She’s his odds-on favorite

Running for mayor of his Mississippi town wasn’t even a twinkle in Peter Elliott’s eye. But it could bring Cedar Grove’s favorite son one step closer to his dream of building a youth center. He’d better watch out, though. Town councilwoman Nicole Montgomery has just thrown her hat into the ring.

The independent, smart-as-a-whip brunette is leagues away from the bookish girl Peter knew in high school. And he knows in his heart that Nicole would make a great mayor. So does his cousin Jake, who could be edging out Peter in his campaign to convince the love-wary beauty that he’s the best candidate for her.

There was something magical about tonight.

Until now, Nicole had been more comfortable around Jake because he was like one of her brothers, always teasing, keeping her off guard. And Peter, well, she certainly hadn’t thought of him as her brother, and anytime they veered away from subjects like the mayor’s race or city council business, her words stuck in her throat.

She glanced up, right into his blue eyes, and her heart fluttered. No, definitely not like a brother.

She yanked her gaze away. Her feelings were still reeling from being trampled by her last boyfriend, and she refused to go there. Keep it light.

Focusing forward, Nicole helped Peter load the presents for the shelter’s kids into his truck, hoping she’d be able to follow her own advice.

Dear Reader,

We all want to win and we all want to be chosen. It starts in childhood when we want to be picked first—not last—for a team and continues into our adult years when we want to be chosen by someone special.

And when it comes to winning, it’s a given that no one wants to lose. But what happens when winning becomes more important than anything else?

My characters in The Christmas Campaign struggle with these issues. Nicole never worried in high school about being chosen for a team—being a great athlete, she was always the team captain and the one doing the choosing, but when it came to dates...well...her brother took her to the senior prom. And then when someone finally does choose her, after four years it suddenly ends. So when cousins Peter Elliott and Jake O’Neil start paying attention to her, she is more than a little leery.

All their lives, Peter and Jake have competed against each other, and that doesn’t change when they get reacquainted with Nicole. Not only that, they are in a contest with half a million dollars at stake.

I loved writing this story and hope you enjoy it, as well.

Patricia

Connect with me at patriciabradleyauthor.com and let me know what you think about the way Nicole, Jake and Peter dealt with their struggles.

The Christmas Campaign

Patricia Bradley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PATRICIA BRADLEY lives in north Mississippi with her rescue cat, Suzy. She presents workshops on healthy relationships and writing. But her heart is tuned to writing stories of love and hope with happily-ever-after endings. When she’s not writing or presenting workshops, she likes to throw mud on a wheel and see what happens. She loves to connect with readers on Facebook.

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To my friend Joyce Dickey. You have overcome.

Thank you, Kathryn Lye, for your awesome work sharpening this story and catching my many mistakes. And to the wonderful team at Mills & Boon Heartwarming—thank you. You are the best.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT HAD BEEN Monday morning all day, and it was after three on the last day of November. Not even the soft music or small Christmas tree Peter Elliott’s assistant had placed in the corner of his spacious Social Services office lessened the tension in the room.

Peter tented his fingers and searched for the most diplomatic way to say no to the man across from him. No matter what he came up with, Cal Sheridan would not be happy. He decided to go with direct.

“I appreciate that as a foster parent, you and your wife would like to take Logan, but I’m not separating the twins.”

Sheridan locked his jaw in place. “It looks to me like it’d be better if at least one of the boys was in a decent home instead of the shelter.”

A dull headache throbbed in Peter’s head. Cal Sheridan had twenty years on him, but no one could make his blood pressure spike like this man, whether it was in Cal’s capacity as truant officer for the city schools or voting against him on the Cedar Grove city council. “The shelter is not the abyss. Sarah Redding provides a warm and loving environment, and they’ve been with her for two years now. She’s like a mother to them.”

The fifty-four-year-old’s face turned red. “I didn’t say it wasn’t a good place, but it’s not the same as being in a family.” His tone challenged Peter.

“But therein lies the problem.” He stared Sheridan down. “The only family the twins have left is each other. Do you want to take that away from them? Especially at Christmastime?”

Sheridan’s jaw softened, and he sighed. “Put that way, no, I suppose not. They’re both good kids, but I’ve gotten closer to Logan working with him in the after-school program.”

“I hope you’ll continue working with him. Lucas, too. Until they came to Cedar Grove, they had it pretty rough.” Cal knew that the twins’ mother had died at the hands of their abusive father, who’d used his sons to deliver drugs. The two young boys had ended up in Cedar Grove when the state placed them in protective custody.

Cal ran his hand over the side of his face. “It’s not that I don’t want to take both of them, but little Emily needs a lot of care.”

Peter nodded. Even though Cal was opinionated and set in his ways, the man had a good heart. After his two sons married and moved out, Cal and his wife had become foster parents. Just last year the state had placed an infant born with a cocaine addiction with the Sheridans.

Peter cocked his head. “Have you thought about taking Tyler Bennett? He’s fifteen and extremely bright.”

Cal shook his head. “Are you joking? I’ve seen that boy with my granddaughter a few times, and I don’t like his attitude. In fact, he was just suspended from school today.”

Peter stifled an inward groan. Sarah hadn’t called and told him about that, yet. “How do you know?”

“I was in a meeting with the principal when Coach Dawson brought him into the office. Seems he unscrewed the pepper shaker at the teachers’ table and ruined Dawson’s lunch, not to mention the sneezing fit it caused.”

Peter doodled on a paper on his desk. “You never did that?”

Cal averted his gaze, but didn’t answer.

Peter crossed his arms. “When I was a freshman in high school, I remember hearing this legend—seems like there were these senior boys who put the football coach’s Jeep in the school lobby. If I’m not mistaken, that’s when you were a senior. Know anything about that?” He knew very well Cal Sheridan was the ringleader.

Cal at least had the grace to grin. “That was then and this is now. Tyler’s different, and I’m afraid if the boy doesn’t change, he’ll end up in juvie.”

“You didn’t end up there, and maybe with an understanding hand—”

“Can’t do it, Elliott. I have a granddaughter who’s already defending him every time he does something. Sure don’t want to give them even more opportunities to be together.”

“Well, talk to your wife before you totally rule him out.” Peter’s phone buzzed, and he picked up the receiver. It was his secretary reminding him of an appointment with his grandfather’s lawyer. He checked his watch as he replaced the receiver. If he didn’t hurry, he’d be late. “I’m sorry, Cal, but I have a meeting. I’ll walk out with you.”

Peter grabbed his briefcase. “Seriously, give some thought to fostering Tyler. The boy is hurting after losing his mother and dad and his grandparents.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think about something else, too. I want to start a youth center similar to a Boys and Girls Club, and I’ll need your help tomorrow night with the city council.”

“Youth center?” Cal rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re talking big money that the city doesn’t have.”

That wasn’t news to Peter. He sighed. If only his grandfather hadn’t died two weeks ago, the money would not have been a problem, and he wouldn’t be on his way to the reading of the will.

* * *

PETER TURNED INTO his grandfather’s tree-lined drive. He’d always loved the way the magnolias stood sentry at the old home. He parked in front of the Tudor-style house and walked to the front door where magnolia and pine boughs formed a huge Christmas wreath.

He was glad the tradition continued even though his grandfather wasn’t there. The housekeeper ushered him into the foyer.

“They’ve gathered in the den,” she said.

“Thank you, Millie. How are you?”

She sniffed. “Tolerable.”

He patted her on the shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Millie. I’m sure grandfather made provision for you and Gunner to remain here.”

“I’m not worried about that. I just miss the old buzzard.”

Peter laughed out loud. Millie and his grandfather had been at odds ever since Peter could remember, but each of them would defend the other against the world.

“How’s your momma?” Millie asked. “Is she still in Georgia with your grandmother?”

He nodded. “She sounds good when I talk to her, and my grandmother has almost recovered from her surgery. Mother should be coming home soon.”

