Dashiell scratched his head, then let his hand drop to the old wooden desk. All morning long, he'd been racking his brain for another solution to the problems Azure Bay faced, but nothing seemed to measure up to his original plan. Maybe the answer would come when he wasn't trying so hard to find it.
His focus turned to Trisha. Why couldn't he get the city woman out of his mind?
Aunt Gwen mentioned Trisha had been through rough times, but it just didn't add up. Anyone who dressed like she did couldn't have it too rough. And that rock on her finger could sustain a third world country.
He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back, trying to make sense of it all.
Trisha had a sharp tongue and wasn't afraid to speak her mind. It was clear that she didn't take any crap from anyone. It was admirable, but it wasn't an ideal trait for a politician's wife.
