Welcome Back to Rambling, TX

by June Faver

  “Reggie Lee?”

  “I—uh, he’s here.”

  Phillip stared at her, his expression blank. “Who?”

  Reggie Lee rolled her eyes. “Franklin Bell. He’s here!” She delivered this news in a hoarse whisper. “Rosie Bell Grady’s heir.” She fought down the panic clawing at her throat. “He’s here to destroy the paper.”

  Phillip shuffled the papers on his desk, his eyes darting around the cluttered space. “Well, he should have called.”

  Reggie stamped her foot. “He owns the place. He doesn’t need to call for an appointment.”

  He glanced up at her, his eyes glazed with fear.

  “Oh, never mind.” Reggie Lee turned and marched out the door, having recovered her own courage when presented with such an impressive display of cowardice.

  Frank Bell was perched on her desk, reading her monitor. “It’s not bad. Just needs some punch.”

  Anger flared in her gut. “And are you an authority on journalistic style now?”

  Frank raised an eyebrow. “I believe that’s your area of expertise.”

  She sniffed. “Well, then…” She took her seat and rolled toward the keyboard. “If you’ll excuse me, I must get back to work.”

  He placed his hand on her keyboard. “Perhaps you can show me around first. Give me a tour of the place.” He seemed to be devouring her with his gaze. “I mean, since old man Campbell isn’t in any hurry for his obituary.”

  She swallowed. “Surely you’ve been here before.”

  His lips twitched in an ironic little semblance of a smile. “How gracious. I haven’t been in this building in over twelve years. I figured things might have changed a bit.”

  She sighed. “They have changed. I’m sorry if I was…abrupt.” She swiveled her chair and rose to her feet. “The guided tour starts now. Follow me.” She stood and strode purposefully toward Phillip’s office. Let him share in the joy.

  She led Frank into Phillip’s office without knocking. “Franklin Bell, this is Phillip Jergens, editor of the Gazette. Phil, Frank is the new owner of the building.” Reggie turned and crossed her arms over her chest. It gave her a molecule of satisfaction that Frank appeared to be seriously disconcerted.

  Phil, for his part, looked dazed. He half stood and extended his hand. “Mr.—Mr. Bell. I’m… I’m delighted to meet you.”

  “Call me Frank.” He grasped Phil’s hand and pumped it.

  She had to stifle the urge to laugh at Phil’s expression. He looked like a large rat caught with his tail in the trap. He gestured to a chair opposite his desk. “Please sit down, Frank.”

  Frank pointed to the chair beside him and indicated Reggie was to sit. “Tell me about the newspaper. It was just pointed out to me that I am completely ignorant of the publishing business, so enlighten me.”

  Reggie sank onto the worn leather chair, biting her tongue to keep her acerbic words in check.

  Frank sat and crossed his legs loosely at the ankle, completely at ease.

  “Well…well…” Phil stumbled for words.

  Reggie sighed and took over. “The Gazette is the only weekly newspaper in the county. We print the news, the social events, school functions, births, marriages, and deaths. Local crimes are reported as well as divorces and a letters to the editor op-ed column and, of course, the Dear Irene column.” She heaved a deep breath. “The community depends on the Rambling Gazette for local news.”

  “What about advertisers? Who supports the paper?” Frank gazed at her with interest.

  She moistened her lips. “Local businesses advertise regularly, and we have subscribers.”

  He arched a brow at her and then swung his gaze to Phil. “So, are you saying that the newspaper is a thriving business?”

  Phil stammered, making unintelligible sounds.

  “Tell me, then, who is your biggest advertiser?”

  “The vineyard,” Phil answered promptly. “And the Dairy Queen and flower shop.”

  Frank leaned forward, knitting his brows into a frown. “You’re telling me that my aunt supported the local newspaper with advertising from her own businesses?”

  Phil shrank visibly.

