The Hero (Thunder Point #3)(51)

These two roads were going to cost a small fortune. And that was not even considering the additional cost of a custom home. So why was he standing on the beach every day, watching those huge, noisy, exhaust-spewing earth movers and dump trucks with a big stupid grin on his face?

And he wasn’t alone on the beach by any measure. Everyone arrived at one time or another to watch the action. Sometimes there were ten people standing on the beach near him, looking up at that vast hill. This was a momentous event for Thunder Point—the development of new land. The town and the whole north promontory was pretty well developed and there were some who had hoped Cooper would sell this land to a resort or hotel chain but, mostly, people were just happy to see it improved. All of this development was bound to be good for the town.

Cooper had talked to a developer, of course. He had it in his head that he’d sell lots along the beach for single family residential. It was even within his power to lease those lots with restrictions on the size and architectural style of each structure. “I’ll be the homeowners’ association,” he told Sarah. “No one’s putting a purple shed with a neon sign that flashes Girls Girls Girls on my beachfront.”

He planned to put some classy picnic tables and grills on the beach. Not a ton of them, but a few. He had an idea that once this part of the beach was further developed, and the new roads were built, they’d have more visitors in the bar. And if they had more visitors, he would be able to add more kayaks and boards as rentals.

During the dog days of August, there weren’t a lot of people on the beach, at least during the weekdays, so work progressed nicely. And the beach, while the road crew wasn’t working, was completely unaffected.

He had a vision for this hillside development. Given it was a hill, tall multilevel houses were practical. Lower-level garages and even wood shops or rec rooms would fit perfectly on the lowest level with most of the living space on the second level. Then lofts or second levels could be built on top of that. Anywhere from twenty-five hundred to four thousand square feet, these family homes would have large oceanfront decks and staircases to the beach. That style of architecture was not only most practical but would maximize the use of the land.

Even though he had an idea of how many single family lots this stretch of beach could handle, he was still focused on one—his. Theirs.

Mac drove the sheriff’s department SUV across the beach, stopped, got out and just stood with Cooper for a while, looking at the roadwork, as he did almost every day. After several minutes he said the thing he said every day. “That’s gonna make a difference. But the beach might get busier.”

“As long as it doesn’t look like Fort Lauderdale at Spring Break, I’ll adjust. Maybe they’ll buy sandwiches and drinks from me.”

Rawley came down from the bar to stand with them and stare up at the site. “Damn fancy, you ask me.”

The men looked at him. “I didn’t hear anyone ask. You hear anyone ask, Mac?”

“I like fancy,” Mac said. “I’d kill to have one of those parcels. I don’t need much—those kids will get their own lives eventually. But I’d take one of those windows. Or the deck—I could use a deck like that as long as it had an ocean out in front of it.”

Cooper looked at him. “Maybe you ought to go see the bank.”

Mac laughed. “I walk into a bank in this uniform and they smile, thank me for the service to the town and offer to set up a little checking account for me. They know what I make, what I’m worth.”

“We’ll look at the map together. You pick out one of the lots. I’ll make you a deal.”

“I don’t want a deal.”

“Why not? I can do whatever I want,” Cooper said.

Mac sighed. “Because I don’t want to be sitting out on that deck having a beer with you,” he said, lifting his chin toward the bar, “and have you remember you cut me a deal and be all butt sore about it.”

“I’m not like that,” Cooper said.

“You might get like that.”

“Tell you what,” Rawley interrupted. “I’ll buy one and I’ll cut you a deal. I’ll be dead by the time I get around to complainin’ about it.”

Cooper and Mac turned together to look at him. “You’re going to buy a lot?” Cooper asked.

“I could,” Rawley said with a shrug. “If it made a difference in my life.”

“But I thought you didn’t have any money!”

“Did I ever tell you that?” Rawley wanted to know.

“You were going to sell your truck to bury your father!”

Rawley shrugged. “I’m a practical man. My dad, he socked away a little here and there. Over time, it piled up. I got no bills and a steady job. And I have another truck. I never thought it was a good idea to sell that old house. My dad died in that house—it’s good enough for me to die in.”

“And I paid to bury your father,” Cooper grumbled. If Rawley had enough money socked away to buy one of these beachfront lots, he sure wasn’t broke, yet he’d let on that he’d have to sell his truck or house to pay for a burial. He sure played broke.

Rawley slapped a hand on Cooper’s back. “That was real neighborly, Coop. I didn’t forget to thank you, did I?”

“No,” he said. “You were very polite.”