Ask Anyone (2 page)

But the final nail in her coffin as far as her father was concerned had been her divorce. He didn't believe in divorce. Not ever. Mistresses were just fine, apparently. It was an odd set of moral values, in Jenna's opinion, but there it was. Leaving Nick was another black mark on
her record with dear old Dad, even though he hated the guy. Another incomprehensible incongruity, to Jenna's way of thinking. Trying to keep up with all of them 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.

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 sucker for female vulnerability. His protective instincts rushed into action, overriding every defense mechanism he worked to keep in place.

“Nice job,” Bobby said to Walker, who merely shrugged over his inability—more likely, disinclination—to get rid of the interloper.

“You must be Bobby Spencer,” the woman said, offering her hand and a dazzling smile.

Bobby's gaze narrowed. Reluctantly, he shook her outstretched hand. “I am.”

“I'm Jenna Kennedy of Pennington and Sons.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bobby said, recognizing the name of the Baltimore-based company that had been pestering him for a week now for an appointment. His secretary hadn't been happy about his repeated refusal to talk to the woman. Maggie had thought she sounded sincere. Maggie was an annoyingly soft touch, which was why Bobby frequently wound up in meetings he didn't want to have.

He forced a stern expression. “Sorry you wasted your time,” he told her. “But I don't conduct business in my kitchen, especially not on a Sunday morning. Call my office.”

To her credit, she didn't turn tail and run at the lack of welcome. “I would, but it's the funniest thing. No one there seems to be able to give me an appointment without your say-so. Either you're a control freak, you're stonewalling me in particular for some reason or you're just generally rude and bad at business.”

“Or maybe I'm just busy,” he said mildly, not liking her accusations one bit. Especially the one about rudeness, since it seemed to echo Maggie's assessment. He prided himself on being a gentleman. Good manners was one of the things King had drilled into all his children, right along with respect for their Southern heritage.

Of course, the truth was, he
had
been stonewalling Jenna Kennedy. Though he hadn't settled on a specific plan for his boardwalk project, he knew one thing for certain—he didn't want to deal with a woman. Not that he had anything at all against women. His sister was one, after all. And some of his best friends were females. But ever since his childhood sweetheart had run off with his best friend, he hadn't been inclined to get close to another woman. He had trust issues galore, according to Daisy.

Once burned, twice shy.
That was the expression his sister used when she was scolding him about being skittish and telling him it was time to get over it and move on. She also added a lot of hogwash about his obsessive compulsion to take over the town being a bid to prove that he would have been the better choice for his old girlfriend. Like he really gave a rat's behind what that traitorous female thought of him, especially after all these years.

“Not every woman you fall for is going to go running off with your best friend,” Daisy usually pointed out.

“Especially now that he's already married to my former fiancée,” he generally retorted.

He frowned at Ms. Jenna Pennington Kennedy. “Look, I'm assuming that carousel horse was your idea.”

“It was,” she said.

“It was a nice touch, but I really don't think this will work out,” he said.

“Why? You haven't even heard our proposal.”

“It just won't,” he said flatly. “Walker, could you show Ms. Kennedy out?”

Walker looked as if he wanted no part of this, but he dutifully said, “Ms. Kennedy,” and stepped back to give her room to pass. She didn't budge.

In fact, she scowled first at Walker, then at Bobby, and planted her sexily shod feet a bit more firmly on the floor.

“Not just yet. Mr. Spencer, I don't know what your problem is, but it's my understanding that you want the kind of riverfront development that will put Trinity Harbor on the map. I can give you that.”

“Really?” Bobby said, not bothering to hide his skepticism. His attention kept drifting back to those shoes and her well-turned ankles. He almost missed the rest of what she had to say.

“You don't want gaudy,” she said with impressive confidence. “You don't want Ocean City. You want something that won't overwhelm the size of the community, something with charm, some green space and a sense of the town's history. Am I right?”

To Bobby's deep regret, she had intuitively pushed all the right buttons. “Yes,” he conceded with a great deal of reluctance. “But if you understand that, why is there
an antique horse on my front lawn disturbing the Sunday peace and quiet?”

“I had to get your attention,” she said reasonably. “I thought that would do it.” She grinned. “And it worked, didn't it?”

Walker and Tucker were watching him expectantly. What the heck? he thought with a sigh of resignation. She was here. He had to start talking to prospective developers sometime. Besides, Ms. Jenna Pennington Kennedy was obviously the persistent type. She wasn't going to go away until she'd said her piece. He could see her in the morning and have her out of town by noon.

“Okay, I'll see you tomorrow,” he told her. “In my office. Ten o'clock. If you're late, I won't be waiting.”

A dazzling, relieved smile that could fell a stronger man than Bobby spread across her face. “You won't regret it,” she said, reaching for his hand and enthusiastically pumping it.

Bobby sighed as the seductive scent of her perfume wafted through the air. He already did.

 

King slid into his favorite booth at Earlene's first thing on Monday morning. He'd almost stayed home today, but he wasn't going to let a little thing like being publicly humiliated by his own son keep him from the pleasure of seeing his friends the way he did every single day of the year, rain or shine.

It was bad enough that Harvey had been the first one on the phone on Sunday, but the chatter had kept up all the livelong day. He hadn't had a minute's peace. Worse,
first Bobby and then Tucker had called to cancel out on the family dinner. Neither one of them had stayed on the line long enough for him to get a straight word out of them about what was going on. He'd been left with enough fried chicken to feed an army and enough indigestion to keep him from touching a single piece of it. It was damned annoying. He looked forward to that chicken all week.

Which was why, the second dusk fell, he had driven past Bobby's to see for himself what all the commotion was about. That merry-go-round horse that had gotten Harvey's drawers in a knot was still sitting out there. Half the neighborhood kids were still hanging around gawking at it, too, along with what looked like a dozen carloads of adults. Since all the locals had probably been by right after the word spread at church that morning, these had to be out-of-towners drawn by word of the rare antique that had sprung up on his son's front lawn.

To top it off, King had spotted Richard Walton snapping pictures for this week's edition of
The Trinity Harbor Weekly
. He was accompanied by his wife, King's very own pastor, Anna-Louise. Irritated, King had forgotten all about his intention to drive straight by without making his presence known. He'd pulled up to the curb and rolled down his window.

“Woman, don't you have better things to be doing than poking around out here like a tourist?” he'd grumbled. “Why aren't you over at the church, saving souls?”

Completely unintimidated, Anna-Louise had turned
one of her placid smiles in his direction and strolled right on over to look him squarely in the eye. “Should have known you'd be skulking around here somewhere,” she commented. “Why don't you park and walk on up to your son's front door if you're so curious about what's going on? I'm sure Bobby would be happy to see you. He could probably use some moral support about now. I imagine it's been a trying day.”

“I doubt he'd be interested in anything I have to say. He never is. Besides, do you honestly think I could get a straight answer out of him?” King had scoffed. “Not likely. He stayed away from Cedar Hill today, because he doesn't want to tell me a blessed thing.”

“Richard interviewed him a few minutes ago. You'll be able to read all about it later this week,” she said, looking smug. She knew perfectly well how King felt about that nosy husband of hers poking into things, especially things that had to do with the Spencer family.

“You know, Anna-Louise, for a woman as well-versed as you are in God's word, you have a nasty habit of forgetting all about it when it suits you,” he'd charged.