never seen him at work before. The other times she’d run into him, he’d been in street clothes. Even the day he’d moved his office into the City Hall basement, he’d worn a respectable sweater.
But he was a little grubby now, work clothes well-fitting but mussed, his dark hair disturbed from its usually neat side part and falling onto his forehead. A longing that was decidedly sexual curled around inside her and embarrassed her with its intensity.
To further confuse her, she saw enjoyment in his eyes, as though her daughters delighted him. That pleased and flattered her and, along with this sudden desire completely inappropriate to a woman in her eighth month of pregnancy, threw her completely off balance.
She was about to scold the girls for speaking to a stranger when Hank interceded.
“They did nothing wrong,” he said gently, as though he understood and respected her concern. “Rachel ran in looking for the rest room and there was no one else around. I just told her where it was. Then when Erica came in, I told her where to find her sister.”
“And he’s not a stranger, Mom,” Erica said, going to her. “He’s your friend. Even though you guys never made up after the fight.”
Jackie opened her mouth to reply to that, wondering just what he’d told them about their relationship, but decided it was all too entangled.
“There’s a party here after the ribbon-cutting,” Erica said to Hank. “You can sit at our table, so you and Mom can work it out.”
Jackie turned to her in astonishment.
“You don’t let me and Rachel stay mad,” Erica insisted. “And let’s face it, Mom. You don’t have that many friends.”
Jackie couldn’t help the gasp of indignation. “I do, too.” She ignored the childish sound of her own words. “I have lots of friends.”
“But none of them are guys.”
“I…” Jackie stopped abruptly when she noticed the amusement in Hank’s eyes. “Anyway,” she said in a more controlled tone, “Mr. Whitcomb’s working. I’m sure he can’t—”
“Bridget and Cecilia, the owners of the café, invited me,” he interrupted with a slightly smug smile. “I’ll be back after I’ve showered.”
Rachel hooked her arm in his. “You can sit next to me if Mom’s still mad at you. Are you, Mom?”
Rachel waited for an answer. Hank did, too, his smile expanding.
“I was never angry,” she said a little stiffly, forgetting that the girls were listening and focusing only on him. “I was hurt. Crushed, actually.”
His amusement vanished. She expected him to accuse her of the same, but apparently unwilling to do so in front of her children, he simply said feelingly, “I understand, believe me.”
The front door opened and one of the councilmen stuck his head in. “Ms. Mayor?” he called.
She pushed thoughts of the past aside as she’d done so often throughout her life, and pulled herself together. “Thank you for helping the girls,” she said to Hank with stiff courtesy. “We’ll see you at the party, then.”
It was the usual city function. Two councilmen spoke about the city plan to create a commercial and economic environment that would encourage new business in Maple Hill. The other two spoke about the need to preserve and maintain the area’s natural beauty while doing so. The city council was evenly divided on almost every subject.
Jackie’s speech centered around Cecilia Proctor and Bridget Malone, sisters-in-law in their early forties who enjoyed each other’s company and, now that their children were married or off to college, wanted to spend time together in a profitable endeavor. Each had been involved in community service for many years, so Jackie had the opportunity to praise them for all the time they’d devoted to the city and wish them luck in their commercial venture.
The community college’s band played a few rousing numbers, then Jackie cut the ribbon, her daughters on either side of her. There was loud applause and everyone streamed into Perk Avenue.
Bridget caught Jackie’s arm and led her to the dessert buffet set up at what would eventually be a long service counter. Jackie turned to make sure the girls were behind her, but saw that they were talking to Haley. Haley shooed Jackie on. “I’ve got them. Go.”
Bridget directed Jackie to the head of the line already reaching out the door.
“If you hadn’t fought for us,” Bridget said, giving Jackie’s shoulders a squeeze, “Brockton would have insisted on holding this spot for ‘something that would have put the location to optimum use.’” She was clearly quoting. “Like a chain store or a fast food franchise. So you get to eat first.”
John Brockton, one of the councilmen who fought Jackie’s every move, had stood at the head of the line until Bridget placed Jackie there. He was short and small and balding, with sharp dark eyes. He smiled continually, but that seemed to contribute to, rather than soften, his poisonous personality. Jackie happened to know that John’s brother’s Cha-Cha Chicken franchise deal fell through when he learned he’d have to locate it on the highway rather than on the Square, the lifeblood of Maple Hill business.
“You don’t mind, do you, Mr. Brockton?” Bridget asked with feigned innocence, aware of the animosity between them.
“Of course not,” he replied for all to hear, then added for Jackie’s ears alone when Bridget wandered off, “Ms. Mayor is a privileged person around here and gets whatever she wants.”
Jackie could have laughed aloud at that claim, but chose to ignore it instead.
“But we’re going to change that.” The threat was quietly spoken and chillingly sincere. “You wait and see.”
Then Cecilia, who was serving up sampler plates of gooey desserts, handed her one and engaged her in conversation. Jackie was forced to dismiss thoughts of John’s retribution and focus on her job as mayor and this event’s cheerleader.
Plate in hand, a glass mug of decaf mocha topped with whipped cream in the other, Jackie stepped away from the buffet and looked around for her girls in the small sea of well-wishers.
Then she spotted Rachel, head and shoulders above the crowd—literally. She knew a moment’s horror. It would be just like Rachel to stand on a table to find her. Then she realized the child stood too high to be on a table. Jackie headed straight for her.
As she drew closer, she saw that Rachel sat on Hank’s shoulders, looking very much as though she owned the world.
“Here, Mom!” she called, waving. “We’re here!”
Jackie kept moving toward them, trying to ignore the sexy appeal of the man who held her daughter. He’d changed from his work clothes into casual gray slacks and sweater. His dark hair had been shampooed and combed into order. He looked like the good-twin version of the dangerous-looking man she’d seen that morning.
As Jackie approached, he lifted Rachel off his shoulders and set her down on her feet in the U-shaped booth he’d reserved for them. Rachel nimbly scooted into the middle of the booth, patting the place beside
