He settled on the straw next to her and lifted the fluffy orange fellow. The baby cat opened its mouth with a quick mew but calmed when Colt drew the wee thing to his chest. “There, there, little guy.” He lifted his beautiful blue eyes her way. “Is Noah sleeping?”
“Yes. Lucy brought her kids over to play, and they wore him out. We missed our earlier playdate because of the fire, and Noah wasn’t about to let me forget it.”
“I like tenacity in a kid, but I wish someone would make me go take a nap.” A wide yawn punctuated his statement.
“You can take one if you want, Uncle Colt.” Dakota kept her voice uncharacteristically soft. She peered up at him. “I’ll wake you up for supper, okay?”
“I’d love to take you up on that offer, sweet thing, but I’ve got some things to do in town.” He settled the tiny orange kitten into the box, then stood straight and tall, looking strong and self-assured.
“We’ve got to get back to the house ourselves,” Angelina said to the girls. “Schoolwork.” She ignored Cheyenne’s pout and started to stand. Colt reached out a hand to help her. The touch of his fingers, the clasp of his hand around hers felt right. So right. She tried to avoid his gaze, but he bent just enough so she couldn’t and then smiled at her. For her. “Come on, ladies. Out of the barn.”
Dakota started to fuss, but Cheyenne quickly changed her attitude. Angelina figured that meant she wasn’t all that worried about leaving her kitten behind because she wasn’t afraid to sneak in and out of the barn at will. As the girls preceded them, Angelina looked up at Colt. “Did you fit in on Wall Street as well as you do here?”
He stopped at the barn’s edge and tipped his hat back. “Used to.” Hills swelled and fell around them, stretching into the broad expanse of fertile farmland, greening with hinted spring. He slipped an arm around her, a half hug she didn’t know she needed until he did it. “You think I’m fitting in here? Because I’m thinking that too.”
“Yes I do.”
“Good.” And then he kissed her, as if kissing her before he drove into town was the most natural thing to do. When he finally broke the kiss, he leaned his forehead to hers and sighed. “I’ve been thinking about that all day. How ’bout you?”
“I, on the other hand, have been keeping my mind on my work.”
“Really?”
The disappointment in his voice forced her to be honest. She didn’t want to admit it because admitting her attraction would make it harder to leave. But in fact, that day she’d thought of little else. “It’s possible I thought about kissing you. Once or twice.”
He laughed and kissed her once more—a soul-stirring, you-and-only-you kind of kiss, the kind that erases rational thought. “Need anything from Hammerstein’s while I’m in town?”
Such a simple, normal request. She shook her head. “How can I possibly think of something as mundane as groceries after that?”
Her answer pleased him. He squeezed her hand and climbed into the SUV, and when he pulled out and drove away, a part of her heart made the trip with him.
He spoke sweet words as though all this meant something to him, something deep, but he’d left once and spent long years away. She knew how the temptation of something fancier, grander, and riskier called these financial types. Legal gamblers, that’s what they were. Yes, she was guarded because she’d seen the reality. Cunning investors didn’t just play to win. They played for the fun of the game.
If the financial district of New York City decided it wanted Colt Stafford back? He’d go because, no matter what he said, he’d left the game half complete, and that wouldn’t sit well with Sam Stafford’s firstborn son.
“Colt.” Josh Washington opened the door wide for Colt a quarter hour later. “Right on time. Come on in, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Colt followed Josh into the garage office, opened the tube, and laid out the plans he’d ordered from the architectural firm. “I need your opinion.”
Josh whistled as he pinned the plans to his draft board display. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s your plan, Colt? Location? Timing?” Josh studied the specifications. “This is an amazing setup—but I think you know that.”
“I thought so, but I needed an expert opinion,” Colt replied. “I was thinking west end where the fire-damaged buildings will be torn down. The Staffords own just shy of twenty acres there and we’ve got access to full utilities. We’d need parking for the adult living center, street-level businesses here, here, and here.” He pointed to several places on the plans. “With senior apartments above the businesses. And possibly patio-style homes on the parcel of land just west of ours.”