  “We have other advertisers,” Reggie said. “The Grey Moss Inn is a regular advertiser and the supermarket…and, uh…Stafford’s runs a small weekly ad.” Her cheeks were flaming as she sat with her lips pressed together.

  “I see,” Frank said. “The other enterprises that my aunt owned seem to be flourishing. Providing the newspaper with free rent seems to have been a charity of hers.”

  Phil’s voice rose a whole octave. “Charity?” he squeaked.

  “Tomorrow. I’ll be here in the morning at ten, and you can walk me through the building. Show me what’s on the upper three floors…perhaps share the financials. I would like to feel confident about the newspaper’s ability to support itself for the next quarter.” He rose and extended his hand to Reggie as though to shake it. “Thank you for…the tour.”

  She shivered as he enveloped her hand in his. Instead of shaking it, he raised it to his lips, gazing into her eyes as he pressed a kiss against her fingers.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gently placed her hand back in her lap and strode out.

  “Oh, my,” Phil moaned. “Oh, my.”

  Chapter 3

  Reggie couldn’t sleep. She had fed Shannon and bathed her and read her a story before tucking her into bed. Now she tossed and turned in her own bed, dreading the dawn when she would learn the fate of the Gazette.

  It was worse than she had thought. He was going to close the newspaper. He would destroy the only source of local news for the entire county. A dozen of her fellow employees would be out of work, some of whom had worked at the Gazette for decades.

  How could that selfish, arrogant asshole throw so many people into the unemployment line? Because he’s a selfish, arrogant asshole.

  She fluffed her pillow and turned over. Not going to think about Frank Bell.

  She thought about Frank Bell. Thought about his green eyes staring at her hungrily. Thought about his lips brushing against her fingers. Thought about his voice as he’d crooned, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  In the morning, Reggie Lee was at work at eight sharp. She went through her desk and cleaned out all the debris from her drawers. When Frank announced he was throwing the Gazette out of the old red-brick building, she would simply pick up her nameplate and the picture of Shannon and depart with as much dignity as she could gather. No tears. No goodbyes. No regrets.

  She glanced at Phil’s office. It remained dark. He was probably going over the financials in the bookkeeping office, making sure everything was in order.

  She returned her attention to a sheaf of paper she found in the bottom of her left-hand lower drawer. These papers had been stuffed there since before her time, and she’d never bothered to purge them. Well, now was the time. Whoever took over this building could at least have a clean desk.

  Shoving the papers into her wastebasket, she realized it was overfull, so she carried it to the dumpster behind the building. On her way, she noticed that Phil’s parking space was empty. Well, he probably wanted to arrive just before his scheduled meeting with Frank. That way his nerves would be under control.

  Maybe…

  She returned to her desk and spent the next half hour sorting and purging. She finished Mr. Campbell’s obituary with a flourish of brilliance, likening him to a guardian angel watching over the high school he had kept clean and repaired for thirty years. She saved the copy and sighed. Now what?

  On an ordinary day, she would have been checking the churches for upcoming events as well as the school athletic schedules. She would have been filling her calendar with the important happenings scheduled around the county. These events were, she reasoned, important to somebody. The bride a
nd groom, the parents christening their infant, the girls’ basketball team. Somebody cared about what she wrote. Somebody clipped her articles and pasted them in a scrapbook.

  She drummed her fingers on the scarred but clean desktop. The clock read nine forty. Where the hell is Phil?

  She cringed when she glimpsed the BMW pull into a parking space in front of the plate-glass window.

  Frank raked his fingers through his wind-blown hair and got out. He loped up the wooden steps and swung open the door, jangling the bell.

  He caught her eye and grinned. “Good morning.” He leaned over the counter and placed two bags on top. “I brought a peace offering.”

  Reggie drew a deep breath. So he’s going to play it cute and then cut the legs out from under me. She pushed back from her desk and met him at the counter, her gaze cool, her jaw set. Dang! He even smells rich.

  He opened the first bag and set a cup of hot coffee in front of her, taking another for himself.