But not in time to be here today. He glanced toward the den, not looking forward to the next hour.

When Peter entered the room, he nodded to his grandfather’s attorney, Robert Corbett, and then spoke to his aunt Amelia before he took a seat in one of the wingback chairs. His cousin Jake had commandeered his grandfather’s leather recliner.

“Now that everyone is present we can begin,” Corbett said. “First I want you to understand that although the will is in Richard’s wording, it is legal.”

Heads nodded and he began. “To my daughter, Amelia, and my daughter-in-law, Deborah, I leave half of my personal property to be divided equally between you, except for the house. That goes solely to my daughter. Robert will put all the hereby and wherewiths in later if they are needed.”

His grandfather’s verbiage sounded strange in the lawyer’s hushed tones. Peter glanced at his cousin, then his aunt, fearing they might resent Grandfather leaving so much to his daughter-in-law. But no frowns appeared.

Peter hadn’t expected to receive the house. In fact, he didn’t expect to receive much of anything. He was here because his mother had delegated him to represent the family at the reading of the will since she couldn’t come.

Robert Corbett continued, “The other half goes to my two grandsons with the exception of the following bequeaths.”

Peter blinked back his surprise. Sitting across from him, Jake did the same thing. Even though Peter and his grandfather had put their past differences behind them, he hadn’t expected to be left a quarter of the estate.

Not that he ever wanted any of Richard Elliott’s money, but he had wanted his approval—something he wasn’t sure he had until now. That’s what a will was—a person’s final judgment of his heirs. He took in a satisfied breath and released it.

The attorney went on to list the few people his grandfather had left personal items to, including Millie and Gunner. They would remain in their little cottage behind the main house along with a nice pension.

While the attorney searched his papers, a mantel clock chimed four times. Peter slipped his grandfather’s pocket watch out and flipped it open. Four o’clock. Right on the money.

He closed the watch and ran his thumb over the smooth case, remembering how his grandfather had given it to him after he’d won a race against Jake, using less than honorable tactics. But instead of admonishing Peter, he’d simply said that winning wasn’t everything, and he hoped the watch would remind him of that. It was a lesson Peter wasn’t sure he’d learned yet.

He would deeply miss his grandfather, miss the long talks even though they usually disagreed, miss the challenges, and even the contests his grandfather came up with.

And Peter would miss sitting with him in his walnut-paneled den. Correction. The house now belonged to his aunt, something his cousin already seemed comfortable with as he leaned back in the leather chair and propped his ankle across his knee.

Jake, like Peter, had taken his lanky, six-foot-one frame from the Elliott side of the family. Height and blue eyes were the only physical traits he and Jake shared. Jake had more of the Irish in him from the O’Neils, with his dark hair and somewhat darker complexion, than Peter who had the fairer Scottish coloring and blond hair. But they both had the Elliott competitive spirit.

The attorney cleared his throat. “Now, to the business end.”

Amelia stood. “Is there any need for me to stay for this?”

Corbett looked up. “No, it deals with the two grandsons,” he said. “If you wish to leave while we conduct this part of the will, you are welcome to do so.”

She glanced at Jake, her eyes questioning him.

Color flooded his face. “I can handle this, Mother.”

“Good. I have a house to show at four-thirty.” She kissed her son and hugged Peter. “Come to dinner later this week.”

“Thank you, Aunt Amelia,” he said. “Let me know which night.”

He’d always liked his aunt—she’d had fun games for them to play when they were growing up and never tried to get him and Jake to compete against each other. In fact, she’d tried to get her father to stop his games. To no avail.

After the door closed behind Amelia, Robert Corbett shifted his gaze back to the document while Jake maintained an air of indifference, and Peter studied the dark red carpet.

He didn’t understand why Corbett said this part of the will dealt with him and Jake. Jake, he understood. His cousin was already operations manager at the furniture factory, and it was only natural that he would step into his grandfather’s shoes.

Peter would be surprised if he were mentioned at all, since his grandfather never got over his spurning the family business to gallivant around the world and then choose a government career.

“The reins to Elliott Manufacturing will pass to the winner of the following contest.”

Peter jerked his head up. “What?”

“What?” Jake’s indifference evaporated as he echoed the question.

Corbett peered over his glasses. “I assume your questions reflect surprise rather than an inability to hear or understand, so I will continue rather than repeat myself.”

He resumed reading. “I can hear both of you squawking about right now, but it will do you no good. At the time of this writing, Robert will attest to the soundness of my mind.”

Peter and Jake exchanged glances, and Peter knew his cousin was thinking the same thing he was. Not another one of Grandfather’s crazy contests. For as long as Peter could remember, Richard Elliott loved to pit his two grandsons against each other. “Iron sharpens iron,” he’d always said. Trouble was, it sometimes sharpened it to a nub.

“I tried to talk him out of this, but he would not be dissuaded.” Corbett placed the will on the desk and handed each of them an envelope. “The terms of the contest are laid out in these papers. If you will take your—”

“Is this some kind of joke?” Jake asked.

“I can assure you, Mr. O’Neil, it is not a joke. Your grandfather put a lot of time and thought into this. It was his belief that the director of Elliott Manufacturing needs all of the skills this contest will require. Now, I will give you a minute to look over the instructions and terms.”

Peter opened his envelope and slid out the papers. As far as he was concerned, the contest was over. He had no desire to run the company and would gladly cede the directorship to Jake.

He liked his life just the way it was, much preferring his involvement with the children’s shelter and his job as head of the Department of Human Services in Cedar Grove to running a furniture manufacturing business. And he looked forward to starting the teenage community center he’d mentioned to Cal. Getting it approved by the city council and obtaining the funds needed to run it was all the challenge he wanted.

Peter skimmed the papers and abruptly stopped, frowning.

A half million dollars. He blinked and looked again. No, he’d seen right. He raised his gaze to the lawyer, who sat with his hands clasped together on the desk, his face unreadable. Peter sneaked a glance at Jake. His wide eyes indicated he’d seen the figure, too.

“Now, if you are ready, I’ll go over the broad points of the contest. You can read the fine print later at your convenience. You are welcome to make notes on the papers I gave you.”

Without waiting for an answer, he began reading.

“Okay, boys, you both know that for several years, it’s been in my heart to start two things in Cedar Grove. A place for senior citizens to meet and another one for teenagers. A year ago I purchased a building that would be suitable to house either of these projects. I’m assigning the youth project to Peter and the senior citizen project to Jake.

“You have ninety days to form a nonprofit organization and to come up with a five-year business plan, as well as obtain approval and backing from the city, which will include twenty-five thousand dollars a year to help run the operation. The rest of the money to run it will come from the half million dollars the winner receives. Whichever one of you is the first to get approval gets the building and the half million dollars. He also becomes CEO of Elliott Manufacturing.

“However, in obtaining city backing, neither this contest nor the subsequent funding can be mentioned. If the city doesn’t believe in the project enough to invest in it, you don’t have their support.

“As for a director for your project, it can’t be either of you. If you can’t get someone to volunteer to head it initially, you haven’t done your job. Whichever of you wins will then have the pleasure of hiring a director.”

Jake leaned forward. “I don’t think it’s fair that Peter has the advantage of being on the city council.”

Peter snorted. “That’s no advantage when I have two people who almost always vote against me, no matter what it is.”

Getting this project through wouldn’t be a slam dunk. He could probably count on two other members to vote his way, and the mayor if there was a tie. Then there was Cal and his crony, George Bivens—the two picked apart any proposal presented to the city council that didn’t come from either of them. That left G. Nicole Montgomery.

While she didn’t always vote against him, she asked hard financial questions. Which shouldn’t surprise him, since she was the bookkeeper in her dad’s small family-run company. Of the six council members, Nicole was the one who focused more on the money aspect of a project. Everything would have to be in order, and the numbers would have to add up, for her to vote for it.

