Now, not only did he have his own desk in his own office but also his own phone, his own door, and an element of privacy.
And, thanks to his uncle, he had the chance to own a string of newspapers. When Uncle Dory had approached him with the idea and laid out the terms of the takeover, Clint could hardly believe his good fortune.
His uncle had been the father figure Clint never had growing up and his de facto guardian for his late-teen years. Clint’s father, Dory’s brother, had spent most of Clint’s youth fighting legal battles on two fronts—with Clint’s mother and with the company he was suing. Both campaigns were nasty and brutish, and as a result, Clint was often left alone as his father holed himself in the study and his mother retired to her wing of their palatial home.
At the age of thirteen, Clint started roaming the streets in the evening after school, getting into fights and whatever other trouble he could find. When he got arrested for shoplifting at fifteen, he was fairly sure his parents saw the transgression as a good excuse to ship him to his Uncle Dory in the sleepy town of Sweet Creek.
That’s when he met the Laidlaw twins. Both had flirted outrageously with him, but it was Leslie who pursued him the hardest. Back in Vancouver, he’d been one of the most popular guys. Here, he was starting over, and the Laidlaw twins were easily the most popular girls in Sweet Creek. It wasn’t a hard decision to date Leslie.
But, when he started visiting Leslie at her home, he was intrigued by Nadine. She treated him with an aloofness he couldn’t understand. They shared a few classes, and he found out she was smart and possessed a dry wit.
And not the least bit interested in him.
He took Leslie to prom with a vague hope that he might snag a dance with Nadine. But to his surprise and, he had to admit, disappointment, Nadine didn’t attend. He never found out why. He and Leslie agreed to break up when his parents sent him on a six-month tour of Europe. When he returned, it was to find out his parents were divorced, and any money left was soaked up by divorce proceedings and the lawsuit his father lost.
He didn’t see Nadine again until he accepted his uncle’s generous offer to buy out the paper.
Clint shook off the memories, thankful as always for that dumb moment when he got caught in the convenience store. Dory had given him a good home and a good example, and now, a good career.
Clint was determined to prove himself worthy of his uncle’s trust, was determined to shake off the lingering bitterness of his parents’ selfish actions.
He set his briefcase on his desk and walked to the window. Dory had occupied the office farther down the hall. It was larger, but Clint preferred the view. He liked to look up from his desk and see people in the park across the street or walking past the office, busy with their errands.
It had been Nadine’s office, and he was sure she harbored some resentment over that. He still didn’t know if it was enough to create Nadine’s guarded looks or touchy attitude, nor did he understand why she still called him Fletcher.
She had always called him that. From the first time he sat by her in chemistry class and every time he came to her place to pick up Leslie. If she wasn’t calling him Fletcher, she was ignoring him, her total concentration on the book she was reading. He wasn’t used to being ignored. Consequently, he showed up earlier for dates, to talk to Nadine, to draw her out. He spent more time talking to Nadine about serious issues while he waited for her sister than he did with Leslie. He enjoyed their time together and thought Nadine did, too. But then life intervened.
He had gone out with several women when he left Sweet Creek, but none of them challenged him intellectually the way Nadine had. None had her appeal; nor did they ever keep him at arm’s length as she did.
Now, she worked for him, and the intervening years—with all the sadness they brought—had helped her keep that prickly shell around her. He had returned to Sweet Creek hoping to see her again and raise their relationship to another level, but each of his overtures was rebuffed. After his first weeks here, he held back, sensing that Nadine still dealt with the grief of her mother’s death.
Their relationship was cordial yet all business, but in the past few weeks, he saw glimpses of the Nadine who had always piqued his curiosity. An insightful comment from her about federal politics in the break room. A wry opinion on local politics or a funny, off-the-record anecdote about someone she interviewed.
Clint shook his head at himself. Regardless of his feelings for her, he had a job to do. He walked to his desk and pulled from his briefcase the letter he received yesterday from Skyline Contractors’ lawyers. He didn’t look forward to discussing it with Nadine.
