Page 23 of Tell Me Again
“Because she’s going to sell it.”
Trevor snapped his mouth shut. This was news Sam hadn’t bothered to share. “Sell it to whom?”
“A few different developers are sniffing around the property. Rumor has it she’s been talking seriously with a luxury hotel chain out of Aspen and with a major tech corporation.” She smiled widely. “I wouldn’t mind getting in on the bidding if you’ll put in a good word for me.”
“Why does she want to sell?”
Jolene gave a feline shrug and brushed invisible lint off her jacket front. “Who knows? Maybe she’s coming out of retirement. From what I hear she’s still in high demand, despite the fact that she’s a bit long in the tooth for the modeling world.”
“Are you joking? She’s in her early thirties.”
“Practically a senior citizen,” Jolene said with a trilling laugh. “Your Grace is the right age, or she will be in a couple of years.”
Familiar panic clawed at Trevor. “Grace isn’t—”
“That’s a great idea, actually. You should ask Sam to help Grace. Your daughter is tall and gorgeous. In fact she looks a little—a lot—like...” Jolene trailed off, her eyes going wide. “Is Sam,” she asked, “Grace’s mo—”
“No.” The word leapt from his throat on a shout, and Jolene took a step back. “Sam is not my daughter’s mother.” At least that statement was true, although he could see Jolene didn’t believe it.
“I won’t tell a soul,” she whispered.
“Because it isn’t true.” He shook his head. “I’ve got to go, Jolene. I’m still not sure why you wanted me here this morning.”
She eased closer. “Trevor, honey, I want you everywhere. Supermodel ex-girlfriend or not.”
“She’s not...” He didn’t finish that sentence because whatever Sam had been to him was nobody’s business but his. “Dale is good at what he does.”
“He’s also happily married.”
“This is business, Jolene. Don’t make it into something more. You’ve got a chance with this development to make your mark, to step out from your father’s shadow. We’re at the start here, and if you go down that path, everyone will know it. Remember, it’s a small community.”
She studied him for a moment then nodded. “You’re a good man, Trevor Kincaid.”
“I don’t know about that, but I’m a man who’s spent too much time standing around this morning. Call if you need me, but try Dale first.”
“I will,” she agreed, and stuck out her hand.
That was different, since normally Jolene tried to buss him on the cheek or cop a feel at the end of their meetings. With a smile, he shook her hand and then headed for his truck. He managed to get a hold of the electrician and push back their meeting time, and then headed for the building supplies store on the edge of town.
He went immediately to the contractors’ desk, which also seemed to double as a local watercooler. He was running behind so, other than a few friendly waves, didn’t bother to engage in conversation.
Unfortunately, Otis Whitton, the store’s manager, called his name just as he was signing for his latest order.
“I sent that lumber you ordered over to Bryce Hollow Camp already,” the older man shouted. He rolled his desk chair over to the door of the office that sat behind the crowded counter.
“Got it, Otis,” Trevor said, avoiding eye contact with anyone else. “I’m ordering a couple more joists.”
“Bryce Hollow?” One of the men standing in the small group grabbed Trevor’s arm. “That summer camp for troublemakers and degenerates out past the old Barker place?”
“Careful, Fred.” Trevor shook off the man’s grasp. “Degenerate is a four-syllable word. That’s about three more than you can handle most days.”
The other men laughed, but Fred didn’t even blink. “What are you doing at the summer camp? You build houses.”
Trevor shrugged. “Some work for an old friend. In fact, I’m late for—”
“’Atta boy.” Fred chortled, scratching his stubby fingers across the ratty T-shirt that stretched over his belly. “You know what that means, fellas. One of us is boinking the perfume princess.”
Trevor felt his whole body go still. He glanced at each of the men in turn, their smiles fading as they saw his body language change.
