A Vote of Confidence by Robin Lee Hatcher Page B

She loved that the streets weren’t all straight lines, that they didn’t run north-south and east-west in perfect, square blocks. She loved that the new mixed with the old. She loved
     that the stately sandstone municipal building was across the street from the livery stable with its faded red paint.
    Cleo tilted her head toward the schoolhouse. “Did you know that Miss Thurber has been teaching the children of Bethlehem Springs
     for the past twenty-eight years? In fact, she grew up here and went to school in that same building.”
    “Yes, I’ve heard that before. We’re lucky to have her. She’s very dedicated. She told me she sometimes buys supplies with
     money out of her own salary because the school budget doesn’t stretch far enough.” Gwen shook her head. “That doesn’t seem
     right, does it?”
    “It sure doesn’t.”
    Gwen paused a moment on the sidewalk, her gaze still on the schoolhouse. “Don’t you think it looks a bit dejected?”
    “A fresh coat of paint would go a long way in helping that.”
    Gwen nodded. Yes, paint would help. But the school needed far more than that.
    They continued walking. As they approached the firehouse on Bear Run Road, they were greeted by a man hosing down the driveway
     in front of the station.
    “How’s everything, Mr. Spooner?” Cleo called to him.
    “Just peachy, Miss Arlington. Same for you and your sister?”
    “Same for us.”
    “That’s good. Nice day for a walk.”
    “We couldn’t agree more.”
    He nodded his head and returned to his work.
    After they were out of earshot, Gwen said, “After church last Sunday, Mr. Spooner told me that they could have saved the Goodman
     home if they’d had the new hoses. He said some of the hoses on the fire wagon didn’t carry more than a thimbleful of water
     before the seams burst. The volunteer brigade’s been complaining for more than a year, but the mayor never did anything. If
     he had, the Goodmans would still have a home.”
    “That’s shameful.”
    “Thank God there hasn’t been another fire since then. The whole town could go up in flames.”
    Cleo
tsk-tsked
in response. A few minutes later, when they turned onto Main Street, she pointed at the High Horse Saloon. “I heard Tattersall’s
     got a room set up for gambling in the back of that place. It’s supposed to be hush-hush, but if even I’ve heard about it,
     how come the law hasn’t done something to stop it?”
    “Because Mayor Hopkins looked the other way.”
    “Uh-huh. And who’s going to enforce Prohibition if it becomes the law? Won’t be Tattersall if he gets elected.”
    Gwen stopped and turned toward her sister. “Bethlehem Springs does need me.”
    Her sister grinned. “Isn’t that what I told you? Now you remember that the next time doubt comes knocking at your door.”
    “I will. I promise.”
    “Good girl.”

    Like his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather before him, Morgan McKinley was a man of single-minded purpose, one able
     to focus on a goal and pursue it without wavering from the chosen path. For as long as he could remember, he had been that
     way, both in his personal life and his business life. It had served him well during his school years, later as he’d sought
     healing and relief from pain for his ailing mother, and more recently, in the planning and construction of the New Hope Health
     Spa.
    That’s why his persistent thoughts about Gwen Arlington troubled him so.
    As he sat at his desk, supposedly writing something for the
Daily Herald
, he recalled the sweet curve of her mouth when she smiled. He remembered the soft scent of her lilac cologne that had teased
     his nostrils as they sat next to each other in the
Daily Herald
offices. How could a woman appear so gentle and refined and yet be such a headstrong, opinionated, obstinate —
    “Stop.” He stood and stepped to the window of his study.
    The last thing he needed was to be distracted by a female. Any female. But especially this