скачать книгу бесплатно
* * *
W HEN SHE GOT downstairs the next morning, she found a note written on thick white stationery with a red-and-green border and the Wonders logo at the top. Her mom had decided to strike out early for the city to get the money as soon as possible. Posy would meet the man from the foundation at one o’clock. Trish would be in touch as soon as she’d spoken with her aunt.
Posy didn’t like this. She and Trish had planned to have breakfast at the Lemon Drop together this morning. Her mom loved to be seen out with her daughter. Why would she skip that and why would she leave a note instead of waking Posy?
She called her mom’s cell, but it went straight to voice mail.
She glanced at the note again.
There was a P.S. on the back. Angel’s lamb and rice–formula dog food was in a plastic container in the pantry. The best-before date was coming up and Angel had a delicate stomach. If Posy needed to restock, she should be sure to buy the premium food.
Angel lifted her front paw and scratched at the glass sliding door. She wanted out.
“That makes two of us, sugar.”
* * *
W ES BALANCED THE BOX of Hand-to-Hand promotional
T-shirts and bumper stickers on his hip as he unlocked the door to his temporary office. He left the key in the lock momentarily while he scratched his head. The hospital staff had had to shave a strip above his ear to stitch up a cut the doctors were pretty sure came from one of the metal parts on the truck’s grille. And then, of course, Gary Krota shaved the rest of the hair off on their last night out. The hair growing in not only itched incessantly, it made it impossible for him to forget the accident for longer than five minutes at a time.
Deacon had arranged for him to rent office space in the Kirkland town center. He thought it was a good idea for Wes to be in proximity to the mayor and the members of the town board, who had offices in the building. Without their zoning variance, the site Deacon had picked out wouldn’t be approved.
The door swung open when he turned the key, and Wes stepped inside. The room was cramped, but the two windows set in the back wall made up for the small size. He put the box of shirts and stickers on the floor near the door and let his duffel bag slide to the ground as he opened the blinds. The office overlooked a small staff parking lot and an empty playground behind the building. Midday on a Tuesday didn’t seem like a popular time—all the swings were empty and not one kid was on the basketball court.
It was a shame to see such a nice court going to waste.
He hadn’t played since his accident, but his doctor had cleared him for normal activities before he left Madrid. His shoulder would need some physical therapy, but it didn’t hurt anymore.
He had the ball in his bag.
Flipping the cord, he let the blinds fall back down. Later. He was here to do a job for Deacon.
Trish Jones, the lady who collected the donations, was due in just a few minutes. He kicked the duffel bag behind the desk and then opened the box of shirts. Deacon’s wife, Julia, said he needed some props for his charm offensive. He was supposed to give the Hand-to-Hand shirts out so that eventually it would seem inevitable to the town that the partnership was going to go through.
Wes left his office and went in search of the Kirkland mayor. He found an office with the mayor’s nameplate on the wall. When he knocked on the doorjamb, the young guy sitting behind the desk looked up.
“I’m Wes Fallon, from the Fallon Foundation. I thought I’d say hello to Mayor Meacham.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Fallon. I’ve been hoping to meet you.” The guy hopped up and came around to shake hands. “Ryan O’Malley, the mayor’s special assistant.”
“Good to meet you, too,” Wes said. Ryan looked as if he’d only recently graduated from college, but he had a firm handshake and his dark suit made Wes wonder if he’d underdressed in dark jeans and a golf shirt.
“The mayor isn’t in at the moment, I expect him back shortly,” Ryan said. “But I wanted to tell you how much respect I have for the work you’re doing. This Hand-to-Hand center is the kind of innovation we need in the community services world.”
Wes smiled. “We just have to get the variance and then we’ll be all set. In the meantime, can I give you a T-shirt or a sticker?”
Ryan smiled and took one of each. Then he asked for a second shirt for his fiancée.
Wes handed them over, happy to have recruited his first ally in Kirkland.
A short guy with blond hair thinning on the top entered the office. “Hey, there you are, Wes,” he said. “Great to see you again.”
Wes smiled and nodded even though he didn’t know how the guy knew him.
At that moment a tall woman with dark hair glanced into the office, but kept walking down the hall.
“Wes,” Ryan said, “this is Mayor Meacham.”
“Jay,” the mayor said. “Call me Jay.” He took Wes’s hand and pumped it. “It’s good to have you here. Man, it’s been years.”
