in tune with Bobby’s plans, but no upstart like Harvey Needham was going to sabotage them. “Did you tell him that?”
“No,” Pete admitted.
“Then you’re as big a damned fool as he is,” King said, sliding out of the booth and tossing some money on the table for the coffee he’d never touched.
“Now, King—” Pete began.
“Don’t you try to placate me, you old coot. I thought loyalty still counted for something in this town. Guess I was wrong.”
He stalked off to the sound of Pete’s sputters of protest and the hushed whispers of everyone else in Earlene’s. The way things were going, the entire conversation would be reported in The Weeky, right alongside that spread of pictures Richard had taken over at Bobby’s.
Once King got outside in the hot, muggy morning air, he sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. He was going to kill that boy of his with his bare hands. He didn’t have time to waste an entire morning on this kind of nonsense. He needed to get home. Somebody had to run that Black Angus operation that his sons didn’t give a hoot about.
But first, maybe he’d go on over to the Social Services office and see if Frances could spare him a little time. The woman had been driving him up the wall since she’d stolen first place in a spelling bee from him a half-century ago, but she had a level head on her shoulders. In the last year, he’d begun to count on that.
Frances had kept him from strangling Daisy and given him some sound advice and pleasant company along the way. Maybe if he offered to take her out to play bingo tomorrow night, she’d keep his mind off of Bobby until his temper cooled down. The last place King wanted to spend his golden years was a jail cell. And Tucker would slap him in one, no question about it. He didn’t bend the rules for anybody.
When King arrived at Social Services, Frances was on the phone. The blessed woman was always on the phone, but he’d finally learned better than to try to interrupt her. She got downright feisty. He sat down and waited with what to him passed for patience. Fortunately, Frances didn’t test him beyond his limits.
“I imagine you’re here to talk about Bobby,” she said with a resigned expression when she’d finally hung up.
“You heard,” he said bleakly.
“Not only heard, I went by there yesterday. It was quite a scene.” A wistful look passed across her face. “Seeing that carousel horse took me straight back to when we were kids. Remember? We used to have a carousel right here in town. And a skating rink, miniature golf and bingo on the boardwalk. I wish we could have all that back again. Kids need to know there’s more to life than video games and computers.”
King had a dim recollection of those days, but bingo and an old carousel were the least of his concerns. He sighed and regarded Frances with a plaintive look. “What am I supposed to do about all this nonsense Bobby’s mixed up in?”
“Nothing,” she said emphatically. “I know that goes against your nature, but Bobby can handle whatever’s going on. Besides, I don’t know what you’re so upset about. I thought you’d be pleased as punch.”
King stared at her. “Pleased? Why the devil would I be pleased?”
“Because the way I hear it, the woman responsible for that horse turning up on Bobby’s lawn is gorgeous and single. She’s from a good family. Of course, she’s from Maryland, not Virginia, but you can’t afford to be picky if you want him to start providing you with some grandchildren to dote on. On top of that, she’s already proved that she knows how to get Bobby’s attention.”
That certainly put a new spin on things, King decided thoughtfully. “Gorgeous, you say?”
“Yep, and a redhead,” Frances confirmed. “I ran into Tucker later in the day and he said Bobby’s tongue was just about hanging out. He also said Bobby would probably deny that with his dying breath.”
King’s spirits brightened considerably. “Is that so?” An idea popped into his head, one that required immediate action. He jumped up and headed for the door.
“What’s your hurry?” Frances asked. “You heading back to Earlene’s?”
“No time,” King said. “I’ve got something more important to take care of.” He whirled around, went back and planted a solid kiss on Frances’s mouth. “Thanks.”
Cheeks pink, she regarded him with a startled expression. “What did I do?”
“Same as always,” he said with a grin. “Put things in perspective.”
She laughed. “Glad to help, though I have a feeling Bobby might not see it that way. Am I right?”
King gave her a bland look. “Frances, I think you’re a treasure. Remember that.”
“I’ll remind you of it,” she said.
She would, too. Over and over. But that was okay, King thought, as he rushed out of her office feeling more upbeat than he had in months.
Let Harvey Needham rant and rave. Let Bobby try to keep him in the dark. King had a plan. Nobody could get the better of a man with a solid plan and the determination to implement it.
3
T he God-blessed car was out of gas. Jenna pounded the steering wheel in frustration. Naturally, to make matters worse, her cell phone was dead. She’d used up the battery the night before trying to convince her daughter that it was absolutely not okay, much less necessary, for her to dye her hair purple. Darcy had cried and pleaded and accused Jenna of ruining her life. If Darcy was this difficult at nine, what would she be like when she hit her teens? At any rate, Jenna had been so exhausted by the long-distance battle that she hadn’t thought to recharge the phone.
It was 9:52 a.m. She had exactly eight minutes to get to the yacht center. In her running shoes she might have been able to do it. In three-inch spike heels, she didn’t have a prayer.
Maybe Bobby Spencer wasn’t quite as much of a tight-ass as he’d seemed yesterday. Maybe she could be a few minutes late and still catch him.
Yeah, right. The man had looked at her as if he’d rather be dealing with the devil. He’d obviously seize any excuse at all not to consider the Pennington and Sons proposal.
She stripped off her shoes, thanked heaven that her skirt had a slit in it and grabbed her briefcase off the seat. She hit the sidewalk at a dead run, grateful that she’d taken up jogging as a way to relieve stress.
Pounding along the pavement, praying that she’d gotten through to Darcy, praying even harder that she would not miss this appointment and blow her one and only chance to earn a little respect from her father, she concluded that this particular run was not likely to reduce her stress one iota. If anything, she was getting more anxious with every painful step she took.
Seven minutes and thirty seconds later, she reached the yacht center. She had runs in her hose, blisters on her feet and her hair no doubt looked as if it had been styled in a wind tunnel, but she was on time.
Bobby Spencer, however, was nowhere in sight and not even expected.
Jenna
