"And what kind of example does it set for the local kids? Break the law, get to spend time riding horses and making macaroni art? Screw up and go on vacation? That's not what we're trying to teach our children! This is a good town, with good people, and we don't need big-city problems coming in to change everything!" He made a point of looking me over to prove exactly what he meant.
"Right..." I murmured. "So what you're saying is that not going to college was good enough for you, therefore it should be good enough for your kids. I see. How's that working out for you? Bet you're real proud of what they're doing..." I paused. "What is it that they do again?"
"Janie's a wife, and Ricky installs satellite service."
"Ah. I'm sure that supports a very comfortable lifestyle. I'm a co-owner of a multi-million-dollar business, was on the cover of three different magazines, and got my master's degree while touring Europe, but I'm sure we don't want any ofthatsuccess to trickle in here. Students from Southwind have gone on to become nationally renowned law attorneys, business owners, programmers, and so much more." I was on a roll now. This was why I felt so strongly about getting this place going again. "Those same kids would have ended up as career offenders, otherwise. Their parents never taught them how to move forward - because what was good enough for Pa was good enough for Junior. Is that how you really want things to be?"
"They're criminals," he said again.
I shrugged. "So are you. I'm sure you've gone faster than the speed limit or other little things in your life. You thought you were justified. The difference is that the only way for a student to get accepted to Southwind is for a judge to agree. Their crimes have to be in the best interest of someone else or beyond their control. We've seen a boy who killed someone to save the life of the intended victim, a thief who was trying to steal food for her baby sister, and the geek who hacked into someone's phone to get evidence against the bully who'd been assaulting his friends. I'm sure those are horrible people. In most places, they'd be called heroes."
"Yeah, well most places aren't Cats Peak. Round here, we let God sort 'em out."
I just laughed and headed back to my home. Lifting a hand dismissively I called back, "Good Christian attitude there, Mr. Simmons. I'm sure your pastor would be proud."
Unfortunately, the man wouldn't take a hint. For twenty minutes, he paced my driveway waiting for me to come back out. I wasn't that foolish. Oh, there were a million things I’d like to say to him, but it wouldn't do any good. He was the personification of everything I hated about these small towns. Gran always said Cats Peak had more good than bad, but I had yet to see it.
But he'd given me a heads-up, even if he didn't know it. If town law had changed, then I was going to need to apply for zoning, a permit, or something to get this place opened up again. Unfortunately, that wasn't my specialty. I’d studied business management. I knew how to operate the facility, not the legalities of it. Thankfully, Ashton would know what to do. He always did.
Reaching for my phone, I dialed the first number on the list. It barely rang before he answered, "I'll be there Monday, I promise!"
I giggled. "Not why I'm calling. Yes, I miss you, and yes, I'm thrilled that you're going to come help me unpack, but I need a favor."
"Anything, Vi."
A heavy sigh slipped out. "I think I hate this place."
"You doing ok?"
I watched one of the movers carry a massive box upstairs and shook my head, even though Ashton couldn't see. "I'm holding in there. It's weird, being surrounded by all of her things, but I'm ok."
"Good. Just hang on for a couple more days, and I'll come help you put all the memories where they belong."
"I know," I told him. "That's not why I'm calling. Look, remember the jerk from the funeral? Paul Simmons? He says I have to get approval from the City Council to open this place back up. Can you have one of your attorneys look into that for me?"
He murmured under his breath, clearly thinking. "You ask Chartreuse?"
"No. She's busy enough, and I can afford to pay someone. Just hoped one of your people was on call or something." Sighing, I flopped into the closest chair. "I'm gonna need to hire someone eventually so I can just -"
Ashton didn't let me finish that thought. "I'm already heading downstairs for a number, sweetie. I agree that you'll need to hire someone, and maybe someone in legal will have a recommendation in Texas, although you know Chartreuse would make time for Southwind. But there's no need for you to chase that when all you want is a simple zoning thing. I'll have my legal team get a whole list of what hoops you'll need to jump through. Now, on to better things. How bad is Bubbaville?"
Curling my legs under me, I checked to see if the movers could listen in. "I got a flat on my way into town."
"Oh no! How's the car?"
"Fine. It was just a flat. Now, the cowboy who showed up in time to help me change it? Oh my god, Ash. Gorgeous, and not in the almost-a-girl way of most models."
"Hey now!" he shot back. "I will have you know that I look nothing like a girl."
"You're also too old to be a model. So am I."
A disgruntled noise came over the speaker. "Bullshit, Vi. You'll still be gorgeous when you're forty, like Cindy Crawford or something."
"Whatever." I wasn't going to let him derail me. "So this cowboy? His name is Luke."
For a moment he was silent, clearly waiting for me to keep going. Then it hit. "Luke? Like the 'oh so sexy' Luke you used to talk about?"
"Yes!" I squealed. "And he's even better now! He's got to be like twenty-nine or thirty, but damn. He has muscles on his muscles!"
