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On Monday morning, Beard’s Plumbing and Cramer Electric beat her to Sloan’s house. She popped out of Miss Daisy and waved to the elderly gentlemen. “Y’all sure got here fast.”
Plumber Chuck Beard caught her in a bear hug, his round face looking ruddier than usual. “Well if it isn’t Lavinia, Junior. You look more like your Gran every day, gal. You been doing all right?”
Roxie nodded, stepped away from the burly man, and turned to greet the thin electrician.
“We’re glad you called.” Pete Cramer spoke to her feet.
She hugged him, too. Pete Cramer’s shyness often put clients off, but he was a gem. “I’m glad I have a job for y’all to bid. I have to get multiple estimates for my client, but I’m hoping he’ll hire you two. You’re the best.”
Their heavy boots clumped up the wooden steps behind her. “This still the Harding place?” the plumber asked.
Roxie opened the screen door and turned the key in the front door lock. “It is. The owner, Sloan Harding, lives in Atlanta. Since he’s getting estimates for the roof, I talked him into pricing out the rest of the needed repairs.”
“That the guy you danced with at Megan’s wedding?”
“Yes. He was here for the weekend.” She paused in the hallway, switched on the light. The bare bulb gave off a weak glow. “The panel box is in the kitchen, Mr. Cramer. The downstairs bathroom is second door on the right and the other one is at the head of the stairs, Mr. Beard.”
While the men were inspecting their work areas, Roxie wandered through the house. A ground floor bedroom window caught her eye. It didn’t appear to be shut all the way.
Sloan must have missed this when he locked up, she thought, then remembered Sloan worked in security. He would have locked his place when he left at noon yesterday.
Doubt and suspicion tap danced in her thoughts. What if it wasn’t Sloan? Had someone else been in here?
How would she know? Nothing had been ransacked, not like at her house. But there wasn’t much furniture in here to speak of. Certainly not anything worth stealing. She jiggled the window and snugged the lock, then checked the other windows and doors.
They were locked. Even so, her unease grew as a sense of déjà vu jangled her nerves. Was it possible her burglar had been here as well?
Outside the window, the house cast a long shadow over the vehicles in the yard. Was someone out there now, watching them?
If so, what did he or she want?
She called Laurie Ann and explained the situation.
“Is anything torn up?” the city cop asked.
“Nothing. There’s hardly anything to tear up.”
“What about things out of place?”
Roxie checked the kitchen cabinets. “Maybe but the pots and pans were a mess to start with.”
“Do you want to file an incident report?”
“I don’t know if there was an incident. The window was open, that’s all I know. Are there any other break-ins?”
“Just your place.”
“Darn. Okay. Well. Thanks.”
“Call me if you decide to file an incident report.”
Confronting her fears head-on, Roxie waited on the front steps for the contractors. Coming from the city like she did, Laurie Ann must think she was a baby. But Roxie’s nerves wouldn’t settle. She glanced around, sure someone was watching her.
But no one was there.
“Gonna need new pipes and new fixtures,” the plumber said, startling her when he emerged. “That stuff was junk from the get-go. The only thing Scott Harding did right was framing this house. And he was smart enough not to build this place in a hole. Your Grandpop should’ve taken a note from Scott on that. Your place is a flood waiting to happen, Roxie.”
She didn’t roll her eyes, but it was a near thing. “I haven’t forgotten. One of these days we’ll do something about it.”
The plumber tapped his rolled estimate on his thigh. “Don’t wait too long. A flood can cost you a pile of money.”
“I hear you.”
“Any word on that burglar that hit your place last week?”
“Nope. Laurie Ann’s got a big fat nothing. It’s frustrating.”
“Call me if you have any more trouble. I can be at your place in five minutes, tops.”
“Thanks.”
The screen door creaked open behind them. “Here’s my estimate, Miss Roxie.” Pete Cramer handed her a folded page. “You want me to send my son-in-law by to look at the roof?”
She handed him a business card. “Absolutely. Have him call my cell so that I can let him inside.”
“Will do.” The electrician glanced at his watch. “Ten-thirty. Gotta run my wife to dialysis.”
