Ask Anyone. Sherryl Woods
gave her hives, but she did try.
She could have moved out of her father’s house—where a housekeeper was now looking after Darcy—and away from Baltimore, struggled to find some kind of work for which she was qualified and probably lived happily ever after, but Jenna was stubborn. She still craved her father’s approval and her rightful share of the company. Hoping for his love after all these years was probably a wasted effort, but she even harbored hopes of that, which was why she was still living under his roof and accepting the paltry, nonliving wage he used to keep her there.
She had worked for Pennington and Sons for the last seven years, ever since her quickie divorce in Reno. She was bound and determined to make her father regret that he’d only acknowledged the existence and contributions of her two worthless brothers in naming the business. She knew more, worked harder and had more vision than Dennis and Daniel combined, but all she got was a paycheck and the occasional patronizing pat on the head when she saved their sorry butts after they’d overlooked some little detail that could have cost the company a fortune. In fact, she was just about the only person in the firm who actually seemed to read and comprehend the fine print of their contracts.
This Trinity Harbor job was her chance to prove herself creatively, and no male chauvinist jerk was going to deprive her of it. If she had to take Darcy out of her current school come September and move down here so she could get in Bobby Spencer’s face 24/7 until he caved in and gave her the deal, then that’s what she’d do.
And after seeing him on his front lawn in his boxers, his body bronzed and his brown hair bleached by the sun, a rakish diamond glittering in his ear, the prospect promised to be a whole lot more entertaining than she’d envisioned when she’d driven away from Baltimore towing that antique horse in a trailer behind her beat-up Chevy.
She’d been thinking arrogant, crotchety old man, and, instead, she was going to be going toe to toe with a body—a man— so gorgeous he could make her forget her longstanding resolution not to even think about sex again until she hit menopause. Given her history of mistakes in judgment, her luck was not necessarily taking a turn for the better.
2
B obby stared at the fancy little gift card that Tucker had brought inside. The guard had apparently handed it to him.
“’There’s more where this came from,’” he read aloud, then looked at his brother. “What does that mean?”
“I think it means you’d better keep an eye on the front lawn or you’ll wind up with a whole amusement park out there,” Tucker said. “Won’t be any need to develop the boardwalk. You can just invite folks over here, put a few burgers on the grill and make a fortune without ever leaving the house. There won’t be another town in the entire state that can compete with that kind of down-home atmosphere. They’ll be writing this place up in Southern Living. ”
Bobby shot a sour look at him. “The card’s not signed,” he noted.
“I imagine that’s to keep you guessing,” Walker chimed in with another of those annoying grins.
“Looks to me like a woman’s handwriting,” Tucker added. “Thought I smelled a trace of perfume, too.”
“Is that the kind of top-notch investigative work the people of this county can expect from the sheriff?” Bobby inquired. “I could figure out that much.”
“Any time you want to sign up to be a deputy, let me know,” Tucker retorted.
Bobby scowled at him. “Didn’t the guard have any idea who’d hired him?”
“As a matter of fact, he did, but he wasn’t inclined to share it,” Tucker said, snatching Bobby’s cooling food from in front of him and shoveling it down.
“Hey,” Bobby protested, “what do you think you’re doing?”
“Having breakfast,” Tucker said blandly. “The mayor rousted me out of bed, and I’m starved. Besides, you weren’t eating it. This is the least you can do after spoiling my day off.”
“I’m not the one who called, and I was going to eat that myself,” Bobby countered.
Tucker shrugged. “It would have been too cold. Fix yourself something else. Last I heard you were a professional cook.”
“I’m a chef, dammit, and that’s not the point.” Bobby sighed heavily. “Aren’t the two of you on duty? Isn’t it your job to find the woman who sent this card?”
“Actually, I’m not officially on duty. As for the rest, sometimes the smartest, most efficient thing a cop can do is nothing. I’m thinking the woman behind all this will find you,” Tucker said. “Got any bacon? I’m in the mood for some nice, crisp bacon.”
“Fix it yourself,” Bobby said, then looked toward his brother-in-law. “Since my brother is more interested in filling his stomach than using his brain, what about you? Do you have any bright ideas about this?”
“Tucker’s right. If someone went to this much trouble, they’re going to show up to see how it turned out,” Walker said, then added, “Damn, I’m sorry Daisy’s missing this. Your sister would have to pick this weekend to take Tommy off to Williamsburg for an educational adventure.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Bobby grumbled. He’d forgotten about that trip. It was the only reason his sister wasn’t in the thick of things. “Having the two of you here is bad enough. I don’t need Daisy putting in her two cents. And Tommy’d be out there right now trying to charge people to take pictures. That boy has a true entrepreneurial spirit.”
Finally thinking of something to smile about, Bobby said to Walker, “By the way, I’ll bet you twenty bucks that those two haven’t done an educational thing since they got to Williamsburg—unless you consider riding the roller coaster at Busch Gardens to be some form of higher education.”
“That’s a sucker bet,” Walker said. “No question about it.”
Just then the doorbell rang. Bobby frowned and didn’t make a move to answer it. He’d had about as much unwanted company as he could take this morning.
“Well?” Tucker prodded when it rang again.
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to answer it? Remember what I said, that mysterious woman is likely to come looking for you. That could be her. Your mystery could be solved right here and now.”
Bobby considered the possibilities. Tucker could be right. Or, more likely, it could be his father, urged to interfere by the mayor. It could even be some kid with a bunch of unanswerable questions. Or his buddy Richard, wanting some kind of a comment for this week’s edition of the Trinity Harbor paper to go with the pictures he’d no doubt snapped of the chaos outside. When news happened in Trinity Harbor, Richard’s journalistic instincts kicked in within seconds. He wouldn’t miss this.
Bobby wasn’t interested in dealing with any of them, not even the woman responsible for disrupting his peaceful Sunday morning.
“Nope,” he said, and poured himself another cup of special blend French roast coffee. He was beginning to feel almost human, and he wasn’t about to ruin it.
Whoever it was leaned on the doorbell.
“I can’t stand it,” Walker said finally. “I’ll get rid of them.”
Instead, five seconds later he returned to the kitchen looking vaguely bemused by a voluptuous redhead wearing a power suit and slinky three-inch spike heels. The dichotomy wasn’t lost on Bobby. Clearly the woman hadn’t gotten sidetracked on her way to church. She looked like a cross between a politician and a hooker.
When she teetered on those heels, he was forced to reconsider. He began to lean toward the image of a kid playing dress-up. There was something vulnerable in her eyes to back up that opinion. He really, really hoped this was not the woman responsible for that horse. He was a