All Summer Long (Fool's Gold #9)(9)

Mayor Marsha glanced back at her sheet. “Under old business, we still have the issue of Ford Hendrix.” She stared at them over her glasses. “I don’t have to remind you that this is a sensitive topic, not to be discussed outside of this room.”

Gladys shook her finger at Clay. “That goes double for you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The name was familiar. There had been several Hendrix brothers back when he’d been a kid, he thought. Sisters, too, but when he’d been five or six, girls had been less interesting to him.

“Ford has been gone nearly a decade,” the mayor continued. “From what I’ve learned, his latest tour of duty ends next year. It’s time for him to come home.”

“I’m not sure we should get involved in this,” one of the younger women said. “Isn’t Ford’s decision to reenlist or not up to him and maybe his family?”

Eddie sniffed. “You young people spend a lot of time with your heads up your asses, if you ask me.”

Mayor Marsha’s expression turned pained. “I don’t believe anyone did ask you.” She turned to the younger woman. “Charity, you’re right. It’s not our place to meddle. Normally I wouldn’t, but Ford needs to come back to where people love him. Being in Special Forces takes a toll on a man. He needs to heal. And Fool’s Gold is the best place for that.”

There was a brief discussion on how to get the mysterious Ford back in the fold, so to speak. At the end of that conversation, the mayor invited Clay to make his presentation.

“Good morning,” he said as he walked to the front of the room. “Thanks for inviting me to speak.”

“We enjoy looking at an attractive man,” Eddie told him with a grin. “We’re shallow that way.”

The mayor sighed, but Gladys gave her a high five. Those two must have been hell on wheels when they were younger, he thought.

He passed out the printed version of his business plan and then connected his laptop to the cord for the screen.

He clicked on the first slide and began to talk about Haycations. He showed pictures of the land he’d bought, a diagram of what would be planted where and a few stock photos of people driving tractors for general interest. He outlined the number of families he hoped to attract, extrapolating about how much they would bring to the local economy. He had a rough idea of what kind of advertising he would do, along with about how many local people he would be employing.

Twenty minutes later, he finished with a request for the three small zoning permits.

“Impressive,” Mayor Marsha told him. She smiled warmly. “We all appreciate how you’ve taken the town’s needs into account as you’ve written your business plan. I believe there are several local business owners who would like to hear about this. They might have some helpful ideas for you.”

“That would be great.”

“You’ll be settling here permanently?” she asked, her blue gaze steady.

“That’s the plan.”

“We’re not exactly New York.”

Something Charlie had mentioned. “I’m ready for a change.”

“You know,” Gladys said, her wrinkled face bright with amusement, “if you really want to help the town, I know a way.”

“Don’t,” Mayor Marsha said, her tone warning.

Gladys ignored her. “You could loan your butt to a campaign we’re planning.”

“Stop it right now,” the mayor said forcefully. “That’s not what we’re here to talk about.”

“He’s got a famous butt. I’ve seen it in the movies. We all have. Work with your strengths, I say.”

Clay was used to faking any expression a client wanted. It was why he’d become so successful. Now he made sure he looked amused rather than angry and uncomfortable.

Gladys slapped a tabloid magazine on the table. The headline was clearly visible. Famous Model Insures Butt for Five Million Dollars.

“Why waste money on something like a Haycation when you only have to flash the real deal to make a mint?” she asked.

The mayor winced. “Clay, I’m so sorry. There was some discussion about asking you to be in our campaign.” She glared at Gladys. “We were going to use your face, however.”

“A waste of resources if you ask me,” Gladys mumbled. “Everybody would rather see his ass.”

CHAPTER THREE

CLAY TOSSED HIS computer case into the passenger seat of the truck, then started the engine. But instead of driving away, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and told himself not to take it personally. He’d been a model for a lot of years. He understood being talked about like an object rather than a person. He’d had his appearance dissected a thousand times before. He’d been told he was too tall, too short, too big, too small, too young, too old, too handsome, not handsome enough. When a client wanted a “look,” he either had it or he didn’t.

He’d made millions, he’d gotten an education, he’d invested well and he’d moved on. Now he was ready for act two. The problem seemed to be escaping what he’d been in act one. He hadn’t expected to be blindsided by a bunch of old ladies.

“Hell,” he grumbled under his breath, not sure what to do with the frustration boiling inside of him. He didn’t want to go back to the ranch. Putting his fist through a wall would create other problems. Finally he put the truck in gear and drove out of the parking lot.