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He didn’t rise to shake Will’s proffered hand and things went downhill from there. He placed his size-seven Italian leather shoes on his expensive desk, leaned back in his chair and said, “When are you leaving town?”
Will mused that, for someone so large, the mayor had very small feet. “I’m not.”
Mayor Henderson pulled his feet from the desk and leaned forward menacingly. “Yeah, you are.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not gonna stay, O’Malley. Everyone around here knows you never finish anything.”
Will was unmoved. “Everyone?”
“Everyone who counts.”
Everyone being the owners of the development company…Will had done some research on the directors. None of them were registered as voters within the county or the town. Except the mayor. “Everyone who counts to me,” Will said, “is fully behind saving those buildings. I’ll stay as long as I’m needed. And then I might stay a bit longer. Maybe forever.”
The mayor put his feet back up on the desk, tapped his fingers together over the expanse of his belly and said, “I run this town, sonny. And don’t you forget it.”
“I think you’re forgetting you run this town along with the council. And you’ll only be doing it while you’re in office.”
“Which I will be for a very long time.”
“Elections are coming up next year. Maybe I’ll run against you.”
That had the mayor sitting up and dropping his feet back on the floor with a thud. “The hell you will!”
Will remained unmoved by the mayor’s threatening demeanor. “Keep giving your support to the development company and you’ll lose your job.”
“Not to you!”
Will shrugged and stood. He’d accomplished what he’d come for. He’d rattled the mayor, hinted he wasn’t invincible. Not that the man’s ego would concede that yet, but Will would let him sleep on it some. “Maybe. Or maybe to someone else. Come on out to the ranch next weekend and see how much support there is for saving those buildings.”
He gave the mayor a casual salute and stalked out, hoping the man would back down and he’d never have to run for his job.
AFTER THAT, WILL BORROWED Matt’s SUV, piled Miss P.’s dogs into it and took a ride out to the ranch.
While the dogs explored the house or relaxed on the comfortably worn furniture, Will told his parents about his plans for the fundraiser. Ever supportive, they made several helpful suggestions.
Luke was the fly in the ointment. He started off grumbling about too many people scaring his horses. Then he wanted to know where Will intended to put all the machinery from the barn he’d earmarked for dancing. “And where are you proposing to park all the cars?” Luke demanded. “Assuming anyone would be crazy enough to go to a barbecue in the middle of winter!”
For days, Will had rehearsed his answers to the various scenarios Luke would be likely to raise and object to. Knowing his brother well and practicing paid off when Luke finally relented—after Will promised that everything would be returned to its usual order the day after the barbecue.
Since his brother was in a receptive mood, Will broached the subject of Luke seeing his way clear to adopting Edward, claiming he’d be excellent for rounding up sheep.
“We don’t run sheep,” Luke said.
“Well, I know that! He’ll come in handy when you get some to keep him occupied.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Wait a minute. You’re saying I should take this mutt off your hands—” he indicated Edward snoring at Will’s feet “—and in addition, I should buy some sheep to keep him company?”
“Only a couple hundred head. Just enough to make him feel useful. Edward would appreciate it.”
Luke shook his head. “What am I going to do with a brother like you?” he asked, grinning.
“Humor me?”
“I’ve been doing that all your life.” He reached down and scratched Edward behind the ears. The dog responded with a louder snore. “Give me a week or so to think on it. And if he gets up to any mischief, I’ll shoot him. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Will agreed, knowing full well his brother couldn’t shoot straight and, within days, Luke’s daughters would have Edward sleeping on their beds. He’d been joking about Luke buying the sheep. He was sure if Edward ever saw a real sheep he’d run away in fright.
Back at Miss P.’s, he outlined his plans for the fundraiser and told her about his meeting with the mayor.
“Oh, he’s such a nasty man!” she said. “This town has done nothing but go downhill since he took office.” Her face wrinkled even more as she frowned, then her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands. “Oh, I’ve just had a wonderful idea!”
Will grinned. Miss P. might be pushing ninety, but she had more enthusiasm than most teenagers. “I’m all ears.”
She bustled out of the room and came back with a large art pad. She opened the pad and started to sketch.
BECKY’S FRUSTRATION OVER not finding a suitable caregiver for Nicolas during the upcoming holidays was evident when she dropped and broke three dishes as she cleaned up the kitchen after dinner.
All she wanted was someone to care for Nicolas in the afternoons, supervise his homework and make his dinner. Was that really asking too much? He might be in fifth grade but he was only eight, so too young to be left to his own devices. She was prepared to pay double the going rate, but so far none of the applicants were remotely suitable. Should she set her standards a little lower in order to get someone? Anyone?
“No!” she muttered as she opened the fridge and poured a small glass of wine to calm her nerves. Taking it to the living room, she curled up on the sofa. Nicolas deserved to have someone who cared about him—or at least knew how to care for a child. She’d devoted several lunch hours to interviewing candidates, and now she was getting desperate. The Christmas holiday was looming and Nicolas had told her tearfully that he didn’t want to go to the program organized by the town, saying the bullies from school went there, too.
