Stay with Me Forever (Bayou Dreams Book 6) Read online

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  Standing at the conference table, Sawyer’s eyes slid shut for a moment as he soaked in the sensation of his body being so close to Paxton’s. Mere inches separated them as they hunched over the topography maps he’d spread across the space. She’d taken off her jacket; the belt cinched at her waist accentuating her small frame. His fingers itched to wrap themselves around her. His gaze traveled up to her delicately curved chin, past her full mouth and those hazel eyes, which were narrowed with determination as she focused on the maps.

  Sawyer caught a whiff of the coconut-and-mango lotion she kept on her desk, along with something else he couldn’t identify. That intoxicating scent had tortured him in the most pleasurable way this past week. He smelled her in his sleep, invading his dreams.

  It had become a test of his will to fight the urge to call out her name as he lay in bed at night, manually relieving himself of the pent-up sexual tension that flooded his body. He failed each and every night. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop himself from uttering her name in that moment when he found his release.

  It didn’t matter that they’d spent only one night together, or that he’d had a wife and two additional casual love affairs since that one explosive evening he and Paxton had shared. When it was time to conjure a fantasy, she was always the star.

  Sawyer studied the column of her neck, his eyes moving hungrily up the delicate expanse of skin. His tongue darted out on its own accord, the need for just a quick taste of her nearly overcoming his common sense.

  “So, what’s the issue?” she asked, catapulting him out of his fantasy.

  Sawyer cleared his throat and took a step back. “What was that?” he asked. Standing this close to her would only lead to trouble.

  As if she’d tracked the route his train of thought had taken, she, too, took a step back, putting a bit more distance between them.

  “I asked about the issue you’re having with this. I don’t see anything that can put a kink in the project.”

  Remembering that he was here to do a job, Sawyer returned his attention to the map. Using a capped pen, he pointed to a spot just left of Landreaux Creek that connected to a bigger tributary of the Pearl River.

  “According to this elevation map, this area should be out of the restricted flood zone.” He slid several color printouts out from underneath the binder he’d set there earlier. “However, based on these stats from the aftermath of Tropical Storm Lucy, it saw over two feet of water.”

  Paxton’s forehead wrinkled. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and the urge to run his tongue along the glistening seam made a comeback. Sawyer started running linear equations in his head, hoping it would distract him. It didn’t.

  “Maybe it was just overwhelmed,” Paxton said. “I was already in Little Rock by the time Lucy hit, but, according to everything I’ve heard, it dumped a lot of rain in a very short amount of time. Shayla said she was afraid the Jazzy Bean would get some water, and this part of town never floods.”

  “Any area can see heavier standing water than usual if enough rain falls on it in a short time,” Sawyer said. “But Lucy was moving at twelve miles an hour. That’s not fast, but still a reasonably steady clip. This area shouldn’t be vulnerable to that kind of flash flooding, especially with it being this high up.” He shook his head. “Something isn’t right here. I think these maps may be off.”

  “These are the maps Bolt-Myer’s project engineers used when developing the initial concept package. Trust me, Sawyer—they’re accurate.”

  “How sure are you?”

  Her back went ramrod straight. “Excuse me?”

  “Look, Paxton, I know as project manager you’ve had your hands in every aspect of this project, but I also know that there are a lot of things you have to pay attention to with a project of this size. You trust your engineers to take care of certain things. Now, I want to know how sure you are that these maps are accurate, because based on these flood totals, something isn’t adding up.”

  “I think you’re jumping to conclusions.”

  Sawyer crossed his arms over his chest. “How do you explain two feet of water in an area that should see no more than a couple of inches at the most?”

  “It’s not just the speed of the storm that you have to take into account,” she argued. “The river was also still high from all the snow that melted from that previous winter and traveled down from the north. Gauthier doesn’t have robust pumping stations like the ones in New Orleans and other big cities, so they’re going to get this type of flooding during the perfect storm, even in places that are not flood prone.”

  “That’s the thing,” Sawyer said. “This wasn’t the perfect storm. Not even close.” He rounded the table and moved to a map he’d hung on the wall. He pointed the pen cap at the center of the Gulf of Mexico. “Lucy formed here and lingered over the Gulf for several days before moving north. The eye of the storm followed the Louisiana–Mississippi state line, which means Gauthier wasn’t even on the so-called bad side of the storm. In fact, for the most part, it remained in the lower-left quadrant, which is the best-case scenario.”

  “But Lucy was a slow mover,” Paxton countered.

  Sawyer shook his head. “That shouldn’t matter. If I’m to believe that the elevation in this area is as high as it is on this map, then Lucy could have lingered for another three days without this part of Gauthier seeing even close to the amount of flooding that it saw.”

  Paxton let out an exasperated sigh. “Bolt-Myer’s engineers went over these topography maps, Sawyer. They would have caught discrepancies.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” he said. “Even the best of them.”

  “Including you?” she asked with that haughty lift to her voice.

  Sawyer nearly said yes, even him, but he stopped himself just in time. He wasn’t there to bare his feelings over the mistake he’d made on his previous job, he was there to make sure it didn’t happen again.

