an educational adventure.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Bobby grumbled. He’d forgotten about that trip. It was the only reason his sister wasn’t in the thick of things. “Having the two of you here is bad enough. I don’t need Daisy putting in her two cents. And Tommy’d be out there right now trying to charge people to take pictures. That boy has a true entrepreneurial spirit.”
Finally thinking of something to smile about, Bobby said to Walker, “By the way, I’ll bet you twenty bucks that those two haven’t done an educational thing since they got to Williamsburg—unless you consider riding the roller coaster at Busch Gardens to be some form of higher education.”
“That’s a sucker bet,” Walker said. “No question about it.”
Just then the doorbell rang. Bobby frowned and didn’t make a move to answer it. He’d had about as much unwanted company as he could take this morning.
“Well?” Tucker prodded when it rang again.
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to answer it? Remember what I said, that mysterious woman is likely to come looking for you. That could be her. Your mystery could be solved right here and now.”
Bobby considered the possibilities. Tucker could be right. Or, more likely, it could be his father, urged to interfere by the mayor. It could even be some kid with a bunch of unanswerable questions. Or his buddy Richard, wanting some kind of a comment for this week’s edition of the Trinity Harbor paper to go with the pictures he’d no doubt snapped of the chaos outside. When news happened in Trinity Harbor, Richard’s journalistic instincts kicked in within seconds. He wouldn’t miss this.
Bobby wasn’t interested in dealing with any of them, not even the woman responsible for disrupting his peaceful Sunday morning.
“Nope,” he said, and poured himself another cup of special blend French roast coffee. He was beginning to feel almost human, and he wasn’t about to ruin it.
Whoever it was leaned on the doorbell.
“I can’t stand it,” Walker said finally. “I’ll get rid of them.”
Instead, five seconds later he returned to the kitchen looking vaguely bemused by a voluptuous redhead wearing a power suit and slinky three-inch spike heels. The dichotomy wasn’t lost on Bobby. Clearly the woman hadn’t gotten sidetracked on her way to church. She looked like a cross between a politician and a hooker.
When she teetered on those heels, he was forced to reconsider. He began to lean toward the image of a kid playing dress-up. There was something vulnerable in her eyes to back up that opinion. He really, really hoped this was not the woman responsible for that horse. He was a sucker for female vulnerability. His protective instincts rushed into action, overriding every defense mechanism he worked to keep in place.
“Nice job,” Bobby said to Walker, who merely shrugged over his inability—more likely, disinclination—to get rid of the interloper.
“You must be Bobby Spencer,” the woman said, offering her hand and a dazzling smile.
Bobby’s gaze narrowed. Reluctantly, he shook her outstretched hand. “I am.”
“I’m Jenna Kennedy of Pennington and Sons.”
“Nice to meet you,” Bobby said, recognizing the name of the Baltimore-based company that had been pestering him for a week now for an appointment. His secretary hadn’t been happy about his repeated refusal to talk to the woman. Maggie had thought she sounded sincere. Maggie was an annoyingly soft touch, which was why Bobby frequently wound up in meetings he didn’t want to have.
He forced a stern expression. “Sorry you wasted your time,” he told her. “But I don’t conduct business in my kitchen, especially not on a Sunday morning. Call my office.”
To her credit, she didn’t turn tail and run at the lack of welcome. “I would, but it’s the funniest thing. No one there seems to be able to give me an appointment without your say-so. Either you’re a control freak, you’re stonewalling me in particular for some reason or you’re just generally rude and bad at business.”
“Or maybe I’m just busy,” he said mildly, not liking her accusations one bit. Especially the one about rudeness, since it seemed to echo Maggie’s assessment. He prided himself on being a gentleman. Good manners was one of the things King had drilled into all his children, right along with respect for their Southern heritage.
Of course, the truth was, he had been stonewalling Jenna Kennedy. Though he hadn’t settled on a specific plan for his boardwalk project, he knew one thing for certain—he didn’t want to deal with a woman. Not that he had anything at all against women. His sister was one, after all. And some of his best friends were females. But ever since his childhood sweetheart had run off with his best friend, he hadn’t been inclined to get close to another woman. He had trust issues galore, according to Daisy.
Once burned, twice shy. That was the expression his sister used when she was scolding him about being skittish and telling him it was time to get over it and move on. She also added a lot of hogwash about his obsessive compulsion to take over the town being a bid to prove that he would have been the better choice for his old girlfriend. Like he really gave a rat’s behind what that traitorous female thought of him, especially after all these years.
“Not every woman you fall for is going to go running off with your best friend,” Daisy usually pointed out.
“Especially now that he’s already married to my former fiancée,” he generally retorted.
He frowned at Ms. Jenna Pennington Kennedy. “Look, I’m assuming that carousel horse was your idea.”
“It was,” she said.
“It was a nice touch, but I really don’t think this will work out,” he said.
“Why? You haven’t even heard our proposal.”
“It just won’t,” he said flatly. “Walker, could you show Ms. Kennedy out?”
Walker looked as if he wanted no part of this, but he dutifully said, “Ms. Kennedy,” and stepped back to give her room to pass. She didn’t budge.
In fact, she scowled first at Walker, then at Bobby, and planted her sexily shod feet a bit more firmly on the floor.
“Not just yet. Mr. Spencer, I don’t know what your problem is, but it’s my understanding that you want the kind of riverfront development that will put Trinity Harbor on the map. I can give you that.”
“Really?” Bobby said, not bothering to hide his skepticism. His attention kept drifting back to those shoes and her well-turned ankles. He almost missed the rest of what she had to say.
“You don’t want gaudy,” she said with impressive confidence. “You don’t want Ocean City. You want something that won’t overwhelm the size of the community, something with charm, some green space and a sense of the town’s history. Am I right?”
To Bobby’s deep regret, she had intuitively pushed all the right buttons. “Yes,” he conceded with a great deal of reluctance. “But if you understand that, why is there an antique horse on my front lawn disturbing the Sunday peace and