If he couldn’t sell her on the city spending twenty-five thousand dollars a year, she would sway the other members to vote against the proposal. Even the ones who usually voted with him.

“It’s still not fair,” Jake shot back. “And I don’t think you should vote when I present my proposal to the board meeting.”

“Didn’t plan to. Or on mine, either,” Peter replied. He turned to Corbett. “When do the ninety days start?”

“And who will run the company until the winner is declared?” Jake asked.

“The ninety days starts now, and Jake will continue to run the day-to-day operations.” Corbett took two letter-sized envelopes from his briefcase. “This is from your grandfather and to be read in private.”

Peter took the envelope, and his breath hitched at his grandfather’s large, flowing scrawl. It was hard to believe he was really gone.

* * *

AFTER PETER AND the attorney left, Jake wandered around the den, mentally forming a plan to win the contest. Becoming CEO of Elliott Manufacturing had been his lifelong dream. He couldn’t believe his grandfather hadn’t left it to him outright, instead of making him jump through hoops.

But, if it took jumping through hoops, he’d do it. He stopped in front of the bookcase and ran his fingers over the spines of a few of the books. The Hunt for Red October, The Firm... He paused to count a series collection and smiled. Every one of the Jack Reacher books was there.

Yeah, his grandfather was a man’s man, and for as long as Jake could remember, he’d wanted to be like him. On another shelf above the books were several of his grandfather’s carvings, and Jake slipped a small whittling knife from his pocket.

Out of everything Richard Elliott had ever given Jake, the knife meant the most. It’s my favorite knife, he’d told Jake. It’s small enough to carry with you—that way, if you can find a piece of wood, you’ll never be bored.

Like everything else, the knife was an object lesson. Jake no longer remembered what underhanded thing he’d done to Peter, but his grandfather had caught him at it. Winning is good, but it’s not the most important thing. How you win is much more important, and I want this knife to be a reminder that win or lose, it’s all about honor.

He wished he could say he’d always followed his grandfather’s words. If the truth were known, probably the opposite was true, especially when it came to women...or Peter.

Jake crammed the knife back in his pocket. He didn’t know why he still carried it, unless it was to remind him of his connection to his cousin.

He and Peter were so different, even down to their styles of running businesses. Peter, a textbook type A personality, liked having his finger on the pulse of every aspect of a project, where Jake usually took a more relaxed stance. And while it might look like he wasn’t really doing anything, the job always got done.

He looked up as Millie entered the den.

“Oh! I thought everyone was gone. I’ll come back later.” She turned to leave.

“Don’t go,” he said, suddenly tired of his thoughts.

Millie hesitated. “You miss him, don’t you?”

“Yeah. It helps that you and Gunner are staying on, though.”

“Mr. Elliott was a generous man, and Gunner and I want to help keep this place like he wanted it.”

“I know what you mean.” Jake sat behind his grandfather’s desk in the leather chair.

Millie’s fingers fluttered to her face. “Oh, my goodness, how you remind me of him.”

“Me?” Jake had never thought he looked like his grandfather. That honor went to Peter.

“Except for your dark hair, you could almost be him sitting there.”

Jake sat a little straighter. He’d always been told he favored the O’Neils, especially his father. Not something he liked to hear since Keith O’Neil was the poster child for wild living and divorce after leaving Jake’s mother.

“Are you going to do it?”

He frowned. “Do what?”

“Build the senior center Mr. Elliott wanted.”

“You know about that?”

She nodded. “Your grandfather and Gunner and me used to talk about it. He—your grandfather—drew up a plan...” She glanced toward the walnut file cabinet in the corner of the room.

His heart speeded up. He and his grandfather had discussed the senior center he wanted built, but Jake had no idea there was a plan. If he could get his hands on it, he’d be light-years ahead of Peter.

“Do you know when the city council meets?” he asked Millie.

“The first and third Tuesday. They’ll be meeting tomorrow night.”

His mind whirled. If he worked at it, he could present his proposal to the city council at tomorrow night’s meeting. But he needed a director...or maybe two.

He eyed Millie. “You and Gunner are pretty familiar with what Grandfather wanted, right?”

She beamed at him. “We are.”

The couple might not have MBAs, but they knew what the senior center needed. He raised his eyebrows. “How would you and Gunner like to be the directors of the Richard Elliott Senior Center?”

“Why, that’s exactly what your grandfather suggested,” she said.

“Good. It’s settled, then. In the beginning, there won’t be any pay, though.”

She put her hand on her hip. “Wouldn’t take it if there was any.” Then she frowned. “But how will you get the city council to put money into it? Your grandfather was worried about that.”

Jake was as well, especially since he wasn’t that familiar with the council members. The only member he knew was the one for his district, Boyd Anderson. He wished now that he had attended a meeting or two. But at least the mayor was a good friend.

“Isn’t that nice Nicole Montgomery on the city council?” Millie asked. “I know you could charm her into voting for it.”

He searched his memory. He wasn’t familiar with her as a council member, but he’d gone to school with a Nicole Montgomery. The image of a dark-haired teenager floated to the surface—could that be her?

“Do you know where I could find her tomorrow?”

“She’s the bookkeeper for her daddy at Montgomery and Sons Construction Company,” Millie said. “And her mother is in my book club—we meet tomorrow night. I’ll work on her.”

He stood. “Good. Now, let’s see if we can find Grandfather’s plan for the center.”

If he could get Nicole Montgomery on his side along with the mayor, Peter wouldn’t have a chance.

CHAPTER TWO

NICOLE MONTGOMERY CAREFULLY put the sixtieth candle on her father’s birthday cake, and wondered which of her brothers would make a crack about Daniel Montgomery not burning down the house. “Do you want the cake in the dining room?”

“On the buffet.” Her mother turned to get something from the refrigerator.

Nicole pushed open the dining room door and couldn’t keep a grin from sliding across her lips. She shook her head. As usual, her mom had gone all out. Blue and white streamers hung from the ceiling and birthday balloons floated up from their tethers, competing with Christmas decorations that had been up since the day after Thanksgiving.

While normal people hit the stores at 5 a.m. on Black Friday, her mother decorated the family home, inside and out. It never seemed to faze her that a week later, she would add birthday decorations. If it’d been Nicole, she would have simply waited on the wreaths and Christmas trees.

Back in the kitchen, she peeled the Idaho golds that would soon be her mother’s award-winning creamed potatoes.

“Look at this.”

Joyce Montgomery pushed her smartphone under her daughter’s nose. Nicole leaned back so she could see what was so important, but the words blurred. “It’s too close, I can’t read it.”

“It’s a text from Sarah Redding, the director of the children’s shelter. Volunteers are needed this Saturday to help get the place ready for state inspection. I’m sure Peter Elliott will be there.”

Her mother was matchmaking again. Maybe she’d drop the subject if Nicole ignored her.

“You should plan on going. Your brothers, too. I’ll tell them as soon as they get here for dinner.”

“It’s Pop’s birthday. You might want to wait until the celebration is over.” Nicole scratched her nose with the back of her hand. She wished her mom would quit trying to fix her up. She’d done the relationship thing, and it hadn’t worked out.

And it wasn’t as if men didn’t ask her out. She’d simply gotten in the habit of preferring her own company to the dreaded dating scene. The nervousness of that first date. Making small talk. Shake hands or kiss at the door? Nope. Been there, done that, had the broken heart to prove it.

She could count on one hand the men she trusted, and they were all family members. “What do you want me to do after I finish the potatoes?”

“I want you to promise me you’ll help at the shelter this Saturday. I know you don’t have anything planned.”

“I might. There are a lot of Christmas parties happening already.” It was only Monday afternoon. Anything could happen in four days and seven hours.

“Pff,” her mother huffed. “You never go out on Saturday.”