She rubbed her forehead. The fact that Nicolas was being bullied at school preyed on her mind. Coming to a small town, she’d thought all of that would be behind them, but it had reared its ugly head on several occasions. She’d spoken to Nicolas’s teacher and the woman had reiterated that the school had a zero tolerance policy toward bullying and assured Becky she’d dealt with the perpetrator.
But Becky wasn’t so sure. Nicolas seemed withdrawn and his tearful outburst tonight over attending the town’s holiday program only worsened her fears that the bullying had continued. She’d tried to get him to talk about it, but he’d clammed up and gone to bed early. She’d have to make time to discuss it some more, but not when he was tired and overwrought.
She scanned the list of applicants she’d interviewed for the job. But reviewing the list caused her even more stress.
There were a number of questions she asked potential caregivers, to confirm that they were of the moral fiber and intellectual capacities she desired in her employees.
Frank Farquar’s great-niece, Ellie, was one of the applicants. But when questioned about the types of movies she enjoyed, the teen had recounted a list of the most frightening and diabolically violent movie titles Becky had ever heard of. Ellie was a definite nonstarter. So was the woman addicted to soap operas and another addicted to both caffeine and tranquilizers. Grandmotherly Virginia Smith had seemed promising, until Becky discovered she was illiterate. The kindly woman had difficulty reading the simple list of duties Becky handed her. What hope did she have of helping Nicolas with his homework?
Many more interviews had taken up Becky’s precious spare time and she groaned at the memory of the ways each and every applicant had proved unsuitable.
She took a deep breath to try to relax, but the scent of roses filled her lungs.
Will O’Malley! She couldn’t seem to escape the man, even in her own home. And his name was on the register for tomorrow’s hearings….
She tucked her feet beneath her and sipped her wine. What would he be up to tomorrow? And would he have the audacity to ask her out again?
WILL AND MISS PATTERSON worked into the night designing a poster for SOB. Miss P. created a watercolor painting of the mountains, with the town and its Victorian buildings in the foreground. While the painting dried, she and Will shared a pizza at her kitchen table.
“You’re a very talented artist,” he said, indicating the beautiful paintings of town scenes hanging around her house. “I hope I’m going to score a Miss P. original when I marry the judge.”
Miss P. never sold her paintings, only gave them as gifts. They were a much-prized wedding present and many homes in the county had at least one Florence Patterson watercolor adorning their walls.
She patted his hand. “You can be sure of getting more than one, dear.” Tonight she was as animated as a kid with an exciting project. “I’m so happy you like the poster idea. I was wondering how I could contribute to the cause,” she said and bit into a slice of pizza. Her eyes widened. “My, this stuff is wonderful! I should eat it more often.”
He laughed. Miss P. was another of Spruce Lake’s living treasures. “You don’t think being part of a human chain was enough of a contribution?”
She waved her hands dismissively. “Anyone can be part of a human chain, but not everyone can paint. I don’t know why I didn’t suggest this before.” She frowned. “Do you think people would mind hanging the posters in their stores?”
Will covered her wrinkled hand. “I can’t imagine anyone would object. The poster is lovely and so reminiscent of the town.”
When the paint had dried, she’d written Save Our Buildings at the bottom of the poster.
It was nearly midnight when the task was finished.
“Now, I know you’ve got a court hearing in the morning, dear,” she said. “So you run along and get some sleep and I’ll go to the print shop first thing and have them copy this. By the time court opens, the town will be plastered with them!”
Will chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Don’t forget, Mrs. C. has plenty of funds to pay for printing costs. Do you want me to come by and help put them up?”
“No, dear, you have enough on your plate with the hearing tomor—Oh! I mean, today,” she corrected herself after checking her clock. “My neighbors have been wanting to help, so I’ll send them all out with posters to the businesses on Main Street and beyond.”
Will whistled as he strolled home and mused that it was people like Miss P. who made living in Spruce Lake special.
Exhausted, he tumbled into bed and dreamed of the house he’d build on his land. In his dream, Judge Becky was standing in the doorway, welcoming him home….
Chapter Six
Court seemed to drag on forever the next morning until at last Will O’Malley’s name was called. A pleasant warmth suffused Becky when she glanced up to find him standing in front of her.
Devastating, was the only word that could describe how he looked and his effect on her peace of mind. He’d trimmed his hair and was wearing…a tie. A neatly pressed navy-blue shirt molded to his broad chest and muscled arms. The dark shirt accentuated his tanned face. Becky swallowed. He looked…magnificent. And masculine. And unbelievably sexy. If Will O’Malley asked her out now, she wasn’t sure of her resolve to turn him down.
She’d spent a good part of the night remembering how wonderful his arms had felt around her. And then been preoccupied thinking of those strong arms at breakfast and had burned the toast—twice.
Get a grip! she lectured herself sternly. This guy is a rogue and a heartbreaker and you don’t want that.
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