What She'd Do for Love. Cindi Myers

home to check with her parents. As Kelly had predicted, they were watching TV. “I thought I’d stay and have coffee with a friend,” she said. Though her parents knew Ryder, she didn’t want them jumping to conclusions. This wasn’t a date—they were merely continuing their discussion about the highway project.

      “Have a good time,” Dad said. “You have your key to let yourself in.”

      “Yes.” Later, she’d give her dad a hard time about not warning her that Ryder was the highway engineer. At least that explained how Ryder knew so many people in town; he’d been schmoozing the locals, winning them over to his side. Her dad had probably thought it was a good joke to play on his daughter.

      “All right then. Good night.”

      She ended the call, fighting a nervous flutter in her stomach. Maybe agreeing to meet up with Ryder had been a bad idea. He’d been so warm and charming in the meeting, but were those emotions real, or merely a show to get what he wanted?

      Ryder was waiting in front of the Blue Bell when she parked a few doors down. It looked as if a good number of people who had attended the highway forum had retired to the café for coffee and pie. “Just sit anywhere,” the waitress said when they entered.

      Ryder escorted her to a booth along one wall, his hand resting very lightly against her upper back, guiding her through the crowd. The warmth of his hand through her dress made her heart beat a little faster. What was it about him that affected her so?

      Several people greeted him as they passed—more than said hello to Christa, even. “You seem to have made a lot of friends in town,” she said, as she slid into the booth across from him.

      “Acquaintances, anyway. You know how people are around here—welcoming.”

      “Where are you from?” she asked.

      “All over. I’d lived in three different countries by the time I entered first grade. We went wherever the army told my father to go, wherever he was needed.”

      She couldn’t imagine what such a nomadic life would be like. She’d been born and raised in Cedar Grove; no matter where she lived from now on, this would always be home. She wouldn’t want to be like Ryder—rootless.

      The waitress came to take their order. “Just coffee,” Christa said. “With cream.”

      “I’ll have black coffee,” Ryder said. “And do you have any of that blackberry pie left?”

      “For you, I might be able to find a couple of slices.” The waitress smiled at him, clearly flirting.

      He looked at Christa. “You sure you won’t indulge? It’s homemade.”

      Her mouth watered at the memory of Etta Mae’s pies. “All right. Thanks.”

      When the waitress left, Christa continued their conversation. “And now you’re in a job where you travel a lot. What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed in one place?”

      “I’m hoping this will be it. This is the biggest job I’ve been on and it should take over two years.”

      Something about the pride in his voice made her hazard a guess. “Is this your first time overseeing a job this big?” After all, he couldn’t be much older than her.

      “Yes. I was only recently promoted. Obviously, I want my bosses to feel they made the right decision to put me in charge.”

      “You certainly seem to be winning over people in the meeting tonight.”

      “Present company excepted?” The dimples showed on either side of his mouth.

      “I don’t dislike you.” She shifted in her seat. The opposite, really. He was a very easy man to like. “But I don’t like what you’re doing. I don’t think it’s right.”

      “You don’t like the route chosen for the highway.”

      “I think it should be closer to town, so that the town is the focus and not some new development ten miles away.”

      “What about the rest of the route, beyond the town?” His expression grew wary, though she couldn’t imagine why.

      “I didn’t pay much attention to that,” she admitted. “I’ve never been very good at reading maps or envisioning things in space. I had to take remedial geometry in school.” She was an idea person, not a picture person.

      “Paul Raybourn said you worked for a marketing firm.”

      “I did.” She hesitated, tempted to gloss over her unemployment, or even outright lie. But she wasn’t a dishonest person and besides, she hadn’t done anything wrong. “My company laid off a bunch of people and I was one of them. It’s why I came home—to regroup and save money while I look for another job.”

      “Traveling for my job, I’ve met a lot of people in the same boat, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I hope you find a new job soon.”

      “I’m sure I will.” The job hunting seminar she’d attended in Houston had emphasized remaining positive. Of course, finding a new job also meant sending out résumés, putting in applications and networking with contacts in her field—all things she hadn’t gotten around to doing yet. But she’d start the job hunt soon. She’d just wanted a little time to lick her wounds and regain her equilibrium.

      “Have you thought of going into business for yourself?” he asked. “That’s an option a few people I know have taken.”

      “When I first graduated college, I thought of starting my own business,” she said. “After I’d gained some experience working for others. But I don’t know what I’d do.”

      The waitress returned with their coffee and pie. “That looks great.” He admired the pie, and then returned his attention to Christa. “What would you really like to do?”

      “Something service oriented, I think.” She added cream to her cup. “I want to help people and solve problems. I’d like to make a difference.” At her old job, she’d had the opportunity to work on a couple of campaigns for nonprofits. She’d enjoyed that work most, though the majority of her time was spent on other, less-satisfying projects.

      “Then we’re not so far apart. I want to help folks, too—help them get to jobs and spend less time commuting and more time with their families.”

      “People could do that if they stayed here in Cedar Grove.”

      “Except there aren’t many jobs here—not that pay what jobs in the city do.”

      That was another problem altogether, one neither of them was likely to solve. But she wasn’t going to let him off so easily. “I don’t buy your argument that you had to choose the shortest route,” she said. “A route to the north of Cedar Grove would still be shorter than taking the current road. It would meet your goal of a faster commute and it would be more convenient. Travelers could stop in Cedar Grove and get gas or a bite to eat, or to use the restroom.”

      “The new shopping development will have gas stations and restaurants. But a rest area with comfort stations and picnic tables is a good idea. I’ll have to look into that.” He pulled out his smartphone and tapped in a note.

      She took a bite of pie. The combination of sweet-tart berries and flaky pastry was better than anything she’d had in the city—the kind of treat tourists would line up to buy, if they only got to town and discovered it. “You talk as if the highway is a done deal,” she said. “As if it’s too late to change anything. But all I’ve seen is drawings. You admitted in the meeting that you don’t even have all of the right of way.”

      “We have commitments from everyone we need, but we’re not rushing people. Despite what people like to think, the state doesn’t bully its citizens. We’ll complete the negotiations soon. We’re surveying and expect to break ground on schedule.”

      “Until you start pouring concrete, there’s still time