He nodded and slowly got up.
Nadine zipped her bag shut. “I need another SD card and a battery. I’ll meet you outside.”
Wally only groaned in reply and stumbled out the door. Nadine snagged what she needed then followed him down the hall.
As she closed the door behind her she met Clint walking up the hallway, a frown on his face. “What’s with Wally?” he asked.
Nadine swallowed and willed her beating heart to slow down. This was the first time since yesterday morning they had spoken. “The f-flu...I think,” she said.
“Didn’t you need him today?” he asked with an impatient frown.
“I guess I’ll have to do without him.”
“You were headed out to the FoodGrains project, weren’t you?”
Nadine only nodded, wishing she could just leave. Her discomfort around Clint before the Skyline article was bad enough; since yesterday her awakened feelings had made it worse.
Clint tapped the sheaf of papers he was carrying, his lips pursed. “Do you need help?” he asked, his voice casual.
Nadine’s head shot up. Why would he want to come, especially after everything that had happened? “No, no,” she said hurriedly. “I’d just as soon do it on my own.”
Clint nodded and Nadine realized that it sounded as if she was brushing him off. Elaine’s reprimand warred with her own confusion around her boss as she forced a smile at him, and she amended her statement. “I mean...that’s okay. I don’t want to bother you. You’ve covered Wally enough the past few days.”
“I don’t mind. I could stand to get out for a while. Besides, I know you always do it with two people.”
Nadine glanced at his suit and tie, and he looked down as well.
“Don’t worry. I’ll change,” he said.
Nadine chewed her lip, wondering what it would be like to have him around an entire morning, wishing he’d be called to a sudden emergency. But, he was the boss. If he wanted to come, she could hardly say no.
“Sure,” she said, forcing a cheerful note into her voice.
“Okay.” Clint nodded without smiling. “I’ll meet you at Mark Andrews’s place in about an hour.”
Nadine’s eyes met his and once again, in spite of everything that had happened between them, she felt a pull of attraction. Their gaze held until she glanced away.
She had to be careful. Letting herself fall for this guy would be a mistake.
Besides, she had a boyfriend. Didn’t she?
Chapter 9
Clint watched her go back to her office, feeling torn, wishing for a moment that he hadn’t volunteered. He knew Nadine was only letting him come because she was stuck.
Part of him wanted to exert his authority, and part of him was looking forward to the first reasons he became a reporter: To be enmeshed in a story and to find an angle that would connect with the readership.
He wanted to participate in a community—something he’d only experienced here in Sweet Creek.
And what about Nadine?
He stifled a sigh, thinking of that contrary girl, wishing he could dismiss her from his thoughts. He knew coming to Sweet Creek would mean working with her. In the past, he hoped to start something special with her. But, from the first day he stepped into the office, she kept him at a firm arm’s length.
He wondered why he still harbored some faint hope she would soften toward him.
Two things precluded that—her boyfriend and her opposing stance on Skyline. He had gone to her office on Tuesday morning hoping he could try once more to talk her out of the latter, and if not that, at least try to get her to tone down her rhetoric. But she was stubborn as always, and he was frustrated as always.
Matthew McKnight had called today with predictable news. He had just come out of a meeting with Skyline’s lawyers. They were threatening another lawsuit if the paper didn’t soften its stance toward them.
The newspaper made a comfortable living for all involved, but not a huge profit—not enough to defend against a company like Skyline.
Nadine had put him in an awkward situation. He would lose no matter which way he turned.
Because, for better or worse, he was unable to change his feelings for Nadine Laidlaw.
And he knew she wasn’t letting this case go.
He had to think of his father, holed up in his study, going over strategies with his lawyer in an ongoing lawsuit against a partner he felt had shorted him of his shares.
It had consumed him, taking over his life and casting a long, dark shadow over their home life. When his father wasn’t railing against the injustice, he was at court trying to defend his position. Anger had taken over to the point that Clint was ignored and his mother retreated. Money drained from the family’s finances.