Nicole washed the diced potatoes and put them on to boil. “You never know, I might have a hot date. Besides, Peter Elliott doesn’t notice me any more now than he did in high school. So don’t try to find ways to throw us together.”

Nicole was surprised she hadn’t mentioned Jake. He was another of her mom’s men-you-could-date-if-you-wanted-to subjects since Nicole’s breakup with Stuart two years ago.

“But you both serve on the city council. If you’d just practice flirting a little—”

“Mom! Really.” She bent down and hugged her five-foot-four mother. “I’m not his type. All during high school and in college, he only had eyes for Allie Carson. She was cute and dainty—something I’ll never be.

“And don’t start with his cousin Jake. Neither of them are into someone who can look them straight in the eye, or outshoot them on the basketball court...or who walks like a heifer plodding across cotton rows.”

Nicole’s reference to a comment made twenty-one years ago brought a frown from her mother. “You do no such thing. And that dance instructor never said that was the way you walked.”

Nicole might have been only twelve, but she knew what she’d heard. And she’d never gone to another class.

Her mother wasn’t one to let a subject die. “I mean, you might not have been asked to dance the lead in a ballet, but you were...very graceful on the basketball court.”

And that was the only place she was graceful. Nicole’s size-ten feet and five-ten frame were not made for dancing, no matter what her mother wanted to believe.

“She could’ve been another supermodel,” said her brother Sam as he entered through the back door. He handed Nicole the two-year-old in his arms, and then turned to take a shopping bag from his very pregnant wife.

“With my feet, I’d probably stumble on the runway.” She nuzzled the baby’s soft blond hair as Sam tenderly guided Amy to a chair. Her oldest brother, who’d just turned forty, had it good, and he knew it. No biological clock ticking for him. Or Amy, who at thirty-six was only three years older than Nicole. With the birth of their son in two months, Amy would have her family complete. At least that was her plan.

“I’ll take Grace, and you can put this wherever Mom has the other presents stashed,” Sam said.

Her brother held out the prettily wrapped package Amy had brought in. Nicole glanced at the silver bow and embossed paper. All that fancy wrapping was wasted on her dad. Now, her mother on the other hand...

“No, I’m good.” She so seldom got to hold her niece, and she wasn’t ready to give her up yet. “Put that in the dining room and then go drag Pop out of his wood shop and tell him dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Chris and Aaron should be here by then.” It would take that long for Sam to pry their dad away from whatever special project he was working on and get the sawdust brushed off his clothes.

Just as she’d predicted, twenty minutes later when the two men came in from the shop, her other two brothers arrived with their families. When it came to celebrating birthdays, or any holidays for that matter, no one did it up any better than the Montgomerys, and an hour and a half later, the house rocked with the sound of conversation and laughter.

With the meal finished, Nicole leaned back in her chair and glanced around the dining room table, lingering on each face, especially her dad’s at the head of the table. He sat with his steepled fingers against his chin, a contented smile on his lips. She glanced down at her matching long fingers. She’d always been fascinated that his large hands could tease a delicate dolphin out of a block of wood or set a bird’s broken wing. He was probably the reason she hadn’t married—she hadn’t found any man who could measure up to him.

Her mom set the candle-laden cake in front of him, and Sam said, “Where’s the fire extinguisher?”

Daniel Montgomery raised an eyebrow. “Better be careful what you say—you’ll be here one day.”

Then he took a deep breath and blew all the candles out while everyone cheered. Nicole sighed, wishing her empty apartment had a little of this warmth and hominess. Except celebrations like this also served as a reminder of what she didn’t have.

On days like this when the whole family was together, she felt like an outsider, the only one without someone special and without children. Oh, good grief. Being single wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It wasn’t like she didn’t have friends. She traveled when she wanted to and controlled the TV remote—what more could she ask for?

“I neef potty!” Her niece’s yell broke her thoughts.

Thank you, Grace. Nicole pushed her chair back and threw her brother a smile. “I’ll take care of this.”

Sam glanced at his brothers. “Now, that’s the way to train your sister.”

She whacked him on the shoulder as she led Grace toward the bathroom.

“Tank you, Aunt G.,” Grace said a few minutes later as Nicole helped her with the Pull-Ups. All of her nieces and nephews had trouble saying “Nicole,” so the problem was remedied by calling her by her first initial.

“You’re welcome, honey. Let’s wash your hands.” When she finished drying Grace’s hands, she asked her, “Having fun today?”

The golden curls bobbed, and Nicole swept the tiny girl up in her arms, marveling at how light she was. With her dainty frame, no doubt she would become the ballerina her grandmother always wanted. A good thing, since the other three grandchildren were boys.

As Nicole neared the dining room, her mother’s voice carried through the open door.

“Samuel, I want you to make sure your sister goes to the children’s shelter cleanup Peter Elliott is doing Saturday. And Aaron and Chris, I expect you to encourage her and to be there, as well.”

Nicole stopped midstride as heat raced up her neck to her cheeks. She should have known her mother wouldn’t listen to her. She counted to ten, giving her heart time to still, then, setting Grace down, she slipped her phone from her pocket and texted her best friend. Invite me to lunch and Christmas shopping Saturday? PLEASE.

Less than a minute later a message pinged. Sure. But why the PLEASE?

Explain later. Nicole put her phone back in her pocket. Then in a voice loud enough to carry, she said, “Okay, Gracie, let’s get you back in your booster seat.”

Silence greeted her as she reentered the dining room and slid Grace into the high chair. “Did I miss anything?”

“Nope,” said her brother Aaron.

Nicole caught the look her mother gave him.

“Oh, by the way,” Aaron said. “I’m volunteering Saturday to help Peter Elliott fix up the shelter. What time do you want me to pick you up?”

“Pick me up for what?”

“Aren’t you going to help?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, I have a lunch date, but I hope you have fun.”

“Lunch date?” her mom repeated. “You never said—”

“Cheryl sent me a text a few minutes ago. We’re doing lunch and then we’ll pick up some Christmas presents.” Which wasn’t a lie. She glanced at her brothers, and the sympathy in their eyes burned her insides. Burned enough to make her blink back tears.

Her dad cleared his throat. “Hey, Nic, if you’re finished eating your cake, come see what I’m working on in the shop.”

She cut a sharp glance at him. No sympathy, just love in his face. She nodded.

Her dad crooked his arm for her to slide her hand through. “We will be back directly, unless Nicole decides to sand a little on that bookcase she’s making,” he said over his shoulder.

“Don’t either one of you dare!” her mother called after them. “You still have your presents to open.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As they stepped out of the house, her phone alerted that she had a text, and she glanced at it. It was from Cheryl, already canceling their lunch date because she’d remembered a prior commitment. With her boyfriend, no doubt, but Nicole would keep the cancellation to herself.

She strolled with her dad to his workshop.

“Can you believe it’s almost the first of December and seventy degrees?” he said.

Thank you, she replied silently. “I think it’s supposed to turn cold this weekend.”

One thing about her dad—he didn’t push her to talk about something she didn’t want to discuss. The fragrant smell of cedar washed over her when she stepped through the door. “You’re making a cedar chest.”

“Yep. It’s over here.” He led her to the chest, which was finished except for attaching the hinges.

She ran her hand over the smooth wood, admiring the red lumber that seemed to glow. “You never did make me one.”

“You know what they say about the cobbler’s children having no shoes,” he said with a laugh. “Except that’s no longer true. This one’s yours.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. She had so not expected this. “Oh, Pops, thank you. It’s beautiful!”

“Like you.”

“Stop that. You’re going to make me cry.”

He hugged her. “It’s true.”

Nicole laid her head on his shoulder. She knew better. Her mouth was too wide, and her hair too straight, just like her body. Guys never seemed to give her a second look.

She squeezed him and then walked over to the bookcase she’d been working on, half tempted to pick up her sanding paper. “Thanks for feeling sorry for me and getting me out of the house.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I heard Mom when I was in the hallway.”

