Small Town Secrets

by Molly Kate Gray

  “Maybe.” Spencer balked at revealing his source. He shuffled the stack of papers on the table in front of him. “I was on the phone with his mom just now.”

  “His mom called you too?” Josh’s comment brought a round of laughter to the table. He shook his head and earned a warning glance from Chuck.

  Spencer didn’t stop delivering his report. “She’s getting his room ready even as we speak — just bought fresh paint at Joe’s.”

  “Fresh paint. Well, then it must be true,” Lainey mumbled just loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “The guy won a Heisman, and he’s moving back in with his parents?” Josh began to laugh. He stopped short when he saw the expression on Tara’s face. Glancing at her, she quickly lowered her eyes. His last burst of laughter hung in the air.

  Spencer began to drum his fingers on the edge of the conference table, still visibly giddy from his scoop. “That’s Miller’s Grove for you. Guess you never can truly escape.”

  • • •

  Tara stood with her hand on her hip, glaring at the monitor in annoyance. Even from his seat behind the anchor desk, Josh thought he could detect waves of anger radiating from her. As Spencer flashed his toothpaste-commercial grin and ended the night’s newscast, Josh rolled his chair back and crossed the room before Tara could get too far ahead of him.

  Remembering his mistake in the hotel room, he waited for her to see him before he reached out and tapped her shoulder. “He didn’t mess up her name that badly.”

  “What?” Tara stopped walking and turned to face Josh.

  “You looked like you were ready to pull the plug on Spencer’s story. He only used three variations of her name this time.” Josh knew Tara’s current state of mind had nothing to do with Spencer’s slaughter of the gymnast’s last name. She’d been irritable since the staff meeting, but he got his intended reward. Tara’s brief laughter relaxed the stiff set of her shoulders.

  “Excuse me.” Todd stepped past them, and Josh realized how many pairs of ears were currently around them.

  “Come with me to my office?” Josh nodded toward the closed door at the end of the hall. For an instant, Tara looked as if she planned to bolt, but after a slight hesitation, she nodded and followed him. “How was your first day back at work?”

  “Good.” Tara nodded unconvincingly. Even with the heavy makeup she wore for the broadcast, he could tell that her face had paled as the broadcast aired.

  “Have a seat.” He walked through the room and took a seat on his mahogany desktop. “You look like you’re ready to fall over.”

  Tara slid into the leather conference chair and closed her eyes. “I didn’t know how tired I’d be.”

  “Well, you’ve been on your feet almost all day.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “How do you know that?”

  “I’m observant.” Tara shifted in her chair, visibly uncomfortable to be under his scrutiny. She appeared ready to bolt for the door when he decided a change in approach was necessary. “I can tell something’s bothering you. Is it your arm? Did you come back too soon? I have some pull with the boss. I could get him to give you another week.”

  “No.” Tara’s eyes drifted over the bookshelf at the back of the office as she refused to look at him. “That’s not it.”

  Josh stepped into her line of sight. He waved his hand in front of her face. “You can talk to me, you know that. I am the one who dug you out from what was left of the motel.”

  Tara’s eyes narrowed as she tried to focus on his moving hand. “What’s that?” She pointed to the red scar across his palm.

  “Just a souvenir from the trip.” Josh shoved his hand into his pocket.

  “You did that when you were trying to get to me?”

  He shrugged. “Really, it wasn’t that bad. I just found out where the glass from the skylight fell.”

  Tara frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  “Blame the storm, not yourself.” He leaned against the bookshelf on the far wall of the room, bracing his foot on the lowest shelf. Josh had noticed that Tara seemed to be more conversational when she had an ample bubble of space around her, so he was curious to test his theory. His actions almost immediately paid off. Once he stepped away from her, the tension at the corners of her eyes relaxed and she loosened her death grip on the arm of her chair. “So, what’s bothering you? You haven’t acted like yourself since we got out of the staff meeting today.”

  Tara’s gray eyes probed his face, clearly searching for some type of ulterior motive behind his question. She flicked the brass buttons lining the trim of the chair with her index finger as she chewed the inside of her cheek. “It’s … ”

  “Tara!” Chuck’s voice boomed into the room. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He gave a quick glance in his son’s direction. “Great report on back to school shopping.”

  She smoothed her blouse with her good hand and gave a small smile. “Thanks. I’m sure it was riveting.”

  “Don’t knock it.” He beckoned for her to follow him into the hallway. “Josh, you don’t mind if I borrow her for a minute, do you?”

  “Of course not, Dad. Whatever you need.” He closed his eyes and thudded his head against the trim of the bookshelf. Just when he thought he was making some progress at understanding her, his father decided to interrupt.

