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“Oh, right. Of course it’s my fault. Give me an effing break.”
“She’ll punish you, you know.” Gracie’s eyes narrowed. “The woman in the window, she’ll get even.”
“Gracie!” Sarah’s mouth dropped open.
“Then you’ll see,” Gracie declared, turning to the front entrance and effectively ending the conversation.
“Here’s the latest,” Rhea announced as she stepped through the door of Clint’s cramped office in the small quarters that made up Stewart’s Crossing’s City Hall. As city building inspector, he checked on all the jobs currently being constructed or renovated within the city limits and beyond, and contracted with the county for the outlying areas. “You might find one particularly interesting.” She raised her thinly plucked eyebrows high enough that they arched over the frames of her glasses. “A neighbor.”
“Don’t tell me. The Stewart place.”
“The Jewel of the Columbia?” she said dryly, shaking her head, her short, red hair unmoving.
His insides clenched a bit. “Maybe Doug wants to take this one.”
“I thought you hated Doug.”
“Hate’s a strong word,” Clint said. “He just wouldn’t be my first choice to become my replacement.” He wasn’t sure why he didn’t trust Doug Knowles, but the guy he was training to take over his job seemed too green, too eager, too damned hungry, to give each job its proper attention. There was something a litt
le secretive about him as well, and Clint had a suspicion that Doug would take the easy way out, maybe let some of the little details slide on a job. “On second thought, I’ll handle the Stewart project.”
“Figured,” she said, her red lips twisting a bit. “Oh, and wait!” She hurried out of the room and returned a few seconds later with a candy dish that she set on the corner of his desk. “Halloween candy for your clients with sweet tooths, er, teeth.”
“I don’t need these.”
“Of course you do. It’s that time of year. Don’t be such a Grinch.”
“I believe he’s associated with Christmas.”
“Or whatever holiday you want. In this case, Halloween.” She unwrapped a tiny Three Musketeers bar and plopped it onto her tongue.
“Okay, so I’m a Grinch. Don’t hate me.”
Laughing, she gave him a wink as she turned and headed through the door to the reception area of the building that housed all the city offices. Built in the middle of the last century, the structure was constructed of glass and narrow, blond bricks; it had a flat roof and half a dozen offices opening into the central reception area. The ceilings were low, of “soundproof” tile, the lights fluorescent, the floors covered in a linoleum that had been popular during the 1960s. Now, it was showing decades of wear. “Just take a look.” Rhea clipped away on high heels as a phone started jangling. She leaned over her desk and snagged the receiver before the second ring. She did it on purpose, he suspected, knowing he was still watching her as she gave him a quick glimpse of the skirt tightening over her hips.
“Stewart’s Crossing City Hall,” she answered sweetly. “This is Rhea Hernandez.”
She had a nice butt, he’d give her that, but he wasn’t interested.
Attractive and smart, Rhea had been married and divorced three times, and was looking for husband number four at the ripe old age of forty-two.
It wasn’t going to be Clint, and he suspected she knew it. Rhea’s flirting was more out of habit than sincerity.
“. . . I’m sorry, the mayor isn’t in. Can I take a message, or, if you’d like, you can e-mail her directly,” Rhea was saying as she stretched the cord around the desk and took her seat, disappearing from view. He heard her start rattling off Mayor Leslie Imholt’s e-mail address.
Clint picked up the stack of papers she’d dropped into his inbox. Plans for the complete renovation of Blue Peacock Manor, the historic home set on property that backed up to his own ranch, was the first request. No surprise there, as he’d heard Sarah was returning to do a complete renovation of the Stewart family home. The preliminary drawings were already with the city engineer for approval; these had to be renovations to the original plans. A helluva job, that, he knew, and to think that Sarah was taking it on and returning to a place she’d wanted so desperately to leave. He eyed the specs and noted that he needed to see what work had already been accomplished on the smaller residence on the property—the guesthouse, as the Stewart family had called it.
Until the mayor had hired Doug Knowles, Clint had been the only inspector in this part of the county and had checked all the work himself. Now he could hand jobs off to Doug if he wanted. Clint had already decided that was generally a bad idea. It certainly would be in this case, he thought.
But if he took on Blue Peacock Manor, no doubt he would see Sarah again.
Frowning, he grabbed one of the damned bits of candy, and unwrapping a tiny Kit Kat bar, leaned back in his chair. He and Sarah hadn’t seen each other for years, and if he were honest with himself, he knew that their split hadn’t been on the best of terms. He tossed the candy into his mouth, then wadded up the wrapper and threw it at the waste can.
High school romance, he thought. So intense, but in the larger scheme of things, so meaningless, really.
Why, then, did the memory of it seem as fresh now as it had half a lifetime ago?
His desk phone jangled, and he reached for it willingly, pushing thoughts of Sarah Stewart and their ill-fated romance to the far, far corners of his mind.
