Carolina Girl (McCloud Brothers) Paperback - 2004

First line

"You're kidding me, right?" Aurora Jenkins glanced at the nearly empty budget file the head of the tourist commission handed her.

Excerpt

ONE

“You’re kidding me, right?” Aurora Jenkins glanced at the nearly empty budget file the head of the tourist commission handed her. “You want me to spin gold out of straw, too?”

Shrugging his narrow shoulders at her disparaging words, Terry Talbert retreated to his desk so she didn’t tower over him. “We’re all volunteers here, Rora. We have a million-dollar grant, but no one with your financial expertise.”

No one else had her big mouth and opened it so frequently, she corrected, mentally kicking herself. She’d just been laid off from her lucrative bank position for opening her mouth one too many times. But this time, she’d done it for her family.

She could fix her career easily enough, but she was pinning her family’s future on the state park plan represented by this meager file. Volunteering her time and expertise had seemed the best means of getting on the inside track. Now it looked as if she would have the responsibility of making the park happen. No point endangering this golden opportunity by telling Terry he was a lazy bum.

Shouldering her bag, she slipped the file into it. “I’ll start with land acquisitions. Who’s this Thomas Clayton McCloud? I’ve never heard of him.” This was a small town and she’d grown up here. She thought she knew everyone.

“Some computer guru the mayor’s mother thinks is cute.” Terry grimaced in distaste. “You know how things get done around here. ”

Yep, she did. She’d just landed this position because she’d been Terry’s high school lab partner. Networking, that was called in the city.

“And ‘cute’ will acquire the land how?” she asked. “With charming smiles and asking if we could have the beach, pretty please?”

Terry snorted. “Not from McCloud. He’s a surly bastard. Check him out. He’s usually sitting on the courthouse roof at this hour.”

Oh, good, surly bastards were right up her alley. A good fight to get the old adrenaline going, and she could put an end to the park right now. Keep the big mouth shut, Rora.

“Is it too soon to resign my commission?” Rolling her eyes but not giving back the file, Rory headed for the door. She’d accomplished more impossible feats than persuading budgets out of surly computer gurus who sat on courthouse roofs. Maybe not any quite so colorful, though. The sophisticated city life she’d been leading paled in comparison.

“Don’t strangle him until you get the list of landowners out of him!” Terry called after her.

Once she had the list of heirs to that tract, the state could start purchasing land for the park. The sooner the island had a park, the sooner they could bring some tourist money in here to fill her family’s pockets, and she could be on her way again. Maybe she would take a job in Chicago this time. The skyline there was spectacular, and the culture and nightlife beat Charlotte’s by a country mile. A career move would be good for her.

Walking out of city hall, she nearly bumped into Jeff Spencer, the town banker, conversing with the elderly mayor. They both knew her but didn’t acknowledge her existence. Recognizing the attitude, she shrugged and stepped out of their way. She wasn’t rocking any more boats these days.

Breathing in the sweet scent of blooming jasmine, she glanced up the oak-lined street to her rural hometown’s only claim to a skyline. The gilding on the clock tower of the courthouse gleamed in the bright May sun.

Built shortly after the Civil War, the steepled courthouse was too small and dark to be effective for anything except record keeping, but they still used it for all their criminal proceedings. Not that a place this size had much more than a few drunk-and-disorderlies.

Given her father’s rowdy habits, Rory had been on the inside of the courthouse a few more times than she cared to recall—one of the many reasons the town’s substantial citizens ignored her.

Walking beneath live oaks trailing gray beards of Spanish moss, she studied the high-pitched roof of the city landmark, easily locating what appeared to be a half-naked Greek god perched at the peak, tampering with the clock’s internal mechanism. It looked to her like it would be easier to tackle the job from inside the tower, but who was she to argue with mechanical genius? Or Greek gods? His shoulders alone were awe-inspiring.

The clock never had run properly, not since the mayor’s daddy “fixed” it back during World War II, according to town legend. She kind of liked the fact that the clock always ran slow no matter how many times someone set it. It seemed to depict the town’s cautious attitude of living one step behind the times.