As the electrician left, Mr. Beard handed her his estimate. “Thanks,” Roxie said. “I appreciate you being so responsive.”
“No problem. I’d rather work for you than that Doleman woman over at BC Realty. She expects twice the work at half the price and in half the time. New people don’t understand how things work.”
“Yeah, but those new people have money for homes and repairs. We need them.”
“If Harding fixes up the house, you running the show?”
“He said he’d hire me, but nothing is certain.”
Mr. Beard ambled off, stopped, then walked over to her vintage Cadillac and stroked the hood lovingly. “Your Gran loved this old car and she loved you. She’d have my head if I didn’t speak up. A man is known by the company he keeps.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Sloan’s teenage pals came to a bad end. And his people—old man Harding was a decent sort, but the rest of that bunch was sorry indeed. His dad drank himself to death. His mom and his grandmom ran off. He’s not working with a full deck. You be careful around him.”
“Will do.”
Roxie followed Chuck Beard out of the driveway. He meant well, this friend of her grandmother’s. But Gran had seen something in Sloan and encouraged him. He wasn’t a drunk or a convict, and he didn’t appear to be the sort to run from trouble. He was a guy who’d had a rough start.
She’d had a rough start herself.
***
“HEY, BOSS.” BATES LOUNGED in the doorway of Sloan’s Atlanta office.
Sloan entered another number into his database. When Premium Pet Care paid their balance, Team Six Security would have a financial cushion. Nice to know they weren’t still struggling to make payroll. He saved the spreadsheet and closed out the file on the secure computer.
He glanced up at his former Army buddy. “You get anything on Gilmore?”
Bates shook his head, the overhead lighting glinting on his silver stud earring and shaved head. “The man’s slippery as an eel in a mud pie. When Reg visited his office, the receptionist didn’t know where the boss was. Gilmore Vacation Sports is legit. It operates as a concierge for mid-level tourists in Charleston. The budget-minded book through GVS.”
“We’ve got nothing?”
Bates shrugged. “GVS financials look good.”
“Financials can be faked. My gut says this guy is trouble. Plus he infiltrated several layers of our firewalls before we shut him out. Why the hell is he nosing around in our files?”
“Let’s take him out, boss. Shoot first and ask questions later.”
“We’re not shooting anyone. Team Six keeps a low profile, remember?”
Bates waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah. Yeah. Low profile may be profitable but it sucks. We need action.” He paced for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “I know. Let’s pull the foxtrot maneuver on Gilmore. The feds would love that.”
“No maneuvers. No foxtrot. It’s not worth the risk. This guy is up to his neck in illegal something. We just need to find it.”
“Spoilsport. All right, we’ll keep working the angles. Reg has a date with the receptionist.” Bates shot him a sly look. “The only other surefire lady’s man we’ve got is you, and you weren’t available.”
“Get used to me being out of action. Someone’s got to watch the store. None of you yahoos wanted that job either.”
Bates huffed out a breath. “Paperwork sucks. We signed up for the action. You won’t catch me or any of the guys doing pansy admin stuff.”
“Tell Reg his spending limit on dinner is fifty. Then tell him to report back here. How’s Harris making out on the Loralou Bakery job?”
“Done. He barely finished setting up the surveillance cameras before his flight down to Captiva. I’m checking the feeds. Nothing yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“We don’t work for free. Unless we find concrete proof, there’s no payout on Loralou. Do that one on the side while we gear up for the rock star’s new security system in Macon.”
“Gotcha.” Bates hesitated. “What about Mossy Bog? That wrapped up?”
One mention of Mossy Bog and Roxie’s smiling face appeared in Sloan’s mind. With effort, he banished the image. “Looks like a few more weeks there. I can manage it on the weekends though.”
“Good. Cuz none of us wants to do the stuff you do.”
“Grow up, Peter Pan. Adults have responsibilities.”
“That’s why we got you, Harding. You have CYA down pat.”
