Baby, Don't Go. Stephanie Bond

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      The youngest looking one—Porter Armstrong, according to the title underneath the photo—was obviously the personality of the three, grinning at the camera. The one standing in the middle—Kendall Armstrong—looked approachable, if less gregarious. The oldest looking one—Marcus Armstrong—looked the least pleased to have his picture taken. From his body language, she could tell he was the natural leader of the group, yet he seemed to hold himself apart…a loner. She could relate.

      Those eyes… Alicia’s stomach tightened. Marcus Armstrong had the most intense stare of any man she’d ever seen.

      What would it be like to gaze into those eyes while sharing a pillow? Desire stabbed her low and deep. She shook off the sensation with a little laugh—Nina’s teasing was getting to her.

      But those eyes…

      She picked up the phone and dialed the Research Department. “Neil, this is Alicia. I need a full background report on a Marcus Armstrong, currently residing in the town of Sweetness, Georgia. M-A-R-C-U-S….”

      2

      “Okay, let’s get started,” Marcus Armstrong said to his brothers, gesturing to the current month’s schedule mounted on the wall of the trailer they’d chosen as their construction office. “We have a lot to go over.”

      A country song erupted in the room. “C’mon baby, drive south,” the singer sang before Porter could get his phone out of its clip. “Hang on—it’s Nikki,” he said, then connected the call. “Hi, baby, what’s up?”

      Marcus bit down on the inside of his cheek. His youngest brother had become even more woman-whipped lately because he was feeling the pressure of not yet having proposed to his girlfriend, Dr. Nikki Salinger, who had come to Sweetness and started their family clinic. Porter, who had been a tough foot soldier in the U.S. Army and taken shrapnel in Afghanistan, turned into a blob of ooze when it came to Nikki. Marcus tamped down irritation as his brother made goo-goo small talk, then finally ended the call.

      “Sorry,” Porter said. “Nikki wanted to square away dinner plans. Go ahead, Marcus.”

      Marcus gave him a flat smile. “Thanks. As I was saying—”

      Another song erupted in the room, this one blue-grass. “Baby, come home…baby, come home,” the tenor crooned before Kendall could get to his phone. “Just a minute, that’s Amy.” He connected the call. “Hi, baby, what do you need?”

      Marcus pushed his tongue into his cheek. His other brother, Kendall, had recently reunited with his first love, Amy Bradshaw, an engineer who’d returned to Sweetness to rebuild the Evermore covered bridge and, to Kendall’s surprise, had revealed the existence of their twelve-year-old son, Tony. After a bumpy start, the three were now a family, although Kendall, too, was feeling the pressure to marry and make it official.

      Marcus could add his brothers to the pile of love-addled workers who strung into the men’s barracks late every night because they couldn’t bear to leave their girlfriends.

      And while he was happy enough for his brothers, in the scheme of things, having the influx of women here in Sweetness had been a royal pain in his ass. Sure, they had helped to move the town forward in some areas, but overall, they were a huge distraction from getting work done, and the to-do list to meet the federal deadline in six months was still long enough to keep him awake at night. If at that time they hadn’t achieved a level of expected success in manufacturing and infrastructure, the land within the city limits and everything on it reverted back to the government and the future of Sweetness would be out of their hands.

      Marcus glanced at his watch. But apparently, he was the only person concerned about yet another day getting away from them. He glared at Kendall and gestured with a rolling motion to hurry the hell up.

      Kendall wrapped up the call and closed his phone. “Sorry about that. Amy wanted to firm up plans for dinner, too. We’re all eating together tonight at the boardinghouse, Marcus. Join us.”

      “Yeah, join us,” Porter said.

      “No, thanks,” Marcus said, less than thrilled at the idea of being the fifth wheel to their foursome… again. “And do you think the two of you could get rid of those pansy ringtones?” He gestured to the office door. “Maybe we should take the day off to look for the balls both of you seem to have misplaced.”

      Porter grinned. “One of these days, brother, you’re going to meet someone who will inspire their own ringtone.”

      “Someone you’ll be happy to hand your stones to,” Kendall added.

      “Right,” Marcus said dryly. “That’s never gonna happen.”

      Porter looked at Kendall. “Famous last words.”

      Kendall made a rueful noise. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

      “Can we get back to work?” Marcus barked.

      Porter scoffed. “Lighten up, Marcus. We’ve made tremendous progress in the past few months. We can afford to relax a little.”

      “I have to agree,” Kendall said. “The bank will be open any day now, that’s huge. Dr. Devine’s laboratory is underway, and he’s been written up in at least six national newspapers. The General Store has expanded, and now we have a pharmacy in the clinic. Our mulching business has doubled again in the last six months. The recycling plant is hiring. We’re breaking ground on the hotel today. We have a new fire truck and fire hydrants on the sidewalks my beautiful fiancée built for us.” He smiled a proud smile. “And our population is growing every month.” He pointed to the black chalk board next to the door exhibiting the number “845.”

      “The hair salon is busy, too,” Porter added.

      “Well, that’s a huge relief,” Marcus said dryly.

      “I’m just saying that at this rate, the strip of retail stores we built will be filled in no time.”

      “We have business applications now for a tax preparer, a real estate broker, a shoe store and a bakery,” Kendall added.

      “Any applications for a Justice of the Peace?” Marcus asked. “Because we have to have a peacekeeper in residence before the deadline.”

      “No,” Kendall said. “But Regina Watts, the recruiter who’s been helping us get word out about open positions, is working on it. The problem is, the salary we’re offering is a tad less than what the market is paying.”

      “How much less?”

      “The average salary for a Justice of the Peace is about fifty grand…and our budget only allows for fifty dollars. Regina’s hoping to find an attorney who’s retired…or independently wealthy.”

      Marcus sighed. “Keep me posted.” He looked at Porter. “When will the church be completed?”

      Porter squirmed in his chair. “The basement is finished. The building sections are supposed to be here by the end of next week.”

      Kendall clapped Porter on the shoulder. “Does that mean a proposal is on the horizon?”

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