If McCloud looked as good up close as he did from down here, she’d be willing to climb up there and join him.

Obviously a victim of her sexless life, Rory shook her head at her voyeurism. She had enough complications in her life without adding a man to it. Someday her prince might come, but in the meantime she was perfectly happy building her own castles.

Emerging from the shade to stand on the courthouse lawn, she called up to him. “Thomas McCloud?” She wondered if her voice would carry that far. Climbing the ladder leaning against the side of the building wasn’t on her agenda for the morning.

Rory couldn’t tell whether it was her voice that caused him to halt what he was doing or if he’d just decided to take a drink. Either way, he slipped his screwdriver into a tool belt, picked up a bottle of water, and glanced downward through his expensive wraparound sunglasses.

Calling his name again, she waved at him to catch his attention.

From her view on the ground, Thomas McCloud could have doubled as a movie star—sun-bleached hair, slim hips, taut, tanned abdomen, and admirable pecs. And all attitude, she’d just about swear, waiting for the movie-star illusion to dispel the instant McCloud opened his mouth.

Shoving the aviator glasses into his thick, wavy hair, he lifted the water bottle in a salute, took a drink, set the bottle down on a ledge, and pulled his screwdriver out of his tool belt, completely ignoring her. Attitude. She’d known it. The good-looking ones were born with it.

“Thomas McCloud, I need to talk with you!” she shouted at him.

He carefully unscrewed one corner of the clock frame and dropped the screws into a pouch on his belt without once looking down.

She damned well didn’t intend to stand here screaming like a jay, making a spectacle of herself. The townspeople already thought little enough of her family without confirming their “trailer trash” reputation.

Rory marched around the courthouse and up the steps. She’d been the one who’d taught her classmates how to climb up into the tower.

She supposed a sensible person would have gone on to the next order of business and hoped to catch one Thomas Clayton McCloud in another time and place. But life had taught her that the timid got walked over and the stubborn got things done.

Besides, he’d ticked her off by ignoring her. She wouldn’t have accomplished as much as she had if she’d let people ignore her.

“How you doing, Elena?” Leaning on the counter in the DMV office, Rory greeted the file clerk who’d worked there for decades.

Sliding her purple-rimmed glasses on top of her gray hair, the clerk smiled a greeting. “Aurora, how good to see you!”

Rory waved her hand at the door partially hidden behind a bank of file cabinets. “I need to climb up there and talk to the clown on the roof. Is the staircase accessible these days?”

“He’s a sight to behold, isn’t he? If only I were thirty years younger.” Elena reached behind an antique wooden file cabinet and removed a key from a hook.

“I thought it was only the high school kids who sought attention by climbing up there.” Rory accepted the key and started around the counter.

“He never talks to anyone, so I guess it’s not attention he’s after.” She tucked a pencil into the bun of hair at her nape and grabbed a shrilly ringing phone, waving Rory on.

Clasping the key in her fist, Rory wended her way past desks and cabinets and assorted equipment to pry open the squeaking door. She wrinkled her nose at the musty stench emanating from the wooden structure. If the town ever hired a real live fire marshal who actually inspected buildings, he’d probably condemn this stairway. Until then, she needed a broom to clear out the cobwebs.

Checking a nearby janitor’s closet and finding a worn broom, Rory thanked the good Lord for people who never changed their habits. She could swear this was the same broom she’d used the first time she’d sneaked up the stairs. Wielding the handle, she brushed aside cobwebs and cleared a path.

The old staircase seemed safe enough. With her sensible heels slapping the wooden treads so he could hear her coming, Rory climbed to the third-story landing and located the vent overlooking the roof.

“McCloud!” she called, rattling the louver until it opened enough for her to see out. “I need to talk with you. You want to do it here or somewhere more appropriate?”

The clock tower was actually overhead, perched on the peak of the roof, so she had to look up as well as out to see the mechanic. Mostly she could see his long, jeans-clad legs. Apparently amused by her call, he peered over his sunglasses at the open louvers, but she figured he couldn’t see her. “There’s a ladder in here,” she shouted. “I can climb up there if I have to.”

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