With that, Bates left. Sloan stared at the stacks of files until the edges of his vision blurred. CYA—covering your ass—had been essential in the Army. Nobody wanted their butt hanging out, least of all, Sloan. He had two vulnerabilities right now, two loose ends he couldn’t tie up. One was Jared Gilmore. Everything about him screamed red alert. The other loose end was Roxie Whitaker. That kiss from the wedding reception had him ready for a green light from her.
Soon. He’d make sure it was soon.
***
ROXIE GRIPPED THE PODIUM in City Hall’s Mildred Bagwell Room. Her ten minutes to speak were almost up. If she gauged her success by the bored expression on the city council members’ faces, her project was doomed.
“The museum would bring in tourism, provide jobs, and create civic pride,” she concluded. “It would be a touchstone for the coast, a unique landmark for Mossy Bog. Best of all, we’d pull traffic off the interstate. That’s more tax dollars in our coffers. Please add this worthy project as a line item in your budget. We need this museum. Thank you for hearing me today.”
“Young lady, I beg to differ. If museums were profitable, every town from Maine clear down to Key West would have one.” Wilbur LaGrange’s heavy duty suspenders strained as he leaned forward in his seat. “This isn’t the right time to start a risky venture. Revenue is down. Tourism is down. The economy’s all goobered up.”
She gripped her note cards tighter, but her smile remained fixed. “Times are always tough. That’s the beauty of the museum. It will make things better here.”
“But how will we pay for it, dear?” Noreen Bagwell waved a jewel-encrusted hand. As usual, she looked like she’d stepped right off the pages of a glossy catalog. “We’re barely meeting our expenses as it is. The town’s water tank is pushing thirty years. You think building a museum is more important than delivering clean water to our citizens?”
“Play fair, Noreen. You’ve voted against replacing the water tank every year for the last ten years.” Obie Greenaway’s pale blue eyes sparkled behind her granny-style glasses. Her long gray braid draped over her front shoulder. She turned from Noreen to Roxie. “A museum is a great idea. We should all get on board with this and help end the cycle of poverty here in Mossy Bog. I say this idea is long overdue.”
Noreen looked down her nose at Obie. “Listen to you, advocating that we spend more money in a frivolous manner. You lobbied so hard for those damned windmills on the barrier islands. After months of your nagging, we finally gave in. Those are the ugliest, noisiest things I’ve ever seen. I get calls about them every week. I’ll tell you what you are. You’re a rebel without a clue.”
Air whistled in through Roxie’s teeth. The sound seemed abnormally loud in the silent room. Noreen’s claws were sharp all right. Would she direct her next swipe at the museum?
Rudell Strider, chair of the council, rapped his mallet on the table. The dark wood of the mallet was a near perfect match to his skin tone. “Ladies, please. Keep your remarks on topic and be reminded that while debate is healthy it shouldn’t be a personal attack.” He glanced up at the videographer. “Plus, I shouldn’t have to point out the obvious. This meeting is being broadcast live via local access television.”
Roxie glanced around the table, anxious to take in the group’s expressions. Noreen hmphed. Obie beamed. Wilbur winked at Obie, and young Vance Douglas kept fooling around with his cell phone. He probably hadn’t paid a lick of attention to anything. Rudell fondled his Chairman mallet.
It didn’t look good for her museum.
Rudell cleared his throat. “Now then, Miss Whitaker, your presentation time is up. Thank you for bringing this matter to the council’s attention. Does anyone on the council have questions for Roxie about the museum proposal before we vote?”
She glanced around hopefully. Only Obie met her gaze directly. Her stomach sank. Sure enough, the council voted and the museum didn’t make it. She walked out of the meeting in a daze.
She’d lost this battle, but she wouldn’t give up on the museum.
She couldn’t.
***
ROXIE DIDN’T RECOGNIZE the bland white envelope in her mail. It looked like a credit card statement, but she’d paid her credit card bill last week. She tossed it in the throw-out pile, then picked it up again. Better make sure it was junk mail. She inserted the letter opener and made a neat slit across the top. The pages spilled out into her hands.
Her blood ran cold. And hot.
She owed ten thousand dollars to this credit card company. How could that be? She didn’t even have an account with them. Quickly, she phoned the customer service number.
