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“You’ve been working on this property for some time now,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And your final inspection is within the next ten days.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Which is why—”
“I’m sorry, but the requirements are the requirements,” he said, looking over his own copy of the checklist. “Inspector Sinclair has outlined—”
“Burrell,” Noah interrupted. “She’s dealing with Burrell now.” He growled in frustration. “You make all these demands, but you people can’t even get your own shit straight.”
The man didn’t even react. Instead he shrugged, almost imperceptibly. “That’s fine. I just don’t see what you need me to do, here. If you’re trying for historical status, you’re aware you need to meet all of the requirements.”
“I’m trying to,” I said. “I just can’t… do it all by the deadline.”
The man behind the counter leafed through several of the papers in rapid succession. For a full minute he said nothing.
“If you want her to do all this,” Noah finally said, “she needs an extension.”
The clerk raised a single eyebrow. It made him look even more prudish.
“How much of an extension?”
“Two months,” said Noah.
The clerk’s face broke into a white-toothed smile. “No,” he chuckled glibly. “I’m afraid not.”
“One month then,” I cut in. “Just another four weeks.”
“I’m sorry,” the man said, glancing back at the folder, “but this property has already been granted multiple extensions.”
“But with these new requirements,” I pleaded, “I won’t even have the money to—”
“Financial concerns are not our problem,” the man said waving my statement away. The way it rolled off his tongue, it was obviously a line he used often. “If you didn’t have the money to bring this property up to par, you shouldn’t have purchased it.” He paused to look back at the paperwork. “Or rather… your husband Travis shouldn’t have—”
“That’s my uncle, not my husband,” I said curtly. “And he’s deceased. He left me the property when he got… when he…”
The man across the counter looked at me, and I saw his eyes change. They went a little softer, grew a little rounder. In that one tiny moment, he seemed to understand.
“Two weeks,” he practically whispered, glancing left and right. With deft movements he picked a form from a nearby shelf and slid it my way. “Fill this out, and I’ll grant you an additional two weeks before final.” He let out a resigned sigh. “That’s the absolute best I can do.”
Inwardly I felt a little sick. Noah slapped his hands at his side, helplessly.
“Thanks,” I said, totally unsure whether or not I meant it.
Forty-Two
MADISON
“Soo… your place, huh?” I grinned smug
ly from the passenger seat. “Wow. I feel kinda honored.”
“You won’t for long,” Noah said, shaking his head. “Trust me, our place is a dump.”
“Why are you bringing me there, then?”
He turned the wheel, pulling onto another gravel road. This one was even thinner than the last one.
