by Sarah Smith
Brenda hated reporters now and was only polite because her manners were ingrained. Brock kept most of them away from her, but something about Mia called to him. She was different, he could tell. Not just in it for a story, like he’d thought when he’d realized she was the woman he’d met on the side of the road.
He grabbed a beer for himself, thought better of it, and made himself a glass of sweet tea and Mia a glass of water. When he stepped outside, she sat peacefully in a rocking chair, moving it gently with her foot as she watched the sun lower in the sky. As he had suspected, she hadn’t touched the sweet tea he’d made her earlier, although much of the cheese seemed to have disappeared from the tray. Congo lay close to her feet, and as he watched, he saw a small piece of cheese fall to the floor, scooped up immediately by the dog.
“Are you sneaking my dog cheese?” Brock asked as he joined her. He handed her the water, and she gulped before answering.
“You caught me,” Mia said. “He tried so hard to get that rabbit, but he went the wrong direction. So I thought he deserved a consolation prize.”
“Consolation prize?” Brock asked with a chuckle. “That’s funny.”
“I can crack the occasional joke,” Mia told him. She had decided to keep the conversation between herself and his aunt to herself. If Brenda chose to tell him, that was her business. As far as Mia was concerned, she’d done nothing wrong, so there was nothing to discuss.
“I’m sure you’re very funny,” Brock agreed sarcastically, which elicited a tinkle of laugh out of her. “So where are you from?”
“Born and raised in Dallas,” Mia answered. “But I’m asking the questions, Mr. Maclancy.”
“Of course you are,” Brock said with a smile. “Do you prefer city life?”
Mia frowned. She would have to try harder to steer the conversation back to him. “I’ve never lived any other way, so I wouldn’t know the difference.”
“You seem to be enjoying the countryside right now,” Brock observed, the hint of a question there.
Mia looked out over the fields, the landscape beauty something she didn’t see from her tiny, third-floor apartment in Dallas. Her view consisted of the building next door, and if she stepped right up to the window, the street below. She kept the curtains closed most of the time.
“I certainly do appreciate the view and wide open spaces,” Mia acknowledged. “But that’s not the same as living here. Cow poop and an hour long drive to the nearest mall? No, thanks.”
Brock chuckled. “Yes, I guess if you’re used to walking two minutes to the grocery store, this would be a big change.”
“Exactly! If I forgot an ingredient for a recipe, ten minutes later I’m back in my apartment making food. Here, I’d have to change the menu!” Mia scrunched her brow and looked at him again. “You’re very easy to talk to.”
“Thank you,” Brock said with a nod.
“You know how to take charge of a conversation and keep it off of you,” Mia told him pointedly.
“That I do,” Brock laughed. “I prefer to learn about people than tell them about myself.”
“You’d make a good reporter,” Mia said. “But since I’m the reporter, maybe we could talk about you just a little?”
“Hmmm, I’m not very interesting,” Brock explained.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“That’s why there’s never been an article about me. The other reporters grew bored and scrapped the story.”
Mia stared at him a moment, her eyes narrowed. “They weren’t very good reporters then.”
“And you are?”
“Oh yes,” Mia said, confidence in her words. “I’ll wring a story out of you if I have hold you down and force it.”
Brock sized her up. “You’re awfully small to make threats like that.”
“I’m scrappy,” Mia replied. Brock guffawed at her term, and she joined him, their laughter echoing out into the fields as the sun continued to sink on the horizon. After the laughter had subsided, she asked, “May I take out my iPad for notes, Brock?”
He liked the way she said his name. “I was enjoying the polite conversation.” At her lifted eyebrow, he succumbed. “All right, fine.”
“Let’s start with your love life,” Mia began, a smile on her face.
“You thinking about becoming my girlfriend?” he teased, winking at her over the rim of his sweet tea.
Mia rolled her eyes. “Don’t try to be charming. So? Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No, I don’t.”
Mia pursed her lips to keep from laughing. “A boyfriend?”
Brock’s eyes widened a little before he laughed again. “No,” he chortled.
“Boring life,” Mia observed.
“I told you,” Brock reminded her. “What about you? Boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”
“Neither,” Mia told him. “Is there a reason you don’t date?”
Brock raised an eyebrow as he clearly remembered why he didn’t give interviews. He hated talking about himself, and even more, he hated the personal questions. He leaned forward. “Why don’t we talk about something else? My love life really isn’t pertinent to your article.”
“That’s actually not true. Many of our single gal readers want to know if you’re single, too,” Mia told him, trying to ease his sudden tension.
“I’m not a fan of women who chase men for their money.” Brock’s irritation had leveled up.
Mia’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Brock sighed and waved a hand. “You didn’t. I don’t date because when I have, the woman expected more than I was willing to give.”
There’s a heartbreak there, Mia thought, and changed the subject for now. “Your parents have been dead for some time, is that correct?”
“Since I was in college. They died in a car crash,” Brock explained, his eyes far away. He turned them to her. “What about your parents?”