He was afraid the same thing would happen to Nadine if she wasn’t careful; and, in the process, she would take him and his newspaper along.
He had always been attracted to her, but she’d always made it clear what she thought of him. And now, with her frustration over his breakup with Leslie returning, he wished again that he dared tell her the truth.
What would that do to her? What would that do to her relationship with her sister?
Lately he had caught a hint of vulnerability, a softening that drew him in and made him want to peel away the sarcastic outer shell.
He knew what he would find beneath that. He read her articles, sensed her deep, unwavering faith, caught the wry humor that permeated her writing. When she wrote, she showed a side of herself that she was wary to show him.
He just wished he could separate his attraction to her with his need to keep his paper afloat.
Clint shook his head as if to dislodge the thoughts. Nadine was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, a puzzle he couldn’t solve. He had to let go and move on.
He slowed down and turned at the entrance to the farm. As he did, in spite of his lovelorn state, a smile pulled on his lips. Tall, columnar poplars lined the driveway, creating a stately entrance and opening up to a large, log home situated on a hill overlooking the valley and the mountains beyond.
When his parents shipped him off to Uncle Dory all those years ago, it was with the hope that the calm, straightforward man would be able to turn their son around. What Dory did was keep Clint very busy.
As well as three newspapers, Dory owned eighty acres, ten cows, three horses, chickens, rabbits, potbellied pigs, and six dogs. Clint had been responsible for feeding the animals and cleaning the barns and stalls.
In time, he enjoyed the horses nuzzling him as he doled out their grain ration, nickering to him when he came to fork hay for them. He took more time with his daily chores. Working with the animals brought about a sense of satisfaction that had been missing from Clint’s life in the city.
He and his patient uncle had worked well together—soon Clint helped with other jobs. Together, he and Uncle Dory finished renovating the comfortable story-and-a-half home, and Clint took as much pride in it then as he did now.
Clint slammed the door of his vehicle and strode up the gravel path to the house. He skirted the bushes nestled against the front entrance and unlocked the heavy wooden door, then shed his suit jacket and loosened his tie as he ran up the carpeted stairs to his bedroom. He turned to his cupboard to dig out more suitable clothes for a trip to the harvest project.
He selected jeans and an old corduroy shirt, carryovers from his backpacking days. He slipped on the worn clothes,feeling as if he was going back in time. Clint generally favored a more formal look for work: Ties and crisp monochrome shirts as opposed to worn sweaters and corduroy pants. This matched his preference for tight writing with newsworthy stories instead of breezy, loosely written articles that meandered all over the map like his Uncle did. It was all his way of making a statement.
Clint had put his own stamp on the newspaper. It took time to clean out the deadwood and make the changes, but on the whole, things were going well. His biggest problem was also his biggest asset.
> Nadine Laidlaw. His editor and, it seemed, constant critic.
And there she was again. Stirring up trouble.
He had to stop thinking of her. Especially if she continued with this Bennet guy.
For some reason, he didn’t trust Trace. He was a little too ingratiating. Too over the top.
He knew Nadine’s grandmother felt the same way. She had called him up the other day to ask his opinion about the guy, loudly and clearly stating her own. Brash, overconfident, and too smarmy for her. Clint had to laugh, but he also had to agree with Barbara Laidlaw.
Not that his opinion mattered. Nadine was a big girl. She could look out for herself.
He dug through the cupboard to find his own camera and bag. Even though Nadine would take most of the pictures, he liked to hone his own skills. He checked the camera, making sure the battery was still charged, packed some extra lenses, then slung the bag over his shoulder. He walked down the stairs, pausing at the bottom as he wondered once again if he should have offered to help.
Was it her obvious frustration as she stood contemplating a sick reporter? The fact that she worked extra hard the past few weeks, covering for a reporter who had suddenly quit?
