Read Online A Small-Town Homecoming by Terry McLaughlin - Free Book Online Page A

their cards on the table. They both knew the score. “Yeah,” he said. “I know you want me, too.”
    “Good to hear,” she said as she turned the knob. “I like to keep things neat and tidy.”
    He inhaled deeply as he passed her, breathing in her white-flower scent as he stepped into the street. And then he climbed into his truck and made a fast U-turn and a faster getaway.

CHAPTER SIX

    F RIDAY AFTERNOON , nearly two weeks after the vandalism incident at the job site, Tess taped a gone-for-the-day note to one of her front windows. Any other time, she’d have given her new pair of Matisse sandals—the ones with the darling polka-dot bows and the sexy ankle straps—to have a client drop in with a request for her immediate assistance with a design. But today she didn’t want to be trapped in her office whipping up a set of revised elevations for a discount furniture warehouse. Today Tidewaters’ foundation was being poured, and she wanted to be there to witness every moment.
    Feeling like a mother whose toddler was about to take its first steps, she checked her quilted print tote to make sure she’d packed her camera. And then she flipped her Open sign over to Closed and locked her office door before heading down Main Street toward the small public lot where she’d parked her car.
    Things were definitely looking up. Besides sketching the last-minute elevations, she’d consulted with another potential client about a family house and met with a contractor at a commercial site across town. She couldn’t be one hundred percent certain that the big white sign Quinn had erected at Tidewaters—the one featuring Tess Roussel, Architect in neat block lettering—was driving new business her way, but with that possibility and the recent break in the weather, she was suddenly busier than she’d hoped she might be. Perhaps next month, if her customers paid their bills on time, she could avoid dipping into her savings to pay her own.
    She swung her tote onto the passenger seat, slid into her car and sped down Main Street, eager to get back to the waterfront and check out the finish work on the concrete slabs. Charlie had called a quarter of an hour ago to report that the final Keene mixer truck had delivered its load. Tess knew she wouldn’t be seeing anything she hadn’t already seen on other sites many times before, but she’d already missed more of the day’s events than she’d intended. She’d been at the site before seven that morning, watching while Quinn’s crew put the final touches on the foundation forms and waiting for the first mixer to appear. And she’d stopped by at lunchtime with a big pink box of Marie-Claudette’s brownies and six-packs of soft drinks.
    Now she figured it was time for a coffee break, so she pulled through one of her favorite drive-throughs to buy enough for everyone at the site. And since coffee alone was never enough in the middle of the afternoon, she stopped in at Bern’s Bakery again to purchase a dozen apple fritters. The snacks weren’t bribes for Quinn’s crew; they were a legitimate part of today’s celebration.
    Lately she’d made a habit of driving past the site early each morning on her way to work, and late every afternoon at the end of her business day. The groundwork was progressing well and in an orderly fashion—Quinn maintained a clean site.
    But not once had she found an opportunity to have the place to herself. It seemed Quinn was always there.He stayed late, working with a skeleton crew after regular hours. And he showed up early on Saturday and kept at it on into the weekend. She’d even spied his pickup parked near the foundation forms on Sunday afternoon when she’d detoured to the waterfront on a drive-through mocha run. As far as she could see, the man had no life outside the job.
    She had to admit she was impressed by the way he worked beside his men—no drive-by supervision or watching from the sidelines for Quinn. Which meant he must squeeze