  • • •

  “Well, Tara, you gave us quite a scare.” Chuck closed the office door behind himself as he motioned for Tara to take a seat. Located on the exact opposite end of the hall from Josh’s office, Tara took a moment to compare the two rooms. She avoided entering this office, even though she once knew every nook and cranny. The crack shaped like a bird in flight just above the window. The walls were still painted the same not-quite-yellow but not-quite-cream her mother had detested. Her grandfather had selected the color long before her father sat in the big desk, and he stubbornly refused to change it, but Tara knew her dad didn’t like the color either. He’d whispered the truth in her ear during one of her mother’s decorating binges. It was a secret — their secret — and it was also a way to show he was in control. If she closed her eyes, she could still picture herself as a child sitting behind the desk, so big it almost hid her from view even when she was perched on the edge of the oversized leather chair. Her fingers flew over his typewriter keys, telling a story only she could read. When her father caught her in his office, and he always found her, he’d tell her to get used to the big desk since it would be hers one day.

  This office was still big, only not as massive as she remembered. Without her father’s larger-than-life presence, the walls had shrunk just a tiny bit. That didn’t mean it wasn’t impressively large. Anyone who worked here would kill to sit behind that desk, not just for the extra space, but also for what the office represented.

  The black custom shelving was new. She wasn’t sure if it really coordinated with the desk. The contrasting colors would have driven her mother batty. Josh had identical shelving in his office. The designer who readied the two offices for their new owners must have thought the woods worked together. Somehow Tara doubted the designer picked the contents of the shelves. Chuck’s displayed a handful of old books, professional journals, and the type of assorted knick-knacks accumulated over a lifetime of travel. A pineapple wearing a grass skirt grinned down at her, almost seeming out of place, except for the framed photograph of his late wife wearing a lei next to it. Dozens of snapshots of their two boys through the years accented the rest of the shelves. Even though Josh and his brother were close in age, Tara could pick him out of each picture — she simply had to look for his trademark smirk. He was even wearing it in what appeared to be his preschool graduation photograph. He was destined for television.

  Josh’s office didn’t have any photographs. Not of his mother. Not of his graduation. Not even of his dog. Sterile and obviously pr
ofessionally decorated, his office screamed of its ease to pack. Only the four Peabody awards tucked in the top right corner of his bookshelf seemed remotely personal. She’d never known anyone who won a Peabody award — much less four. When Chuck brought Josh here, she’d assumed his son’s Sexiest Man on Television award was his biggest achievement, but four Peabodys?

  She hated to admit it, but even she was impressed. Peabody awards celebrated excellence in journalism, not how good a reporter looked in a suit.

  “I’m glad to have you back.” Chuck’s warm tone interrupted her comparison of the two men’s offices.

  “It’s good to be back, sir.” Tara tugged at the hem of her blouse as she struggled to look relaxed in the office chair. She’d only been summoned to the station owner’s office once before, and that meeting resulted in her discovering she wasn’t going to be Monte Powell’s replacement when he retired in May.

  Chuck slowly walked to the side table where he had a full coffee pot. “Coffee?”

  “No thanks.”

  “You sure? It’s Kona.” He gave her an indulgent smile. “I almost never see you without a coffee cup in your hand.”

  “That’s true.” Tara laughed as she nodded. “Sure. I’d love a cup.” This wasn’t going to be a short conversation if he’d brewed a pot of coffee. That had to be a good sign, she imagined. He wouldn’t invite her in, fix her a cup of coffee, and fire her. Would he? Ever since she’d been at the station, he’d acted like an indulgent grandfather — far different from the station manager she interned under in Charleston. She took the mug, trying not to be obvious as she watched the coffee threatening to spill in his trembling hand. “Is this from your trip to Hawaii?”

  “It is indeed. Helen brought enough pineapple back that we were begging people to take it.”

  “I remember. I made pineapple upside down cake.” Tara took a hesitant sip of her drink as she tested the temperature.

  “You did.” A faraway look came into his eyes. “I’d forgotten that. You’re a good cook.”

  Tara swallowed a mouthful of coffee. She wasn’t accustomed to small talk from Chuck. “I can bake, but I’m not sure if you’d say I can cook.”

  “Your mom didn’t teach you?” He looked scandalized.

  Tara let out a slow breath as she tried to phrase her answer diplomatically. “We had people for that.” She balanced the cup on the arm of the chair. “She was normally busy entertaining or helping my dad. I was kind of on my own.”

  “That’s too bad.” He looked genuinely sad. “Must be why you’re so self-reliant now, though.” Tara nodded but didn’t answer. He checked his watch. “Twenty minutes till the next broadcast.” He tapped the leather band with his finger. “Well, you’re probably wondering why I asked you to meet with me.” Chuck plunged on without waiting for a response. “You remember our conversation when Monte left?”

  “When you told me Josh was coming to take his place?”

  “That would be the one.” Chuck nodded as he took a seat behind his desk. Rolling back in the chair, he opened a drawer and rifled through papers before he settled on the one he wanted. He pulled it from the stack and placed it on his desktop. Spinning it around so Tara could read it easily, she recognized the pie chart.

  “Our ratings?” She rested her fingertips on the bottom of the page and slid it closer to herself.

  “From April of last year.” Chuck watched her as she studied the breakdown in the different market demographics.

  “I didn’t realize they were this low.”

  “That’s because I didn’t want to tell all of you. I’d been complacent too long — not changing with the times. When Monte retired, I had some tough decisions to make. The Atlanta affiliate wanted to absorb the station.” He waited for his words to sink in.

  “We would have closed?”