“Have you secured that land yet?”
“Yes.” When Josh looked skeptical, Colt admitted, “I used a proxy buyer. They signed the contract a little while ago. That gives us enough room to expand the senior living opportunity and still be close to services and amenities.” He pointed north. “My agent also put in a purchase offer on a six-acre plot, which would give us enough room for a proposed future clinic. But first, a place for older folks to live so they can stay in town.”
“This is a big project.”
“It is,” Colt agreed. “That’s why I’m here. I need expert advice on this before the town gets wind of it. I knew you’d shoot straight. Who should I contact? Who can be trusted to do this right?”
Josh studied the project, then pulled out his phone. He scanned his contacts and jotted down a number. “Tim Slater, Slater Commercial Construction out of Wenatchee. A part of me would love to tackle this, but it’s out of my league. Tim’s the kind of construction guy who can polish this idea brighter than a new penny.” Josh moved to his computer screen, hit a few keys, then pulled up photos of a small business park. “This is Slater’s most recent project. He came in on time and on budget.”
“You don’t mind me calling him in?” Colt faced Josh. “I don’t want to step on toes, but I’m anxious to get this started.”
“Why?”
“I ran into Mrs. Irvine, and she told me about Coach, how she had to send him to Ellensburg for care.”
“You want this done so Coach can come home.”
“Yes.”
His answer seemed to satisfy Josh. “You bringing these to the town meeting?”
“I am.”
“I’ll stand with you,” he said. “But what about the houses that burned? Between your rentals and second-floor apartments above businesses, we’ve got six displaced families. That might not seem like much,” he continued, but Colt interrupted him.
“It’s a lot to them, I’ll wager.”
“Yes, sir, it is. The Red Cross has them put up in a couple of spots, but it’s temporary.”
“Well, I’m hoping you’ll take on this next part of my idea. Let’s take a walk.” Colt opened the door and led the way down Center Street, past the skeletal church and the business district, until they came to the old tool-and-die building. “My thought is to do the housing rebuild down here. According to the town zoning, we’ve got plenty of room for a cluster of single-family homes. Simple but nice.”
“Like the old Craftsman style?”
The bungalow-style homes were exactly what Cole had in mind. Their classic construction style would fit well into Gray’s Glen. “Yes. I’d want them small enough to keep the rent affordable, with enough green space to make them family friendly. That way they have closer access to the park and playground, businesses, churches, and schools.”
“Now you’re talking a job I can handle,” Josh declared. He stuck out his hand. “I’m in.”
“Good.”
“We’re talking some serious investment money here, Colt,” Josh said frankly. “On both ends of town. Is your father willing to back this? He hasn’t had much to do with the town in a long while.”
“He’s making up for lost time, Josh. Me too.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Josh indicated the sorry-looking lot and the rusted metal buildin
g. “Do you have a layout plan for these houses?”
Colt shook his head. “You understand the dollars-to-square-foot ratio better than I do.”
“I’ll call Etta Davis.” Josh pulled out his phone and took various pictures of the broad lot. “She’ll know exactly what kind of layout to use to maximize benefit to cost.”
“Perfect. Can we meet once she’s got a plan?”
“You stayin’ around long enough for that?” Josh sounded surprised. “I thought you’d be heading east once things picked back up.”
“A sick father, a family business, an ailing coach, a beautiful woman, and a really cute kid changed my plans,” he told Josh. “I’m here for the long haul. I’ll be the go-to man on this.”
“I’m real happy to hear that.” Josh clapped him on the back. “Welcome home.”
Colt had grown accustomed to agreements being much more complicated back east. Having integrity be the norm felt mighty good again. He grinned and chucked Josh on the shoulder for old time’s sake. “It’s good to be here.”