  She smiled in spite of her best intentions. The coffee aroma wafted to her nose and enticed her. She wrapped her fingers around the cardboard cup.

  “And I have pastries.” He held the other bag aloft. “Can we sit down and enjoy them?”

  She nodded and motioned him around the counter. Wordlessly, she led him to the so-called employee break room. It was dark and dank, but it had a small table and three mismatched chairs. It also had a refrigerator, but no one took responsibility for cleaning it out, so she never stored anything inside.

  She took a seat, and Frank drew one of the other chairs closer to her than she would have liked. Was he going to drop the bomb on her over coffee and pastries?

  “I got cheese Danish, crullers, and oatmeal raisin cookies. What’s your pleasure?” He pushed the bag close to her.

  She made a show of opening the bag and peeking inside. She reached for a Danish. “Thanks,” she murmured. She extended the open bag to him.

  Frank reached inside without looking, his fingers grabbing the first thing they touched. “Cruller,” he said, holding it aloft. He bit into it and took a sip of his coffee.

  “This was nice of you, Frank,” she said, conscious of how stiff she sounded. “Um…Phil isn’t here yet.” She kept her eyes averted, hoping that by avoiding eye contact she would stave off impending disaster.

  “I’m in no hurry,” he said. “I was hoping we could talk.”

  Reggie experienced a feathery feeling in her chest. Talk? What could they possibly talk about? The newspaper? How he planned to close it? Sell the building out from under them? Fire the entire staff?

  She turned her face to him and was disconcerted to find him gazing at her like she was a cruller and he was about to munch into her.

  “I was thinking, since I’ve been gone so long and you’re an expert on the area, you might take a drive with me and show me what’s changed in the last twelve years.”

  She took a sip of her coffee to preclude any comment on her part. Hazelnut. Nice.

  “Maybe we could grab lunch at the Inn, or someplace else, if you prefer.”

  Reggie felt light-headed. Was Franklin Bell asking her on a date? No, of course not. He wanted her to show him around his domain. The monarch inspecting his realm.

  “Sure,” she said. “That would be nice.” She picked up her coffee cup and took another sip.

  She finished her Danish and glanced at the clock. Ten fifteen. Surely Phil had made it in by now. “We shouldn’t keep Phil waiting.” She rose, and Frank unfolded himself from the chair, standing way too close. He stared down at her, fencing her in for a moment, forcing her to look into his eyes and inhale his great scent. His gaze flicked to her mouth, and for an instant, she thought he was going to kiss her.

  Abruptly, he stepped back and gestured for her to precede him out of the break room.

  She struggled to keep her gait normal and not to bolt from the room. The sound of her heels on the wood floor should have alerted Phil to her presence, but she knocked anyway.

  “Phil, it’s Reggie and Frank.” She twisted the knob and stepped into the still-dark office.

  Flipping on the light, she gasped in amazement as she surveyed the immaculately clean office. Apparently, Phil had stayed late to empty out his workplace. A letter, addressed to F. Bell, sat atop the desk.

  She turned to Frank uncertainly.

  He walked to the desk and opened the letter. He read it over and placed it facedown atop the desk.

  “It appears that Phillip Jergens has resigned his position effective immediately. And he named his replacement.” He leaned across the desk to extend his hand. She grasped it as he said, “Congratulations on your appointment to the position of editor in chief.”

  * * *

  Within the week, Frank went over the financials with Reggie Lee, and they determined that Phillip Jergens had been skimming for years. Phil had several “ghost employees” on the payroll who turned out to be his relatives. The bookkeeper had cranked out payroll per Phil’s instructions, thinking the invisible employees were being paid for services rendered and never questioning their identity.

  Calling the staff together, Frank explained what had happened to Phil; as owner of the building, he offered his support and wanted to help Reggie get settled into her new position. Considering his business acumen, all the staff members were amenable to his advice and expressed their appreciation for his support.