“I made pancakes, Nadine,” said Grandma as Nadine came into the kitchen early the next morning. “They’re in the oven staying warm.”
“Sorry, Grandma. I’m not in the mood for a big breakfast.” Last night, she hadn’t been able to sleep, instead wrestling with the implications of the letter she’d received. When she woke, her stomach was in knots.
“You never are,” complained Barbara, looking up from the newspaper she was reading at the table.
Nadine tugged open the refrigerator door and pulled out a carton of yogurt and an apple. She set them on the table, then dropped into a chair, snagging a napkin from the holder on the table. The latest edition of the newspaper lay spread out on the table. Grandma had the first section, so Nadine grabbed the other.
She opened the pages, checking the stories she knew almost by heart, stopping at her kindergarten feature. She thought she had done effective work with the pictures she took. She had pasted them in a montage of children’s faces: eager, expectant, and excited. The mix had energy and exuberance suited to the first day of a new venture. It was the kind of picture she knew parents cut out to put in their child’s scrapbook.
“Listen to this item from the ‘Court Docket,’” Grandma said, her voice scandalized. “Holly Maitfield fined for allowing her dog to roam the neighborhood unleashed. Again.” She clucked anxiously. “They will put that poor mutt in the pound one day.”
“They’ll have to catch him first,” murmured Nadine, skimming over the text opposite her feature. Halfway through, she sighed in frustration. Another typing error. Clint would be annoyed. Maybe that’s what he wanted to discuss this morning.
“That’s a lovely group of pictures,” commented Grandma, leaning over to look at the paper.
Nadine glowed. In this line of work, people commented more often on what the reporter had done wrong, rather than right. Her grandma’s compliment warmed her. “Thanks, Grandma. I had a lot of fun with this feature.” She smoothed the picture with a proprietary air and turned it so her grandma could see it better. Nadine was about to turn the page when her grandmother stilled her hand.
“Wait a minute, I want to read ‘About Town.’” Barbara held her hand on the paper while she read the bits of local gossip, gleaned from a variety of sources for the regular, anonymous feature. Nadine never read it. She couldn’t be bothered, and anyway, she knew that Elaine wrote it. But Grandma read it faithfully. If she read it in “About Town,” it had to be true.
Nadine polished off her apple, wiped her mouth, and prepared herself to face down Barbara Laidlaw.
“Grandma, I need to talk to you about last night.”
Barbara blinked, put down her fork, and crossed her hands on the table in front of her. “This sounds serious.”
“It is. I like organizing my social life, choosing my own friends. I don’t think you need to invite young men over for tea.”
“I didn’t...invite Patrick. He asked himself over. He wanted to see you,” Barbara insisted.
Nadine stared across the table at her grandmother, ignoring the remark. “I don’t want you inviting anyone over for tea or coffee or cereal or anything; okay, Grandma? No uninvited men coming to this apartment.”
Grandma Laidlaw smiled back at her, unperturbed by Nadine’s pique. “I’m sorry, Nadine,” she continued, her tone contrite. “I’m sorry you th
ink I’m interfering in your life. I just want you to be happy and settled. That’s all.” She got up and took the teapot off the stove. “Do you want a cup of tea yet, honey? It’s your favorite kind. I got it in that store on the corner, the one with that good-looking, young cashier.”
“No, thanks.” Nadine frowned, her anger fading. Her grandma had done it again. Taken the wind out of her sails and then changed tack.
“Well, you should get going. Make sure you’re home on time tonight. We’ve got company for supper.”
Nadine stopped, her frustration trying to find an outlet, trying to find words. “Who?” she sputtered, frustrated that she couldn’t find the right words to make her grandmother understand.
“I know you said no more interfering, but I invited Dr. McCormack for supper a couple of days ago. I can’t change that now, that would be rude,” Grandma said quickly.
