Once the meeting started, Mitch morphed into Mayor Turner in formal business mode and ran efficiently through the agenda. A few minutes after the meeting started, Alana slipped into the back row of the high school auditorium, still dressed in her work clothes. Lucas had his moment in the spotlight addressing the burglaries, reminding people to lock their doors and report anything suspicious. Alana picked up a handout discarded by local rancher Jack Whiting, and paged through it, seemingly half listening to the various line items and totals. The general rustling of people slipping into spring jackets and tucking handouts into purses and coat pockets halted when Mitch spoke.
“Ms. Wentworth, I read through the information you compiled on the options and costs around renovating the library. Would you run through the situation for us?”
Clearly surprised, Alana got to her feet. When she moved, her perfume drifted into Lucas’s nose, straight to his back brain. Not possible. They were thirty feet apart, maybe more, but there it was. It took a moment, but he realized her perfume was on his skin.
“As you know, the building’s in dire need of renovation,” Alana said. “The plaster needs repairing, and the brickwork and roof are long past their best days. The Carnegie libraries are a national treasure. It would be an absolute shame to lose that building. The budget for books is adequate, but the shift in technology to e-books and e-readers means making a commitment to new technology. The computers are adequate, for now, which means in a year they’ll be hopelessly obsolete.”
“And what exactly do you recommend?”
Alana blinked, and Lucas’s radar went off. Mitch was up to something the contract librarian didn’t know anything about. “I didn’t . . . that is, all I did was update Mrs. Lancaster’s proposal to incorporate current digital strategies. But the real question that must be addressed before any renovations or shift in fund allocation occurs is what purpose does the library serve in the community? Without an answer to that question, you can’t direct the funds you have to best meet your needs.”
Don Walker, the local bank owner and spokesperson for the fiscally conservative segment of the town spoke. “Ms. Wentworth, we barely have the money to do that, let alone upgrade computers or repair a hundred-year-old building.”
“I’ve applied for a variety of state and federal technology grants,” she started, but Mr. Walker cut her off.
“We’re not in the business of supporting national treasures. What percentage of the community uses the library?” he asked. “We’ve got high-speed Internet access now. Based on what I’ve heard from Chief Ridgeway, we need to upgrade the police department’s vehicles and consider making David Wimmer a full-time officer. You’re asking us to commit a fairly sizable investment into a resource that, as you said, is well on its way to become obsolete.”
“That’s not what I said at all,” Alana replied. “Libraries become more relevant, not less, as information is digitized and democratized. Nearly a quarter of the county’s residents live below the poverty line. Those who can afford the service have high-speed Internet access. Many in Walkers Ford and the surrounding county cannot. Access to information is one of the greatest divides between rich and poor in this country. I think we’d all agree that poverty fuels crime.”
“Don’s got a good point,” Mitch said. “We’ve got an expert here, and it doesn’t cost us anything to work up a proposal. Ms. Wentworth, why don’t you put something together for the renovation project, talk to people, give us something to work with? Present it in a couple of weeks, just before you leave. How does that sound?”
As one, the audience turned to look at Alana. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “I could do that,” she said.
“Good,” Mayor Turner said. “I’m calling a special session in two weeks. Ruth, make sure the meeting announcement is posted in all the appropriate places, and book the auditorium. Talk to Ms. Wentworth about the A/V setup she’ll need for the presentation. Folks, if you have any questions or ideas, feel free to contact Ms. Wentworth. For any other business, you can contact me, or any of the council members, or Chief Ridgeway.”
Mitch’s final comment meant Lucas was surrounded by people with questions about the break-ins, information about suspicious activity occurring down every remote dirt road in the county, and a whole slew of other questions. He glanced past Don Walker’s shoulder at Alana, who was similarly surrounded. Mrs. Battle, the former English teacher who’d come out of retirement to work part-time at the library, stopped to talk to Alana before leaving.
Alana looked over Mrs. Battle’s head, straight at him. Electricity sparked along the invisible connection between them, an involuntary tug of attraction he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
Ever so slightly he lifted one eyebrow at her. Later?
She gave him a compact shake of her head, just enough to indicate Not now, and loosen her hair from its mooring behind her ear. The shiny blond strands slid forward in slow motion, setting off a sympathetic flex in his fingers as the nerves remembered the sleek feel of her hair between his fingers, the curve of her hips in his hands.
If secrecy mattered to her, they could work something out. She’d leave in a couple of weeks, which was plenty of time for him to explore every nuance of her blushes. Hell, thanks to the plumbing, they had a good cover story to explain him in her house.
Based on their chemistry, he had even better reason to be in her bed.
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