Chapter 2
MALCOM GRAVES HAD NEVER MADE three women speechless before. But that was happening at this moment. The fifty-something lady in the chair looked like she wanted to murder him, the redhead grinned from ear to ear, and the brunette stared at him with blue eyes that might technically be considered black.
He tried again. “Sorry to intrude, but do you happen to have ice?” He glanced around—what was this place? It smelled like someone had thrown a potpourri of flowers into a simmering pot. As far as he could see, there were knickknacks everywhere—like the things that you found at a garage sale.
“Don’t let him in,” the older woman said, her sugary voice belying her stern words.
“We don’t have any ice,” the redhead announced. “Try at the end of the block. There’s a grocery store there.”
“That will take too long,” the brunette said. Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail. Silver earrings dangled from her ears—were those . . . cat earrings? She wore all black—black jeans, black V-neck shirt, and short black boots. She moved past the redhead. “I’ll get a cold washcloth for him.” She stopped in front of a shelf that read Back to School and grabbed what looked like a hand towel with the same message.
Then she continued toward a narrow hallway.
“Oh, and you can come in,” she called over her shoulder. “Probably safer inside.”
Malcom hesitated because the older woman’s glare was quite fierce. It wasn’t like he was looking for a safe place—the protesters wouldn’t hurt him. He was pretty sure the man with the broken nose was an unintentional injury. But what did he really know? This small, cozy town of Everly Falls was turning out not to be so cozy after all.
“Here you are.” The brunette was back.
What color were her eyes? And was that a freckle next to her ear? One freckle only? The rest of her skin was freckle free.
She pressed the cold, wet towel into his hands, because apparently he was staring at her. Somehow he managed to pull himself out of whatever rabbit hole he’d fallen into. “Thanks, miss.”
“It’s Lori. I’m not really a miss , but thanks for not calling me a ma’am .”
Lori. Easy enough to remember. “I’m Malcom Grave—”
“We know who you are,” the older woman said from her chair perch.
That was his cue. “Thanks again.” He lifted the towel. “I’ll return it.” Pause. “After I clean it, of course.”
He turned to leave, wondering if this day could get any stranger. It was only eight thirty in the morning, so he supposed it was entirely possible.
“I’ll come help,” the woman, Lori, said. “Can you watch the store, Marci? Oh, and Mrs. Kane, Brandy is on her way.”
That was a lot of names, but Malcom was pretty good with names. Regardless, his first instinct was to tell Lori not to worry about it. She probably didn’t want to be in the thick of whatever was happening now. At least the cops had arrived, and the crowd was mostly dispersed.
The protesting didn’t bother Malcolm too much. It had happened a handful of times in the past several years—and if history repeated itself, the residents who were up in arms would calm over a few days’ time, and eventually, the quiet town would become quiet again.
Ironically, in this situation, he’d been approached by the city council. Some other hotshot developer had tried to bulldoze their way into Everly Falls with a massive renovation plan. The council had been wary, and although they conceded there needed to be adequate housing for the growing town, they weren’t ready to take ten leaps forward. A single step was just fine, and thus, Malcom had come into the picture.
One of the deals was that he couldn’t divulge that he’d been contacted first. The city council had a reputation to protect. And Malcom was more than happy for the business. It seemed condominium jobs were all going to the major construction companies. He ran a small company with his stepbrother, and it had been great for the most part. But after this Everly Falls project, he wanted to look for a more permanent residence and focus on building single-family homes or renovations.
What his brother would choose to do, Malcom didn’t know. He was more of a number-crunching guy, while Malcom was the guy in front of the city councils and residents, buttering them up and shaking hands.
“Excuse me,” he said, approaching the group huddled around the man with a broken nose, sitting on the sidewalk curb, hand on his face, blood between his fingers. “I’ve got a wet cloth that will help.”
He felt the glares thrown at him, rather than actually seeing them, because he was focused on the sixty-something-year-old man.
Malcom sat on the curb next to him. “Here, let’s press this against your face.”
“Mr. Ronning,” Lori said, settling on the other side of the man. “Are you all right?”
Mr. Ronning lowered his hand slowly and accepted the wet towel. She helped him adjust it. “I’m okay,” he said in a muffled voice.
“What happened?” Lori asked.
“Got an elbow in the face from Bernice,” he said. “Was an accident, that’s all. I told as much to the cops.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that,” Lori said in a soothing tone. “So none of the construction workers harmed you?”
“No,” he said.
“And this man’s in the clear?” she asked, motioning toward Malcom.
Mr. Ronning gave a subtle nod. “Yep. And don’t worry, I don’t need to see any doctor. One of the cops already checked it out—used to be a paramedic.” His gaze zeroed in on Malcom. “But stirring things up is never good, sir.”
Malcom’s skin pricked with heat. The day would be a warm one, and the morning coolness was fading fast. “I went through all the proper channels and received all the permissions. Grievances were heard and addressed last month.”
Mr. Ronning didn’t look pleased at his comeback, but it was Lori’s expression he was more interested in. Was that a glimmer of a smile on her face? Her dark hair had caught the sun’s rays, giving it some bronzed highlights. Blue, he decided. Her eyes were definitely blue. The brightening sky behind her confirmed it.
Malcom couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. He had a protest to disperse, a city council to keep happy, and the first day of construction to start. Every hour was money, in his book. And every wasted hour, even more expensive.
Which reminded him. He had to get Mr. Ronning situated so he could do his job. “If you need anything, I’m happy to help, Mr. Ronning,” Malcom said. “Provided it doesn’t disrupt the building project.”
The man didn’t laugh.
“Do you need a ride home?” he continued. “Can I bring you a drink? I hear there’s a grocery store at the end of the street.”
