.

against her cheek, and she swatted it out of the way. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said. “I’m perfectly capable of ignoring something, or someone, I’m told to ignore. Discretion is an important social skill, along with manners and the like.”

      He hadn’t thought it was possible for Charlie’s expression to get any more hostile, but he’d guessed wrong about that, too.

      He stifled a smile, figuring it would be like setting a torch to a short fuse. Except for his slight miscalculations about her temperament, so far Ms. Charlene Elizabeth Keene was living up to her reputation and his research. Which meant the rest of what he’d discovered was probably true—the lady had a clever enough brain and a strong enough back to carry most of the load at Keene Concrete.

      He knew she was after Sawyer’s ready-mix company, too, scheming to ease her competitor into an early retirement and secure her company’s future in Carnelian Cove. Jack wondered how quickly she might blast through her family complications once she learned the purpose of this visit. Soon, he hoped. He relished the challenge of a tough, resourceful adversary.

      Her brother cleared his throat, and Jack realized he’d been staring. David swiveled his chair a few degrees, attempting to cut Charlie out of the conversation. “I hope you had a nice trip north.”

      “I did at that.” Jack nodded. “Enjoyed the scenery on the way in from the airport. Nice country you’ve got around here.” That was an understatement—the views were spectacular. Massive redwoods crowding the pavement’s edge, twisted cypress hugging cliffs dashed with sea spray. Mountains carpeted in thick forests and rolling pastures dotted with fat dairy cows. Rivers so clear he was tempted to pull over and toss in a lure.

      “We like it.” David squeezed a pencil with white-knuckled fingers. “The tourists do, too. We get plenty of visitors. In the summer, when the weather gets nicer.”

      Jack nodded. “That would bring ’em out, all right.”

      Charlie shifted in her seat and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Jack had to give her points for keeping her mouth shut.

      “I’m glad you could make it up here,” said David. “I was hoping you’d be able to check out the situation for yourself.”

      “That’s why I’m here.” Jack gave him a wide smile. “To check out the situation.”

      David sketched a zigzag in one corner of his desk blotter. “I hear you stopped by Sawyer’s yard this morning.”

      “I did, yes.” Jack’s smile stayed in place. “Part of the situation, don’t you think?”

      “But not an important one,” said David. “Well, not in a…What I mean is, he’s retiring, and…” He cleared his throat again. “There won’t be any competition around here once he does. Retire, I mean.”

      “Continental’s not worried about a little competition,” said Charlie. She leaned forward, her hands on her knees. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Maguire?”

      “Please,” said Jack as he leaned more comfortably against the back of his chair, “call me Jack.”

      “In fact,” said Charlie, ignoring his request, “Continental doesn’t care which ready-mix outfit it buys. BayRock or Keene Concrete—it doesn’t matter at all, not in the end. It’s a buyer’s market here in Carnelian Cove, isn’t it, Mr. Maguire?”

      Jack spread his hands. “It would sure be nice to think so, especially if a fellow were on a shopping trip.”

      David sent his sister a murderous look. “Be that as it may, I’m sure Continental will want to consider getting the best value for its money in the Cove—in the local market.”

      “The best value? The local market?” Charlie stood and shoved the palm frond out of her way. “If Continental buys Keene Concrete, Earl won’t be able to sell his outfit to anyone, and there go his retirement plans—everything he’s worked so hard for all these years. If Continental buys BayRock, it’ll cut the price of concrete below cost and bleed us into bankruptcy in a matter of months.”

      She rested a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Either way, Mr. Maguire’s bosses aren’t going to have any competition in Carnelian Cove.” She tilted her head to the side and leveled her dark gray eyes on Jack’s. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Maguire?”

      “It’s Jack.” God almighty, going a round or two with this woman was going to be a whole lot of fun. Not to mention that the more he looked at her, the more he wanted to keep right on looking at her. She’d pulled off her cap, and that thick, springy hair seemed to wave and wind around her shoulders with a will of its own. Her wide mouth softened into a pillowy curve during those rare moments she wasn’t frowning or cursing or arguing. And the crackling intelligence in her smoky eyes made it difficult for him to tug his gaze from hers.

      “Well now, David.” Jack set his foot on the ground and rose from his chair with a friendly smile. “I’d like that look at your operation you promised, if you don’t mind.”

      Chapter Three

      JACK SWUNG HIS GARMENT bag over his shoulder later that afternoon and paused to admire the gaily colored Victorian houses standing shoulder-to-shoulder in their postcard pose along Oyster Lane. Stretched atop the rail of a white picket fence, a fat tabby spared him a crotchety meow before shifting its attention to the gulls overhead. The scents of salt-crusted docks, wood smoke and early hyacinths blended in the offshore breeze, a perfume that was Carnelian Cove’s own.

      An interesting town, he thought, packed with the kind of character that came with several different interests nurtured in relative isolation. Fishermen and artists, lumberjacks and university professors, dairy farmers and silversmiths—all rubbing up against each other in an eclectic collection of shops and neighborhoods that appeared to predate the concept of zoning restrictions. Untidy and unexpected, and charming in an offbeat way.

      Sort of like the carved driftwood sign hanging from a reproduction London gaslight: Villa Veneto Bed and Breakfast.

      He wondered what his boss would make of such a jumble. Bill Simon liked his private surroundings and business dealings streamlined and simplified, so he could make his personal and executive decisions as quickly and neatly as possible. Such a cool efficiency had its own appeal, but Jack sometimes preferred mucking through life’s muddles—especially when he discovered the diamonds in the rough patches.

      Uncut, unpolished diamonds like Sawyer’s BayRock Enterprises. Buying Sawyer’s company could satisfy Continental’s insatiable appetite for raw materials while establishing a viable—and potentially valuable—presence north of San Francisco. And it was up to Jack to prove that viability and estimate that potential.

      To streamline and simplify the muddle.

      He nodded an apology for disturbing the tabby cat before opening the low picket gate and strolling up aged concrete steps to the stained-glass entry. The gingerbread tacked onto every nook and cranny made the villa look homey and fussy, giving the impression the inside was likely stuffed to its curlicued rafters with antiques and doodads.

      As he stepped onto a wide wooden porch furnished with wicker and ferns, one of the lace curtains swagged across a bay window twitched discreetly and settled back into its graceful curve. Jack grinned, pleased to see his hunch had paid off. Just as he’d suspected when he’d phoned, Agatha Allen was a nosy hostess. Bed and breakfasts weren’t the typical business-trip lodgings, but they often provided one benefit in addition to a comfortable place to sleep and a home-cooked meal to start the day: a built-in source of small-town gossip.

      Moments after he twisted an ornate brass bell knob, a handsome woman, neat and trim and somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty, opened the heavy mahogany door.

      “Agatha Allen?” he asked.

      She nodded and stepped aside, waving him in. “And you must be Jack. Welcome to Villa Veneto. Oh, put that away,” she said with another wave as he shifted his bag over his