“You’ve made a mistake,” Roxie said when a person finally came on the line. “I don’t have an account with your company.”
“This is a new account, ma’am. Opened two weeks ago,” the friendly sounding male said. “Normally we wouldn’t bill you so soon but hitting your credit limit triggered our new policy to send a bill. Do you wish to extend your credit limit?”
“No.” Roxie struggled to keep her voice from squeaking. “You don’t understand. This is a billing error at your end. One of your other clients must have made these charges. I live in coastal Georgia. I would never make international charges like this.”
“You are contesting the bill?”
At last. She sighed out her answer. “Yes.”
“For security purposes, please answer these questions. What’s your grandmother’s first name?”
“It’s Lavinia, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“It’s procedure, Ms. Whitaker. Your dog’s name?”
“I don’t have a dog.”
“Did you say no dog?”
“Yes. I did. What is wrong with you? I didn’t do this. I don’t have an account with you. I would never run up a huge bill like this.”
“Do you wish to cancel the card?”
“Yes. Cancel the card. And cancel the bill while you’re at it.”
“I can’t do anything about the bill, ma’am. If you’re the victim of identity theft, you should contact the police in your area. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
The man’s sugary tone sickened Roxie. “No. You’ve done quite enough.”
Her next call was to the Mossy Bog police department. Laurie Ann Dinterman was in her kitchen in ten minutes.
“I don’t know how this happened.” Roxie showed Laurie Ann the bill and explained.
“Looks like somebody stole your identity all right. Your purse get stolen or misplaced recently?”
“No way. I am very careful about my purse and security.”
“What about your mail? Do you have home delivery?”
About half the people of Mossy Bog had home delivery. “I have a box at the post office. You think someone stole my mail?”
“It’s a possibility. Where do you stack your mail?”
“On my desk in the other room.”
“Think back to the burglary, what was that, two weeks ago? Did you notice if your papers were disturbed?”
“My desk was in order. The housebreaker did this?”
“Don’t have proof of anything. But we do know someone was in your house recently. That person could have accessed personal information in your desk.”
“God. What am I going to do?”
“Sit down before you hyperventilate and let’s get the incident report written. Once we issue the police report, you can send a copy to the credit card company and that should be the end of it.”
“You sure? That seems too easy.”
“There’s nothing easy about identity theft. You should contact your credit card company, your bank, and any other financial institution you may be involved with and tell them what happened.”
Roxie nodded, a great weariness setting in. What she wouldn’t do for Gran’s soft shoulder right now.
“You might want to cancel your current credit card in case the thieves have that number too. The company can issue you another card.”
She used her card for everything, from gas to groceries, because she didn’t like to carry cash. This would be inconvenient.
“You keep any important documents in there?” Laurie Ann pointed toward the desk with her ink pen.
“I have records in there. Tax returns. Household appliance warranty information. That kind of stuff.”
“Go through it. Make sure nothing’s missing. No property deeds, stocks or bond certificates in the house?”
“Those are in the safety deposit box at the bank.”
“Good girl.” Laurie Ann wrote down a few more notes on her pad of paper and pushed it over for Roxie to sign.
“One more thing,” Laurie Ann pulled out another slip of paper, scribbled down a few words and passed it over to Roxie. “Contact these three companies to check your credit history. They’ll flag any new activity in your name and tell you what’s happening.”
“New activity?”
“Sorry, hon. Sometimes these things take on a life of their own.”
Great.
***
SONNY GIFFORD LOOKED like he could buy and sell a dozen diners. His burnished gold hair framed a classic profile worthy of Michelangelo. Thick sensual lips, high cheekbones, amber speckled eyes, and golden eyebrows accented by evenly tanned skin lent him an incredibly handsome air. An open-necked blue dress shirt was tucked into sleek black trousers. Both his belt and shoes were black and inlaid with silver.
Heads had turned when they’d entered Sheryl’s Diner for lunch. Not many out-of-towners came in here. Roxie silently predicted she’d field plenty of calls later asking about the mystery man.
“How’s that burger?” she asked.
He blotted his face with a napkin. “Good. You sure that bowl of soup is enough for you? I’m happy to share my fries.”