  “All I’m saying is that this doesn’t add up,” Sawyer said. “I’m not questioning the professionalism of your team at Bolt-Myer, but I am questioning the accuracy of these maps. I know this may put us back as far as your timeline is concerned, but we have to consider bringing in a surveying team to measure some of these areas again. There’s a possibility that new maps will have to be drawn up.”

  “New maps?” Her screech was so high Sawyer was sure every dog within a five-mile radius heard her. Her brows nearly reached her hairline. “Are you insane? Do you know what that would entail?”

  “I’m a civil engineer,” he pointed out. “Yeah, I think I know a thing or two about what it would entail.”

  “Well, as a civil engineer you should know that we don’t have the time or money in the budget to have completely new topography maps drawn up. It’s ridiculous to even suggest it.”

  Sawyer took a step forward. “You want to know what’s ridiculous? Building a flood protection system based on incorrect specs.”

  “You’re the one who thinks the specs are incorrect,” she said. She took a step toward him, getting in his face. “My engineers thought they were fine.”

  “Your engineers are hundreds of miles away! Order the surveyors, Paxton.”

  “No!” she shouted.

  “I’ve seen what happens when something is built half-assed. And that is not happening with this project.” Sawyer pointed at his chest. “Not on my watch.”

  “Excuse me for sounding like a broken record, but I’m the project manager. It’s my watch.”

  “Dammit.” Sawyer ran both hands down his face. “Stop being so damn stubborn.”

  “Stop being so pigheaded,” she snapped.

  “I’m being pigheaded. You’re the one—”

  The conference room door swung opened. “Hey, hey, hey.” Matt Gauthier poked his head in
the door. “Is a referee needed in here?”

  He and Paxton both stared at Matt for several heartbeats before backing away from each other. His eyes met hers again before drifting lower and landing on her chest. It pumped up and down with her quick, shallow breaths. He was so turned on by their fiery exchange that, if not for Matt standing in the doorway, Sawyer would have probably taken her then and there.

  Paxton glanced over at Matt. “I’m sorry we disturbed you.”

  “Hey, I’m all for passionate debate, but I have a conference call starting in a few minutes, and unfortunately the walls in this place are pretty thin.”

  “We’ll keep it down,” Sawyer said.

  “Thanks. I’m only here for the next hour. After that you can scream as much as you want to,” Matt said with a laugh.

  “Actually, I can use a break,” Paxton said. She ran her hands up and down her arms as if chilled, while his skin burned with the hot tension still pulsing between them.

  She cast a quick glance his way. “I’m going across the street to get a bite to eat.”

  “We’re not done talking about this,” Sawyer warned.

  Her chin rose. “We are for now.” She walked over to her desk and grabbed her purse. She then walked past him, her murmured, “Excuse me,” barely audible.

  Sawyer braced his hands on the table and dropped his head as all the fight drained out of him. He felt a strong hand clamp him on the shoulder.

  “Rough start?” Matt asked.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Sawyer answered. He blew out a deep breath, dragging a hand down his face.

  “Just stick with it,” Matt said. “Gauthier needs this. You weren’t here for the flooding last year. It was bad, Sawyer. I’ve never seen that kind of damage before, not even after Hurricane Katrina. We have to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “It won’t,” Sawyer said. Standing up straight, he turned and stared Matt directly in the eyes. “I won’t get a good night’s rest until I’m certain Gauthier never has to endure what it went through with that tropical storm.”

  Sawyer knew that in order to make good on his promise he would have to figure out why so many places outside the purported flood zones took on so much water. His gut told him that he was on the right track with questioning those maps. All he had to do was convince Paxton that she should listen to his gut, too.

  Chapter 4

  Sawyer waited at the curb for an antiquated Dodge with a loud muffler to pass before making his way to the other side of Main Street. A quick glance inside the Jazzy Bean’s large windows showed him just how packed the coffeehouse and café was. Even though today kicked off the weeklong festivities surrounding Gauthier High School’s Spirit Week, which culminated with the homecoming game on Friday, Sawyer knew from experience that it had nothing to do with the crowd at the Jazzy Bean. This was a typical Monday for Gauthier’s hottest new eatery.

  Since his return from Chicago a little more than seven months ago, Sawyer had been both stunned and encouraged by the changes in his hometown. A lot of the credit went to the discovery of a small back room at the Gauthier Law Firm, which turned out to be an actual stop on the Underground Railroad. Its finding had turned Gauthier into a tourist destination for history buffs. That discovery had been the impetus the town needed to jump-start its growth.

  Some were reluctant to allow Gauthier to grow too much, which Sawyer completely understood. The homegrown businesses were a part of what made this town so unique, but change was necessary if the mom-and-pop shops on Main Street were going to survive the massive expansion taking place just twenty minutes west in Maplesville. It seemed as if the business owners in Gauthier had struck just the right balance in encouraging growth while maintaining the small-town charm that was the hallmark of this town.

  The Jazzy Bean was one such establishment. The quaint coffee shop and café drew a wide variety of patrons. From men and women in business suits who drove in from the accounting firm in Maplesville, to nurses in scrubs from the clinic on Collins Street, to men in hard hats who worked at his family’s lumber mill.

