Private Affairs. Tori Carrington

      He walked across the arched gravel drive and unlocked the door to his leased Mercedes, draping his suit jacket over the back of the driver’s chair before getting in and starting the engine, counting to ten as he waited for the air conditioner to kick in.

      Ah, yes. That was more like it.

      He understood the entire state was experiencing a fluke heat wave unlike any they’d seen before. Up in Seattle, the temperature had broken a hundred for the first time in … well, recorded history. And it hadn’t rained in at least a couple of weeks, which was strange in and of itself.

      The thought brought the image of Penelope in the gazebo last night to mind. She’d smelled of summer and made him hot just looking at her.

      Palmer rubbed the back of his neck. The last thing he’d planned was trying to seduce her in the backyard of her grandmother’s house. But there you had it. Seemed the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. He wanted her even more than he had back then. Then again, perhaps time had dulled the old memories. And now reality had honed them to an aching point.

      He couldn’t help looking around Earnest as he drove through the few blocks that comprised the downtown on his way south to the construction site he’d chosen. It held little more than the trailer that served as his offices for the time being.

      He eased his foot up off the gas, spotting someone walking across Main Street.

      Penelope.

      He stopped altogether.

      She was wearing another dress, this time tan with what appeared to be—were those cherries?—printed all over the light material. A wide-brimmed hat protected her dark head from the morning sun and she reached up to steady it as a breeze threatened to take it from her.

      A car horn beeped behind him. Penelope looked over her shoulder in his direction.

      Palmer grimaced and gave a brief wave. “Hey, how are you doing? Me? I’m pissed my discreet moment of watching you was so rudely interrupted.”

      He glanced in the mirror to see who the perpetrator was. Why wasn’t he surprised to find Barnaby in his sheriff’s car?

      He flashed the red-and-white strobe lights on top of his official county vehicle.

      Palmer gave him a wave, as well, rather than the finger he would like to have flashed, and put the car back in gear, the moment broken.

      Within five minutes, he turned into the narrow unpaved road that led to the trailer. A pickup kicked up dust as it raced toward him at high speed.

      What the hell?

      At the last moment, Palmer pulled into the brush and the pickup roared by, momentarily blinding him with the dirt cloud it left behind.

      If he hadn’t felt unwelcome before, that little stunt certainly would have clued him in.

      He continued on to the trailer and got out, walking toward the construction foreman he’d hired the week before.

      “Morning,” he said, shaking John Nelson’s hand. “What was all that about?”

      “You tell me.”

      Palmer squinted at him. “Excuse me?”

      “If you had waited a minute longer, it would have been me coming at you head-on on that road.” John slapped a file he was holding against his chest. “And I wouldn’t have missed.”

      He began stalking toward his own truck.

      “Hey, what’s up, man?” Palmer asked, grabbing his arm to stop him.

      “You might want to try asking the man in there.” John jabbed a thumb toward the trailer. “He just fired us all.”