Or was it the notion of spending a morning with her, away from the office and the politics of manager and editor?
Clint blew out a sigh. It didn’t matter. He had offered and now he was committed.
Five combines lumbered down the field, the roar of the large diesel engines thundering through the peace of the surrounding countryside. Grain dust swirled upward and the sun shone like a benediction in a promising blue sky.
Nadine glanced again over her shoulder at the gravel road, mentally calculating how long it would take Clint to get here.
The combines had already made one full round, and she was itching to go. She couldn’t wait for him and didn’t want to admit that she was.
Finally she grabbed her camera bag and jumped out of her car, jogging to one of the grain trucks that stood ready to relieve the combines of the harvest.
The driver was leaning against the truck. “You’re from the paper, aren’t you?” he asked, pulling on the bill of his cap.
Nadine nodded as she pulled her camera and light meter out. “And I’m taking your picture.” She took a quick reading, adjusted the settings on her camera, focused on the driver, and snapped her first picture. Nadine guessed from the bright logo emblazoned on his obviously new cap that the hat had been a freebie from one of the various implement dealers in the area.
Trace’s competition. Once more she wondered what had happened last night. Or for that matter, Sunday. He hadn’t called to explain, and she wasn’t about to chase him down. She did have some pride.
An SUV pulled in behind hers. She couldn’t stop the renegade beat of her heart, and when Clint stepped out of the vehicle, it was as if time had turned back.
He wore a brown corduroy shirt that hung open over a plain white T-shirt. Jeans hugged his long legs, and cowboy boots finished the look at odds with his usual tucked-in shirt and tie.
Nadine’s heart slowed, then began a dangerous thumping. He looked like the old Clint Fletcher that took up so many of her dreams.
He sauntered over, notebook and pen in one hand and camera slung over his shoulder. The wind lifted his hair, making it fall carelessly over his forehead. He stopped beside her. “How long ago did they begin?”
Nadine swallowed and returned her attention to her camera, fiddling with the lens. “Just started,” she muttered.
Her discomfort made her take refuge in her usual caustic comments. “Brought your own camera in case I muck up?”
Clint shook his head. “It’s just for myself.”
Nadine opened her mouth to apologize, then looked up at his handsome features. A soft smile played around the corners of his mouth, making him even more attractive than usual, and she changed her mind. Her sarcasm was her only defense against him.
She continued, “I should get going. I just got here and need to get some pictures. Haven’t taken any yet...” And now you’re babbling, you ninny, she reprimanded herself. Just because he shows up dressed in jeans doesn’t mean you need to make a fool of yourself.
Besides, you have a boyfriend.
“Talk to you later,” she said, then turned and ran down the field toward the combines, her heart banging against her chest. You idiot, she fumed, he’s just Clint Fletcher, the man you love to torment.
Nadine took a steadying breath and lifted the camera to her face. Five combines crested the hill, their bulky shapes silhouetted against the sharp blue sky. The thunder of their engines gave Nadine a thrill.
The combines roared toward her, gobbling up the thick, fragrant swaths that lay in readiness on the golden stubble. Grains of wheat spun through various screens inside the combines. Straw spewed out the back—it would lie there as mulch for next year’s crop. Once the combines were full, the trucks would pull up alongside, and the hopper of the combine would spill its bounty in a fountain of grain destined for people in other countries who had so much less.
Behind the combine, the field looked swept clean. All that was left was stubble strewn with finely chopped straw, looking like a buzz cut on a young boy.
She had done a lot of harvest pictures over the past couple of weeks, but this particular annual harvest held a special place in her heart. The FoodGrains Bank project was a cooperative effort of the community. A large map of the quarter section or sections was displayed in the local co-op store and divided into parcels. Anyone who wished could purchase a parcel to help pay for the costs of seeding and fertilizing. The use of the land was donated, then the land was planted, sprayed for weeds, and harvested by volunteers.