“I won’t be home,” she said firmly, not caring about the faux pas her grandmother was convinced would ensue.
“Why not? You’re not working, are you?”
She wasn’t, and she had to work fast to avoid a repeat of last night, and many other nights. “Actually, I’m going to...” What, what? She was going to do...what? Her mind flew over the possibilities and latched onto one in desperation. “I have a date.”
“A date? With who?”
Oh, brother. Who? Name. She needed a name; she could see her grandmother’s suspicious frown starting. “Uh...Trace.”
Grandma frowned. “I’ve never heard of this Trace fellow. What kind of name is that? What’s his last name?”
This was getting harder. Trace’s name had just popped into her mind. Now he needed a last name, to boot. “Trace...Bennet,” she quickly added. Nice name, respectable name, she thought to herself, and the names seemed to belong together. “He’s a great guy. I met him two months ago at the Agribition in Edmonton when I was doing a story on the farm family of the year.” She washed her hands and tossed her apple core in the compost pail—unable to look her grandmother in the eye—and bit her lip to stop the flow of drivel mixed with fibs.
“You never told me about this.” Grandma sounded hurt.
Nadine shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring a stab of guilt. She reminded herself of the stories Grandma had spun to Patrick and the fact that Grandma had told her Dr. McCormack was coming over only seconds after Nadine specifically asked her not to invite prospective boyfriends.
“I’m meeting him in Eastbar,” Nadine said, turning with a smile at her grandmother. “I have to do a review on a new movie showing there.” She sucked in a steadying breath, knowing she had to quit before she got herself too mired in the fib.
Grandma sat back in her chair, almost pouting. “That’s too bad. I was really hoping for you to meet Dr. McCormack. He’s quite good-looking.”
“Well.” Nadine lifted her shoulders in a shrug, trying to look contrite. “Sorry, but I can’t break a date with Trace.” She brushed a quick kiss on her grandmother’s cheek. “So long,” she added, straightening.
Grandma caught her hand and squeezed it as Nadine straightened. “You never talked about him before?”
Oh, great, she sounded suspicious.
“I...wasn’t sure how I felt...” which was true. How does one manufacture feelings about a fake guy?
“And how do you feel now? Do you like this man?”
Nadine almost relented at the sight of her grandmother’s genuinely worried expression. Grandma really did only mean the best, she thought. But she remembered Patrick and Dr. McCormack and steeled herself, knowing Grandma’s strongest ammunition was her concern and consideration. She would wear Nadine down with a smile, then turn around and arrange a meeting with yet another man.
She squared her shoulders, fighting her guilt and reminding herself to be strong. “We’re just getting to know each other, Grandma. These things take time.”
“Well, then, it shouldn’t matter if I ask someone else over, should it?”
She just wouldn’t give up, thought Nadine incredulously, holding her grandmother’s gaze. Barbara’s dogged determination reminded Nadine not to back down. Her self-reproach evaporated. “I have a boyfriend now, Grandma. You don’t have to worry about me. You never had to.” And with that, she turned and left before she had to lie again.
Trace Bennet, Trace Bennet, she repeated to herself as she walked out the door. I’ve got to remember that name! She stepped out and hurried down the walk, realizing she just stepped from the proverbial frying pan into the fire.
Clint stepped out of his office into the airy, spacious foyer. It still held that smell of fresh paint and carpet glue. He had ordered the renovations as soon as he took over, knocking out one wall and putting in a curved, chest-high divider that acted as a reception desk. The room was painted shades of cream and hunter green. The staff referred to it as the restaurant, but most agreed that the office looked more professional and inviting.
Julie was already at her desk, answering the phone, juggling things as usual. She looked up when Clint approached and covered her headset with one hand, raising her eyebrows in question.
“When Nadine comes, can you tell her I’d like to see her right away?” he asked.
Julie nodded, turning back to her call.
