Ask Anyone (3 page)

She'd leveled a look at him that would have wilted a lesser man. “Oh?”

“Whatever happened to honoring thy father? Isn't that one of the Ten Commandments?”

“It is,” she'd agreed.

“Well?”

“I'm not sure of the relevance,” she'd said, then reached into the car to pat the hand clenching the steering wheel. “King, I really don't think this horse has anything
to do with you. Believe it or not, it's Bobby's problem, not yours.”

“He's my son, dammit. What he does reflects on me.”

“Oh, for goodness' sakes,” Anna-Louise had snapped impatiently, “he's not the one who put the horse here. In fact, from what he said to Richard, I gather that he's every bit as anxious as you are to make it go away. Now either go inside to lend him your support or go on home and sulk.”

King had gone home to sulk. He'd spent the whole evening trying to figure out why everyone—himself included—was so stirred up. It was an awful lot of hoopla over one itty-bitty piece of a kid's amusement-park ride. Anna-Louise was right about one thing. The whole situation would be over with and forgotten in no time. He just had to go about his business and ignore it.

Which was why he was in his regular booth at Earlene's awaiting the arrival of his friends. A rousing conversation about the price of beef would get his juices stirring.

Pete Dexter was the first to arrive. “Oh, boy,” he murmured with a shake of his head as he slid in opposite King. “Bobby's gone and stepped in it now.”

King regarded him with a lofty look. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Harvey's out for blood. He claims Bobby is trying to stage a coup and take over the whole blessed town.”

King gritted his teeth. So he wasn't going to be able to ignore this after all. “Where would he get a numbskull idea like that? Bobby's not interested in taking over
anything. That boy doesn't have a political bone in his body.”

“Then why did he go and buy up all that property? Whoever develops it is going to set the direction of Trinity Harbor for decades to come. And Harvey's bound and determined that it's not going to be your son. He says Spencers have been in charge for too long as it is, that it's time for fresh blood to take this town into the future.”

King clung to his temper by a thread. “Just how does that pompous fool propose to stop Bobby?”

“The way I hear it, he'll tie him up with zoning regulations and red tape until Bobby gives up and walks away from the whole deal. Then I imagine he'll try to snap up that land for a pittance and do whatever he wants with it. You ask Will what he thinks when he gets here. I heard a rumor he sold a couple of parcels to the mayor a while back before Bobby could snap 'em up. My guess is Harvey would like to see condos all along the waterfront. Next thing you know, none of us will be able to stick a toe in that river without being charged with trespassing.”

King stared at his oldest friend. “Harvey told you this?”

“Not about the condos, that's Will's idea. But Harvey told a whole roomful of people about the rest at lunch yesterday. I was eating crabs over at Wilkerson's at Colonial Beach. Harvey was holding forth like a preacher. He was talking so loud and his face was so red, I thought he was going to keel right over onto the seafood buffet.”

“Did you set him straight?” King asked.

“Me?” Pete looked baffled. “What was I supposed to say?”

“That no son of King Spencer's would ever walk away from a fight, for starters,” King declared fiercely. He might not be entirely in tune with Bobby's plans, but no upstart like Harvey Needham was going to sabotage them. “Did you tell him that?”

“No,” Pete admitted.

“Then you're as big a damned fool as he is,” King said, sliding out of the booth and tossing some money on the table for the coffee he'd never touched.

“Now, King—” Pete began.

“Don't you try to placate me, you old coot. I thought loyalty still counted for something in this town. Guess I was wrong.”

He stalked off to the sound of Pete's sputters of protest and the hushed whispers of everyone else in Earlene's. The way things were going, the entire conversation would be reported in
The Weeky,
right alongside that spread of pictures Richard had taken over at Bobby's.

Once King got outside in the hot, muggy morning air, he sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. He was going to kill that boy of his with his bare hands. He didn't have time to waste an entire morning on this kind of nonsense. He needed to get home. Somebody had to run that Black Angus operation that his sons didn't give a hoot about.

But first, maybe he'd go on over to the Social Services office and see if Frances could spare him a little time. The woman had been driving him up the wall since she'd
stolen first place in a spelling bee from him a half-century ago, but she had a level head on her shoulders. In the last year, he'd begun to count on that.

Frances had kept him from strangling Daisy and given him some sound advice and pleasant company along the way. Maybe if he offered to take her out to play bingo tomorrow night, she'd keep his mind off of Bobby until his temper cooled down. The last place King wanted to spend his golden years was a jail cell. And Tucker would slap him in one, no question about it. He didn't bend the rules for anybody.

When King arrived at Social Services, Frances was on the phone. The blessed woman was always on the phone, but he'd finally learned better than to try to interrupt her. She got downright feisty. He sat down and waited with what to him passed for patience. Fortunately, Frances didn't test him beyond his limits.

