by Kait Nolan
“Oh that’s a shame. But surely there’s someone special?”
Because the idea that her life could revolve around something other a man certainly didn’t compute.
Before Piper could think of a snark-free reply to that, her phone vibrated. It was purely verboten that she had it out of her purse at all, but if she was caught, she had the excuse of being on-call at the clinic. Not that she actually was today, but they didn’t know that.
She slid the phone from beneath her napkin and swiped to unlock the screen.
Myles: Time’s up, Buttercup. When can I see you?
Piper’s cheeks warmed, and she had to fight back the grin tugging at her lips.
Speaking of someone special.
The new-in-town and very sexy Myles Stewart had been her unexpected co-star in last fall’s production of White Christmas. He’d been at auditions to write a story about the show and decided to audition himself just for the chance to meet her. She’d spent the last months of autumn fighting the zing between them, sticking to her self-imposed rule about not dating her romantic lead. He hadn’t blinked when she’d issued a cool-down period so that whatever intimacy engendered by the show could fade. Instead, he’d spent the entire three months sending her outrageous texts and a daily notice of the countdown. She’d done her best not to respond too often, encourage him too much. But those texts had been the highlight of her days, keeping that zing alive and well and impatient. And then there was karaoke night. She lived for the chance to sing with him. They’d been carrying on the subtle flirtation through song all these months.
And now the wait was over.
Thank God.
Her thumb hovered over the screen, prepared to tap out a reply—Is now too soon?
“Piper!” The sound of her mother’s voice almost made Piper drop the phone. “Are you on your phone?”
“No ma’am. I was just checking in with the clinic.” Reluctantly, she slid the phone back into her purse beneath her mother’s disapproving eye. She’d be hearing about this later.
Just as well she hadn’t answered yet. Between work and all the wedding events, she wouldn’t actually be free until after Saturday. Maybe Saturday night if the reception didn’t run too late.
“What were you saying about who you were dating?” Aunt Bea asked.
Of course she hadn’t lost that line of questioning.
Piper considered saying something about Myles, but the last thing she wanted was any of her nosy relatives going to bother him at work to find out who his people were. Besides, they weren’t dating. Yet.
“I haven’t had a lot of time for dating lately. We just recently wrapped the production of The Mousetrap.” She didn’t usually go out for the non-musical roles, but she’d needed the distraction to keep from giving in to the temptation to blow her rule all to hell and jump straight into things with Myles—which, given the level of that zing, would likely have led straight to bed, thus breaking another personal rule. “Were you able to make it out to see the show? We got rave reviews.”
“That’s nice, honey, but you really should devote more time to finding yourself a husband. That biological clock is ticking and you don’t have all that much time left.”
“Right, because my ability to pop out babies is my only valuable attribute as a woman, and, at twenty-nine, I’m ancient and my uterus is populated by dust and cobwebs.”
“Piper Elizabeth!” Her mother’s middle name invocation brought all conversations at the table to a screeching halt. Nearly a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on her.
At Twyla’s look of censure, Piper ducked her head. “Sorry, Mama.”
This was her longest standing and most challenging role to date. Pretending to give a damn about what the rest of her family thought she ought to be doing with her life. Because certainly what she actually wanted didn’t matter to any of them. God forbid she be anything but the traditional, dutiful, meek Southern daughter.
Carrie Jo’s mama jumped into the conversational breach. “Piper, I’m just going over some last minute details with the caterer,” Jolene waved her own cell phone and nobody got on to her. “I think your reply card got lost in the mail. Do you have a plus one for the reception?”
This just keeps getting better and better.
She nearly said yes. For two long seconds, Piper considered asking Myles if he’d be her plus one. She doubted he’d say no and, God knew, his company would make the wedding less of a misery for her. But then her family would know about him. And he’d know about her family. Neither of those things seemed likely to lead to a desire for him to spend more time with her. Better to suck it up and admit the truth.
“No ma’am, I don’t.”
“Oh that’s a shame.”
Piper called on all her acting chops to keep her smile fixed in place and set in polite rather than feral lines.
Carrie Joe’s Aunt Rae spoke up. “I could set you up with Forest Langford. He’s getting out again since his divorce.”
“What about Quincy Blackmon?” Libby Newsom, the maid of honor, suggested.
Piper lifted a hand to stop the commentary and offers of pity dates. “No, really, it’s all right. I avoided having a plus one on purpose.”
They all stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.
“I just thought I could be of more help if I wasn’t having to entertain a date. There’s so much to manage, after all.” A blatant lie, but it effectively turned the tide of pity.
“Well, isn’t that just the sweetest thing?” Jolene declared. “Since you’re…unencumbered, can I get you to—”
As Jolene took advantage of Piper’s slip up to pile on additional wedding duties, all Piper could do was grin and bear it.
Three more days. Three more days and this insanity is over.
Chapter 2
“I’ve been over the contracts with a fine-toothed comb.” Tucker McGee, attorney and sometimes community theater actor, sat back in his chair, an expression of regret on his face. “You’re up shit creek, man.”