Wes had no memory of Jay Meacham. He had very few memories of anything that happened to him before Deacon got custody of him when he was eight, but he doubted Jay knew him from that long ago. Deacon wouldn’t have forgotten to tell him that the mayor of Kirkland was actually their long-lost cousin.
Jay must have noticed his confusion. “I met you after the last game your first season at Western U. I’m an alum, too. Big supporter of the basketball team.”
Wes still didn’t remember meeting the mayor, but he remembered that game, in particular one of the sweetest three-pointers he’d shot in his life. He wasn’t much of a jumper, but he’d had springs in his legs that night and he’d scored right over the head of the defender from the Cardinals team.
“Nice to see you again,” Wes said.
The tall woman he’d seen before passed the open door again and then paused. She stood behind the mayor, but since she was about six inches taller than him, she had a perfect view into the room.
“That was some game,” Jay said, oblivious to the woman. “You had twenty-eight points.” He’d been holding a baseball cap by his side, and now he put it on. “You signed my T-shirt that night. Mind signing my hat now?”
He bent his head as he handed Wes a Sharpie. “I’ll have a whole Wes Fallon outfit.”
Wes took the Sharpie and stared down at the guy. His neck was bent and Wes noticed that the skin there was sunburned. In college he’d gotten a huge kick out of signing stuff for people. In Madrid, it was part of his job. He was retired now. And this? This was just awkward.
Ryan turned slightly to the side, straightening one of the perfectly aligned stacks of paper on his desk, and Wes was grateful to him. The woman watched intently. He wondered for a second if she was Trish Jones, but she was much too young.
The mayor was still waiting.
The woman crossed her arms.
“You want to take the hat off?” he tried.
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble. Just go ahead and sign it on the brim.”
Because signing a hat while it’s on another man’s head isn’t awkward and uncomfortable at all.
He made the mistake of looking at the woman again. She stared right back, waiting to see what he would do. She knew how idiotic this was.
It was a stroke of freaking amazing luck that Jay had followed Wes’s college career and what he needed to do was to capitalize on that connection regardless of how it made him feel. For Deacon.
Wes uncapped the Sharpie and pinched the brim of the hat between his fingers to hold it steady. He felt Jay’s breath on his hand as he rushed an illegible scrawl across the brim. When he was finished, he tapped Jay on the head with the pen. And if he wasn’t so careful about tapping lightly, well, maybe the mayor would remember to take his hat off the next time he asked someone for an autograph. “Done.”
“I have to say, I’m thrilled you’re here!” Jay clapped his hands. “Your brother must be pleased you’re available.”
When he realized what he’d said, Jay flushed right to his hairline, the color on his face matching his bright red neck. “Not that anyone would be pleased about your injury or your—”
“It’s okay, Jay. I’m happy to be in Kirkland. Deacon and I are both looking forward to the possibilities.”
The woman stepped into the office. Her legs were a mile long in tight blue jeans and Wes was distracted by an entirely different set of possibilities.
Ryan noticed her and waved her forward. “Mayor Meacham, we have another visitor.”
The mayor didn’t seem to hear him. “Did Ryan tell you about our lunchtime basketball league on Wednesdays? I told him to tell you.” Jay punched him lightly on the biceps. “We’ll help you keep in shape now that you’re a civilian.”
Based on how tight the muscle in his jaw looked, Wes was pretty sure Ryan was suppressing the urge to punch the mayor.
“I’d love to join,” he said. “Send me the details.”
Wes Fallon, small-town rec-league guy. Fabi would have a field day if she knew.
Ryan stepped around the mayor and said to the woman, “Can I help you?”
“I’m Posy Jones. I have an appointment with Mr. Fallon.”
Posy Jones. Her voice was rich and throaty in a way that made Wes think of late nights in dark bars. He tried not to notice how long her dark eyelashes were or the way her eyes seemed lit with humor.
“Posy,” Jay said. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Did you come with your mother?”
“My mother isn’t available today.” But she didn’t offer any additional details.
Not available? Where exactly was Trish Jones and the Fallon Foundation’s sixty-eight thousand dollars?
An awkward silence fell over the room. Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to ask that exact question.
A weak person would have leaped to fill the silence, but Posy kept her mouth shut and her expression blank. As if she’d just informed them that the special of the day was apple pie but she really didn’t care one way or the other if they ordered it.
If something was up with the money, he would find out, but he didn’t want the mayor, or worse yet, his eager and überprofessional assistant to hear.
