A Lasting Impression

indication that she felt anything more than friendship for him. So he’d figured—up until last night—that the spirited back-and-forth between them was safe enough. But his surprising inclination toward her in the gallery was making him think otherwise.
    He needed to tell her about Cara Netta. That would help things. Yet he hadn’t been able to broach the subject. It was wrong for a man to foster daydreams about a woman when he was in a relationship—whatever that may be—with another.
    Cara Netta was kind and good and gracious and sweet, and was from a well-established family whose name opened doors at the merest mention. She was everything a man could want in a wife, and she would arrive at Belmont in a matter of days and would be expecting a proposal. One he still wasn’t prepared to extend.
    But he could be, perhaps, if the review board rendered a fair verdict. Or if the case he had formally agreed to work on with Mr. Holbrook proved to be as promising as Holbrook thought.
    The alleged incidents of art fraud were more numerous than first estimated, but gathering the necessary evidence would take the investigators time. It seemed like an almost impossible feat right now. Meanwhile, he and Holbrook were deposing clients and slowly building their case, piece by piece. And if they were to take this case to trial and win . . .
    It would change everything for him. The financial reward for the firm—and his portion of that—would go a long way to starting a thoroughbred farm.
    Pulling his thoughts back, Sutton refocused on Claire, and on the children’s faces as she described the rest of the afternoon’s activities. She’d worked so hard to make this party a success. And the fruits of her labors would go far, he knew, in rebuilding Adelicia’s relationships with begrudging peers. If Adelicia didn’t give Claire the job after all this . . .
    He thought of the letter he’d sent to his colleague in New Orleans and felt a twinge of guilt. He quickly reminded himself that Adelicia had requested the query be sent. Still, having sent that query and now growing closer to Claire as he was made him feel like he was being dishonest with her somehow. Even though he knew he was only doing his job.
    He was convinced she hadn’t known about the art auction. A person couldn’t feign that kind of surprise. Not Claire anyway. She could no more tell a lie than a bird could swim. And even though he believed everything she’d said, he also still believed she was hiding something. But he’d finally come to the conclusion it couldn’t be of huge consequence.
    Because he’d seen her sincerity. He’d felt it.
    “All right, everyone! I’ve already given each team a hint as to where your first clues are hidden, so—”
    Excited chatter rose from the youth, and Claire raised her hands to regain their attention. The chatter lowered to a simmering thrum.
    “So when the signal sounds”—she looked back at Sutton—“that will be your cue to start. The first team to gather all their clues and meet back here at the stairs is the winner, and each member of the winning team will receive a prize. Now, do you have any questions?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” William called out, standing at the head of his team. “What are the girls gonna do when the boys get all of their clues first?” His team members snickered and thumped him on the back.
    “We’ll be waitin’ right here on these stairs for you, William Acklen. That’s what we’ll be doin’!” a spunky little blonde retorted, her smile as competitive as it was pretty. Sutton had seen William talking to the girl earlier, and though they were a little young for thoughts about sparkin’, as his grandfather had called it, he’d sensed an interest on the boy’s part.
    And the grin William sneaked her way now left no doubt.
    Amidst the laughter, Claire glanced at Sutton and nodded. He raised the pistol high.
    “On your mark . . .” she shouted.
    Sutton cocked the gun. The boys leaned forward, eyes fierce with competition. The girls gripped their skirts, readying to bolt.
    “Get set . . .”
    Children and parents held a collective breath.
    “Go!”
    Sutton fired, and off the teams went. Girls in one direction, boys in the other, laughter coming from both.
    “And to our remaining guests,” Claire addressed, “we appreciate your attendance today. While our little scavengers are out hunting for their hidden treasures, Mrs. Acklen invites you to enjoy a variety of French