“Oh.” He rummaged in his toolbox and handed her a sheet of garnet sanding paper. “She means well—she knows how much you want a family, and we’ve both seen the way you look at Sam and Amy. And little Grace.” He put his arm around her. “Honey, I know it was bad after Stuart married what’s her name—”

“Tiffany.”

“Yeah, her. But the point is, eventually you’ll have to risk your heart again.”

If only her heart wasn’t a block of ice. Nicole wasn’t sure she’d ever be willing to trust another man.

“Your mom just wants you to be happy.”

She quirked her mouth in a wry grin. “And Jake O’Neil and his cousin Peter Elliott are at the top of her list of eligible men in Cedar Grove.”

Her dad laughed. “Could be worse.”

“But pushing me on Peter isn’t the answer. I spend two hours a month with the man at the city council meetings, and not once has he indicated he might be interested in me. Other than to get my vote on one of his pet projects.”

“Speaking of votes, I talked to Hugh yesterday. He’s talking about not running for the mayor’s office again in the next election.”

Her heart kicked up a notch. She hadn’t heard that. “Really? Why not?”

“He said he’d been having a few health problems. If he doesn’t run, that would get rid of one of the obstacles you mentioned when we talked about you running for mayor.”

Her mind raced. She’d known and respected Hugh Gordon all her life, but he wasn’t the most effective mayor Cedar Grove could have. If he didn’t run, and if she could win the election, she could implement a plan she’d been working on with Judge Connors, an old friend of her dad’s.

“Whatever you’re thinking, I like it,” her father said. Then he wrinkled his nose. “Except if you become mayor, I’ll have to get someone to run the office.”

The family-owned company was small, and Nicole did it all, from bookkeeping to answering the phone. “Do you really think I could get elected?”

“I don’t know why not. You handily won the city council seat, and the mayor’s office will be a cinch, too. But you need to start campaigning now, let people see you helping out at places...like the children’s shelter. I doubt Cheryl would mind if you canceled your outing.”

“Pops!”

“I’m serious, Nic. You know as well as I do that you would have jumped on helping out if your mom hadn’t been the one to suggest it. I’ve heard you say a dozen times the shelter is a good thing for Cedar Grove. If you’re seriously considering the mayor’s race, you need to get your name out there and quit hiding your light under a bushel. And who knows, you and Peter might just hit it off.”

She stared at him. “Not you, too.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You never know—”

She put her hands on her hips. “I know this. South Mississippi will freeze over before Peter Elliott ever asks me for a date.”

Or his cousin Jake.

CHAPTER THREE

THE SUN HUNG low on the horizon as Peter walked to his car. He’d tucked the letter from his grandfather in his briefcase to read later tonight. Right now he had to answer a text from the director of the children’s shelter. Call me.

As he dialed Sarah Redding’s cell phone number, he shrugged out of his suit coat. It was unseasonably warm weather for the last of November. That was one thing he’d enjoyed since returning home—the odd days of warm weather in fall and winter. Of course, tomorrow it could be thirty.

Sarah answered on the first ring. “We have a problem.”

“We always have a problem, Sarah,” he responded.

“Well, you know that recent storm damage we had, it’s more extensive than I first thought. And we have the state inspector coming next Monday. I’m afraid we won’t be ready in time. I’ve put the word out for volunteers this Saturday, but—”

“Just hold on, I’ll be there in five minutes. We’ll figure out something.”

That was another good thing about Cedar Grove. A person could go anywhere in town in less than ten minutes. Sarah met him at his car. “I don’t see how they can expect us to get all this done in seven days.”

“Did you call them and explain?”

“I tried to, but they wouldn’t budge.”

He took the list of repairs from her hand and scanned it. Whoa. The roof needed repairing, windows needed to be unstuck, shutters replaced or repaired, leaves were too close to the foundation, holes needed to be filled in the yard, receptacles...the list went on. No way could they get all this done without hiring a crew, and that they didn’t have money for.

“Have you contacted Mr. Davis?” Davis was a handyman the center used for repairs.

“He’s in the hospital with a broken leg—he fell off a roof. I’ve called a few other contractors, but with this warm weather they’re all busy trying to beat the rain predicted for this weekend.”

“Show me what needs to be done inside.”

He followed her through the back door into the kitchen where Tyler Bennett sat at the table. Peter had almost forgotten the trouble the boy had gotten into. “Hey, Tyler. Did something happen at school today?”

The teenager brushed a mop of brown hair away from his forehead, revealing defiant blue eyes.

Sarah folded her arms. “He’s suspended for three days.”

Peter struggled to keep disappointment from his voice. “What was it this time, Tyler?” Even though he knew the answer, he wanted to hear the boy’s side.

Tyler’s mouth twitched. “Nothin’ important.”

Sarah said, “Nothing important? He—”

Peter put his hand on her arm. “Let him tell me what he did,” he said gently.

The hand the teenager had been dealt the past few years was one most adults would want to walk away from, and Peter hurt for the teenager. But the kid had his whole life ahead of him, and in this particular circumstance, having him own up to what he did was the only way Peter knew to help him.

Tyler drew circles on the paper in front of him. Peter waited. When the boy looked up, Peter raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

Tyler huffed. “I unscrewed the top of the pepper shaker at the teachers’ table. One of the basketball players ratted me out. Shoot, Coach Dawson doesn’t even taste his food before he grabs the salt and pepper.”

Peter clamped his jaw to keep from grinning. “Why?”

The teen looked down. Finally, he lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Coach wouldn’t let me even try out for the team. Said I should’ve come three months ago with everybody else. Not my fault I wasn’t here, yet.”

“Did you tell him that?”

He shook his head. “He’s the coach, he ought to know.”

“Well, he might not,” said Peter. “So, you don’t see anything wrong with what you did?”

The teenager averted his gaze. Again the half shrug. “Maybe it was a dumb thing to do.”

“Maybe?”

“All right. It was a dumb thing to do, and I won’t do it again.”

“That’s better. Have you written the coach an apology?”

Tyler slid an envelope from the papers on the table. “Along with five pages of ‘I won’t unscrew the top of the pepper shaker again.’”

Peter took out the paper and looked over the apology.

I’m sorry I unscrewed the pepper shaker and ruined your lunch. It won’t happen again.

Tyler Bennett

“You’ll give it to him tomorrow?”

“I can’t go back to school until Thursday.”

Maybe Peter could do something about that. “Okay.”

He turned to Sarah. “Show me what needs fixing.”

They walked into the living room first, and she pointed out the light switches and receptacles that needed replacing. “Like I said, I put out a call for some volunteers this Saturday. The warm weather is supposed to hold until late afternoon before it rains and turns cold. If enough people show up, maybe we can knock out every bit of this.”

Peter looked at the list again. He could replace the receptacles, but it’d probably be faster to hire an electrician. Everything else could be done by the volunteers. “You’re a genius. How many people did you contact?”

“I started with our regular volunteers, and a couple of people I know from church.”

“Good. I’ll see if I can find an electrician for the wiring.”

She tilted her head toward the kitchen. “Do you have time to shoot a few baskets with Tyler? You can turn the floodlights on.”

A mound of paperwork waited for him back at his office, not to mention he’d like to read his grandfather’s letter. But those things could wait. If there was a chance that shooting a few baskets with the teenager might soften those stony blue eyes, he’d give it a try. “Sure.” He turned and raised his voice. “Hey, Tyler, do you have time to shoot a few baskets?”

“Are you kidding? Sure.”

The boy was waiting with his basketball by the back door when Peter walked into the kitchen. “You sure you can play basketball?” Tyler looked skeptical.

“Our team won the state championship when I was a senior.”

“But did you play?”

“I was cocaptain.” Matthew Jefferies was the other cocaptain. “Still want to take me on for a game of HORSE?”

