of fifty miles away. That alone limited the amount of choices available. If anything, out here it was the unhandy customer who wound up searching to find someone to do the work for them.
Just like faith, the right amount of money, she had learned, could move mountains.
She had no mountains to move. But she did have a building to erect, and in order not to be the outsider, the person who was viewed as invading their territory, she would need allies. In this particular case, she needed to have some of the men from Forever taking part in making the hotel a reality.
Granted that, once completed, the hotel would belong to the Carmichael Construction Corporation until such time as they sold it, but she had to make the locals feel that building the hotel would benefit the whole town as well as provide them with good-paying jobs during construction.
Connie knew the importance of friends; she just didn’t exactly know how to go about making them.
But she had done her homework before ever getting behind the wheel of her vehicle and driving down here.
As she drove around now, Connie thought about the fact that on the other side of the town, located about ten miles due northwest, was a Native American reservation. She couldn’t remember which of the tribes lived there, but perhaps they would welcome the work, along with Forever townspeople. Given the local state of affairs, who wouldn’t want a job?
So, armed with her GPS, Connie was on her way there. She was driving slower than she was accustomed to for two reasons: one, she didn’t have a natural sense of direction, and she didn’t know the lay of the land and two, she wanted and needed to get to know this land she was temporarily camping out on.
The reservation was her destination, but something—instincts perhaps—made her closely scan the immediate area she was traversing.
Which was when she saw him.
At first she thought she was having a hallucination, a better-than-average morning fantasy that could easily trigger her latent libido if she let it. The trick to being a driven woman with not just goals, but also the taste of success tucked firmly under her belt, was the way she responded to things that needed life-long commitments. It required—demanded, really—tunnel vision. Eye on the prize and all that sort of thing.
Even so, Connie slowed her pristine, gleaming white BMW sports car down to an arthritic crawl as she stared at the lone figure in the distance.
No harm in just looking, she told herself.
Even at this distance, she could easily make out that the man was around her own age. She was keenly aware that he was bare-chested, that his muscles were rippling with every move he made and that, pound for pound, he had to be the best-looking specimen of manhood she had seen in a very long time.
Moving closer, she could see that perspiration covered his body, causing practically a sheen over his chest and arms.
At first she wasn’t aware of it, but then she realized that her mouth had gone bone-dry. She went on watching.
He didn’t seem to be aware of the fact that he was under scrutiny. The worker turned his back to her and went on doing whatever it was that he was doing. She couldn’t quite make it out, but it had something to do with construction because there were tools on the ground, surrounding an empty tool chest.
As she continued observing him, Connie saw that the man appeared as if he not only knew his way around tools, but he also definitely seemed comfortable working with his hands.
It came to her then.
He was just the man she was looking for to be her foreman, to act as her go-between with whatever men she wound up hiring to do the actual work. Watching him, she couldn’t help wondering how well someone who looked like that would take instructions from a woman.
Or was he the type who didn’t care who issued the orders as long as there was a guaranteed paycheck at the end of the week?
Enough thinking, start doing, she silently ordered herself.
The next moment, she turned her vehicle toward the cowboy and drove straight toward him.
He’d been aware of the slow-moving, blindingly white sports car for some time now. It was a beauty—much like the woman who was driving it.
But unlike the woman behind the wheel, the vehicle, because of its make and model, stuck out like a sore thumb. Regardless of the season, Forever and its outlining area didn’t see much through traffic. Every so often, there was the occasional lost traveler, but on the whole, that was a rare occurrence. Forever was not on the beaten path to anywhere of interest, except perhaps for the reservation and a couple of other tiny towns that had sprung up in the area. On its way to being a ghost town more than once, the town stubbornly survived despite all odds. Like a prickly-pear cactus, Forever, a few of the much older residents maintained, was just too ornery to die.
The owner of the sports car, Finn decided, had to be lost. Nobody driving that sort of a vehicle could possibly have any business being in or around Forever. Even Dan, the doctor who had initially come to town out of a sense of obligation mixed with a heavy dose of guilt, hadn’t been driving a car nearly that flashy and unsuitable for this terrain when he’d arrived.
As the vehicle came closer, Finn tossed down his hammer and approached the car. The woman, he couldn’t help noticing, was even better-looking close up than she was at a distance.
“You lost?” he asked her, fully expecting her to sigh with relief and answer “Yes.”
She didn’t.
Instead, she shook her head and said, “No, I don’t think so.”
Finn regarded her thoughtfully. “In my experience, a person’s either lost or they’re not. There is no gray area.”
The woman smiled at him. “Didn’t think I’d find a philosopher all the way out here.”
“It’s not philosophy, it’s just plain common sense,” Finn told her.
To him, so-called philosophers referred to the gaggle of retired old men who got together every morning and sat on the sun-bleached bench in front of the general store, watching the rest of the town go through its paces and commenting on life when the spirit moved them. He was far too busy to indulge in that sort of thing.
“Well, if you don’t need directions, then I’ll get back to my work,” he told her. The woman was clearly out of her element, but if she didn’t want to talk about what she was doing out here, he wasn’t about to prod her. Lost or not, it was strictly her business.
“I don’t need directions, but I do have a question.” She raised her voice as if to get his attention before he began hammering again.
Finn turned back to face her. She looked rather fair. He could see a sunburn in her near future if she didn’t at least put the top up on her car. Skin that fair was ripe for burning.
“Which is?” he asked casually.
“Did you build this yourself?” The woman got out of her car and crossed to the freshly rebuilt front steps
