architecture and Design, Inc.” on the side. The van Darcie had snagged the keys to, and warned him that it tended to shimmy when it hit seventy-five so he needed to go easy on the gas. It shimmied at seventy-five all right, and felt like it would implode at ninety.
But he and Darcie had made it from Raleigh to Mimosa Key alive, with the paperwork intact.
“Right here,” he said, grabbing the power of attorney forms they’d had notarized at the Raleigh hospital by a person probably more used to signing death certificates than property transactions.
“Because as much as I want to help you,” Ira said, “there are some tricky legal issues doing it this way, according to the lawyer at Wells Fargo.”
“I have what your lawyer needs. Trust me.” Clay handed him the form.
Standing in a strip of shade, Ira opened the letter and read it. “I have to tell you, first of all, I’m very sorry about your father’s stroke.”
Clay nodded his thanks.
“How is he?”
“He’s alive.” Why lie? He might not be long for the world, and if he made it, he wasn’t ever going to run a business or design a building again. “The second stroke was actually a blessing because it pulled him out of the coma and he could communicate.”
Ira used the paper to fan himself, beads of sweat dampening his lip. “He didn’t know you were involved when his company bought the land; you know that, don’t you?”
“That’s what he said.” Although part of Clay suspected nefariousness on his father’s part, he and Darcie had been able to put the pieces together, and it looked like Dad really had had no idea of Clay’s involvement when he’d sent the scout who’d determined that the properties made a great purchase.
“After that last meeting,” Ira continued, “I was confused. I couldn’t understand why Walker Architecture was staying anonymous when someone with the same name was already involved.”
“You told him?” Clay asked.
“I struggled with it; I’ll be honest.” Ira took out a white handkerchief and dabbed his damp forehead. “I figured it was a family feud and I oughta back out. So I didn’t say anything for a while, but then I got wind of some of the stuff going on over here and I contacted the company.”
“Why didn’t he just terminate the deal?”
“Well, I don’t want to make you feel guilty, son, but that day he had a medical, uh, situation.”
So C-dub hadn’t lied about that at least.
“I guess his health became his focus then.” Ira dug into his bag and produced a massive amount of paper that would take at least twenty minutes to sign. Even though it meant he’d miss Lacey’s presentation, he took the time because when he walked in there he wanted this deal done. No lies, no promises, no more misunderstandings.
When he put his last signature on the bottom line, Clayton Walker—the younger Clayton Walker—owned both parcels of land and he could do whatever he wanted on them. And, God, he knew what he wanted to do.
They shook hands and Clay couldn’t resist giving the man a quick pat on the back. “You went above and beyond, Mr. Howell. All that work last night and early this morning to prepare this paperwork was outstanding. Thank you.”
“Use my bank for this resort you’re planning.”
Clay grinned. “We will.” The word “we” sounded so right and natural. Now all he had to do was make it so.
He walked inside, where Lacey stood beside the 3-D model of their resort, the main-building front-elevation board propped up next