Mia looked down at her iPad, avoiding his eyes. Most of her interview subjects to date had not asked her personal questions; they were much more interested in talking about themselves than learning about her. Which she had accepted as the norm. But this man wanted to know about her. She felt like she was on a date rather than an interview, but then, dates were interviews, just with a different outcome.
“My parents are also dead,” Mia answered. “My mother died when I was in high school, and my father died four years ago.”
“Both orphans,” Brock mused, shaking his head. “What a sad thing to have in common. How did they die?”
Mia looked away from him and stared at the stars trying to peek through even though the sun had not quite left the sky. “My mother had breast cancer when I was a small child but went into remission. However, it came back with a vengeance my junior year.”
“How awful,” Brock sympathized, watching her. Her sadness softened her face, making her seem vulnerable. He opened his mouth to change the subject, but she continued speaking before he could. He let her tell her story.
“Very. But my father was there and very supportive. He make sure I had what I needed, but he wasn’t the same person after she died, you know. He loved her very much. I honestly think he made it as long as he did just to make sure I was okay.”
“He sounds like a good man,” Brock commented. “How did he die?”
Mia sighed. “Same as your parents. Car crash.”
More there, he thought. “Was anyone else injured?”
“No. It was only his car. He drove off an embankment on a rainy night. He died instantly. Right after I got the job with the magazine.”
She thinks he did it on purpose, Brock realized, though he didn’t say it out loud. She had a good job, was settled and could take care of herself when he died. So he let himself die in a car crash.
Mia had no idea why she felt the need to share her sadness with this man, but he made her feel safe. His thoughts mirrored her own, though she couldn’t know that. Her father had waited until her life was on
track, and then he’d killed himself. Or rather, allowed himself to die. She hadn’t really forgiven him for that night, which had been the worst night of her life.
She had been at home, having just rented the apartment she was in now. Excited about her new purchases, she was hanging decorations on the wall to liven up the tiny apartment that was all hers. No roommate, no father. She had felt very grown up. When the knock had sounded on the door, she had wondered if her dad was bringing her take-out to celebrate her new apartment. He did things like that. Instead, an officer stood at her door, his hat in his hands, waiting to tell her what happened.
Mia felt a tear slip down her cheek. The two of them had been sitting in silence for some time, each reflecting on their loss. She wiped the tear off with her hand and sniffed quietly. Looking at Brock was not an option yet. She didn’t want to see the sympathy she was sure would be on his face.
“I’m sorry,” Brock said simply.
“Thank you. I have no other family, so when he died, I was alone,” Mia told him, gathering her strength and letting it flow through her body until the tears stopped.
“I was very lucky. My parents’ deaths were very painful, especially since I lost them both at the same time. But I had Aunt Brenda, two uncles on my mother’s side and their families, not to mention a slew of cousins whose names I can’t even remember.”
“You are lucky,” Mia said sadly, a small smile on her face aimed at him.
“Lucky? Those people were in my house for days and wouldn’t leave! I met a new person every day!” Brock joked loudly, interjecting a little silliness into their conversation.
Mia laughed quietly. “I can’t even imagine.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to. That may be the reason I don’t date. I don’t want more people around here!”
Mia laughed with him, louder this time, grateful he had a sense of humor. As they shared the laugh that stole the sadness from their hearts for the moment, the pair exchanged a look. Mia couldn’t tear her eyes from his, and he obviously felt the same way.
The moment was ruined when Brenda stepped outside. They didn’t know it, but she’d been watching, and to her, the way they were gazing at each other sure didn’t look like an interview. Her dislike of the woman had grown when she’d watched her wipe away her tears. How dare she try to use Brock’s good heart to get a good story.
“Brock, are you ready for dinner?” Brenda asked, obviously ignoring Mia.
Brock looked at her, wondering about her deliberate rudeness. He understood her prejudice of reporters, but Mia had done nothing inappropriate. “Yes, we’re ready for dinner. What are we having tonight?” he asked as he rose.
Brenda sniffed. “Fried chicken and sides.”
“Sounds delicious,” Mia put in. Brenda looked at her, grimaced, and walked back inside without another word. “Wow. She sure doesn’t like me.”
“She doesn’t like anybody,” Brock soothed. “She’s very protective.”
He held out his hand, expecting her to take it, but she walked past him to the door. She looked back at him. “She has nothing to worry about from me on that end.”
We’ll see, Brock thought with a grin as he followed her into the house.
“I really had no intention of staying for dinner. The time passed quickly,” Mia noted.
“Always does when you enjoy the company and the conversation,” Brock told her. “It’s a long drive back to your hotel. You’re more than welcome to stay here.”
Mia’s eyes widened. “It’s okay, I don’t mind driving back. I don’t have any of my things anyway.”
Brock nodded as they entered the dining room, the smell of fried chicken assailing their nostrils. She can go back tonight, but I’ll convince her to bring her stuff tomorrow and stay here, Brock decided. He ticked off the reasons: better chance for a better story because she’d be around him, less driving, and no hotel expense. Yes, he’d convince her.
Mia inhaled, her mouth watering at the scent of good, homemade food. She smiled her best smile at Brenda. “The food smells and looks wonderful. Thank you for inviting me.”
