“Yeah,” Brad agreed.
“So, it’s a done deal.”
“Yeah.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” I repeated.
“Yeah,” Brad repeated.
Gilbert “Big Gil” Hampton was precisely what his nickname suggested—a larger-than-life personality with a wallet to match. He owned three private jets, two ranches, and a yacht he once namedThe Second Wife, on which he took all his four wives on their honeymoon.
Subtle as a chainsaw, the man was.
I knew Big Gil well, as he was an old friend of the Caldwell family. Although he was from Charleston, hespent plenty of time in Texas. He dabbled in oil, ranching,andhotel development, focusing on golf resorts.
Not only that, he and my daddy had been playing golf since before I was born. When I won the PGL, he’d been one of the first people to shake my hand at the afterparty. He was the kind of guy who never let you forget he was in the room, and as far as I could tell, he loved three things more than anything else: money, golf, and the sound of his voice, and in that order.
If Big Gil found out that I was in Ballybeg and wanted him off this project, it would make him dig in further, and my father would insist that I was thinking with my heart, not my head, which I’d often been accused of doing.
I knew Dee was hoping the County Clare council would reject the development project, but if Big Gil was involved, I knew he’d already bought those votes even before he’d filed a single piece of paperwork. That was how he operated, and that was how he ensured he never lost a single deal.
I tossed my phone onto the bed and stared out the window, frustration knotting low in my gut.
How the hell was I supposed to tell Dee?
I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news—but she’d find out eventually.
Later was better than now.
For the moment, I’d say nothing. I’d call Big Gil, see if I could steer his attention away from Ballybeg. Buy us time.
CHAPTER 13
Dee
Connor Kelly came into the pub an hour before opening, his mailbag slung across his chest.
“Mornin’, Dee.”
“You’re not getting a pint, Connor. It’s too feckin’ early, and you’re working.”
“Not here for that, love.” He was careful. Pleasant. Not a barb in sight.
Oh, I knew exactly what this was about.
My heart sank to my boots.
There was only one reason Connor would step inside instead of leaving the post in the box.
Registered mail.
County Clare Council.
Addressed to Deirdre Gallagher, Ballybeg.
And of course it would come to me because I wastheeejitwho’d started the petition to drive those resort bastards out in the first place.
I’d gone door to door in rain and wind, collecting every last signature from the people of Ballybeg. I’d stood up at the town meeting and convinced them it was worth the fight. I’d dragged every farmer, shopkeeper, and granny with a working pen into it.
