Chapter Four

Devin Chambers, the head developer of Omnibuild, strutted down the hall like the big rooster in the barnyard with his custom suit and bajillion-dollar Rolex. Jack ran to intercept him before he could set two feet into his office.

“Well, look what the cat coughed up,” Jack said as Devin peeled off his Aviators and narrowed his eyes.

“Hello, Jack. Sorry I missed your forum.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. “Hope you’re having fun playing small-town mayor, but you can’t avoid that little land issue forever.”

“Bring it to the zoning commission meeting,” Jack said sternly.

Devin laughed. “We’re going to buy that tax-lien land at auction and develop it into a world-class golf course complete with high-end shops and restaurants. Oh, and a big old hotel. When I present my case, everyone is going to love it because it’s going to make your town flush with cash for posterity. Now, who wouldn’t want that in exchange for knocking down an old house and some scrubby woodlands?”

Jack gave what he hoped sounded like a nonchalant chuckle. “There’s a lot more at stake than money, and you know it.”

“Come on, Jack,” he said. “Your grandmother can’t possibly use a hundred and fifty acres. Do something for everyone’s benefit. Get the burden off her shoulders and ensure that your town will still be thriving in a hundred years.”

“See you at the zoning meeting,” Jack said sternly. “That is, unless you want to stay and watch me sign fishing permits.”

Turns out he didn’t. As Devin left, Jack took a deep breath and repeated a vow he’d made to himself a long time ago. The day he allowed anyone to touch one speck of gravel from his grandmother’s property, let alone turn it into a golf-course-plus-whatever, would never come.

Except his idea-well of how to get out of this mess was bone-sucking dry. If he didn’t figure out something soon, his grandma was going to get booted out of the home she’d lived in for the past fifty years. The place where his grandfather was buried. And then Jack would never forgive himself.

He returned to his office, where another line had formed by his desk. Sharon had taken Juliet’s seat, ready to help him with the permits, and he had no choice but to get to work.

Fifteen minutes later, just as he’d ushered the last person out, he turned to find Juliet right smack in front of him, dangling a piece of paper in his face. “What’s this?” he asked, taking it and looking it over.

“A parking ticket I never should have gotten.” She lifted an elegant brow. “Since you’re signing stuff, how about you waive this fee for me real quick?”

He sighed heavily. But then also noticed her scent again, something light and fresh and delicious. Well, Juliet might smell good, but that fragrance disguised a bitter core. “I did say I’d pay you, but that didn’t include waiving your traffic tickets.”

“I double parked for five minutes to help my grandmother move some boxes. Five minutes.” Juliet tapped the toe of her red heels on the old wood floor.

“That’s five minutes too long,” he said with a smile. “Take it to traffic court.”

“You’re so black-and-white,” she said with disdain.

“There is no gray with the law.”

She snorted and pulled the piece of paper out of his hand. “Fine. I’ll pay my ticket.”

“There you go.” He pressed his lips together to avoid smiling. “That’s called being a good citizen.”

She spun around, and as she walked away, he realized something. That everyone said goodbye to her. The older ladies chatted her up; the younger men—and older ones, too—were flirting with her. The community clearly embraced her. Even if they didn’t seem to trust her as a therapist. And even if she hated being called Lulu, it was clear that they meant it…fondly.

“Wait,” suddenly came out of his mouth, and he found himself going after her. “I have a proposition.”

She halted and looked over her shoulder. “Excuse me?”

Her eyes, as pure a green as brand-new grass in spring, showed irritation. And annoyance as he led her back to his desk. But looking into them made him want to confess all his headaches, his troubles. Of course, he couldn’t tell her the truth, that he was in over his head, and he didn’t have a clue how to save his grandma’s land. All he knew was that he needed people to like him and rally with him for that land.

“I need a town counselor,” he said. “Someone to come in a few mornings a week and help me sift through the personal grievances, exactly like today. And then follow up with them. This is right up your alley. And I—uh—I know talent when I see it.”

She gave a little laugh and waved her hand in the air. “What was that?”

He looked around, but all he saw was a bunch of town folk socializing in his office. “What was what?”

“The empty flattery you just gave me. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that flattery won’t get you anywhere?”

He crossed his arms. “I don’t want to get anywhere with you.” Immediately regretting that, he hastily added, “If that’s what you’re thinking.” Did he actually just say that? Geez, that was bad, even for a person who was prone to putting his foot in his mouth. “Just to clarify, this is strictly business. I’m not hitting on you.”

“You’d better not be, Mayor.”

He’d stuck his gavel in his pocket, with the knob sticking up. She set her ticket down on his desk, reached over, pulled the gavel out, and tapped it against her palm, smiling an overly sweet smile.

“Or, to borrow a line from Jerry,” she said, mischief sparkling in her eyes, “I’d have to stick this where the sun don’t shine.”

