by Leigh Landry
“Don’t be a jerk.”
He sighed. What did she expect him to do? Play detective in his spare time? “Then what, Sierra? What would you have me do? I mean, I called you guys, right?”
“You called me, and I told you what I think. Now, what are you going to do with the information?”
“I don’t know.” He started to ask what she would do, but he stopped when he recognized that gleam in her eyes.
Trouble.
“No way.” He banged his fork on the table to grab her attention.
She startled, caught between reality and wherever her mind went when she got a ridiculous scheme in her head. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” she said. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Good. Now get that thought out of your head right now.”
Sierra narrowed her eyes and leaned over her messy basket of half-eaten fries. “Don’t boss me around. You know I hate that.”
“Fine, but get that thought out of your head anyway.”
“What thought?” She was smirking now, daring him to read her mind.
“The one that gets you involved in this mess. Uh-uh. Not happening. Why could you possibly want to get involved with this? You don’t even like Denise.”
She leaned back and relaxed a bit.
“You said, ‘reward.’”
Sierra told Marc everything. She blabbed about getting fired. About not getting enough hours at the Nature Station. About needing money by the next week so Luna wouldn’t have to miss therapy. And, most importantly, about him reappearing in her life with reward money and a job.
“A job?” His voice cracked.
“If you’ll pay a thousand bucks for those pelicans, I’ll bet it's also worth something to find whoever planted those snakes at your sister’s house.”
His mouth fell open. After a few seconds of gawking at her, he said, “You have lost your mind.”
“It’s the perfect plan. I get back your stuff and find the creep messing with you guys, and you give me the reward money.” She didn’t see the problem. He was already offering the reward for part of this. Unless his problem was with her. “Better than giving it to some stranger. What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong with…” His face turned red, and he drummed his fingers hard on the table. “Everything.”
She channeled her dad and found her calm, soothing voice. “Let’s take a minute, so you can think this through. Clearly, you’re mad about this snake-planting person, and you’re projecting that anger on me. I’m going to try to be patient with you because I know Denise and her kids live there and that’s scary and all. But I’m warning you that I’m not real good with the whole patience thing. So do you think we could fast-forward to you getting on board with my plan?”
Marc closed his eyes and mouthed a silent count, backward from ten to one. She hated that. His mom taught him that trick when they were kids, so he wouldn’t get into trouble like that Sierra girl. Apparently. he was still doing it. And backward, no less.
When he got to one, he took a deep, cleansing breath and popped open his eyes. To her surprise, the counting worked. His face was an even, fleshy color again, all traces of annoyance gone.
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “You need money. That’s where your stress and these ridiculous ideas are coming from. I get that.” He looked quite proud of himself. “We always have part-time positions open at the paper. You come in on Monday, fill out an application, and I’ll vouch for you and personally give you an advance if you need it.”
“I don’t need you to save me. I’m not Denise and her kids.”
He flinched. “I’m not trying to save you. I’m offering a hand for a friend.”
“A friend.” A wave of nausea replaced her stomach flutter. They’d been friends once. Long ago. And he’d gone and ruined it.
He picked at his napkin. “Or someone who was a friend. I mean, it’s just an offer.”
While Sierra tried to settle her stomach and heart and wrangle meaning out of the word “friend,” two men walked through the front door of the diner. Sierra’s eyes darted, looking for a way to hide her face from the tall one in the red University of Louisiana cap.
“Sheesh, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Marc said.
“Shh.” Sierra put up a hand to shield her face, hoping the guy wouldn’t recognize her. “Talk to me about something. Quick.”
Marc squinted at her. “Which is it? Shh or talk to you?”
She nodded toward the door. “Don’t look, just give me some cover.”
Of course, he looked. “Who is that?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute, just help me out for one second.”
The two men walked toward them looking for an open booth.
“I thought you didn’t need me to save you. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”
“For crying out loud, I don’t need you to save me when I don’t want saving. But if I’m asking for help, yes, please,” she hissed at him.
The man in the hat stood beside their booth, looking down at Sierra still trying to hide. But it was too late.
“Great. You’re stalking me to ruin all my meals now?”
This guy was supposed to be some random asshole tourist. He was supposed to disappear after she taught him a lesson and lost her job over it.
Marc looked back and forth between them, then asked the man, “Is there a problem?”
The muscles in Marc’s arms were tight, ready for the unknown. Sierra watched him defending her, while she felt the other guy’s eyes still burning holes in the side of her head.
“No problem,” the guy said. When Sierra refused to acknowledge him, he turned to Marc and pointed at his glass. “Here’s a tip: watch your drink.”
He left to sit in a booth in the back of the diner, and Sierra exhaled. She watched as the muscles in Marc’s forearms relaxed.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Mr. Grabby Hands from the restaurant you worked at?”