“Sure. You can even go first,” Tyler said.

“That sure of yourself, huh?”

Overhead lights lit up the concrete pad and goal. When he bought the property for the shelter, one of the first things he did was have the pad built and a hoop installed so the kids could at least shoot baskets. He bounced the ball a couple of times and sank the first shot from ten feet away.

“Is that your best shot?” Tyler hooted and easily dropped the ball in the hoop.

Peter backed up a few more feet and missed.

“Too bad.” The teenager dribbled the ball to the edge of the concrete pad and shot from twenty feet away, easily sinking the ball.

Now Peter had to make the same shot. Which he missed, earning himself an H. Grinning, Tyler hooked the ball over his head, once again making the shot. And once again, Peter missed.

The boy was good, no doubt about it. Peter knew Dawson, had gone to school with him. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to the coach and ask if he’d give Tyler a chance, since he’d arrived too late for the tryouts.

“How are things going at school, other than the pepper shaker incident?”

Tyler half shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

The kid was the king of half shrugs. Peter made a mental note to check his grades tomorrow. “You’re a freshman, right?”

“Yeah.” He bounced the ball back and forth in front of him, then made another three-point shot.

Once Peter had the ball, he took his time and pictured himself making the goal. Swish. He grinned at Tyler.

“See if you can make this one.” Tyler dribbled in and executed a layup shot.

When Peter tried, the ball rolled around the rim and bounced out. “That puts you up to R. Two more and you’re out.” Tyler hooked another shot over his head, using his left hand this time.

“I’ll catch up.” Peter bounced the ball, getting a feel for it, focusing. No way could he make that shot. “What are you planning to do after high school?”

“I don’t know. I want to get a basketball scholarship to State, but I don’t figure I’ll stay at any school long enough to play on a team. I’m too short anyway.” He cocked his head. “You going to shoot or not?”

Peter arced the ball over his head, and it landed behind the goal.

The teen retrieved the ball. “Good try. One more miss and you’re out.”

Tyler bounced the ball and stood a little taller, his shoulders a little straighter, and for the first time since the boy had come to the shelter two months ago, he actually looked happy.

“You’re pretty good,” Peter said. He’d like to see what Tyler could do on an actual basketball court. Too bad the youth center was still just a dream. If Peter won the contest, though, it’d be a reality, and the building that went with it would house a gym with a basketball court and a workout area.

Tyler moved to within ten feet of the basket and bounced the ball off the backboard and through the hoop. He handed the ball off to Peter. “Think you can do that?”

It was a throwaway shot. The kid had purposefully handed him an easy shot—he wasn’t sure if it was to prolong the game or for Peter to save face. He took his time and completed the throw. Tyler high-fived him, and then the teenager turned around and made a perfect three-pointer.

“You really handle the ball well.”

“My dad used to practice with me.”

He nodded, not quite sure whether to pursue the subject. Tyler’s parents had been killed in an automobile accident two years ago, and he had shifted from one foster home to another until he landed at the children’s shelter in Cedar Grove in September.

“He taught you well,” Peter said, and just as he shot the ball his cell phone rang. He missed by a good three inches.

“H-O-R-S-E!” The teenager pumped his fist in the air. “You lose.”

“I would’ve made that one if my phone hadn’t gone off.” He fished his cell from his pocket and glanced at the ID. His office. He’d call them back when he left.

“Yeah, right.” Tyler bounced the ball a couple of times, then put it under his arm. “Anytime you want a rematch...”

“I definitely want one, but I better get back to work.”

As he walked away, Tyler said, “Thanks, Mr. E., and I won’t be doing any more stupid stuff.”

Peter looked over his shoulder. “Good. And I’ll talk to the principal and see if you can go back to school tomorrow.”

Tyler rewarded him with a groan.

* * *

PETER STARED AT the envelope with his name scrawled on it in his grandfather’s handwriting. He’d purposely left reading the letter until bedtime and smiled, imagining Grandfather penning the words.

Richard Elliott had always been “Grandfather,” never “Gramps” or “Granddad”—those names simply didn’t suit him. He’d had such a strong personality, although the death of his only son a few years ago had tempered it some.

His father’s death had been a blow to Peter as well, and it’d been hard to withstand his grandfather’s insistence that he join Elliott Manufacturing. He was certain Grandfather devised the contest for the sole purpose of drawing Peter into the company, and he was equally certain the letter would confirm his suspicions.

He unfolded the paper and began reading.

Dear Peter,

By now you have learned what is in the will and are probably scratching your head. I hope you’ll take the contest seriously. I know how much you want the youth center, and I’m sure you don’t like the strings attached, but I hope you will take the challenge.

You probably are thinking I could have just given you both the money, but there is one last lesson for you to learn.

On a personal note, I want you to know how proud I am of you. You are a lot like your father, and that’s quite a compliment. While I don’t agree with your desire to serve the citizens of Cedar Grove in your capacity as director of Social Services, I see what a wonderful job you are doing. You are to be commended. Still, I would rather that you had joined the family business.

It was a joy to be a part of your raising. And never forget, winning isn’t the most important thing—it’s how you win or lose that matters—it all comes down to honor. Remember that whenever you look at the pocket watch I gave you.

I love you, Grandson, and I realize I didn’t say it often enough.

Your Grandfather

Peter stared at the last sentence. His grandfather had only told him one other time that he loved him. The day his father was buried.

A lump settled in his throat. He was going to miss them both.

CHAPTER FOUR

TUESDAY MORNING JAKE slowed to make the turn into the Montgomery and Sons Construction Company. He’d looked up Nicole Montgomery in his high school yearbook last night. The girl in the photo was rather plain, and he couldn’t place her at all.

He parked his Lexus in front of the brick building and went in, the bells over the door making Christmas sounds. The Christmas effect didn’t end there. “Frosty the Snowman” played from stereo speakers, and he smiled, thinking of the seventy-degree weather outside.

“May I help you?”

He turned, looking for the speaker. She stepped out from behind the freshly cut cedar in the corner, and he caught his breath. Oh, wow. He’d never seen a Greek goddess before, but this had to be what one would look like. Surely this wasn’t the girl in the yearbook. Her black hair was caught up in a French braid and green eyes the color of Ireland looked him over. “I, ah, I’m looking for Nicole Montgomery.”

She hung the ornament on the tree before walking toward him. “I’m Nicole.”

Jake held out his hand and was surprised at the firm grip. For the first time he could ever remember, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

She tilted her head, puzzlement in her eyes. “Do you want to hire our company to do a job for you?”

“Did we really go to high school together?” He did not remember anyone looking as good as Nicole Montgomery.

“What?”

Heat burned his face. He surely did not just say that. “Forgive me, but I think your beauty has caused me to take leave of my senses.”

She leaned back, and crossed her arms. “Jacob O’Neil, you were full of yourself in high school, and you still are.”

A memory niggled in the back of his mind. Yeah...they’d been in chemistry class together, except the younger Nicole had been rail thin and wore glasses. That hadn’t stopped him from trying to charm her, and he’d gotten the same response as today.

“Strike two, huh?”

A smile played at the corner of her mouth. “One more, and you’re out.”

“Then I better be on my best behavior.”

“Try it. You might like it.” She unfolded her arms and walked to her desk.

He checked her out while he had the chance. The silky braid draped over her shoulder. A plaid shirt, skinny jeans that fit nicely and midcalf boots—the girl he remembered would never wear anything so fashionable. Her style had changed, for sure. She turned, almost catching him.

“Now, did you have a purpose for coming in here, or is it just my lucky day?”

But not her sassy lip. Just thinking of it made him stare at her full lips. Which she promptly licked. He glanced up to focus on her eyes instead. “I came to see you about a city council proposal.”

Understanding seemed to click into place. “And you need my help.”

“No! I mean, yes.” If he’d known what a pretty woman she’d blossomed into, he’d have been there a long time ago.

