“Looking good,” she told Jeb Morris, a contractor with whom she’d worked before. These visits were almost a formality with Jeb; he knew enough to spot problems before they tripped him up. And he maintained high standards. A short, stocky man with a close-cropped beard, he pushed his hard hat back, his gaze resting on her. “Everything okay, Moira?” She looked at him in surprise. “Sure. Why do you ask?” He shook his head. “You seem distracted today.” Moira forced a smile. “I guess I am. Just things on my mind. Sorry, Jeb.” “Hey, no problem. I’ll walk you to your car.” Because she was visiting several sites today, she’d worn her clunky work boots, jeans and a green flannel shirt over a T-shirt, in case the day got warmer. It was May, tulips were in bloom, but the morning had been chilly. She was trying very, very hard to think about the job site and the wiring and electrical and plumbing that would soon go in, about spring flowers and how she was meeting Gray and Charlotte for lunch later.
