Page 65 of Grit
He pulled away from her mouth. “Tonight was about you.”
“How about you?”
The corner of his delicious mouth turned up. “Tonight was about me too.”
“Cary—”
“When can I see you again?”
“Uh…” She tried to make her brain work. “We have the Jordan Valley picture thing tomorrow morning, remember?”
He planted his hands on the dresser, caging her in. “When can Isee youagain?”
“Oh, you mean…?”
“Yes.”
“Um…” Was she actually making plans to see Cary just so they could fool around? She wouldn’t have time for dates in the middle of the week, but the idea of going two weeks without having his hands on her had suddenly become kind of torturous. “Text me on Tuesday?”
“Good.” He stepped back and held his hand out, helping her off the dresser. His eyes were fixed on her legs. “Have I mentioned how much I like that dress?”
She suddenly felt self-conscious again. “I feel like it’s too short.”
“It’s not.” He took her hand and led her to the door. “Trust me, it’s not.”
Dresses and kisseswere the last thing on Melissa’s mind the next morning. It was hot as Hades in the middle of Cooper’s Field, but dozens of families had gathered under a stand of oak and sycamore trees on the far edge of Melissa’s property near Jordan Valley Road. Allen Ranch was in the distance.
Cary had thought of a fund-raiser to both collect money for fighting the development company and to raise awareness in town about what the council was voting on in a few short weeks.
Joan had set up a booth with homemade lemonade and iced tea with a big sign overhead.Save Jordan Valley. Say NO to Allen Ranch!She was passing out drinks and handouts with a summary of the development plan along with the names and phone numbers of all the Oakville council members. On the bottom of the handout, it said in giant letters:Make your voice heard!
To attract people, Cary was taking family portraits for free, spending a few minutes with each family that showed up and taking beautiful pictures against the rolling fields and oak trees of Jordan Valley, while other volunteers led hikes and showed visitors around.
Melissa was wrangling the volunteers who had shown up, handing out information and lemonade and talking with a reporter from theMetlin Gazettewhile they walked around. Emmanuel Ortiz was a guy she’d gone to high school with and he’d grown up in Oakville, which was the only reason he was paying any attention to the situation.
“Didn’t the Oakville city council have a budget shortfall last year?” Manny asked, pointing his voice recorder in Melissa’s direction. “There’s been talk of the high school closing. Possibly the middle school too. Are you saying that these empty fields and hills are more valuable than Oakville students? The development would solve the budget shortfall with new property taxes.”
Melissa had been expecting that question. “I’m sure it would, but it would also tax our water supplies and infrastructure. Because the council has rejected our request to hire an independent firm for an environmental impact study, we don’t really know what the effect of two thousand new tract homes, a clubhouse, and a golf course would have on our community. That’s a lot of people and buildings to put in an area that you can see right now.” Melissa pointed toward the distant foothills. “See where that dark granite rock juts out?”
The reporter squinted. “Yes.”
“Imagine a line going from there to the road. That is the southern boundary of Allen Ranch. Now imagine twothousandhouses and fourthousandpeople crammed into that area. Look at the road. Do you think it’s going to accommodate four thousand more residents? It’s a two-lane road.”
Manny had to smile. “That’s a lot of traffic.”
“Exactly. So they’re going to want to expand the road. Look at the farms along the road. Are the farmers going to want to sell their land to expand the road for what is essentially a country club they can’t visit? Who’s going to make them? The federal government?” Melissa knew if there was one thing the residents and Metlin and Oakville shared, it was suspicion of the federal government. “If anyone tries to take good productive farmland for a road we don’t need to a place we don’t have any say over, people will sue. And who will be defending those lawsuits? Where will the money come from?”
Manny was nodding. “So you’re saying that the money the town will make in new property taxes might get eaten up by lawsuits from residents?”
“I don’t know if the town will get sued. I’m not saying that. But I find it impossible to think it’s not going to cost us money.” Melissa put both hands in her pockets. “I’m not antidevelopment, but it’s just not a good site. Why here?”
Manny spread his hand out. “Beautiful, empty land? The same reason people are taking pictures out here?”
“It’s not empty. It’s grazing land. There are creeks and hiking trails. Bird-watching areas. Picnic spots. There are houses on that land that have been there for over a hundred years. Not to mention that there are two Yokuts sites on the Allen ranch that Native people have been visiting for like twothousandyears.”
His eyes glinted. “There’s Yokuts land over there?”
Melissa spread her arms wide. “Come on. This isallYokuts land, but the sites on Allen Ranch aren’t formally Yokuts property. They shouldn’t have to be. The Allens and the people before them just had mutual respect, okay? They didn’t need to make it a legal thing, because they respected the people who visited and didn’t disturb the sites. Is JPR Holdings going to respect that? Or are they going to build a golf course on it?”