Then, just as he was about to return to his office, the front door opened with a jangle of chimes and Nadine stepped into the room, rubbing her hands. Her cheeks glowed, and her hair, pulled into its habitual ponytail, shone under the lights. She wore her usual jeans and a worn leather jacket over a loose sweater. On anyone else, the outfit would look sloppy, but Nadine made it look trendy—although he knew she wore that same sweater in high school.
A flow of cold air accompanied her and she glanced at Clint, then sharply away. He couldn’t stop the nudge of disappointment at her reaction. It was no different than usual, but it still bothered him.
He cleared his throat. “When you’ve got a few minutes, Nadine, I’d like to see you in my office.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a bit.” Without giving him another glance, Nadine walked to Julie’s desk and leaned on the divider. “Any fan mail for me?” she asked, her voice taking on a teasing lilt that she used with everyone but him.
“Stacks,” Julie said, handing her a few envelopes. “And here’s one with no return address. Be careful with it. Who knows who it’s from? Maybe a stalker.”
“You sound a little too excited about that. Besides, the trolls usually e-mail me,” Nadine said, taking the envelopes. She flipped through them then took the one and quickly shoved it in her ever-present knapsack.
Finally, she turned back to Clint, her chin up as if challenging him. Clint bit back a sigh. Why did he even bother with this woman? She would never let down her guard. She would never come to care for him as he did for her. But, as he caught her eyes, he saw pain and weariness behind the challenge, and he felt the impulse to hold her, comfort her.
But he knew how she would react to that. The same way she did to every overture he made to her: a sarcastic comment and a dismissive shrug of her shoulder.
“You wanted to see me right away?” she said.
“If you have a moment.”
“Better get me now before the phone rings.”
Clint ushered her into his office, but before she sat down he offered her a cup of coffee, which she declined.
“You mean I don’t even get to show you what a sensitive, caring guy I am?” he joked in an attempt to alleviate the mood.
She looked up, her face impassive. “I know what kind of man you are,” she said.
Her voice held an edge that annoyed him. What had he done to her to make her so prickly around him?
And why did he even bother connecting with her?
“So what did you want to talk to me about?” she said, sitting back.
Clint took a breath, trying to find the right words, reminding himself that he was the general manager and protecting the newspaper was his first priority, not furthering his pers
onal relationship with his editor. He rested his arms on his desk, knowing what he had to say next wouldn’t help matters between them at all. “I wanted to ask you about an article on Skyline Contractors that I found in the computer archives. It was under your byline, but obviously not ready for press yet. Is it news?”
“I got some information from a former employee about some discrepancies in their accident reports...” she said slowly.
“Who verified it?”
“A former employee who used to drive Cat for them. Of course, the operative words are ‘used to.’ He heard a few things he shouldn’t have, repeated them to me, and now he, too, is a former employee.” She leaned forward. “Trust me, Clint. This is a story and it’s good.”
“I don’t want you to write it.”
“If you want to pull rank on me, Clint, that’s fine. But before we go any further, I want to talk to the editors of other papers in the organization. They have as much a stake in this fight as we do. You know they’ll take my part. I have to run this story.”
Clint knew the history well. Uncle Dory had, in fact, pushed Skyline’s buttons for years and all the editors of each paper followed suit. It had also now put him in a precarious position. He didn’t have the resources to battle Skyline, but being against this company seemed to be the paper’s stance.
“Skyline will kill themselves in the long run. Do you really think they need our help?”
Nadine held his gaze. “Well, it seems to me to be a good cause, so I say why not make the long run just a little shorter?”
Clint knew she was right, but he also knew that he had to make sure she wasn’t setting out stories just for the sake of antagonizing a company that had their lawyer’s number on speed dial. “Why not? Because this time they might take us to court.” He pulled back his frustration. The newspaper business was a tough go and he was thankful for the loyal readership. He wanted to keep it that way. Lawsuits had a way of taking over lives and he didn’t want to get pulled into that.
Her Heart's Promise Page 3