His brother had built the next phase of plans for his Fallon Foundation Centers around the Hand-to-Hand programs. Nothing mattered more to him than this venture. If there was something fishy with Trish’s unofficial fundraiser, it had the potential to ruin the goodwill of the town of Kirkland.
He owed Deacon a debt he could never repay, but he would keep trying. Whatever was going on with Posy Jones, her mom and this fundraiser, he’d put it straight.
* * *
P OSY WAS AT an enormous disadvantage and she knew it even before she walked into that office and got her first glimpse of Wes Fallon in the flesh. As it were.
Seeing the mayor suck up to Wes made her sweat. There’d be no hometown advantage here for her mother.
Her only option was to bluff...hard...until her mom came back with the cash.
She knew Jay Meacham mostly by reputation, but she had met him a few times at downtown business-booster events she’d attended with her mom. He wasn’t exactly a thought leader, but he got the job done and kept people happy. In a town like Kirkland where the citizens were involved and motivated, the mayor needed to be better at making friends than he was at making policy.
It had been bad enough that Chloe Chastain would be thrilled to expose Trish as a swindler. On top of that, her mom had stolen from a charity that actually seemed to do good work. Watching Wes sign a hat for the mayor brought it home that he and his brother were both minor celebrities. Her mom didn’t stand a chance if she got caught.
“I think Posy and I should head to my office,” Wes said. “Nice to meet you, guys. See you on the courts.”
He seemed to remember the T-shirt in his hand. “I brought you a shirt, Jay. Almost forgot to give it to you.”
Jay thanked him much more sincerely than was necessary for a white T-shirt that wasn’t even autographed.
Then Wes was right up close to her and she registered just how tall he was. At least six-six. She’d known the number, feet and inches, from her internet...research...but pictures and a few statistics had done a terrible job of preparing her for Wes in real life. His shoulders alone, broad and straight, deserved their own section in Google. She was used to looking down at people or looking even tall men in the eye, but Wes was a good six inches taller than her and built on a large scale. The dark stubble on his jaw and a military-style buzz cut made him look older and more commanding than the long, thick dark hair he’d had in his photos.
She swallowed.
Puppy Pete would have dropped to his belly if Wes loomed over him like this, but Posy straightened her shoulders, happy for once that they made her look even bigger.
Bluff. Hard. Game time.
“I don’t mean to interrupt. If you and the mayor want to talk about basketball, I can wait in your office.” She smiled her professional helpless-lady smile, all teeth and bright eyes with a deferential tilt to her head. When she went incognito on quality control visits for her job, that smile came in handy for assessing concierge service. Some men fell right into that particular smile and never noticed that she was grading them on everything from their attitude to their knowledge of the local hot spots.
“I think we’re about finished,” Wes said easily. “But thanks.”
He had not fallen for the clueless smile.
He motioned for her to go first and then followed her out and down the hall.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring a hat,” she said, switching tactics on the chance his ego was big enough to let her distract him. “I didn’t realize you’d be signing merchandise.”
He glanced down at her. “It’s probably better you didn’t have one.”
“Really?”
He stopped in front of a door and opened it. “Yup. I charge five bucks for an autograph. I only did the mayor’s for free because he’s an old friend.”
Her eyes widened. His ego was that big he charged for his autograph?
“Somebody has to keep me in solid-gold sneakers.”
When she’d seen him sign the hat, she’d actually hoped he might be a dumb jock. It would have made her job so much easier. But, true to form, she could not catch a break. Wes was sharp. And funny. And capable of laughing at himself.
“Good to know. I’ll bring a five when I bring my hat.”
“Until then, maybe you’d like a shirt or a sticker.” He bent toward a box near his desk, and shallow, objectifying creature that she was, she admired the view. Wes knew how to wear a pair of jeans.
He handed her the promo items and she thanked him.
There was only one chair in the room and it was behind the desk. She didn’t know quite what to do so she stood near the window, pretending to look at the park while she gathered her thoughts.
Wes leaned on the desk at the front of the office, his long legs stretched in front of him and arms crossed on his chest. “My brother and I wanted to thank your mom for her efforts on behalf of the Fallon Foundation.” Apparently they were finished joking around. “The money she raised is going to make a difference to a lot of kids.”
She felt as if she was being lectured, but she reminded herself that he didn’t know anything. He might be suspicious—in fact, she was now fairly certain he was suspicious—but he didn’t know anything. Posy forced herself not to look at him. She was an innocent woman, admiring the view of the parking lot.
“My mom is a very kind person. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to meet you. Unfortunately, she’s been called out of town.”
“So you brought the check?”
