Amanda made a weird face. “I don’t have any old lady clothes or sexy librarian stuff like you wear,” she said. “But I could maybe tone it down a little.”
“How about we compromise with one bright color a day? And maybe jeans that don’t show more than they should?”
“Fine by me. Would you like me to get you a coffee?”
Hmm. That sounded good. “Tell you what, you like those lattes from the café. Why don’t you get one and I’ll take a black coffee. Here’s some cash. And then, please find out when everyone can come in for a staff meeting. We need to chat.”
“That’s going to be a bit tough on Hugo, but I can give him a ride from the nursing home if that’s okay with him.”
“We’ll figure it out. I’d also like to talk to the printer, and before you leave today, I need access to those books. I’ll hire an accountant this afternoon.”
“Got it, Boss!” She hopped up. “Coffee, and then I’ll make the calls. Thank you!”
Macy smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Amanda turned back when she reached the door. “Uh, there’s one other thing.”
Macy’s eyebrow rose, but she didn’t say anything.
“I have to write a feature story for one of my classes. I know it’s a lot to ask, but if I can find the subject, can you just edit it for me? You know, like a real editor would?”
Someone long ago had done that for Macy, and life really was about karma. “Sure. Just bring it to me when you’re ready.”
A bright smile lit Amanda’s face. “Wow. You really aren’t the complete witch we thought you were.”
When she shut the door, Macy snorted.
Well, at least there’s that.
6
F
OR
THE
PAST
two days, a certain newspaper publisher had avoided Blake. She’d claimed that she was too busy with work. He didn’t consider it stalking when he’d driven by the newspaper office on the way to the feed store and noticed her car was there.
No. It wasn’t stalking.
For the life of him, he didn’t understand why he couldn’t get her out of his head.
Well, except for the fact that she was sexy as hell, smart and funny when she wanted to be. The waitress at the Lone Star Café had been gossiping about the new lady with the giant dog when he had his breakfast that morning.
“She’s so uppity. Have you seen her walking around? That sneer on her face. I want to tell her that she’ll catch more bees with honey, but she tips good so I ain’t sayin’ a darn thing,” the waitress said.
Obviously, not everyone saw Macy the way he did. But then, he had heard her story. Orphaned, world traveler who was in search of a home. He knew that last bit because he felt the same way.
He was lucky that he had his mom, and that would always be home. Nevertheless, he was at a crossroads in his life. Again, he was lucky that he had many opportunities open to him. A marine to his core, the idea of desk duty didn’t sit well with him. Pushing papers might be great for some folks; he liked to stay active and to be challenged.
There were a couple of business opportunities. He could take over one of the divisions of the security company he’d invested in with Rafe and Will. And his brother, J.T., had mentioned a number of other businesses that were looking to expand into Tranquil Waters. He liked the idea of being in on the ground floor of something and watching it grow.
His phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but he picked it up.
“Hello.”
“Lieutenant Michaels, this is Amanda from the
Tranquil Waters News
calling for Ms. Reynolds. She’s in a meeting right now, but she wondered if you might be available to stop by the office either today or tomorrow afternoon.”
Ms. Reynolds, eh. “Today is fine. What time?”
“Four-thirty will work well with her schedule.”
“Fine by me.”
They hung up.
She didn’t call him herself, but she wanted to see him. Was she going to pawn his story off on another reporter?
He’d already told her that he wouldn’t trust anyone else.
Glancing at the clock, he realized he had about an hour before the meeting.
She had a penchant for sweets. She said it was one of her few vices when she showed him her version of a whoopie pie.
Blake knew exactly what to do.
* * *
S
TANDING
IN
FRONT
of the bathroom mirror at her office, Macy pushed her curls into some semblance of a style and reapplied her lipstick. She tried to convince herself that it wasn’t for Blake’s benefit.
Liar.
I need to look my best so I can convince him that my new plan for the story is a great one.
She wasn’t sure he’d see it that way. Mentally, she prepared counter arguments for many of the points he might bring up.
Her eyelashes, which were much lighter than her hair color, were barely visible. She pulled out the mascara Cherie had insisted she buy on her shopping spree and applied a coat to one eye.
As she did the other, someone knocked on the door. She jabbed the stick into her eye, leaving a trail of black down her cheek.
“Banana shakes.” Her least favorite flavor.
“Sorry, but your four-thirty is here. You told me to let you know as soon as he arrived,” Amanda said.