She checked her watch, and he quickly did the same and groaned. Nine thirty. He had an appointment with the mayor in thirty minutes. He’d wasted what little time he’d allotted for talking to her. “Would you have lunch with me today?”

“No.”

Jake regrouped. He hadn’t made a very good impression. He held up his hand. “Hang on for a minute.”

He hurried out the door, turned around and came back in. “Hi, Nicole. I can’t believe we haven’t seen each other since high school. But I’d truly like to rectify that. Is there a snowball’s chance in South Mississippi that you’ll have lunch with me at Norma Jean’s?” He held out his hand.

A strange look crossed her face, and then she swallowed and slipped her palm in his. “I, ah, well, since you put it that way, I guess so. Noon?”

“How about eleven thirty? Would you like me to pick you up?”

“No! I’ll meet you there.”

“Great.” He started to leave and turned around. “You look really—”

“Don’t mess it up O’Neil.”

He grinned. “Well, you do.”

Jake whistled as he drove across town to city hall. Getting Nicole Montgomery’s vote was going to be much more interesting than he’d thought. But something about her name didn’t seem right.

He remembered now...it was G. Nicole Montgomery in the yearbook. He couldn’t remember what the G stood for, but given time, he’d find out.

Jake pulled into a parking space in front of city hall, and grabbed the packet that contained copies of the senior center proposal for each city council member. He would leave them with Betty Atkins, the city clerk, when he added his name to the agenda for tonight’s meeting.

Betty looked up as he entered her office and closed the door.

“What can I do for you, Jake?”

He handed her the envelope. “I’d like to appear before the city council tonight to request a permit for renovating a building on Washington Street and to submit a proposal for a senior center. I’ll also be asking for funding.”

“I see. How much?” she asked.

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“You can’t run a center on twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“That will just be the city’s part. I’ll come up with the rest. I’m going up to see Hugh now, and get his support.”

“I’ll put you down.”

“Thanks.” He turned to leave and she followed him.

“I’m going after coffee. Care to join me?”

“No, I told him I’d be there at ten, and it’s almost that time now.”

* * *

A CONFERENCE CALL about the children’s shelter kept Peter from getting to city hall when he wanted to, but at least he had a better understanding of what the inspector would be looking for next week. It was now nine forty-five as he took the stairs to the city clerk’s office two at a time.

He’d managed to get by the city inspector’s office before they closed yesterday, so his application for a renovation permit for the building was in process. Now he needed to get the youth center proposal and the New Year’s Eve teen dance he wanted to hold on tonight’s agenda.

“Is Betty in?” he asked her secretary.

Treva Fisher looked up from her typing. “She has someone with her right now. Do you want to wait?”

“Do you think they’ll be long?” He wanted to catch the mayor before he got too busy.

“It’s your cousin Jake. What do you think?”

His heart sank. Surely Jake didn’t have his proposal ready for the council. Peter was almost finished with his own except for a volunteer director. The door to Betty’s office opened, and his cousin stepped out behind the city clerk. When he saw Peter, a smug grin spread across Jake’s face.

“You’re just getting here?” Jake said.

“Yeah, I heard it’s the early worm that gets eaten.”

Jake laughed. “We’ll see, cuz. We’ll see.”

Peter ignored him and turned to Betty. “I need to put something on the agenda for tonight.”

“And, I need a cup of coffee. How about walking with me to Cups and More. We’ll discuss it there.”

He checked his watch. “I wanted to see Hugh before it got much later.”

“Whatever you want to see him about can wait. I want to talk to you.”

“Let me give him a call and let him know I want time with him.” Peter dialed the mayor and Hugh gave him an eleven o’clock appointment. He’d changed his plans without hesitation because everyone at city hall knew that since the mayor’s heart attack, Betty Atkins ran the office. “He said I’m to bring him a white chocolate mocha.”

“Don’t you dare. Do you know how many calories there are in that drink? Over three hundred, not to mention the fat.” She peered at him. “He doesn’t know you’re with me, does he?”

“I didn’t actually mention your name.” Peter tried not to grin. She not only ran the office, she ran the mayor. The two had been an item for years now, and everyone wondered why they didn’t get married.

“We’ll get him a plain coffee,” she said grimly.

The aroma of fresh ground beans met them at the door. As usual the shop was full of customers, some already at tables with their coffees and others waiting in line.

He spied a table by the window. “You stake out our table, and I’ll get your coffee.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll take a skinny caramel latte.”

He wasn’t surprised the health-conscious city clerk ordered something low calorie. As he walked to the counter, several people greeted him, and he stopped to chat briefly with Mrs. Palmer about her health. The white-haired retired English teacher had been his favorite in school. When he turned to get in line, he bumped into another customer, making him almost spill his coffee.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and then he recognized Allie Carson’s brother. Make that Allie Jefferies. He didn’t know why her new last name was so difficult to remember. Peter held out his hand. “Clint, what are you doing in town?”

“I live here now,” Clint said with a smile. He transferred his cup and shook Peter’s hand, then nodded toward the counter. “I think she wants your order.”

“Don’t leave, yet.” He turned to the barista. “I’ll take a small Kona-blend, black, and a large skinny caramel latte,” he said, then shifted his attention back to Clint. “I thought you were the director of the Boys and Girls Club in Memphis.”

He shook his head. “I’ve taken over the farm since Dad decided to retire, and he and Mom hit the open road.”

“You’re kidding.” Why had he not heard about this before now? “Will you still be in town this afternoon? I’d like to pick your brain about something.”

“I have an appointment, but I’m free later in the week.”

“Sounds good. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Peter paid for the drinks and took them to the table where Betty waited.

She scooped a spoonful of foam off the top, tasted it and closed her eyes. “Now, that’s good.” Then she looked at him. “So, what do you want to put on the schedule?”

“I’m not sure. I’d like to hold a dance for teens New Year’s Eve. What do I need to do?”

“Apply for a permit tonight at the city council meeting. Where do you plan to have it?”

“In a building my grandfather owned. It’s part of the estate now.”

Betty sipped her latte. “Is it the same building Jake plans to use for a senior center?”

Peter nodded. So Jake had finished his proposal, and he would have left a copy of it with Betty. “Any chance I can look over his paperwork?”

She eyed him over her glasses, her green eyes boring into him.

“I’ll wait until tonight.”

“I think that’d be a good idea. So, do you want me to put your request for a permit on the docket?”

“Yeah, and I want to submit a proposal for a teen recreational center.”

“Got it.” She took another sip of her latte. “Don’t you two ever get tired of competing against each other?”

He’d like to explain that this time, it wasn’t his idea. Instead he said, “My grandfather always said iron sharpens iron.”

“Just don’t get the mayor all wrangled up in your deal—he hasn’t been feeling that well.” She hesitated, pressing her lips together. “That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

Peter resisted checking his watch while he waited for her to continue.

“I don’t think Hugh is going to run for office when the election rolls around.”

“Oh?” He didn’t know what that had to do with him.

“In fact, I know he wouldn’t if you would agree to run.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You’d make an excellent mayor.”

Him, mayor? He’d never considered the possibility before.

“I see I’ve taken you by surprise, but I wish you would think about it. I really don’t want Hugh to run, but he will unless someone he admires steps forward.”

“You’re serious. But why me?”

“You have all the qualifications. First of all, you’re electable. Everyone knows the Elliott name. And with a master’s degree, you’re well qualified, and your work in Washington, DC, speaks for itself. And here—you’ve done an excellent job with Social Services and getting the children’s shelter set up here. And then there’s your council seat. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t thought about it yourself.”

Now that the shock had worn off, he had to admit the job appealed to him. “I’ll think about it.”

She squeezed his arm. “Good. Now go get Hugh’s coffee. I have to get back to work.”

Peter saluted and did as he was told.