Sheryl believed in giving customers their money’s worth. There were enough potatoes on his plate to feed two mounds of fire ants. Roxie shook her head. “I’m fine, thanks. Let’s get back to your property requirements. Mossy Bog is a jewel in the rough. We’ve got all the charm and grace of Savannah with a fraction of the people. Plus, I’ve got some real bargains for you to look at. I’d love to show them to you today.”
He appeared thoughtful, as if giving her words careful consideration. Then his features darkened. “Are they on Main Street?”
“They are very close to Main Street,” she hedged. “I’m sure you’ll find them of interest.”
“I’m not willing to budge on location. Did you speak to the owner of 605 Main Street? That’s the property I want.”
She tried to school her features but felt sure a grimace sneaked out anyway. “That property is not for sale. I spoke with the owner. If it comes on the market, you will be the first to know. If you can afford to wait, I believe the property will become available in a few months.”
“No can do. I need that place yesterday. Everyone has a price. If you can’t get one from him, Sally Doleman over at BC Realty said she’d get it for me.”
Roxie unclenched her back teeth. “I assure you I have the inside track with this seller. Sally can’t do anything more than I’ve done, and there’s a good chance she’ll antagonize him by asking the same questions I asked.”
Surprise etched his fine golden features. “I don’t want that.”
“I understand you want that particular location, but I have other properties which may suit you better. Will you consider looking at them? We can view them right after lunch.”
“I’m on a tight schedule today, what with my morning client meeting down in Brunswick and another client meeting in Savannah at three. What about the next time I come down?”
She let out a long breath. He would look at other places. All was not lost. Meanwhile she could continue to move Sloan along to the point of sale. “Sounds good. Shall we pencil in a date and time?”
He reached in a pocket and pulled out his cell phone. After accessing his electronic calendar, he said, “I’ve got to keep a fluid schedule next week. I can’t commit to a date. Best guess is the middle of the week. Does that work for you?”
Her calendar was unfortunately clear. “That’s fine.”
“Great. That’s settled.” He sat back in the fifties style booth and studied her. “I have another request.”
“Yes?”
“Will you go out to dinner with me next week?”
“Sorry. I’m seeing someone.” That was shading the truth a bit. She wasn’t dating Sloan per se, but his kiss had certainly given her plenty of new fantasy material.
His gaze swept her torso again. “Any chance you’re about to break it off with him?”
As pushy as this guy was about real estate, no way would she date him. She stared him squarely in the eye. “Let’s keep this on a professional level.”
***
“I’M GLAD YOU CAME HOME this weekend, Timmy.” Roxie lifted a bubbling casserole dish of crab au gratin out of the oven on Friday evening. “I wanted to talk to you.”
Her brother carried the tumblers of sweet tea to the table and sat. His bony shoulders slouched forward, his shaggy brown hair spilled over his brow. “Yeah?”
“I wanted to drive up to Georgia Tech last weekend, but Sloan said it wasn’t the right time to fuss at you, that you knew you’d made a mistake.”
Timmy’s head came up. His gaze narrowed. “Sloan? Sloan who?”
She couldn’t ignore the excitement skittering through her veins. Warmth steamed up her collar. “Sloan Harding, a potential client of mine. Don’t change the subject. We have to talk about what happened last weekend. What are you going to do with your life?”
“I didn’t come home to get yelled at.”
“No?” She tossed the salad, distributed portions into two bowls, and joined her brother at the table. “What did you expect? That I’d congratulate you on your incarceration?”
His face fell. He looked much older than his nineteen years. “I screwed up. The social aspect of college rocks, but studying is a drag. College is lame. I want to explore Paris at night, to ski the Alps, and to dance in an Irish pub.”
“You’ve been lots of places already.”
“Yeah, but the places I’ve been aren’t on most people’s itinerary. Mom and Dad’s idea of a vacation is a shack in a third world country, indoor plumbing optional. I want to see Europe.”
She counted to five before she spoke. “Stay in school. You’ll have options. Europe isn’t going anywhere, and it costs money to travel. Get your degree and land a traveling job. College is the key to your future.”