“I imagine you're here to talk about Bobby,” she said with a resigned expression when she'd finally hung up.

“You heard,” he said bleakly.

“Not only heard, I went by there yesterday. It was quite a scene.” A wistful look passed across her face. “Seeing that carousel horse took me straight back to when we were kids. Remember? We used to have a carousel right here in town. And a skating rink, miniature golf and bingo on the boardwalk. I wish we could have all that back again. Kids need to know there's more to life than video games and computers.”

King had a dim recollection of those days, but bingo and an old carousel were the least of his concerns. He
sighed and regarded Frances with a plaintive look. “What am I supposed to do about all this nonsense Bobby's mixed up in?”

“Nothing,” she said emphatically. “I know that goes against your nature, but Bobby can handle whatever's going on. Besides, I don't know what you're so upset about. I thought you'd be pleased as punch.”

King stared at her. “Pleased? Why the devil would I be pleased?”

“Because the way I hear it, the woman responsible for that horse turning up on Bobby's lawn is gorgeous and single. She's from a good family. Of course, she's from Maryland, not Virginia, but you can't afford to be picky if you want him to start providing you with some grandchildren to dote on. On top of that, she's already proved that she knows how to get Bobby's attention.”

That certainly put a new spin on things, King decided thoughtfully. “Gorgeous, you say?”

“Yep, and a redhead,” Frances confirmed. “I ran into Tucker later in the day and he said Bobby's tongue was just about hanging out. He also said Bobby would probably deny that with his dying breath.”

King's spirits brightened considerably. “Is that so?” An idea popped into his head, one that required immediate action. He jumped up and headed for the door.

“What's your hurry?” Frances asked. “You heading back to Earlene's?”

“No time,” King said. “I've got something more important to take care of.” He whirled around, went back and planted a solid kiss on Frances's mouth. “Thanks.”

Cheeks pink, she regarded him with a startled expression. “What did I do?”

“Same as always,” he said with a grin. “Put things in perspective.”

She laughed. “Glad to help, though I have a feeling Bobby might not see it that way. Am I right?”

King gave her a bland look. “Frances, I think you're a treasure. Remember that.”

“I'll remind you of it,” she said.

She would, too. Over and over. But that was okay, King thought, as he rushed out of her office feeling more upbeat than he had in months.

Let Harvey Needham rant and rave. Let Bobby try to keep him in the dark. King had a plan. Nobody could get the better of a man with a solid plan and the determination to implement it.

T
he God-blessed car was out of gas. Jenna pounded the steering wheel in frustration. Naturally, to make matters worse, her cell phone was dead. She'd used up the battery the night before trying to convince her daughter that it was absolutely not okay, much less necessary, for her to dye her hair purple. Darcy had cried and pleaded and accused Jenna of ruining her life. If Darcy was this difficult at nine, what would she be like when she hit her teens? At any rate, Jenna had been so exhausted by the long-distance battle that she hadn't thought to recharge the phone.

It was 9:52 a.m. She had exactly eight minutes to get to the yacht center. In her running shoes she might have been able to do it. In three-inch spike heels, she didn't have a prayer.

Maybe Bobby Spencer wasn't quite as much of a tight-ass as he'd seemed yesterday. Maybe she could be a few minutes late and still catch him.

Yeah, right. The man had looked at her as if he'd rather be dealing with the devil. He'd obviously seize any excuse at all not to consider the Pennington and Sons proposal.

She stripped off her shoes, thanked heaven that her skirt had a slit in it and grabbed her briefcase off the seat. She hit the sidewalk at a dead run, grateful that she'd taken up jogging as a way to relieve stress.

Pounding along the pavement, praying that she'd gotten through to Darcy, praying even harder that she would not miss this appointment and blow her one and only chance to earn a little respect from her father, she concluded that this particular run was not likely to reduce her stress one iota. If anything, she was getting more anxious with every painful step she took.

Seven minutes and thirty seconds later, she reached the yacht center. She had runs in her hose, blisters on her feet and her hair no doubt looked as if it had been styled in a wind tunnel, but she was on time.

Bobby Spencer, however, was nowhere in sight and not even expected.

Jenna stared at the secretary. “He's not here,” she repeated incredulously, certain she had to have misunderstood.

“Never gets in before eleven,” the young woman said, clearly working to contain her curiosity over Jenna's disheveled appearance.

The woman's own attire consisted of shorts that showed off her long legs and a crisply pressed blouse with one too many buttons left open to display an ample amount of cleavage. Obviously Bobby did not stress professional decorum, or maybe at a yacht center, this was the appropriate uniform, Jenna concluded. She was probably the one who was seriously
overdressed…or had been when she'd left her car, anyway.

“Never?” she echoed, still certain that she had to be missing something.

“Not once in the year I've worked for him,” the woman said. “Are you sure he said to be here at ten?”