A few minutes later, he handed the mayor his coffee. “Sorry it isn’t what you ordered, but I was with Betty.”

Hugh Gordon sighed. “That woman will be the death of me. It isn’t enough that she runs this office, now she’s telling me what I can drink.”

“She’s worried about you.” Judging by his pallor, Betty had good reason to be worried. And the mayor could stand to lose a few pounds. Peter considered telling Hugh about their conversation regarding the election, but in the end, he simply said, “It’s Kona-blend.”

“That’s a plus.” Hugh took the top off and sipped the still-steaming coffee. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Peter hesitated, remembering Betty’s admonition. Better that he be prepared for tonight. “I want to start a youth recreational center in a building my grandfather owned.”

“I suppose it’s the same building your cousin wants to put a senior center in.”

Jake was going to give him a run for his money. Peter nodded. “Can I count on your vote?”

“Same thing he asked.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“At the time, I didn’t know you were going to be submitting a proposal in opposition to him, so I said yes, and I’ll give you my support, as well. But if you’re looking for funding, only one of you might receive it. Money’s tight, and there’s no guarantee either of the projects will be funded, though both do seem worthwhile.”

Peter should have realized Jake was on his way to see the mayor when he left Betty’s office. “Thanks. I’ll see you tonight.”

* * *

AT THE LAST MINUTE, Nicole had to call her mother to cover for her at the office after an expected shipment of lumber failed to arrive before noon. She paused just outside the front door of Norma Jean’s to collect herself.

If only she could lie. Really? But she couldn’t, not to her mother, anyway, not even little white lies about the person she was having lunch with. As soon as Joyce Montgomery discovered Nicole was meeting Jake for lunch, she would be off and running, practically planning an engagement party.

Not even if South Missi— Nicole broke the thought off. That’s what got her into trouble in the first place. She’d had no intention of accepting Jake’s lunch offer, but when he used that phrase, her mouth said yes even as her brain said no.

She straightened her shoulders and pushed the door open. Might as well get it over with. Besides, he’d only asked her in order to get her help. Keep that in mind. She scanned the room and spotted him in a corner booth, talking to one of the waitresses.

Nicole walked toward the booth, dodging harried servers and catching snatches of conversation. Not even noon yet, and Norma Jean’s was booming. Yet their waitress had time to stand and talk to Jake with a dreamy look on her face.

The man was too good-looking for his own good. When he came into the office this morning, she’d almost dropped the ornament in her hand. And then all that blarney about how she looked—he was probably telling the red-haired waitress the same thing. Her cheeks flushed just thinking about it.

“Sorry, I’m late,” she said and scooted into the booth. From the frosty look the waitress gave her, Nicole had arrived too early.

He checked his watch. “You’re not really late, more like right on time.”

“Water, with lemon?” Red asked.

The waitress already thought she had Nicole pegged. “I think I’ll have iced tea with the lemon.”

“Sweet or unsweetened?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say she didn’t know Norma Jean’s served anything but sweet tea. Instead she smiled pleasantly. “Sweet.”

Red turned to Jake, and her smile stretched wide. “I’ll be right back with your coffee, hon.”

When the waitress was out of hearing range, Nicole gave him a sideways glance. “What did you tell her? That you were having lunch with the troll who lives under the bridge?”

He laughed. “There’s no use in having charm if you’re not going to spread it around.”

Jake was very good at that. His photo was often in the Jackson paper for various galas, and he never had the same woman on his arm. “Well, I’m immune, so don’t waste your breath.”

He laughed. “I can see this is going to be an interesting lunch.”

Oh. My. Goodness. He thought she was flirting with him. She wasn’t. Before she could say anything, Red brought their drinks and whipped out her pad and pencil.

“Are you ready to order?”

Jake leaned forward. “Nicole, do you know what you want?”

“I’ll take the lunch special.” It didn’t matter what it was, Norma Jean’s special was always good.

“I’ll take the same,” he said, winking at the waitress.

“Be right back with your meatloaf and English peas and baked apples.”

Nicole shook her head at his flirting, and before he could turn his charm back on her, she said, “So, exactly what do you want to discuss about tonight’s meeting?”

“No more fun and games, huh?”

“Nope.”

“But I haven’t found out what the G stands for in your name.”

“And you never will.” She should have known that was bound to come up. She gave him her most serious stare. If only her mother hadn’t named her Giselle. Even as a child she’d known the name didn’t fit her. It’d taken her father’s intervention to get everyone to call her Nicole. “The meeting tonight...”

“Oh, okay,” he grumbled. “Tonight I’m submitting a proposal to open a senior center in Cedar Grove, and I’d like you to support it.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll be glad to support that.”

He unwrapped the napkin from around the cutlery. “I also need twenty-five thousand dollars from the council.”

“That puts a different spin on it.” There was very little money in Cedar Grove’s coffers to spend on nonessential projects. She should know. She’d been going over the budget since last week. “Why do you need twenty-five thousand from the city?”

He leaned forward, his casual air gone. “Primarily, so the city will get behind the center. No money invested equals little interest.”

She saw his point. “How about you? Are you investing in it?”

“Yes, time and money.”

“Do you have a budget?”

He nodded and reached in his briefcase. “You’ll get another copy tonight, but I brought this in case you wanted to look over the proposal before the meeting.”

Jake was prepared, and she didn’t know why that surprised her. She flipped through the pages, and then set them aside. “Why do you want to do this?”

His blue eyes darkened as he caught her gaze and held it. “Because there’s no longer one here. The previous center closed because it wasn’t well run and the director lined his pockets instead of providing services.” He leaned back.

“I remember that,” she said. “I believe he’s now spending his time in a state-run prison facility.”

“Yep. And even with a new director, the center couldn’t regain its momentum, and government funding was cut, effectively closing it.”

“How will your center be different from that one?” Nicole asked. “How will you get senior adults to come?”

“There won’t be anyone stealing money, for one thing. And they will be running it, or at least an advisory board made up of senior citizens will be. I’ve talked to a lot of the senior adults in town, and they’ve told me they’d support a center if it provided what they needed.

“Several of them pointed out that they’d like to have a place to exercise without being intimidated or hurried by younger people. I want it to be a place where seniors can be comfortable.”

He sat up straighter. “Last of all, but probably the most important, it’s something my grandfather wanted. It’s a way I can honor his memory.”

Their waitress appeared and set their plates in front of them. Jake’s personality instantly moved into charm mode. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, dazzling her with a smile.

Nicole focused on her food. If passion were enough, Jake would make a success of this senior center. Her problem with the project was sustainability—his. If she agreed to help him to the tune of twenty-five thousand dollars of the city’s money, she’d first have to believe he’d stick to the project. Even though she really had no reason to believe he wouldn’t.

He can’t stick to one woman.

That was not a measuring stick, and she couldn’t let how he lived his personal life override his reputation for being a good businessman.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, and then he put his fork down. “Well, what do you think?”

She sipped her tea, trying to find a diplomatic way of saying what was on her mind. “I think it’s a good idea...”

“But?”

“Are you sure you’re the person to do this?” She’d feel much better about it if his cousin Peter were the one asking. “A month ago I saw in the Gazette that you were in Paris and before that, in the wine country in Italy. Do you really have time for this?”

Two red dots appeared on his cheeks. “Are you questioning my ability?”

“Not exactly. More like your focus or ability to commit. It’s a practical concern. And, if it’s something your grandfather wanted, why isn’t your cousin helping you with it?”

The red dots grew to splotches. He crossed his arms. “We don’t work too well together, and I assure you, if I get the go-ahead, I’ll make time for it.”

She’d hit on a touchy subject by the tone of his voice. “Tell you what, I’ll look at your proposal and see how the numbers add up when I get back to the office. I’ll let you know if I can support the center.”

He flashed her another of his high-wattage smiles. “You will. It’s a worthwhile project.”

She didn’t doubt that.

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