Free Dearest Enemy by Renee Simons

she turned toward the sheriff's voice and found him leaning against the door frame. "Is this your family?"
    "Was. Three hundred and fifty years ago."
    Around the same time Dorotea and Fernando’s house had been built. She traced the outline that seemed to encompass many thousands of acres. "Did they own all this land?"
    "Briefly," he replied, moving to his desk with his Stetson and glasses in hand.
    "What happened?"
    He seemed embarrassed. "They lost it." He reached into the center drawer and took out a manila folder. "You have to sign these."
    "Shouldn't I have a lawyer?"
    "You did. My father. He made sure these give you what you want."
    "Is he still practicing?"
    "He gave it up long ago, but he hasn't forgotten how the system works."
    She examined the document. "Apparently not," she murmured.
    Relief flooded through her. She'd have unimpeded use of the land for two years, an option for a third and an opportunity to petition for another extension after that should the land remain available. Exactly the break I need .
    A shadow darkened Luc’s eyes.
    "Your father was generous," Callie said. "I'm sorry you're not pleased about that."
    His shoulders lifted and fell in the shrug she'd seen before and recognized as an elegant substitution for anger, frustration or resignation. "Like I said — things don't always work out the way we plan."
    "And shortly after, someone sabotaged the scaffolding. I wonder what I should expect this time."
    His eyes narrowed briefly. "Why expect anything?"
    She mimicked his shrug. "Why indeed?" She took a pen from several in a cracked coffee cup and signed all three copies. "Done."
    Luc handed one back to her. "For your records."
    "Have you had any luck investigating the collapse?"
    "Not so far."
    She folded the papers and slipped them into her knapsack as she walked to the door. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

     
    * * *

     
    A visit from Mercedes Gunn did surprise her. The woman wore black as she had at the meeting. Callie wondered if she ever wore any other color, or if she affected a kind of uniform to intimidate others. And she did present an imposing picture: tall, spare, stern-visaged with an unsmiling mouth and those eerie, grey eyes that seemed to hint at a dark and angry nature.
    "Please come in," Callie said. "I've no furniture to speak of, but you can join me at the bridge table for tea."
    “I've come to talk business and we can do that out here on the porch."
    Porch, my foot. It's a veranda, lady . Callie bristled silently in defense of her once proud house. "Very well, Mrs. Gunn."
    "You've obviously decided to go ahead with the restoration,” Mercedes Gunn said, “despite my feelings on the subject." Her resentment was obvious.
    "I couldn't have done that without the Board's permission." Callie made a point of keeping her own tone of voice gentle, without rancor. "Yours was the only vote against."
    "Be that as it may, I'm here to make an offer — one businesswoman to another — that will allow you to turn a quick profit on whatever you've invested so far. I'm not a wealthy woman, but I am prepared to offer you two hundred thousand dollars if you'll cease all work on the house, drop this insane idea and leave Blue Sky."
    "The amount you've offered would barely compensate me for my investment to date. If I were to leave. But I'm not, Mrs. Gunn. I like it here. I'm determined to complete the restoration."
    "Are you holding out for more money?" Mercedes' eyes narrowed with suspicion. Her jaw tightened as she seemed to struggle with her anger. "I could come up with another fifty thousand, but that's my top offer."
    "Keep your money. I'm not interested."
    "Who are you, Miss Patterson?"
    "I beg your pardon?" Callie wrinkled her brow at the woman's abrupt change in direction.
    Mercedes’ drill-sergeant posture stiffened even further. "You are a parvenu,” she said, “a newcomer, with no history here and, therefore, no right to come in and stake a claim where you don't belong and