  Even though Sawyer didn’t have much to do with the operations side of the lumber mill, he knew many of the workers by name. Most of them had worked there for much of their adult lives. There were now a number of second-generation workers, the sons and daughters of men and women who had been loyal to the company his father had founded more than thirty years ago.

  Sawyer stopped to say hello to a few of them, and he was quickly sucked into a conversation about the new safety incentive program the current manager had instituted. The safety incentive had been the one idea Sawyer had pitched at the last board meeting. He was happy to hear that it was so well received by the mill workers.

  He found Paxton standing at the counter and had to stop just a moment to appreciate the sheer exquisiteness of the way her clothes hugged her trim frame. She was talking to Shayla Kirkland. No, she was a Wright now. Shayla had married the town’s new local doctor just before their class reunion this summer.

  He and Shayla had shared a bunch of mutual friends back in high school, but Sawyer could never figure out a way to cross that bridge with Paxton, regardless of how hard he tried. And he’d tried everything he could think of in high school to get her to see him as someone actually worth seeing. Nothing had worked.

  “Hi, Sawyer,” Shayla greeted him.

  Paxton looked over her shoulder and sighed. “Can I please have just a moment’s peace before you start hounding me again?”

  “I’m not hounding you,” Sawyer said. “I’m trying to get you to see my side of things.”

  She took the glass Shayla handed her and walked over to the station with the coffee fixings. Sawyer followed her.

  Okay, so maybe he was hounding her. But he had a good reason this time.

  “Look,” Paxton started before he could speak. “I understand your need to want everything to meet this perfect gold standard that you’re used to operating with, but again, you’re not taking my budget into consideration. I have to balance what’s going to work for this project against how much it will cost. Everything will not be perfect because we cannot afford perfection. It will, however, be sufficient.

  “And,” she continued after a breath. “Just because it’s not perfect doesn’t mean we’re half-assing anything. I would never shortchange Gauthier. I’m as invested in this town as you are. More so, in fact.”

  Sawyer’s head snapped back, his eyes narrowing. “Wait. More so?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “My mother’s livelihood is here.”

  “And that automatically means you care more about Gauthier than I do? Give me a break, Paxton. This is my hometown, too. I care about this place just as much as you do.”

  She let out another of those sighs; the kind that said she was tired of dealing with the insufferable human being standing before her.

  “I don’t have time to fight with you right now.” She grabbed her glass of iced tea and returned to the counter. “Can I see the new menu?” she called to Shayla. “I want to grab some lunch and get back to working on the agenda for the town hall meeting.”

  “When is it?” Shayla asked, handing Paxton a laminated menu.

  “A week from today. I’d really appreciate it if you would get the word out,” Paxton said. “This is the community’s chance to bring up any questions regarding the new flood protection system before construction begins. I know people have questions.”

  “You’re right about that,” someone said.

  They all turned as Nathan Robottom, who owned the hardware store several storefronts down on Main, butted into their conversation. He, along with Harold Porter, sat at Shayla’s counter, his knobby fingers wrapped around a ceramic mug.

  Nathan scooted off his stool and came to where they were all standing. “That new millage tax we approved is
supposed to pay for this new levee you guys are putting together, right?”

  “Actually,” Sawyer started. “It’s a combination barrier and reservoir system, but alternatives are still—”

  “Yes, it is, Mr. Robottom,” Paxton said, cutting him off. “The residents of Gauthier did a good thing when they voted to approve the new tax. We’re going to make sure the money is well spent.”

  She peered at Sawyer over the rim of her coffee cup, her brow pitched high. Sawyer had worked on enough of these projects to understand her body language. Keep things vague for now. If they got too specific this early into the project, everyone with an opinion would be pounding down the doors of the conference room, wanting their ideas on the best way to fix Gauthier’s flood problem to be heard.

  “Yes, the money will be put to good use,” Sawyer said. “We’re not going to have another incident like the one that happened with Tropical Storm Lucy.”

  “Good, because that storm didn’t do nobody no favors,” Mr. Robottom said as he climbed back onto the stool he seemed to occupy every single time Sawyer came into the Jazzy Bean. “You’ll see me at that town hall meeting. I want to make sure it’s all on the up-and-up.”

  “Be there next Monday,” Paxton said.

  She looked at Sawyer again, a knowing smile playing at her lips, a glimmer of relief reflecting in her eyes. That brief taste of shared camaraderie sank into his bones. Maybe now she could look at them as being on the same team instead of constant adversaries.

  Sawyer scored yet another victory when he was able to convince her to eat at the coffee shop instead of bringing their meals back to the conference room. They gave Shayla their food orders, then carried their sweet iced tea to one of the sidewalk tables in front of the Jazzy Bean. They were the only tables available on this busy Monday afternoon.

  Sawyer pulled out Paxton’s chair without even thinking about it. She stared at the chair for a moment, and Sawyer prepared himself for another lecture on sexism. But she simply said, “Thank you,” before taking a seat.