“Angelina?” Isabo called her name softly late the next morning. “There is someone here to see Colt.”
“So why are we whispering?” Angelina slid a tray of cookies out of the oven. “It’s the first decent day we’ve had for laying fence. They won’t be back down from the range for hours. Can you show him in here, Mami?”
“Her.”
Her. Well, then.
“Whatever. I’m rather preoccupied here for the moment.” Her mother disappeared, and the sound of high heels on slate tile announced the woman’s approach. They’d reopened schools that morning, and Angelina thought she’d have a full day to play catch-up around the house. She knew that possibility vanished the moment the leggy blonde strode into the room carrying a leather attaché case.
Immaculate. Tall. Gorgeous, wearing a killer designer dress, wicked-hot boots, and black-rimmed glasses—the kind a superhero wears when trying to blend in with normal society.
But nothing about this woman said normal. Angelina wiped flour from her hands and moved toward her. “I’m Angelina, the house manager. You’re here to see Colt?”
“I am.” The woman tapped the attaché with some of the most amazingly perfect manicured fingernails Angelina had ever seen. “I’ve got paperwork for him.” She gave Angelina a cool smile. “I was going to overnight it, but I decided to overnight me instead.”
Tiny hairs rose along Angelina’s neck. It took real work to ignore them. “He’s not expecting you?”
“He was expecting the paperwork—our contract—not the personal delivery. But I’ve always found that Colt was easier to convince in person.” She smirked as if she knew a whole lot about Colt, in person. “So here I am.”
Angelina fought back an adrenalin surge. “Is this a contract for the housing development?”
One perfectly sculpted brow rose slightly. “The contract is for Colt’s new position in Manhattan with Hutchison-Mills Investing.”
Colt’s new position in Manhattan?
Angelina’s heart buzzed. Raw emotion scaled her spine, but she kept her face placid and her tone even. She’d kill him later, happily, but this woman would never see the effect of her words. Angelina was too skilled a detective for that. She’d predicted this from the beginning. So why did the reality hurt so much?
“Have we got company, Ange?” Sam’s voice drew Angelina’s attention as he came down the hall. He spotted their visitor. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “I see we do.”
“Sam, this is—” Angelina marked time purposely, then shrugged. “Actually I have no idea who this is. She’s come to see Colt.”
“Selma,” the woman cooed. In a move that said buttering up rich men was an intrinsic skill, she rounded the table and extended her hand to Sam. “Colt and I are old friends, and now we’re business partners again. You must be his father. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Sam shook her hand but zeroed in on her words. “Business partners?”
“Yes. We worked together several years ago. We parted badly, unfortunately, but that was a different time. Colt’s brilliance in maneuvering funds is renowned, and we’ve extended him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. He glanced toward Angelina. She couldn’t miss the flash of sadness in his eyes, but he composed himself before he brought his attention back to Selma. “This must be sudden.”
“Yes.” Selma smiled as if pleased that he understood, but Angelina knew the woman had no clue who she was dealing with. “We work quickly in New York,” she explained as if old westerners dawdled their way through life and couldn’t possibly understand the ways of a big city. “It’s the mode.”
“Sam.” Angelina drew his attention before he could go apoplectic. “Since Colt won’t be back for hours, and then we’re going straight to the town meeting…”
He got her gist. “Where are you staying, Selma? I’ll have Colt contact you as soon as we have things square here.”
“Staying?” Selma didn’t look surprised. She looked stunned. “I can’t stay. I just need to see Colt and be on my way. Hopefully with him following right behind.”
In a coffin, Angelina thought as she started slipping warm cookies onto cooling racks.
“Tell me where he is, I’ll go meet him, and then I’ll head back to that little airstrip in Yakima.”
Sam looked regretful and went total “down-home” cowboy on her. “I would do just that, ma’am, but they’re up top today. Ain’t rightly no way of gettin’ hold of ’em till they come back down, there bein’ no cell reception up in them hills and all.”