“It doesn’t feel right.” He doused his salad with honey mustard dressing, leaving the cap off the dressing bottle. “Besides, one of my professors has it in for me. I can’t take it anymore. I stopped going to his class.”
Her fork clattered on her plate. “Stopped going? You’re flunking out in your first semester?”
“I’m not going back to that class. I already know more about international politics than he does. He’s a loser and a complete waste of my time.”
Not all professors taught the same way. “Why don’t you drop that class and focus on the other ones for the rest of this semester?”
“Already dropped it.” He grinned sheepishly. “What’s for dessert?”
“Apple pie ala mode.” She pushed back from the table to get it.
“Sit. I’ll clear the table.”
Her brother didn’t need her to fix his problem? That was a change. Instead of being relieved, doubts crowded into her mind. What if he made more bad choices? How could she run damage control when his school was so far away?
He bused the dishes straight into the dishwasher. “Tell me about Sloan.”
“There’s not much to tell. He owns the house behind us, the one Gran took care of, and he’s fixing it up. He was in the office last week when I found out you were in jail. That’s how I ended up with advice from him on what to do.”
“Wait a minute.” He stopped mid-stride and shot her a sharp look. “Sloan Harding? The lost boy that was Gran’s special project? That Sloan?”
His suspicious tone irritated Roxie. “You know him?”
“Barely. He used to shoot hoops in the park. He came around once or twice while we were at Gran’s. When I asked her about him, she said he’d lost his way. There was something in her voice whenever she spoke of him, that same something I hear in your voice now. What is it with him? What does Sloan Harding have that makes women in our family want to take care of him?”
“I don’t want to take care of him. Besides, he’s not lost now. He’s a successful Atlanta businessman, and perfectly capable of taking care of himself. I’ll invite him over for dinner tomorrow so you can meet him.”
“Dinner? Are you dating him?”
“We’re friends, that’s all.”
“I want to check this guy out.”
The thought of her brother interviewing Sloan gave her pause. “Timmy. Don’t go all parental on me.”
He grinned. “Turnabout’s fair play. Mom and Dad aren’t here to look after you. It’s my right as your male relative.”
“We’re almost there, Mac.” Sloan rubbed his dog’s head as he exited the busy interstate and took the access road that led to Mossy Bog. He’d been thinking of Roxie all week, reliving her passionate response to his kiss.
This week, he’d received pointed invitations from several women. He’d declined. That wasn’t like him, but he’d rather be here with Roxie than with another woman. Her eyes were such pools of mystery.
He parked his Jeep in front of Marshview Realty. Though it was only nine o’clock on a Saturday morning, Roxie sat in her cozy, old-fashioned office, an ear glued to the phone. She was a morning person. Something they had in common.
When he opened the Jeep’s door, his dog charged across him like he was hot on the trail of a drug lord. “Mac. Get back in here.”
Mac had another agenda. He sat at the door to Roxie’s office and barked repeatedly.
Sloan couldn’t blame his dog. The same tail-wagging joy coursed through him. In her dark pants and a cream colored top, she glowed with vitality. Her brunette hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She looked great. Just right, in fact. His pulse raced as she waved and walked across the carpet toward him.
The glass door opened, and Mac got the hug Sloan wanted. He tried not to feel jealous, but he wanted her arms around him, her smiling at him.
He frowned. He was spending his weekends in Mossy Bog to search for his missing inheritance. This thing with Roxie was supposed to be an adventure on the side.
Hug or handshake he wondered as she rose with a smile on her face. She extended her hand. She smelled of fresh baked cookies and woman, two of his favorite scents. Her creamy blouse moved when she did, the buttons straining as she stepped back and held the door open for him. He quickly shoved his hands in his jean pockets to keep from drawing her into his arms.
“Come on in. I’ll update you on the progress I’ve made.”
“Let me put Mac back in the Jeep.”
“It’s all right if he comes in.”
Genuine welcome flowed through her words, warming him. Still, he hesitated. “I don’t want to cause any trouble for you.”
She tugged on Mac’s leather collar, urging him in. “You won’t. I’m the boss here.”