“Thanks. I’ll be there in just a minute.”
Gathering up some tissues, she dabbed at the eye and did her best to remove the black makeup.
Most of it came off, but...that’s when she remembered the sales woman telling her that she’d need an oil-based cleanser to remove it entirely.
Wonderful.
Both eyes were red now and watering. Why was it that if you poked one eye, both of them did that? This was useless. She could call out to Amanda and cancel the meeting, but Blake would know she was here.
She had no other choice.
When her nose started running, she did the only thing she could. Tucking a good chunk of toilet paper up her sleeve, she went to the reception area to meet Blake.
Concern etched his face when he saw her. “Did something happen?” He reached out to touch her, but then pulled back.
She remembered what he said about not wanting to touch her until she asked.
“I was going to lie and say allergies, but I’m not so good at lying. I stuck my mascara wand in my eye and now my face has turned into a faucet.”
Blake coughed to cover a chuckle. But she knew what he’d done, and she smiled.
“Yes, I am beauty and grace.” She curtsied.
“Do you want to postpone the meeting?” he asked.
“I’m okay, as long as you don’t mind my weepy face.”
“That face is beautiful no matter what is going on.”
“Such a flatterer. I bet you say that to all the women.”
“No, only one woman.” He said it so low, she wasn’t sure she heard him right.
Clearing her throat, she motioned to the chair across from her desk. She’d cleaned out all the file cabinets that had crowded the space and moved the heavy, carved desk so that it faced the door. She’d painted the dull army green a bright cream and brought in some art. She spent most of her days in the space and she liked that it was comfortable.
He set a box from the café on her desk. Then he pushed it toward her. “These are a peace offering for invading your space the other day. I should have called before I came by.”
She grinned. “You surprised me, but I didn’t take offense. I’m just not in a space where I can—” She lifted the lid on the box. “You got Mrs. Chesaline to make her éclairs? But she only does that on the second Tuesday of the month. I was waiting at the door last week at 5:00 a.m. when I found out what day she made them.”
“I heard.” He grinned.
She shook her head and frowned. “This town. I swear everything you do is circumspect.”
“Yes, but it has its advantages, as well. When you need a helping hand, it’s there. You’ll see.”
She wasn’t so sure about that. It was easy for the handsome marine. The town hero home from the battlefield. Not so much for an uptight reporter who was too nosy for her own good.
“I appreciate you taking the time to come over. I’ve been tied up in interviews all day.”
“Who were you interviewing? That is if you can tell me,” he said.
“Oh. Uh. Actually, I’m hiring a couple of reporters. Well, I’m hoping I can find reporters who can also edit and lay out pages. I found an ad salesman, next up I need an accountant.”
“Is that why you called?” He leaned forward and she caught his pine scent. It wasn’t fair that he was beautiful and smelled so good.
“Excuse me?”
“About the accounting position. I don’t practice but I do have my license.”
She’d forgotten about him having an MBA. The man was so much more than eye candy, which made him so darn appealing. As if he needed any help.
“Well, you know. If you don’t mind consulting until I can find someone for us full-time, that would be appreciated.”
He nodded. “I can do that. I have something on for tonight, but I’ll take a look tomorrow.”
Wait, what kind of plans did he have? Was it a date? Why should it matter to her?
Because you know he wants to kiss you.
They had chemistry. But he was so hot he probably had that with every woman he met. He didn’t seem like a player, but her track record wasn’t the best when it came to men. She no longer trusted her instincts in that regard.
“Tomorrow. Yes. Listen, I appreciate you stepping in temporarily, but that isn’t why I asked you to stop by.”
He started to say something, but stopped.
Her eyebrow rose. “Please, go ahead.”
“I was hoping you asked me for personal reasons.”
She smiled. “I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. It’s about the interview. The one for your story.”
He leaned back in his seat and eyed her suspiciously. “Are you doing the interview?”
“Hear me out, please.”
Frowning, he stood. “Look, I understand this is what you people do, but I told you. I’m not interested in talking to anyone else.”
“Why, because you like me?”
“I do, but it’s because I trust you. And I’ve read your work. Whatever you wrote, it would be fair.” His voice had grown raw and deep.
She’d touched a nerve.
“You’re right. It would be fair if I did the article. And I’m flattered you know that. But what I have in mind goes far beyond just you. The person is someone you’ll trust even more than me.”
He crossed his arms. “Who?”
“You.”