Mr. Ronning waved a hand. “I’m fine. My wife’s already on her way to pick me up.”
“I’ve got him,” Lori told Malcom.
“Do you want to sit in my shop?” she asked Mr. Ronning. “It’s more comfortable than this cement curb.”
It took Mr. Ronning only a half second to agree, and Malcom was left standing on the curb, watching the two cross the street—Mr. Ronning’s walk more of a shuffle, Lori’s silver cat earrings catching the light. He kept his gaze firmly on her swaying ponytail and not her swaying hips as questions rushed through his mind. What was Lori’s last name? Was she involved with anyone? She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—but not everyone wore a ring. Would she have joined the protesters if she didn’t have a shop to run? He adjusted his ball cap, then rubbed his neck. Focus, he told himself.
Then he crossed to the cops, who were now talking to his construction crew. “Everything good?” he asked.
“Everything’s fine now,” one of the officers said. “The mayor is arriving at any moment to talk to the residents. Give you his support. But you’re free to move your excavator and start working.”
Relief rushed through Malcom. When all was said and done, the delay had been less than an hour.
The crew broke up, climbed back into the trucks, and the procession moved forward. Malcom hopped in his own truck, found a place to park, and climbed out just as a pink truck pulled into the lot.
His heart sank.
Penny Gilchrist stepped out, dressed like a cross between a Barbie Instagram influencer and a Halloween costume of a construction worker. He wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. Penny was his sister-in-law’s sister, although the two women couldn’t be more different. Kari was completely down to earth, and Penny . . . well, she floated above the earth on most days.
“Malc!” Penny said in her singsong tone. She was thirty-four, two years older than him, and had definitely been through some living, most of which she covered up with layers of makeup. “Happy first day!”
She swung her hip against the truck door since her hands were full of what looked like coffee and a sack of pastries or bagels.
Malcom knew he couldn’t totally avoid her since she worked for the company as their operations manager. The woman was as smart as a whip, which only made him more wary. He always felt like she was setting traps around him, and he invariably stepped in every single one. He’d once confessed to his brother how uncomfortable he was with Penny’s overt friendliness, but Bronson had just laughed. Told him he was overreacting. Told him that was just Penny’s personality. It would be too weird if she crushed on him.
Oh, Malcom agreed with that, but how else would anyone define it? The generous gifts, the leading questions, the affectionate touches, the laughter when he hadn’t said anything funny at all.
As she neared, he tried not to wince at the sight of Penny practically teetering as she walked on high heels. Who wore high heels to a construction site? Penny Gilchrist, apparently.
“You’re looking fine, Malc,” she gushed, her smile wide, face framed by wavy blonde hair.
He tamped down his irritation at the way she shortened his name to Malc. He’d been called Mac plenty of times—that, he didn’t mind—but Malc ? Sounded like some sort of foot powder.
Penny’s all-pink ensemble stood out like a flashing light in the middle of a foggy night. “I love your construction-boy look. Very handsome.”
Malcom forced his expression to remain nonplussed. He was wearing the most basic outfit. Gray T-shirt, jeans, construction boots. A ball cap.
“What brings you all the way out here?” he asked, because he was truly curious. They all worked out of their homes, and Penny lived about a thirty-minute drive from Everly Falls.
“Just making a special delivery.” She held up the sack. “Apple tarts. Your favorite.”
Malcom had no idea where she got that idea from. Sure, he liked apple tarts. He liked all food, in fact. But he wasn’t much of a breakfast person. So something like apple tarts sounded way too sweet.
He took the sack because she was practically shoving it into his face. “Well, thank you. I’m sure I’ll enjoy them at some point today.”
Penny laughed. Then she inched closer. “Did you see all those protestors? Do you think this will be on the news?”
Malcom set the sack inside the bed of his truck. “I doubt it,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and stepping away from her. “I don’t see any journalists or cameras.”
“Oh right.” Penny laughed again. “Hey, before you talk to the workers, or whatever it is you do, I need your advice.”
He would have preferred to walk away, but she grasped his arm, her long fingernails like talons against his skin.
“I went to a dance club last night with my girlfriends, and this guy kept hitting on me.” She pushed her lips into a pout. “I mean he was cute, but kind of young for me. Maybe in his mid-twenties. I didn’t want to be rude, so I took his number. But now I’m wondering if I should have just said no and told him about you .”
Malcom stared at her. What was she saying? What did she mean? “And . . . what would you have told a complete stranger at a bar about me ?”
“Oh, you know, that I have a really cool boss and he’s the jealous type.” She winked at him as her hand slid up his arm.
Malcom was at an even greater loss now. “What exactly would I be jealous of?”
Penny laughed. “Oh, you know.” Her phone rang just then, and she released his arm and pulled out the phone from her pocket. She glanced at the caller ID. “It’s that homeowners’ association that I’m trying to secure a maintenance contract with.” Before Malcom could question her about it, she answered, “Hello?”
He remembered his brother saying that Penny was looking into setting up maintenance accounts with an affluent cabin complex in the canyon above Everly Falls. Malcom had been against it. Starting this condominium project would stretch everyone thin as it was. Apparently, it was already in the works, and Malcom had no say. Which was kind of par for the course over the past year since Penny had joined the company. Another reason he wanted to do his own thing.
With Penny distracted, Malcom headed toward the job site. He sincerely hoped she wouldn’t stick around and that they wouldn’t have to continue the conversation she’d started. He had his own phone calls to make. Primarily to find out when the trailer would be delivered. It would be his temporary home and office for the next few months.
He told himself to ignore the fact that camping out on the property that was right across from the holiday shop would give him plenty of chances to cross paths with Lori.