That surprised him. He followed his dog inside. “You’re a real estate broker?”
She gestured to an ornate oval table near the storefront window. “Please. Have a seat.”
He did so while Mac ran a quick perimeter check of the space. She may have charmed his dog, but Mac always got the job done. Not that Sloan expected to find any guns or bombs in Roxie’s office, but he’d learned never to be caught unaware.
She selected a folder from her desk. “I should have expected that question, seeing as you don’t live in Mossy Bog. Marshview Realty was Gran’s business. I’ve worked here since I was eighteen.”
She sat down across from him. “Once Gran died, I applied to the state Real Estate Commission to reissue her broker’s license to me. I’ve completed the education and testing requirements, so, yes, I’m a bona fide broker. I’m in charge, and I know what I’m doing. Satisfied?”
“I apologize. I meant no disrespect.” He reached out and covered her hand, as a friend. A spark of current flashed between them, and his blood hummed. “What have you got for me?”
She paused, then withdrew her hand from underneath his. It was the pause that had him doing a little mental jig. He was sure she’d felt the spark. The attraction between them was real. All week long he’d wondered if he’d imagined it.
“I called two tree removal services to get the tree limb off your roof, and here are their written estimates. Both of them added the cost of taking down the water oak.” She slid several sheets of paper toward him. “Of the three roofing companies I contacted, no one would patch the roof because of its age. So many shingles are missing already it’s a miracle your entire roof doesn’t leak like a sieve. Bottom line, you need a new roof and gutters.”
The total was darn near twelve grand. Each contractor must have enjoyed adding zeroes to their quotes. Surely he could have some of his guys come down here and patch things up. “And if I choose to do the work myself?”
She regarded him with cool appraisal. “I was under the impression you had a business to run in Atlanta and didn’t have time to do the repairs.”
Nothing like a good challenge. He could probably stretch out the repairs. Long enough to make a well-traveled path from his back door to hers. “What do you recommend?”
“Marshview Realty has a property management component for our clients. We could oversee the repairs for you, be your agent in all dealings with the contractors.”
“You want to work for me?”
“I’m running a real estate business here. I’d like your listing when you put your place up for sale. Landing the property management account is my way of proving myself to you.”
He tapped his fingers together. If she worked for him, he’d have reason to call her. He liked that idea. A lot. He envisioned future business meetings in cozy settings.
“What are your rates?”
She mentioned a fee that sounded reasonable. “What time frame are we talking about here?” he asked.
“Depends. The higher estimate of the two tree limb removal companies has an earlier opening in their schedule. They can get the limb off by the end of next week. If you prefer the other company, it’s a two week delay before they can get a crane in there.”
“A crane?”
“That’s a big limb on your roof. If it’s not handled right, it could do more damage on its way down.”
“So, putting a couple of my guys on the roof with ropes is a bad idea?”
“Definitely. The remaining shingles are a safety hazard to a nonprofessional. Trust me, you need a pro for this job.”
It made sense to fix everything up. It made even more sense to leave it all in her capable hands. “It’s a deal. Do you have papers for me to sign?”
She did. He signed her business contract and felt better than he had in days. This seduction would be a piece of cake.
“One more thing.” She handed him a copy of all the paperwork. “It’s been dry lately, but the Weather Channel is calling for rain early next week. It would be a good idea to put plastic sheeting up in your attic.”
“I’ll bet you have a plan.” The corners of his lips tilted up. Mac thumped his tail on the carpet. Man and dog were on the same wavelength. He could gaze into Roxie’s compelling turquoise eyes for hours at a time.
She nodded. “I do. My brother is home for the weekend. We can help you install the plastic. Do you have a staple gun?”
“No.” He owned a hammer and some screw drivers but they were back at his Atlanta condo. It probably would have been a good idea to bring them since he was in the home repair mode. But thoughts of Roxie had crowded tools from his thoughts when he’d left home five hours ago.
“I have one. Why don’t you swing by the home repair store over in Brunswick and get two rolls of plastic sheeting and some buckets? Timmy and I will bring the staples and our staple gun after I close up here this afternoon.”
“Buckets? I thought the plastic would keep the water out.”