“I didn’t really,” Brenda commented.
“Brenda!” Brock said. Brenda rolled her eyes and left the room. “I’m sorry. She’s never been so rude before.”
Mia shrugged. “People are sometimes rude to reporters. I have tough skin.”
“Let’s eat then,” Brock told her, smiling at her. “She usually eats with me, but she might not. Who knows?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Brenda did return to the dining room to eat with them, making snide remarks throughout the meal no matter how polite Mia tried to be. The fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, and green beans fresh from the garden out back, however, made up for the sour company.
But Mia tried again. “Ms. Maclancy, this dinner is scrumptious. I haven’t had fresh green beans like this since I was a child.”
“Yes, city living isn’t all that healthy,” Brenda said, looking Mia up and down as if she could see the unhealthy lifestyle Mia must live in Dallas.
Mia’s smile froze at the inspection. She glanced at Brock, who was frowning at his aunt. “Actually, I try to eat healthy, and I go to yoga classes.”
“Yoga?” Brenda asked disdainfully. “That must be difficult. Along the same lines as working with cattle and horses all day, I’m sure.”
“Brenda,” Brock interrupted, “are we having dessert?”
She stared at him. His look told her to stop the rudeness. She sniffed and said, “Yes. Ice cream. I didn’t have time to make anything.”
“That’s okay,” Mia murmured, embarrassed by the awkwardness around the table. “I need to be going anyway. It’s awfully late.”
“I assume the interview is concluded?” Brenda asked, her eyes on Mia.
“Um, no, actually,” Mia began.
Brock interrupted. “Mia will be returning tomorrow. I’m hoping she’ll consider staying here for the duration of her visit.”
“Here?” The women spoke simultaneously. Brenda continued after glancing at Mia to quiet her. “Why on Earth would she need to stay here?”
“I’m not really sure that’s appropriate, Brock,” Mia added.
“Of course it’s not appropriate!” Brenda agreed shrilly. “A single woman who is not a member of our family has no business staying under this roof.”
Brock was unaffected by their statements. “Brenda, single women unrelated to us have stayed under this roof before without a single comment from you. And Mia, why drive all the way out here several days in a row when you can just stay here?”
“Several days?” Mia asked at the same time Brenda asked, “Why in the world would she need to be here for several days?”
Brock looked from one woman to the other, chuckling at the similar expressions on their faces. “Mia, if you want a good story, you’ll need to get to know me. You can’t do that in two days.”
Mia shook her head. “If you would answer my questions rather than turn them around on me, I could be done by tomorrow.”
“But what a boring story that would be,” Brock explained. “If you see how I live, how I conduct business, who I’m around, you’ll have a more personal article for your readers, and your boss will love it.”
“How long would you like me to stay?” Mia asked. Her jaw was tight, her teeth clenched. Apparently, he would give her nothing if she didn’t stay. And not only stay, stay as long as he wanted her here. “I have a life in Dallas, you know.”
“You told me you don’t have a boyfriend,” Brock pointed out.
“Having a boyfriend does not equal having a life, Brock,” Mia replied blandly.
Brock chuckled again. “Of course not. But you’re here for work, so it’s not like you’re missing work and not getting paid. And you don’t have to pay for the hotel.”
“The magazine pays for the hotel,” Mia told him.
“Only after you turn in your receipts. Am I right?”
He was
right. Mia frowned because she was all out of arguments against staying here. She didn’t feel comfortable with the idea, and one more argument popped into her head. “My boss might frown on the idea of me staying with you!”
“How long has your boss been trying to get a story about me?” Brock asked. He knew he sounded egotistical, but he had to win this argument. He just wasn’t sure why it was so important. Sure, he liked Mia, and she was attractive, Plus, she’d made it clear nothing would happen between the two of them. That had to be it, he thought. I can’t have her so I want her more. But that explanation felt a little too easy.
Mia stared at him, and she wrinkled her nose as the answer came to her: Forever! He’d sent Freddie out once with no success, and she knew at least one other reporter from her magazine had tried as well.
Defeated, she answered, “Longer than I’m willing to admit.”
“There you have it,” Brock said, gesturing with his hand in his victory. “You get this story, you’ll get a promotion.”
Mia looked at Brenda for help. The woman certainly didn’t want her to stay here. However, the woman was silent, offering no argument against her staying. Mia rolled her eyes. She’d had plenty to say earlier and now she was silent.
“How long?” Mia asked tightly.
“What do you think? A week?” Mia balked at the idea visibly, so he held up his hands. “Okay, okay, three days. Not including today.”
“Three days,” Mia mused, the frown lines on her face incapable of marring its beauty. She sighed loudly as if she’d been asked to stay three days in hell. “Fine. I can do three days.”
Brock clapped his hands together. “Excellent!”
Mia rose and placed her napkin next to her plate. She looked at Brenda. “Thank you for a delicious dinner. I look forward to more of your home-cooked meals.” The dig was subtle, but it was there. Mia had grown tired of the woman’s direct insults and was in no mood for total politeness.