He huffed. “I’m no writer, and it doesn’t make sense for me to do a story on myself. You should know I’m not a big fan of games.” He was to the door in three strides.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t explain it well. But I’m not exactly sure what it was I said that set you off.”
He didn’t turn around, but he didn’t open the door.
“I thought it would be interesting if you interviewed other veterans, there are so many at the nursing home and the Lion’s Club. Not really about war, but about what it’s like to come home. How hard it is for families and friends who weren’t there to understand what you’ve gone through.” She stood, but didn’t move toward him.
Instead, she continued. “The first time I came home from Afghanistan, I couldn’t process what had happened. I tried to pretend like it was another life. But after a year of being stressed about everything, even if I’d ever live to write my next story—” She took a deep breath and pushed the painful memories away.
“I was in the newsroom in Boston. One minute I was packing up to go home and the next I was huddled, shivering at my desk unable to speak.
“My uncle Todd came to the rescue again. He’d covered Desert Storm. He got it. And he’s the one who called my friend Cherie, who happens to be a psychiatrist. Between the two of them, I was able to talk about it.
“And Cherie taught me coping mechanisms. So thankfully I was able to go back. I had to go back. A lot of important stories needed telling. You get why I had to go back? You’ve done it time and again yourself, but many people don’t. But what we don’t always realize is that it not only takes a toll on us—you and I—it takes a toll on our family and our friends.”
As he turned to face her, a myriad of emotions passed over his face. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the back of the chair he’d been sitting in. She didn’t worry, though, and she certainly didn’t fear him. This was his way of channeling anger.
“Being overseas in such conditions—it changes us, Blake. Sometimes for the better, other times not. As much as I’m a loner, I’m a lot more compassionate than I ever was. A journalist must be objective, but even I had to examine my life when I got home again.”
She took her seat and gestured for him to take his. “I want to tell you something off the record. Something no one, except Cherie, has heard me say. I’m telling you because I know I can trust you.”
“You can trust me,” he said gruffly.
Why did she feel the need to confess? She didn’t talk to anyone like this.
He sat in his chair. “You don’t have to tell me right now,” he said. “I believe you. And I’m sorry I—lost my temper. I’m trying very hard to simplify my life. Get up in the morning, do my job, go to sleep at night. I need that kind of routine right now. Things have to be easy.”
“I get that. I suppose it’s why I’m a workaholic. It happens to be the one constant in my life. We really are a lot more alike than either of us wants to admit.”
A long silence followed before he spoke up. “Your idea for the veterans story and their experiences back home is a great one, but I’m not a writer. And you’ve been there, anyway. Seems to me you’d be perfect for the job.”
“Thanks for that. But they’d still be talking to a reporter. I feel like...” She paused. Frustrated she wound a curl around her finger. “This might be really positive for them. I’ll help you write the stories, but you need to be the one to do the interviews. How these men and women learned to assimilate back into society could be important for soldiers who are still coming home.”
“They have programs,” he said, crossing his legs. “Most branches of the military have a system in place where they work with families and do just that. Assimilate.”
“Yes, I know, but how you’d write the story would be completely different. Everyone who comes home deals with it in his or her own way. That’s why this will work. Readers will be able to say, ‘Hey, that’s the way I felt.’ Or, ‘No wonder my dad spent so much time alone in his study.’”
“It all sounds kind of therapist-like to me,” he said.
She knew exactly what he meant. “It would be if I had a psychologist writing the stories. I tell you what, how about you do one or two interviews and see how it goes? If it’s not your thing—I won’t say another word about it.”
Harley grumbled beside her and then made her way around to Blake where she placed her head on his lap. Her stomach made an appalling noise.
“Do you need me to walk her?” Blake asked as he stroked the dog’s head.
“No, she only went out an hour or so ago. It’s time for her dinner, though, and she gets two
c-o-o-k-i-e-s.
” Harley’s head popped up and she immediately began to drool on his shoe. “You cannot spell!”
Blake laughed. “I’m not so sure about that. I need to get going. I’ll think about what you said. Maybe I’ll have an answer for you tomorrow when I come check your books.”
“You’ll still do that?”
“Said I would, and I always keep my word.”
“Thank you. I do appreciate it, and I promise I’ll do my best to find someone to help me on a more permanent basis.”
“There’s something else you should think about,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“The story you were about to tell me. I saw that look in your eyes. I know it well. If we eventually do this, you should share your own story with readers. It isn’t just the military that is overseas and comes back wounded physically and mentally.”