Myles dropped his face into his hands. “I was afraid of that.”
In the wake of Mr. Bondurant’s departure, he’d flat out lied to his staff that everything was fine, then closeted himself in his office, working his ass off until day’s end, and waiting until they’d all left to pull out the original contract to pore over it himself into the wee hours. He’d spent the last two days searching, in vain, for some other answer. Finding none, he’d brought them to his buddy to look over, hoping for some kind of miracle. No such luck.
“If you’d been my client when this whole deal went down, I’d never have let you sign this. Did you even read the whole thing?”
Myles bristled. “Yeah, I read it. But the possibility seemed so remote, it felt like it was worth the risk.”
“Why?”
“I couldn’t get a traditional bank loan large enough to fully buy out the paper. And the investor seemed perfectly happy to let me do my thing for the first year, once I explained my business plan. I never dreamed he’d want to pull out before the year was even up.”
“That’s the shitty thing about the law. It doesn’t leave room for assumptions.”
“But it makes no sense. He knows I can’t buy him out. He’s seen the quarterly reports. If he takes the paper in exchange, he’s left with something he’s already seeing as a poor investment.”
“Which he could then turn around and sell,” Tucker pointed out.
“Good luck with that. Do you know how long the paper sat on the market before I came along? Newspapers around the country are folding left and right. There aren’t many people crazy enough to take it on. Probably fewer who could make it work. Selling isn’t likely to make him back what he’s put into it.”
“You could counter with a new offer that gives the investor more oversight into the running of things. Feeling more in control of things might pacify him, if he’s concerned about levels of profit and loss. If he agreed, it might get you a stay of execution.”
Myles shoved up from the chair and began to pace around Tucker’s office. “No. I’m not taking orders from some yahoo who knows nothing about the newspaper business.”
“Well, at this point, you either come up with the money to buy out the investor or forfeit controlling rights to the paper—which could put you in a position of being replaced entirely and having no say in things at all.”
Hello rock. Meet hard place.
How the hell had he gotten himself into this mess?
That was a stupid question. He knew exactly how he’d gotten into this mess.
Veteran Newspaperman Forfeits Paper Due To Risky Investment.
He’d wanted to come home to Mississippi on his own terms, do his own thing, rather than finally joining the family business as had always been expected. He’d been so damned cocky about his odds of success turning The Observer around and dragging it into the twenty-first century, he’d agreed to less than favorable terms. And now if he didn’t figure something out, he and his tiny staff would be paying the price.
The potential answer is staring you in the face, dumbass.
But that would mean taking Tucker fully into his confidence, something he hadn’t done with anybody in Wishful since he’d moved here last September.
Is keeping that secret worth losing the business you’ve been killing yourself to build?
“There may possibly be a third option.” Myles pulled another set of documents from his messenger bag. “Before he died, my grandfather set up a trust in my name. The terms are such that I’ve never had access to it up to this point, but my grandmother is executor. If I can convince her that this is a worthwhile cause, maybe she can override one of his stipulations.”
Tucker took the copy of the trust and began reading through it. Other than a slight lift of brows, he showed no reaction to the contents. Myles made a note to remember that if he ever sat across from Tucker at a poker table.
“Well, that’s one of the more unusual stipulations I’ve ever seen in a trust. Did he ever tell you why he tied this to you being married?”
“Apparently a man isn’t truly settled down and stable without a wife. I meet the rest of the criteria. I’m of age. Can my grandmother overrule the marriage clause?”
Tucker shook his head. “She couldn’t change that even if she wanted to. This thing is iron clad. It’s marriage or nothing.” He paused. “Although—”
“What?”
“There’s no stipulation about divorce nullifying access once it’s granted. Feel like a trip to Vegas?” Tucker grinned.
Myles snorted. “Some lunatic woman from a casino? Yeah, I can just imagine how my family would react if I brought someone like that home. I’m already the black sheep of the family. I’d just as soon not be completely disowned.”
“Well, then, that leaves you with needing to find the money, either via other investors or fund-raising. I suggest you go talk to Norah about that. Hail Marys are kind of her specialty.”
“No.” Bringing in the city planner meant the whole thing likely became public knowledge. Myles didn’t so much care what the good citizens of Wishful thought about the financial situation of the paper, but he’d be damned if he’d give his father the satisfaction of knowing he’d been right. Warrick Stewart would delight in having the ammunition to take pot shots at Myles on every occasion.
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ve got forty-three days to figure it out.” He took the contracts back from Tucker and shoved them into his bag. “Thanks for meeting with me on a Saturday to go over this. I’m sure you had better things to do.”
“Yeah the commute downstairs was a real bitch,” Tucker joked. “You wanna come up for a beer? Watch the game? The Rebs are taking on Duke in about half an hour.”
“Nah, my bracket’s already busted.” He wasn’t in the mood for March Madness just now, even if his alma mater was doing well in the tournament.
“Offer stands if you change your mind.”