  “It would have been a last resort.” He pulled a second page from the drawer. Handing it to her, his face broke into a smile as he watched her eyes widen in surprise. “I thought I’d try something a little less drastic first. Having Television’s Sexiest Man for a son doesn’t hurt.”

  “These are … impressive.” Tara raised an eyebrow in her boss’s direction.

  “Almost double. We’re even starting to give Atlanta some competition.” He relaxed back into his seat and folded his arms behind his head.

  “That’s great news.”

  “Especially for you.” He nodded and smiled as if he were ready to open the door to reveal a surprise party. “I’m ready to do some expansion at the station.” He rocked his chair with pent-up anticipation. “We can afford two anchors behind the big desk.”

  “What?” Tara was certain she didn’t hear him correctly.

  “I told you when I bought the station that you had a bright future here. I want you to be our second anchor.” He leaned forward in his seat and folded his hands atop the desk. “Are you interested?”

  “Am I interested? Of course!” Tara had to restrain herself from leaping across the desk and wrapping her arms around the man.

  “Excellent.” He nodded as he reached across the desk to shake her hand. “And I already have your first assignment as one of the official faces for the station. Mrs. Matheson called me after we ran the story about Wyatt Miller. The Ladies Auxiliary is planning a party in three weeks to welcome him back to town. You and Josh will represent the station.”

  “At a party to welcome Wyatt back to town?” Tara quickly set the coffee cup on the desk in front of her, afraid she’d drop it on the floor otherwise.

  “Is there something wrong with that?” Chuck raised an eyebrow in her direction.

  “No. No, sir.” Tara cleared her throat and fought back the nausea rolling through the pit of her stomach. “There’s no problem at all.”

  Chapter Five

  The streetlights flickered off the black pearl finish of Tara’s Audi as she pulled into the line in front of the valet stand. Despite the team of tuxedo-clad young men running back and forth from the driveway, the cars were already backed up in the circle drive all the way to the street. She knew she should have arrived earlier, but she didn’t want to spend too much time celebrating the return of Wyatt Miller. With the money he’d earned after seven years in the NFL, he could have moved anywhere. Why did he have to come back to Miller’s Grove?

  Her stomach churned, but not from hunger. She glanced in the rearview mirror, annoyed to discover that her face was decidedly paler than normal, and she regretted her decision to attend the event sans makeup. She hadn’t wanted to appear to have put too much effort into her first meeting with Wyatt since college, but now she wished she’d tucked her makeup bag into her purse.

  Tara had a strong suspicion she knew exactly why he’d elected to come home when he could have literally chosen anywhere in the world. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she fought to keep them from shaking.

  She turned her head and stared at the familiar yellow-painted building. Half inn and half restaurant, Magnolia Place was located in almost the exact center of the town’s historic district. If it hadn’t been for her two-inch heels, she could have walked there.

  Her parents loved this place. With her father’s need to be seen with the right people — first with his position as local television station owner and later when he was running for governor — her family had dined here almost every Saturday night.

  And now she was back.

  She eased off the brake and followed the white convertible in front of her as it advanced forward toward the front door. This party was definitely the place to see and be seen tonight — the mayor, two city council members, and Georgia’s lieutenant governor all stood chatting in front of the heavy oak doors. No one wanted to enter the party too early.

  A rap on her car door interrupted her observations. Tara rolled her heavily tinted car window down as the v
alet peeked in the car. “Ma’am?” He tried to open the car door for her but was met with resistance from the lock.

  Clicking the button to unlock the doors, Tara waited for the red-haired young man to open the door. She glanced quickly at his nametag. “Thank you, Peter.” As her silver heels clicked against the cobblestone driveway, she tried to relax as she stepped from her car. Walking behind the vehicle as the valet drove away, Tara felt her heart speeding in her chest. She hadn’t faced a Miller’s Grove society event since she lost her parents. Glancing down at her metallic silver purse, she frowned at her white knuckles.

  She could do this. Just like every other young woman born into old money in the South, she’d been trained for events like this since she was old enough to wear heels. Tara might be here on business, but she didn’t have to look like it. If she had to attend, she wasn’t going to hide in a black dress and try to disappear in the shadows. The dress she’d chosen was designed to prove that point.

  Her mother would have approved of Tara dipping into the trust fund for this one. Made by a New York designer, cobalt blue with sleeves just off the shoulder, Tara knew she wouldn’t be easily forgotten in the sea of more subdued tones. Passing the knot of men still talking politics, she caught sight of herself in the reflection of one of the picture windows. She was definitely going to make an impression.

  She crossed the threshold of the historic restaurant and found herself in the back of a cluster of over-excited young women she didn’t recognize. The reception to welcome Miller’s Grove’s most famous son drew a crowd from surrounding towns.

  “Tara Sullivan? Is that you?” Henrietta Matheson’s vaguely bluish silver curls bounced as she left the main reception area. Her heels clipped across the marble tile floor as she scurried to Tara’s side. She wrapped her arms around her in a cautious hug, avoiding the arm still in a sling. Her grandmother’s best friend took a step back and beamed in delight. “I haven’t seen you in … ”