Sierra nodded. She would never admit it, but the encounter had shaken her.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got an eye on them.”
She glanced up to see if he was teasing her again, but his expression was deadly serious. No dig at her. No comment on her getting into more than she could handle. No poke about her needing him to save her.
With her heart doing backflips, Sierra picked at her napkin and changed the subject. “So, you work at the paper? I thought you worked in radio?”
He paused for a second, like he wouldn't let her get away with changing the subject so easily, but he said, “I’m also a sports beat writer and columnist.”
“What’s the job?”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He snapped it shut then opened it again. “Different departments, different options. We can find something for you, I’m sure.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t see how that solves anything. I mean, I’m grateful for the offer, and I need the money, but that doesn’t solve our problem.”
His cheeks flushed red again. “We don’t have a problem.”
“Uh, yeah. We do. If I take this job, who’s gonna solve our thief and snake problems?”
His nostrils flared. “What is this ‘our’ crap? My thief. My snake problem.”
Maybe she was overstepping a tiny bit, but she did need the money. And, more importantly, she hated when people messed with her friends. It’s what had gotten her fired in the first place. At the very least, someone needed to pay for what they were doing to Denise.
“You brought me into it,” she argued.
“And now I’m cutting you out of it.”
She couldn’t believe it. He had called her. He had asked her for help. Now he was blowing her off and denying her the perfect solution to both of their problems? Un-freaking-believable.
And what about Denise and her kids? He was right that she didn’t have a lot of love for Denise, but seeing those toys where they’d found a water moccasin ticked her off. Who would do something l
ike that?
“You’re not making any sense.” She took a deep breath and tried a different approach. “Why are you being so stubborn about this? Why won’t you let me help?”
“One, because I don’t need someone else caught in the middle of this.”
“I don’t need you to save me from anything.”
“Right,” he said. “Because you’ve never gotten in over your head before.”
She glared at him. He’d almost witnessed an example of that just a moment ago in this diner, but her track record also included a lot of cases where she’d gotten in over her head with him. Or at least taking up for him. And now he was using that against her?
“Which brings me to reason number two,” he added. “I don’t need you rushing in and causing more problems.”
“I don’t cause more problems.”
“You never mean to and always have good intentions, but you do tend to jump into things that get us both in trouble.”
“And you’ve never jumped the gun and caused any problems?”
She regretted the words the moment they came out of her mouth. Not regret that she’d said them. She meant every word. But regret for bringing up the subject at all.
She did not want to talk about it. Them. That.
He’d kissed her right before she left. And it wasn’t some magical fairy tale kiss that could make her dad not move them across town. The whole situation had been hard enough, and that kiss had made everything so much harder for her.
Then he went and messed things up even more by going out with Kassie Bergeron when Sierra had barely left the neighborhood. Okay, so maybe it was a few months later.
The point was that here they were now, fifteen years later, arguing about who was the bigger screw-up. But it didn’t matter who it was. They had their shot. You don’t get second chances at stuff like that.
Sierra crossed her arms and stared down at her basket of food that she didn’t even want to eat anymore. Great, not only was he denying her the reward money, but he’d also ruined her appetite.
Marc nodded at her food. “Something wrong with it?”
“Not hungry anymore.”
He opened his mouth to say something but decided against it. Instead, he waved the waitress over for the check. Sierra offered to pay, but he handed over a twenty before she could reach her back pocket. They sat in silence until the server returned with Marc’s change. He left a tip, then stared at Sierra and sighed.
“What?”
He shook his head. “You’re going to leave straight from here and look into this mess anyway. No matter what I say. Aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Probably.”
He stared at her for a good long time. She’d been avoiding direct eye contact as much as she could all through this non-meal. Always feigning some distraction or another. Smiling at the cute old couple at the next table, gazing up at the news feed on the TV, whatever she could find. Something in his dark brown eyes had changed in the last fifteen years. Something that made her uncomfortable. Those eyes threw her off guard. Drew her in. And she didn’t like it one bit.
But he’d been patient and caught her in his gaze this time. After staring her down until her insides squirmed, he broke eye contact and relaxed.
“Okay, fine. You’re right. I need to find out who put those snakes there, if anyone. This could all be just a string of coincidences, but I need to be certain. And since I got you involved from the start, I need to make sure you don’t end up a target along with the rest of us.”
She started to say that he didn’t get to save her from herself, but he held up a hand for her to wait until he finished.
“So, here’s the deal.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table. “I’ll let you help me find out what happened if you promise not to go all rogue on me and try to do this by yourself. I’ll even let you look into the theft. And if you follow your end of the deal and help me, the reward’s yours.”
“You’ll let me look into it?”
“Focus, Sierra. This is the deal. It’s the only deal I’m making with you.”
Sierra considered the offer. She didn’t like the idea of working with anyone. Especially not someone who would try to boss her around and limit her involvement.