The grain went to Third World countries, where it was exchanged for work from the people of the country they were assisting.
Nadine had done a piece on it each year since she first heard about it and felt as much a part of it as any of the organizers. She always bought her own acre and helped keep track of the progress of the combines, cheering when “her” part was done.
The FoodGrains Bank project always had an air of celebration about it. Local implement dealers donated combines and members of the local church prepared a lunch for the volunteers; some people came just to spectate. The project became a way of recognizing the good things God had given the farming community close to Sweet Creek and a chance for farmers to share their harvest with the needy.
One by one the five combines mowed down wide swaths of grain. Once filled, they spilled out the wheat, filling the huge truck. The truck pulled away, and the combines returned to their swaths.
Nadine took many shots of the entire process. Then she glanced over at the group of people standing around the huge map of the quarter section. Clint was talking to a few of the volunteers, smiling and nodding. He held a cup of coffee, and his notebook was stuffed in his pocket and camera now hung around his neck. Mark Andrews came to join him. He must have made a joke because Clint laughed, his eyes bright, the deep timbre of his voice warming her soul like sunlight.
Nadine felt time still, pause, and turn back. She hadn’t seen this side of Clint since he had returned to Sweet Creek a couple of months ago. He always insisted on a measure of aloofness, always held his emotions in reserve. But the Clint who mingled and mixed with people on the edge of the field was so much like the Clint who lived in Sweet Creek so many years ago, her step faltered in reaction.
She was falling for him all over again in spite of her “boyfriend,” in spite of what he had done to Leslie.
What kind of sister falls for the man who broke her sister’s heart? And hers?
Leslie is a big girl. Married. Happy. Surely it was time to let go?
Nadine squinted at the men standing against the white grain box of the truck. It would be a tricky shot with the sun glaring off the background. She raised the camera, analyzing the composition with one part of her mind even as the other part tried to analyze her own life.
/> It was self-preservation that kept Trace at a distance, she concluded, snapping a few pictures and zooming in closer as she adjusted her aperture setting. It was the same thing that kept her sniping at Clint Fletcher. Trace, she let get a bit close because she knew she could deal with him, but her heart wasn’t fully engaged with him. Something about him made her keep her distance.
Clint was another story.
Nadine repressed her thoughts, concentrating on her job. She moved the camera along the group of men. They were the implement dealers and would appreciate having their picture in the paper, so she got a few more frames of them.
She stopped as Clint’s face came into view. Nadine held her camera steady, unable to move on. She adjusted the zoom, pulling the picture in and adjusting the focus. Clint’s mouth was curved in a crooked smile, his eyes squinted against the bright sun. A soft breeze teased his hair, softened its usual crisp style. Unable to stop herself, Nadine snapped a few pictures. Then he turned her way and—through the eye of the camera—she saw him look at her, his gaze so intent, it seemed as if he was directly in front of her instead of fifty feet away.
Nadine’s breath slowed. She lowered the camera, still looking at him. He didn’t turn away.
Even across this distance, awareness sparked between them.
Then she turned away, resisting the urge to look at the pictures on the camera’s display. She took a few more of the combines.
Nadine had intended to spend about an hour there, but was chivvied by the organizers into staying for lunch.
“There’s more than enough,” said Freda Harper, wife of one of the implement dealers. She pulled Nadine over to the table, set up in the shade of a grain truck. “Besides, I understand elk burgers are on the menu.”
“Sounds intriguing.” Nadine’s stomach clenched with hunger as she caught a whiff of the food on the barbecue. She checked out the table, spread with salads, buns, a few vegetable platters and squares. “And it sure looks good.”
“Well, dish up.” Freda smiled at Nadine as she helped herself to some potato salad. “We’ve had such a beautiful fall,” Freda continued as she worked her way down the table. “I’m so glad the weatherman co-operated today, too.”
Her Heart's Promise Page 10