Setting out from Tucker’s office, Myles headed across the town green. He loved his adopted hometown. He loved living in a place where almost everyone knew his face, his name. Where he got a life story along with a cup of coffee. And where people still valued other people, putting them above the bottom line. He’d needed that change after years of anonymous living in cities across the country, slowly watching the evolution of journalism into the toy of corporate giants who’d forgotten that true journalism held people as its beating heart. No way was he about to give that up.
Myles hadn’t realized he was heading for the fountain until he stopped in front of it. The heart of town, the huge marble fountain dated almost all the way back to the Civil War. Fed from nearby Hope Springs, it allegedly had the power to grant wishes. Norah’s entire rural tourism campaign centered around the legend. Every light pole on Main Street flew the same banner: Welcome to Wishful, Where Hope Springs Eternal.
More apt to be cynical than not, Myles had to admit, the idea was appealing. Who couldn’t use a little more hope in their lives? God knew he needed some just now.
Digging in his pocket, he pulled out a quarter.
Dear Universe, I wish for a way to save the newspaper.
With a flick of his thumb, he launched the coin into the air. It flipped, end over end, flashing faintly in the moonlight before it struck the surface of the water with a soft plunk.
Well, that’s it then.
The phone in his pocket buzzed with an incoming text.
He pulled it out, grinning when he saw it was Piper. She was about the only thing that could make him smile right now.
Save me.
Myles thumbed a reply. Where are you?
Piper: The Spring House for my cousin’s wedding reception. They’re Baptist, so no booze to numb the pain of boredom.
Myles: That’s tragic.
Piper: So are these bridesmaid dresses. Bile isn’t exactly a flattering color.
Myles: You’re kidding.
Piper: Wish I was. Shit. I’ve been made. Gotta go answer the call of duty. But after tonight, I’m free. See you soon!
Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he changed directions and headed for his car. He might not know how to save the paper yet, but he could certainly save this damsel in distress.
~*~
Not bringing her own car was a serious mistake. Piper realized that just about the time the groom’s handsy Uncle Eddie tried to get acquainted with her ass. For the second time. Despite the lack of alcohol being provided at the reception, he’d snuck in a flask and was sufficiently drunk that the sharp heel she jabbed “accidentally” into his foot didn’t even make him flinch. One of Richard’s brothers noticed and hauled Eddie off before Piper had to get more forceful.
She’d hoped, desperately, that the reception would wind down early and the bride and groom would do the whole bouquet toss and be eager to get on with the honeymoon. Instead, they seemed intent on dancing the night away in a last ditch opportunity to party with all their closest friends. At least most of her duties as bridesmaid had been discharged. Short of post-reception clean up, she was free to enjoy herself. What a crock. Between dodging her relatives and friends of the family who seemed intent on asking every possible inappropriate question, from her relationship status to the state of her eggs—not in need of being cryogenically frozen, thank you very much—and trying to keep away from Uncle Eddie and others like him, she was bored out of her mind and desperate to escape. If the Spring House hadn’t been a full ten miles from town proper, she’d have considered walking.
Ducking behind a ficus tree, she glanced around to make sure nobody was looking before tugging her phone out of the bodice of her dress. Not exactly the ideal place to carry it, but it wasn’t as if these bilious monstrosities had pockets. Still no text back from Myles. Damn. She’d been hoping he’d entertain her a little.
Two strong hands slid over her hips from behind.
Before Piper could jam her
elbow back into Eddie’s gut, a voice whispered in her ear, “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a dress like this?”
Myles.
Her heart began to thud with excitement. “Does a line like that usually work for you?”
“Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work at wedding receptions? You come crash hoping to get a bridesmaid out of her dress?”
“You wouldn’t have to work too hard to talk me out of this one. But I demand pajamas as a replacement.”
“That can be arranged.” Myles pressed a kiss on the exposed skin of her nape.
Piper shivered and turned to face him, hating it when his hands fell away. “What are you doing here?”
“You asked for a rescue. I’m at your service, milady.” He sketched a courtly bow, his mop of dark hair flopping into his eyes. Had he even had a cut since the show?
“Seriously?”
“I figured you were ready to get out of here. But if you want to make out in the coat closet, I’m good with that, too. I passed it on the way in. As I recall, you have a fondness for small, enclosed spaces.”
“I did not drag you into that prop closet to make out,” she reminded him.
“Such a waste. So how ’bout it? You want to make a break for it?”
She bit her lip, wondering if she’d even be missed and calculating exactly how much hell she’d catch if she was.
“I’ve got a surprise for you back at my place,” he coaxed.
“Is that a euphemism?”
His laughter skated over her skin. God she’d missed the sound of it these last three months. “Only if you want it to be. But I can promise you quiet and jammies and stove-top popcorn if you don’t. Or we can go out, if you’d rather. But I figured you’d had enough of people tonight.”
He was right. The whole scenario sounded like heaven.
“Let’s get out of here.”
After retrieving her purse, they snuck out via the veranda doors and circled around to where he’d parked his car. The cool air felt wonderful on her heated skin after the press of bodies inside. The moment she was buckled into the front seat, she slid her heels off and flexed her poor, abused toes. “God, that feels so good. I’ve been in these things since eleven this morning.”