“Oh, I am very sure he said ten,” Jenna said, gritting her teeth. Her temper, which she usually worked really, really hard to contain, began to simmer. “Are you saying there has never been one single occasion when he's been here before eleven?”

“Not that I can recall,” the woman said blithely. “He works late at night. Besides, he's just not a morning person. Believe me, you don't want to see him at this hour. In fact, if you'd like a little advice, I'd suggest you come back around two. He's pretty cheerful by then, especially if the reservations are up for dinner.”

“Look…what's your name?”

“Maggie.”

“Okay, Maggie, here's the thing. I saw Mr. Spencer yesterday. He told me to be here at ten. He made a really big deal about it. My car broke down, but I busted my butt to be on time. Could you get on that phone and track him down and tell him that I'm here and getting more aggravated by the minute that he's not?”

Maggie grinned. “You really want me to tell him that?”

Jenna sighed. “Okay, you can leave out the part about my attitude. Just try to hurry him along. I need to get back to Baltimore. I hadn't intended to stay overnight in the
first place.” In fact, she'd planned to be sitting cheerfully at her desk this morning with a contract in hand. Obviously she'd been overly optimistic about her powers of persuasion.

“Maybe you could think of this little delay as a blessing in disguise,” Maggie suggested. Then she added tactfully, “You know, and use the time to kind of put yourself back together. Not that appearances are everything, but you look kinda like you tangled with a wrestler or something. I've got a sewing kit right here I could loan you.”

Jenna stared at her blankly. “A sewing kit?”

“Your skirt,” Maggie said, then gestured. “And your jacket.”

Jenna looked down. The slit in her skirt now extended almost to the waistband. Any movement, she concluded with a horrified stare, revealed way too much of her lower anatomy. Two buttons on her jacket were hanging by threads, which left a gaping space across her chest featuring an even more ample display of skin and lace than Maggie herself was sharing with the world. No wonder she'd encountered a series of astounded stares and heard several cars skid to a stop en route to the yacht center. She was lucky that brother of Bobby's hadn't come along to arrest her for indecent exposure.

“Oh, God,” she murmured, collapsing into a chair with a heartfelt moan.

“Now don't get upset,” Maggie said, bouncing up at once. She was as refreshingly eager as an accommodating kid as she rummaged in her desk. “Here's the sewing
kit.” She glanced worriedly from the array of tiny spools of thread to Jenna's outfit, then grabbed the stapler. “Come with me. We'll have you fixed up in no time. It might not be pretty, but you will be decent.”

“What if the phone starts ringing or Mr. Spencer comes while you're away from your desk?” Jenna said as she dragged herself out of the chair.

“Nobody important calls in the morning,” Maggie assured her. “They all know how Bobby is. And you don't need to worry about him, either. He's a sweetie once he's had his coffee. You should see him. It's like this ritual the way he grinds the beans, then hovers over it as it brews. It's a little compulsive, if you ask me, but the coffee is way better than the instant kind I make at home. Anyway, once he's had his first cup, he's a doll.”

“Really?” Jenna regarded her skeptically as Maggie led the way into a nearby bathroom. Jenna stripped off her skirt and jacket and they went to work with needle, thread and stapler.

“Oh, sure. Everyone knows that,” Maggie said. “Everybody in town loves Bobby. Well, except for the mayor, but he thinks Bobby is a threat to his power. As if Bobby would ever want that job. He has all the power he needs just being a Spencer. Did you know that his ancestors founded this town? They came over from Jamestown. Not that Bobby flaunts that. I think it embarrasses him when I tell people, but I think it's just so cool. People should know, don't you think?”

“You admire him?” Jenna concluded.

“What's not to admire? He's nice. He's gorgeous. He works hard. He's from a great family.”

Since Maggie was a young, attractive woman with no wedding band on her finger, Jenna asked, “Are you more than his secretary?”

“You mean like a one-woman cheerleading squad or something?” Maggie asked, then paled. “Or do you mean is there something going on romantically between us? Good grief, no.” She paused to consider the idea. “He's kind of sexy, I suppose. That earring makes him look like a pirate. But he's way older than me.”

“He can't be more than thirty,” Jenna pointed out.

“Twenty-eight, actually, but I'm only nineteen, and I'm not going to get seriously involved with anyone for years and years—and then it won't be with Bobby Spencer.”

More curious than she ought to be, Jenna asked, “Why not, especially if he's such a paragon?”

“Because we're friends,” Maggie said simply. “He treats me like a kid sister. Heck, he used to baby-sit my brother and me.”

“And you've never had a crush on him? Not even a little one?”

“No way,”
Maggie claimed emphatically. “He's really nice, if you know what I mean. I want a man with more of an edge. A guy who's a little dangerous.” Her expression turned dreamy.