  Frank stayed the first day to help Reggie move into her new office. She appeared to have been dumbfounded by her appointment to this position but had immediately accepted. He recognized her initial confusion followed by a surge of undisguised elation.

  “There are others who have been here longer,” she protested.

  “That’s not the criteria for this position. I think Phil was relying on you to carry on and hold the staff accountable. He wanted someone smart and trustworthy. Someone who can think on their feet and who is dedicated to the newspaper.” He smiled down at her. “That’s you.”

  She nodded and then presented him with a brilliant smile. The first time ever she had really smiled at him. Something about that smile of hers made him feel light-headed.

  Frank didn’t want them to prosecute old Phil. He hoped they would let him slink out of town quietly. No scandal to touch his great-aunt’s beloved Gazette. This one’s for you, Aunt Rosie.

  Now he was making a daily foray into the newspaper office to check on the transition and to see if Reggie needed anything. He sat with her, and they went over the financials. She had some good ideas for encouraging advertisers with a reduced rate for multiple ads. He really didn’t care what she did, as long as she kept talking to him and as long as she didn’t cringe when he leaned close to inspect the paperwork she was diligently presenting for his approval. He loved those moments when he could inhale her fragrance and absently allow his fingertips to brush against her hair.

  “I—I really appreciate you for helping me, Frank. I don’t want to screw up.” Her big brown eyes gazed up at him as he stood beside her desk. “I don’t want to let the rest of the staff know that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Not to worry,” he said. “I know nothing about the newspaper business, but I do know the nuts and bolts of running a successful business. I can help you get things lined out.”

  Her expression clutched at his emotions.

  At the end of the first week, he asked, “How is morale around here?”

  She gazed at him intently, as though trying to gauge his reaction. “Everyone is anxious. We’re trying to please you and dig out of this hole we’re in.”

  He smiled. He wanted to tell her that all she had to do to please him was to stay close. “Don’t try so hard,” he admonished. “Things will get back to normal. Without those two extra paychecks, you’re almost breaking even.”

  She grinned in apparent delight. “Really?”

&nb
sp; “Really. How about that drive you were going to take with me? I want to see what’s been going on since I left. Is this a good time?”

  A tinge of color crept up her cheeks. “Sure. I guess it’s as good a time as any.” She reached in her new desk and took out her purse.

  He held open the door and followed her out, taking pleasure in the smooth way her hips moved and the way her high heels made her calves tight. He gave himself a second to refocus and then opened his car door for her.

  “Nice car,” she breathed.

  “Glad you like it. You should get one.” He rounded the front bumper, climbed in, and started the engine. He had to rev it and then let it settle down to a purr before he pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Oh, I would never buy a car like this. I have an SUV with a very high safety rating. My daughter comes first.”

  He glanced at her. “I would never buy a car like this either. I lease it.”

  She looked perplexed.

  “If I get tired of it, I can return it and get something else.”

  A small frown puckered her smooth brow. “Do you get tired of cars frequently?”

  He considered. “I guess so. I like to make changes. It keeps things interesting. Don’t you like to change things up?”

  She shook her head. “Not me. I like things to settle and develop. I like changes that come from nurturance, like a seed that grows and blooms. That gives me great satisfaction.”

  He changed the subject, sensing they were getting into an area that would cause dissension. “Is this place new?” He pointed to a fusty-looking little shop beside the flower shop.

  She nodded. “That’s Miss Mamie’s Bridal Shop. She does all the important weddings around here.”

  “So much for Priscilla’s of Boston and Vera Wang.” He glanced at her for approval but saw that she looked confused. He drove down the main street, pointing out things that had not been there when he left.

  In spite of his desire to remain free of all encumbrances, his brain was whirling with entrepreneurial churnings. He spotted a perfect location to open a coffeehouse and serve high-end flavored coffees and teas. There was adequate parking, and since it was at the end of the strip of businesses, he could design a drive-through window.