All Summer Long. Susan Mallery

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      Aware that there was only one solution, she wiped her face again and walked toward the treadmills. She circled around so she came at Clay straight on, her gaze meeting his.

      He didn’t look away. He also didn’t smile. He kept running, his long legs moving with practiced ease, chewing up the miles. When she stopped in front of the machine, he straddled it and hit the stop button. Then he pulled free the earbuds and waited.

      She cleared her throat. “I was, ah, thinking. About what you said before.”

      His dark eyes were like his brothers’ but without the friendly welcome she usually got from Rafe or Shane. Guilt made her shift in place.

      “Fine,” she grumbled. “I was wrong. Is that what you want to hear? I judged you unfairly. I don’t usually but you’re not like other people.”

      “Is that your idea of an apology?”

      “Yes, and you should accept it because it doesn’t happen often.”

      “I can tell. You need practice.”

      “Bite me,” she growled, then winced when she realized he might take that wrong. “We are starting a class for volunteers,” she added quickly, before he could speak. “It will cover CPAT preparedness. Oh, CPAT stands for—”

      “Candidate Physical Ability Test. I’ve done my research.”

      “Good. Then you know you’ll need to pass it before you can start training. I run the classes.”

      “Lucky me.”

      She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not but decided not to ask. “If you’re interested in applying, you should. I’ll tell you that the volunteers are well prepared and we have high expectations. If you’re willing to do the work and be dedicated, then there shouldn’t be a problem.”

      “Do I get a break because you owe me?”

      “No. I don’t owe you and no one gets a break.”

      One corner of his mouth turned up. “Just checking.”

      “I can’t be bought.”

      “Neither can I.”

      She huffed out a breath. “The applications are online. The class starts next week.”

      “Think you’ll enjoy kicking my ass?”

      She grinned. “Oh, yeah. I run a tough class. But over ninety percent of the candidates who complete my training pass the test.” Her smile faded. “People probably assume a lot of things about you, don’t they?”

      “All the time.”

      “I’ll do my best not to let it happen again.”

      “Taking me on as a project?”

      “Hardly.” He wouldn’t need her help for anything. “I believe in being fair. Plus, I don’t like it when people judge me. Like I said, you’re welcome to apply.”

      “Thanks,” he said and smiled.

      The flash of thousand-watt attention caused a distinct clenching low in her belly. She mumbled something that she hoped sounded like “Goodbye” and made her escape.

      Once safely in the women’s locker room, she sank onto a bench and held her head in her hands. Even she knew that a clench was much, much worse than a flicker. She could only hope that Clay was a busy guy and totally forgot about applying. Otherwise, she was going to have to face him twice a week for the next eight weeks.

      And not just in a “Hi, how are you” kind of way. They would be spending serious time together, working out together. There might even be touching.

      Aware that anyone could walk into the locker room at any second, she refrained from banging her head against the wall, even though it seemed like the best plan on the table. Attracted to Clay? Talk about a stupid move.

      She straightened and squared her shoulders. No, she told herself. Being attracted to Clay wasn’t a problem. The clench was a sign that she should get started on finding the man who would take her all the way to normal. Or at least seminormal. She would take a lover, do the deed, then get on with the rest of her life. Easy.

      When she got home, she would start a list of potential instructional partners, then figure out how to tell some guy that she would very much appreciate it if he would teach her the finer points of the whole sex thing. Oh, and on her way to her place, she should probably stop by the liquor store because that conversation was going to require her to be more than a little drunk.

      * * *

      CLAY HAD PREPARED for his presentation to the city council. He’d never had to deal with a local government before, but his Haycation idea was going to change that. He wanted the business to be welcome and would use his time to show how tourists would bring plenty of dollars to the area. In return he was hoping for a few minor zoning changes and a little less trouble over permits.

      Rafe had told him that Fool’s Gold was business friendly, with Mayor Marsha Tilson taking a personal interest in what was happening in her town. Still, Clay wanted to be prepared. He was the new guy and more than willing to work harder than established businesses. It would be worth it. By this time next year, his Haycations would be going strong.

      After setting up his laptop, he tested the spreadsheet program on the large screen in the room. Then he waited for the meeting to start.

      By five to eleven, the seats around the long conference table were filled. Charlie had mentioned that women filled most of the jobs traditionally held by men and he saw that was true in city government, as well. Not one city council member was a man. The women who had filed into the room ranged from their early thirties to those “of a certain age.” The mayor had to be close to seventy.

      Clay sat in the back of the room. The mayor’s assistant had told him that while he was the star of the morning, the council would need to do a little business first. In a town as dynamic as Fool’s Gold, there was always something going on.

      As he glanced around, he found himself thinking it would be nice if Charlie were here. She’d surprised the hell out of him the other day, when she’d admitted she was wrong and apologized. He grinned as he remembered her practically biting the words as she said them. She was tough, both physically and mentally. And fair. Qualities he could admire. He found himself thinking she would have liked Diane, which was surprising. On a physical plane, they were nothing alike. Yet inside, where it mattered, they had the same strength of character.

      The mayor called the meeting to order.

      “While we’re all here to listen to Clay Stryker’s presentation, first we have an issue with parking behind the library.”

      Mayor Marsha picked up a sheet of paper and slipped on reading glasses. She wore her white hair in an upswept kind of bun. Despite the fact that much of the town subscribed to what Clay’s fashion friends would call “California casual,” she dressed in a tailored suit.

      “As most of you know, there is a lower parking lot. It’s used for overflow parking and backs up on several warehouses,” the СКАЧАТЬ