“Trust me, dangerous is highly overrated,” Jenna told her. “Nice is a better alternative.”

Maggie's gaze narrowed and her expression turned
thoughtful. “So, what do
you
think of Bobby? I heard about the commotion at his house yesterday. I would have given anything to be there to see his face.”

“Actually, he looked a little ticked,” Jenna confided as Maggie stitched and stapled her skirt back together, while Jenna herself worked on the buttons on her jacket. The designer suit looked as if it had been pieced together by drunken elves.

Maggie's expression brightened at Jenna's description of Bobby's reaction. “To tell you the truth, that's a good thing,” she declared. “We've all been saying for a long time now that somebody needs to come along and shake up that man's life. He's in a rut, emotionally speaking, that is. Not that he listens to me. He just rolls his eyes and walks away as if a kid my age couldn't possibly have anything intelligent to say about love.”

Jenna didn't give two figs what kind of rut the man was in. She wanted to sell him on this proposal and get out of town with a signed contract in hand. She had to get back to Baltimore before Darcy defied her and dyed her hair purple. Even if Darcy used something temporary, like a powdered-grape-drink mix, it would be enough to send her grandfather's blood pressure soaring.

“Maggie, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why has your boss been refusing to take my calls? Is it because I'm a woman?”

Maggie looked genuinely astonished by the question. “Why would you think that?”

“It's just the way some men in business are,” Jenna said, thinking of her father.

“Not Bobby,” Maggie assured her. “It's just what I've told you on the phone. He's not talking to anybody about the boardwalk yet. Bobby likes to mull things over before he acts. He doesn't rush into anything. Some of that's Southern. Some of it's just Bobby being Bobby. Don't take it personally. He's refused to talk to any of the men who've called, too.”

Jenna accepted the explanation at face value. “You've been a godsend,” she told the young woman as she straightened her skirt, shrugged into her jacket and tried to adjust it. They weren't perfect, but they would do. “Thank you. I couldn't have gotten myself put back together without you.”

For the first time, as she started to button up the jacket, she risked a look in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed. Her hair, which had started the day in a nice, neat French twist, was hanging down around her shoulders in a tangle of untamed curls.

Of course, that image reflected back at her wasn't nearly as disconcerting as the image of Bobby Spencer's stunned expression right next to it.

 

A half-dressed Jenna Kennedy was standing in
his
private bathroom. Bobby reluctantly dragged his gaze from full breasts barely covered with scraps of lace to her startled face.

“Seen enough?” she snapped.

He blinked. “Sorry,” he said, then shut the door. “Maggie, get out here!”

His secretary emerged from the bathroom. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

“Long story, boss. Jenna will be out in a minute. She can explain. I've got work to do.”

He shook his head. “Oh, no, you don't. Get back here. Since when are you anxious to get to work?”

“Since five seconds ago,” she said with an unrepentant grin. “Go easy on her. She's had a rough morning.”

Bobby sighed. “I'm not in the habit of terrorizing people.”

“You know that and I know that,” Maggie agreed. “She doesn't seem to be so sure. Why is that?”

Bobby had no intention of going down that particular road, not with a female who'd long since declared her intention to find him a woman. Between Maggie and his father, his personal life was doomed. He sure as heck didn't want either of them getting the idea of dragging Jenna Pennington Kennedy into it.

“Never mind,” he said. “Go to work.”

“I made coffee,” she said, looking pleased with herself. “Just in case you didn't have time, what with your early meeting and all. It's instant, but it's better than nothing.”

Bobby shuddered. “No, it's not. From now on, leave the coffee brewing to me. Yours tastes like axle grease.”

He walked through the yacht center to the restaurant kitchen, prepared a decent pot of coffee, poured two cups, then took them back to his office and sat behind his desk. Jenna still hadn't emerged from his bathroom. He alternately checked his watch and gazed warily at the
door as if a restless tiger might be lurking behind it. Finally the knob turned and his pulse kicked up a notch. He deliberately attributed it to annoyance at her tardiness, because anything else was unacceptable.

“You're late,” he said, just to emphasize his displeasure.

Those bright patches of color in her cheeks deepened. “No,” she said, just as emphatically. “I was right on time. Imagine my surprise when I was told that you
never
come in before eleven. If I'd known that, I could have found a better way to get here than running all the way.”

He stared. “You ran? Why?”

“My car ran out of gas. Because you made such a big deal about me being on time, I got out, took off my shoes, hiked up my skirt and ran, which is why you found me in your bathroom looking like a complete wreck, and that was after Maggie and I had repaired most of the damage.”

“I see.” A dozen questions came to mind, along with quite a few disconcerting images. He would have paid money to see her crosstown race to get here. In fact, he was surprised he hadn't heard about it from someone by now. Then again, maybe that explained a couple of the fender benders he'd spotted along a normally quiet road.