Rachel Lee by A January Chill Page A

Some of the gauntness that had appeared after his wife's death had filled out. But there was still a haunted look in his eyes from time to time. Hardy decided not to mention it. He was never quite sure how to deal with grief. Mention it? Ignore it so as not to reawaken it?
    "I hear you bid on Witt's hotel."
    Hardy's head snapped up. "You know, the grapevine in this town is unbelievable. Where'd you hear that?"
    "From one of Witt's cronies. My guess would be he's been sounding off a little."

    "Probably." Hardy shook his head and decided to drink some coffee before he answered. But with the cup halfway to his mouth, he paused.
    "You know, this town is the damnedest place."
    "That's one of the things I like about it," Sam remarked. He cradled his cup as if his hands were cold. "Something happens around here, damn near everyone knows who did it. Makes my job easy. On the other hand, everyone's going to know you were hanging out with Joni."
    "I bet." Hardy flashed a smile, then sighed and sipped his coffee. "I thought going into the coop would be safe."
    Sam shrugged. "I dunno. How many people saw you and Joni head in there?"
    "Well, you did, apparently."
    "I'm not saying a word about that anywhere. Soon as I measured the gossip rate around here, I figured a closed mouth was my best protection."
    "Other folks don't feel the same." "Little enough to occupy them.
    Work and talking about the neighbors is it. Most of it's not meanspirited, though. Just interested."
    "Witt would have a cow."
    Sam grinned. "Now, that's something you don't see every day."
    Hardy laughed; he couldn't help it. Sam was putting things in perspective. "I'm worried about Joni, though. She loves that man like a father."
    "Then don't be having coffee with her in broad daylight." Sam paused, sipped his coffee. The waitress came with their meals, asked if they needed anything else, then went back to the other customers. Sam cast his gaze around, apparently assessing the others.
    Then he leaned across the table and said in a low voice that barely carried over the cacophony of the people talking and eating, "Maybe I recognize it because of my ... loss. But I've seen how you look at that woman, Hardy. From clear across the street. Like a man who wants something so bad he can hardly stand it."
    Hardy's first reaction was shock. He couldn't believe he'd been so transparent. Worse, he didn't want to believe that the aching inside him was that strong. He'd spent twelve years avoiding Joni like the plague, and for damn good reason. The whole idea that he was carrying some stupid kind of torch made him rebel.
    He opened his mouth to tell Sam he was imagining things, but the lie wouldn't come. He couldn't even tell it to himself anymore. Part of the reason he'd been avoiding Joni was because he was afraid of what would happen if they got too close. Sort of like matter and antimatter. One humongous uncontrolled explosion, and then .
    nothing.
    Because all he could be feeling was a yearning for a hope lost. He didn't even know Joni anymore.

    "I don't need to do anything about it, Sam."
    "Maybe not." Sam let the subject go and tucked into his lunch. Hardy followed suit, figuring that if they both had their mouths full they couldn't talk about anything uncomfortable.
    But that didn't keep him from thinking uncomfortable thoughts. Later as he walked home, he wondered just how self-deluded he was.
    The first words Witt said to Hannah as he stormed into her house were,
    "Joni gave that bid package to Hardy, didn't she?"
    Hannah didn't know how to reply to the certainty in his tone. She didn't want to outright lie, but she also wanted to protect her daughter. In the end she said nothing at all.
    "Don't bother to deny it," Witt said as if she had tried. "I talked to all the architectural firms. None of them passed the package on. You and Joni were the only other people with access."
    Hannah sat in the armchair and watched Witt pace a tight circle through the living and dining