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mentally added the argument to her list as she parked in front of city hall. Already cars, SUVs and minivans overflowed the parking lot. Slim Wallace, the head of the bank, raced in, yanking at his baggy trousers.
    As soon as she entered the meeting room, she felt the tension in the air. Her uncle Wiley stood at the front of the room, clad in his signature lime-green jacket and checkered pants. Cousins Hannah, Mimi, Alison and their husbands occupied front row seats. Her sister Rebecca and Thomas sat behind them, and locals filled the other rows of chairs. A few she recognized from her short visits into Sugar Hill, but most were strangers.
    The hair on the back of her neck suddenly prickled, and she glanced to her left. Standing against the far back wall, looking tall and imposing in his dusty jeans, with his black Stetson tipped low on his head, stood Rafe McAllister. And from the dark stare he slanted her way, he didn’t look pleased to see her.

    W HAT THE HELL was Suzanne Hartwell doing at a Sugar Hill town meeting?
    Rafe glared at her, irritated that she’d gotten under his skin. She had no reason to be here, no right to get involved in the town’s business.
    No right to stir his libido and make him want things he couldn’t have.
    The mayor, Orville Lewis, a portly man with a bald spot as big as Rafe’s fist, called the meeting to order. “We’re here to discuss the future of Sugar Hill,” Mayor Lewis said.
    “You mean the demise,” Carter Anderson, the owner of the local dry cleaners, yelled.
    His comment started everyone talking and shouting and arguing at once.
    “We have to put a stop to this land developer coming in and taking over our town!” an elderly man shouted.
    “I moved here to get away from the city. There’s too much noise and traffic in Atlanta,” a middle-aged man in a gray suit said. “And now folks want to build a big mall that will draw crowds out here.”
    “Cars’ll be clogging our roads, blowing exhaust into the air and bringing all kinds of derelicts around,” a frail woman in a pink knit dress exclaimed.
    “But it would be nice not to have to drive two or three hours to buy school clothes for the kids,” Mrs. Ludwig, mother of five, argued.
    Myrtle Lowercrust, the children’s church choir director stood up. “The kids won’t have the country air to breathe and the space to run and play.”
    “Be a bunch of cookie-cutter houses and apartments everywhere,” her sister, Ethel, added.
    “But we’ll have movie theaters and restaurants to choose from, and maybe even a nice dance studio that will offer some culture to this backward town,” another woman protested.
    “Our town is not backward.” Hannah Hartwell Tippins placed a hand over her rounded belly. “We have good hometown values. And safe streets for the children.”
    “Some progress is good,” Rebecca’s husband, Dr. Thomas Emerson, pointed out. “Maybe we could compromise and find a happy medium. I’m sure you people want the best medical care available.”
    “We have a good hospital,” Alison pointed out. “And Brady runs the medical helicopter service for emergencies.”
    “I want my kids to smell fresh air and see the wildflowers on the mountains in the spring,” Rebecca said. “Not have high-rises and concrete blocking the views.”
    Wiley Hartwell flapped his arms like a peacock. “We don’t need strangers coming in, starting up businesses that will take away from our own. My car dealership, the local hardware store, they’ll all be run off by corporations and chains.”
    “You men are just worried about your wallets,” Wanita Rivers, Rafe’s mother’s friend, said. “Maybe we women would like to dress in style for a change, not have to shop at the outlet mall for last year’s throwaways.”
    “Think about the jobs a new mall would bring,” Vivian Hartwell said.
    “Yeah, then all our kids wouldn’t have to leave Sugar Hill to find jobs,” a young mother shouted.
    “My filling station