But she did need the money. And she needed his permission to check out his dad’s workshop.
Plus, something inside her warmed at the prospect of working with Marc. The idea of being a team. More meetings, more lunches, more car rides together…and looking into those deep brown eyes on a regular basis.
Despite the warm fuzzies, the very idea that those things sounded appealing made her want to hurl her lunch. The last thing she needed was to develop feelings for someone she’d already had a failed experiment with.
“Deal.”
The money won. She’d figure out how to keep her feelings in check later. Besides, this would only take a couple of days, then she’d never see Marc again.
“Good.” He slid out of the booth. “Let’s go.”
“Wait, I have more questions before I get started.”
“You can ask me on the way.”
“Oh, right,” she said, remembering her car back at the station.
He shook his head. “I’m not taking you back to your car. Not yet.”
“Where are we going?” She slid out of the booth and followed him.
“Do you want to go to the football game with me? You can ask all the questions you want there.” He nodded back at their table where she’d left a half-eaten basket of food. “I’ll buy you nachos to make up for ruining your lunch.”
She liked nachos.
And he had ruined her lunch by making her bring up their past.
She really liked nachos.
“Wait, I thought your game was later? Why don’t we get my car first?”
“I was thinking we could make a stop at the paper on the way to the stadium.”
“I’m not applying for a job there.”
“We can work on that later.” He cleared his throat. “I was thinking you could help me read through my hate mail.”
“Hate mail? I thought you said you didn’t have any threats or problems?”
A delicious hint of mischief found its way to the edges of his mouth. She fought the urge to close the space between them. To grab his face in her hands and kiss that delicious, mischievous mouth of his.
Marc shrugged. “I lied.”
6
Sierra followed Marc across a narrow parking lot and paused to gawk at the building. Two stories of gray brick and a wall of glass.
The city of Lafayette had a heartbeat. It had a thriving artist community and a strong cultural backbone. When people talked about Lafayette they talked about the people, the food, the music, the feeling. But there was another side to the city. The corporate side, the oil and gas industry side, the wealth disparity carried on the backs of the workers and artists who kept tourism flowing.
This building where Marc worked, the headquarters for the city’s newspaper, was a shining beacon for that cold, lifeless side.
Marc unlocked the gigantic glass door and held it open for Sierra. With every step, her hiking boots echoed through the sterile lobby. He ushered her past a circular reception desk and up a wide, curved staircase, while she wished with each step that she was back on a trail at her own job.
At the top of the stairs, Marc swiped a key card at the end of a short, narrow hallway. While the lobby had been quiet and orderly, the newsroom reeked of chaos. Low-walled cubicles covered the earth-toned industrial carpet. Doors for meeting rooms lined every wall except the one exposed glass wall providing a false sense of freedom and fresh air. Despite the constant flow of bodies and the hum of printers and the clicking of keys, the space was eerily quiet.
Marc placed a palm against her lower back and pointed toward a cubicle in the far right corner. The touch grounded her, even through the fabric barrier of her tank top, and sent tingles up her arm.
&nbs
p; When they reached his cubicle, he rolled an extra chair over and immediately began hacking at the keyboard.
“So.” Sierra sat beside him. “This is where you spend your days?”
The printer spewed out sheet after sheet of paper.
“I’m not here much, really. I’m at the radio station in the mornings, and I do most assignments on my laptop. I only come here a couple hours a week to touch base with editors. A formality. I think seeing me reminds them they actually have to pay me.”
“So do you have to go to all the games every weekend?”
The printer continued to spit out emails. Marc turned from the screen to load more paper. “One high school game a week in the fall. And the university games, when they play at home. I watch the Saints games from my couch.”
“Sounds…busy,” she said, struggling to keep her tone even and nonjudgmental.
“You’d be surprised. I spend most of my weekends camped out on my couch or scarfing down stadium food.”
“Now that sounds like my dream job. You have any openings for a sports reporter?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “My communications degree and seven years of experience are going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
“Just asking.”
“During the week I spend my mornings in the radio booth, and in the afternoons I plan my next show and research league reports.”
“Wait, so you just report on other people’s reports? Isn’t that like cheating or plagiarism or something?”
“Nope. It’s called research. Plus, I’m only a ‘real’ reporter when it comes to high school games. The rest of the time I’m editorializing.”
“Wow. You’re getting paid to give your opinion? How do I get paid to do that?”
“You don’t.” He frowned and grabbed one of the papers coming out of the printer. He looked it over, returned it to the top, and handed her the stack. “You can start here.”
She stared at the papers in horror. What did he want her to do with them exactly? She thumbed through the first couple of pages. “What are they?”
“Love letters.”
Sierra read the first sheet. It began with an offer to not shove a rake up Marc's butt if he promised to jump off a cliff and die. It got ugly from there.