He ignored her cheekiness. “If you come back next week, I can pay you a stipend that might make it worth your while.” He could feel her assessing whether he was serious. Again, he thought he saw something—worry, sadness, something—and his gaze lingered a little too long. “This could solve your PR problem,” he added quickly, making sure to break the eye-lock spell and stay professional. “You did a bang-up job back there. You could develop your reputation as a mediator—in a way that could help your career.”

“My PR problem,” she said slowly and carefully.

He shrugged. “Well, it’s no secret that you might possibly have a credibility problem.” He knew he’d just delivered a blow. But he needed to pull out all the stops.

She blanched. “H-how did you hear about that?”

Her obvious discomfort made him feel even worse. “I’m just talking about the fact that the town is more interested in your love life than your ability to counsel people.”

“You didn’t hear anything else?”

“No. Of course not.”

She heaved a sigh. “Char just told me she doesn’t want me to take any marriage clients until I resolve my own issues.” She couldn’t hide a wince. “Which I will do, of course. But for now, my schedule is pretty empty.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. Because he’d just been a jerk. And he felt terrible. “Look, I fully admit I need some help, too.” He waved his hand toward where the crowd used to be. “All these disputes. These arguments. I’m not the best at dealing with these kinds of things.”

“Because they involve feelings?” she asked.

Okay, so she hadn’t lost her bite.

“Because I’m a man of action. I’m good at…acting. Doing things.” Talk was cheap. Getting things done was what counted.

She swallowed. “Doing things?”

Hmm. That was interesting. There was a tiny movement at her throat as she swallowed, as if she might be thinking some mighty unprofessional thoughts herself.

“Yes,” he said, pulling back a little. “Like leading town council, managing the board of trustees, securing essential services for the city, and in general, keeping the safety and well-being of all the town’s citizens in mind at all times.”

He wanted to make clear that she understood that doing things did not mean doing things—private or otherwise—with her.

“Thanks for the job offer,” she said with sincerity, “but do you really think I don’t know about your grandma’s land? It’s not a secret that it’s about to come up for auction. I’m not sure getting me to help you with your popularity is going to change the outcome of that.”

Busted. She certainly had a knack of calling him out on his bullsh—

He heaved a sigh. “The zoning commission meets in just a few weeks. I need the town on my side. I want people to see me as a compassionate human being. Which I am, but…sometimes my words don’t quite make people think that.”

Just then, Shelby, the woman he dated-in-quotation-marks (meaning, they didn’t date at all, they had casual sex) waved from across the room. She was wearing a body-hugging black dress and matching red lipstick, and she looked like a knockout.

His gaze flicked back to the woman in front of him, who had just called his bluff. Shelby, on the other hand, never gave him grief. Probably because they just didn’t interact like that. No arguments, no unpleasantness.

But no real emotional connection either.

He could practically hear the opinion his granny would have on that issue. It would be a loud and clear one at that.

He sensed that Juliet would never make an arrangement like that. He could tell even from their limited interactions that she was by-the-book, a stickler for the truth.

He decided to do something he didn’t do very often. Be completely open. “I’m just trying to do the best I can,” he said.

His voice cracked a little, belying his stress.

She searched his eyes. “I don’t like you, but I respect what you’re trying to do.” She paused before continuing, “If, say, I did accept your offer, how about giving me that empty office space down the hall?”

He should have known she was going to push his limits. “You’re valuable, but not that valuable.”

“I need a place to work.” She wasn’t giving up. Digging in her claws like a sand crab.

“This is a temporary, part-time position,” Jack said. “I can’t give you an entire office. Besides, lots of people work from home these days.” Geez. Give the woman an inch, and she asks for all the space.

“The truth is,” she said, “I’m doing some public info sessions on mental health topics and the church basement where I’m holding them is being renovated. I need a temporary space.”

“I’m not sure an office in city hall is appropriate for that purpose. But if I think of any ideas, I’ll let you know.” He tried to forget that she’d just seen right through him. And he felt an unwelcome twinge in his heart because—why didn’t she like him? For some reason, he wanted her to. Before she could turn away, he said, “So, what do you say? A forum to handle disputes, complaints, and other problems twice a week. This could benefit both of us, you know.” Please say yes, he prayed.

She gave a huge sigh. Tapped her shoe. Crossed her arms. Looked everywhere around the room but at him. “Okay,” she choked out, as if she were swallowing every single ounce of her pride to say it.

“Okay?” he asked, not sure he’d heard right. “Was that a yes without sass, lip, or putting up a fight?”

“I do have one condition.” She reached onto his desk and picked up her ticket.

He tugged it from her fingers. “Fine, you win,” he said. “The cost of doing business. I’ll pick you up on Saturday at nine sharp. Wear boots.”

She frowned. “Wait.” She halted him with a hand at his elbow. “There’s no mayor’s forum on Saturdays.”

“Correct. We’re not going to the forum. We’re going to transplant a tree.”