She smiled. “The buckets are your insurance policy. If you have them, there’s a good chance you won’t need them. But if you don’t have them, you’re sure to need one right in the middle of a downpour.”
“Gotcha.”
***
SLOAN ADMIRED THE WAY the curve-hugging denim showcased Roxie’s assets. His gaze lingered on her shapely legs as she climbed the attic stairs. He’d had dreams this past week about those legs, dreams that had his libido rising.
Timmy followed him up the ladder. Her brother had her dark hair, slender frame, and her height, but the family similarity ended there. While Roxie was open and friendly, Timmy had a permanent chip on his shoulder.
The more he watched Roxie, the more Timmy glared at him. The situation would have been amusing if it hadn’t bothered Roxie. She seemed genuinely agitated at her brother’s hostility, so Sloan tried not to be a jerk.
It wasn’t easy. There were so many ways he could yank her brother’s chain. He knew the soul-searching Timmy was going through because he’d walked in those shoes once upon a time.
He understood what it was like to feel the world rushing past you while you were standing still. Roxie couldn’t help her take-charge tendencies, but her unflappable self-assurance was part of her brother’s problem.
“I’m hoping you and Mac will come over for dinner tonight, Sloan,” Roxie said.
He’d hoped to finagle a dinner invitation out of her. That low country boil she’d cooked last weekend had been delicious. “Sure. Appreciate the invite. Can I bring anything?”
“No. I have everything under control. Stuffed flounder okay with you?”
His mouth watered. “Sounds great.”
After she showed them what to do, she edged toward the steps. “I’m going home to cook dinner. Will you two be all right here?”
Part of her brother’s problem stemmed from her calling him a boyish name. “Tim and I will be just fine,” Sloan said.
Her brother gave Sloan an odd look, then nodded in agreement. As soon as she left, Tim lit into him. “Roxie’s not used to guys like you. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
Interesting. The pup thought he could tell Sloan what to do. “Roxie and I are friends. She’s also my property manager.”
“I saw the way you looked at her,” Tim charged. “It’s a wonder her shoes didn’t catch on fire.”
Time to change the subject. “So, what do you do when you’re not in jail?”
“Hey, that was a one-time thing.” Tim pulled the plastic taut as Sloan shot a staple into his attic rafters. “I didn’t like jail, and I’m not planning to go back. And my name is Timmy.”
“Tim sounds like a man on his way in the world. Timmy sounds like a boy still tied to his sister’s apron strings.”
Tim released the roll of plastic, and the sheeting sagged down on his head. He tore his way through it, ripping an entire panel from the sloped ceiling. “I’m not a boy, damn you. College is Roxie’s idea and I hate it, even though I got a full ride. I don’t want to be an old fart stuck in an office like you. I want to live. See the world.”
Sloan knew what it felt like to be out of sync with the world. To feel like the only sandpiper in a flock of pelicans. Lavinia had given him an opportunity to make something of himself. He’d be remiss if he didn’t pass her wisdom along to her kin.
“Have you thought about joining the Army?” He bundled the ruined plastic in his arms and set it aside.
“Heck no. Roxie would have a cow.”
Roxie would not appreciate the advice he was giving her brother, but Sloan couldn’t stand by and watch the boy self-destruct. He’d deal with the fallout later.
“I joined the Army when I was your age. It took me to countries I’d only dreamed of, but it’s not for everyone.”
Tim picked up a corner of the black plastic and smoothed it out. “You saying I’m not man enough?”
“I’m saying the Army is more structured than college. You’ll have less control over what you do, but your effort counts. Doing your job makes it possible for someone else to do their job. What is it you like to do?”
Tim appeared to study the nail pattern on the underside of the sloped roof. “I like working with my hands, doing stuff like this.”
“Then it wouldn’t hurt to talk to an Army recruiter. There’s one in Atlanta that’s not too far from your school. I could give him a call if you like.”
“No, thanks. If I decide on the Army, I’ll do it my way,” Tim said. “And Sloan?”
“Yeah?”
“I meant what I said about my sister. Treat her right or leave her alone. She deserves the best.”
“Understood.”