“Surely I can take the rental car up there?”
“No roads, ma’am. The boys went up on horseback and four-wheelers. Hopefully they’ll come down the same way.”
Selma didn’t look upset. She looked downright furious as she glared at her watch, then set the envelope on the table. “I can’t believe this.”
“Mommy, can you take me to see the kitties now?” Noah dashed into the kitchen from the great room. “Daniel Tiger is all over, and I would l-l-love to see the baby kitties again. Please?”
“I will take him.” Isabo pulled on a barn jacket, then tugged a hoodie over Noah’s head. “We will check for eggs, as well. The longer days are making the hens more productive.”
“Thank you, Isabo,” Sam said.
“I am, of course, happy to do it.” She darted a look of question toward Angelina, but right now Angelina had no answers. All she had were questions—and thoughts of assault and battery.
Sam stared at the official-looking envelope on the table as if hoping it might disappear.
It didn’t, so Angelina picked it up and moved toward the door. “I’ll put this on Colt’s desk and let him know you were here. Does he have your contact information?”
“Oh, honey.” Selma leveled a woman-to-woman look at Angelina before offering a Cheshire Cat smile. “He’s got all my information.”
Angelina refused to be baited. “Good.” She opened the door. “Have a safe flight.”
Selma hesitated, but a little chime from her phone drew her attention. She pulled it out, scanned the message, and looked immediately distraught, as if Wall Street might fall into the Hudson without her presence. “Tell Colt I’m sorry to have missed him and I’ll see him in New York.”
“Of course.” Angelina shut the door quickly and turned toward Sam. “You didn’t know about this.”
“Obviously not. You either?”
“Colt has no reason to update me on his comings and goings.”
Sam snorted.
“It’s true,” she insisted, but was she trying to convince Sam or herself? Maybe both. “We knew this was going to happen, which makes it our fault for thinking otherwise.”
“He made a promise.”
What could she say to that? Nothing.
“He stood in my office and told me he’d stay here to see projects through. What could have changed in forty-eight hours?
”
“What generally changes a person that quickly, Sam?”
Sam’s expression faltered because he’d set this example for over thirty years. “Money.”
The timer signaled the next tray of cookies done, but when Angelina opened the oven, there were no cookies. She’d forgotten to put the next trays in.
Colt was leaving, Sam was brokenhearted, and the stupid cookies weren’t baked.
Hot tears stung her eyes. Her throat went thick and tight. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She knew better, knew better from the beginning. She had plans to help her mother; he had a triumphant return to New York on his radar. Why did she let herself believe this time would be different? That he was different?
“I’m going to my office,” Sam said.
She couldn’t bear to read the disappointment in his face. She set the mixing bowl into the sink. “I’ll bring you coffee, Sam.”
He didn’t answer, and she didn’t press him. She was short on words and long on disillusionment, so she understood. Nothing she could say would help, so why talk?
She slid the cookie trays into the oven, set the timer, then took Selma’s envelope upstairs. She walked through Colt’s doorway, resisting the urge to throw the envelope across the room. She set it on the desk, grabbed a handful of tissues, and blew her nose.
She wouldn’t let him get to her.
Too late.
She swabbed her eyes with a fresh tissue and took a deep breath. She’d been reckless—a silly second mistake—but at least she understood the rules of the game now. She’d handle this like she’d handled many tough cases in her time on the force. Day by day, step by step, putting pieces together. Now she knew there was no place for Colt Stafford on the game board.
As she returned to the kitchen to monitor the cookies, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Tony’s number. He answered on the third ring. “Hey,” he said. “Tell me this is the call I’ve been hoping for. You finally back in the game, Mary Angela?”
She didn’t let herself think of hopes and dreams, vanished so quickly. “I have to get Sam back on his feet, but yes. I’m in.”
“Good!” Enthusiasm brightened Tony’s voice. “I’m conferencing right now, gotta go. You just made me happy, Detective. Talk later.”
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