His expression softened somewhat. “Good. I hope you can.”
“Me, too. He seems so lost. He…” She cleared her throat. “He wants me to stay in Shepherdsville.”
Jack’s face darkened. “I’m not surprised. Are you considering it?”
Heck, no. She had no intention of staying, but she didn’t need another lecture from Jack about why her leaving meant she ought to let go of the farm. Not now. “I don’t know.”
The temperature in his eyes dropped below zero. “So, yes.”
She took a deep breath and tamped down a rush of bitterness. He wanted her gone. In truth, he’d never wanted her back here in the first place. Any intimacy they’d shared while she was here hadn’t changed that. Still, the resentment in his eyes cut deep. “That’s not what I said.”
“I know.” He shook his head, his face tight and his eyes unforgiving. “Would you tell Lynn I had to make a phone call? I’ll be outside.”
He stepped down from the stool and headed for the door. Maren refused to turn and watch him. She’d given everyone enough to see already. Instead, she cleared her face, took a sip of her tea and picked up her menu.
“Couldn’t last three minutes, huh?” Lynn bustled in from the kitchen holding a plastic bag in one hand and a small paper cup in the other.
Maren didn’t bother giving Lynn a reply. The waitress followed Jack outside, and Maren put down the menu and picked up her tea. Why am I here? Other than when she had agreed to help Sam, she’d spent most of her time second guessing her decision to come back.
Except those few moments she’d been in Jack’s arms.
Seriously? Especially those moments.
She gritted her teeth. Alva had said she didn’t understand why Maren wanted to fight.
Me, either, Alva. She could sell the house to the county, put the money towards rent and her legal defense fund, and not have to face her past, Jack, or her losses anymore.
She closed her eyes and sighed. Just give up and run away again, hm? When has that solved anything?
“He’s not out to get you.”
Her eyes popped open, and Lynn stood across from her, arms folded and faded brown eyes fixed on Maren’s.
“That doesn’t change anything.”
“It should,” Lynn replied. “I loved your grandma, honey, but if you’ve got it in your head to keep that place so Jack won’t get it, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Jack’s not a bad man.”
The evidence didn’t support her, but Maren didn’t bother to point that out. Lynn had to have heard all the rumors about deals made behind closed doors, and she wouldn’t believe any of them. She adored Jack.
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s what people always say when they’re tryin’ to make things harder than they need to be.” Lynn picked up a pitcher and topped off her tea. “Jack’s as straight as an arrow. Always has been. You know how he was.”
Lynn’s loyalty was undeniable, but she had a point. In high school, Maren would have sworn that Jack had more integrity than anyone she knew. Had he changed that much? Or was her vision clouded by her own problems?
“It’s been a long time since high school,” Maren murmured.
“That’s horse hockey.” Lynn’s frank stare made her shift in her seat. “He’s the same man he’s always been. A pony don’t turn into a teapot just ‘cause it gets older.” She plopped the pitcher down on the counter, then turned to grab two plates from the service window. “Hold tight, and I’ll come after your order.”
Maren scowled after her. Lynn would have heard every rumor anyone had to share about the new development, and she still believed Jack hadn’t done anything wrong. Did that mean Ron could be mistaken?
Possibly. But Jack wasn’t taking Lynn’s home, either. The old woman might feel different if they were getting ready to bulldoze her house. Plus Jack had stalked out of the diner when Maren threatened to stay in town. If she left, he could justify what he was doing. If she stayed, he’d be forced into a court battle that might expose him. Why else would he be so angry? Even if his theory wasn’t one hundred percent correct, Ron had to be on to something.
Still…
She picked up the menu again, but the idea of food no longer appealed to her. This was Jack. The first guy she’d ever loved, and to be honest, the one man who still gave her goosebumps when he looked at her the right way. Surely she couldn’t have been that wrong about him. Part of her wanted to confront Jack about Ron’s suspicions, give him a chance to explain, and try to come to an agreement she could live with when she went back home.
The rest of her knew that was impossible. She would never be satisfied with anything short of keeping her house, which Jack had admitted he would never let her do.
And yes, you could have been that wrong about him. She’d been wrong about Bill. So wrong.
She couldn’t afford to let herself make that mistake again.
Chapter Eight
The phone on the wall in the dining room let out a shrill ring. Maren looked up from the coffee pot, startled out of her thoughts. The old-fashioned phone hung on the wall, its rotary dial sadly outdated even ten years ago when she had left home. Now, that phone was ancient.
Why was it ringing? She’d swapped all the bills over to her account when Grandpa died, then spent the last several years ignoring them until she decided what to do next. After five years with no one to answer it, who would think to call that phone? Who would even know the number anymore? She laid her hand on the receiver and lifted it from its cradle. “Hello?”
“Maren?”
She frowned. “Lance?”
“I’m disappointed in you,” he said, his voice tight and thin.
Disappointed? “Excuse me?”
“I just got my copy of the Times.”
She smiled. Ron had come through. She’d almost forgotten the paper came out today. “Did you?”
“Why would you think this was the right way to handle this situation?” he asked. “Your grandparents would be ashamed.”
Her brows snapped together. Really? She’d gotten a little publicity, and he wanted to resort to shaming her? Trepidation crept into her stomach. What had Ron said? “I haven’t seen the article yet,” she said, injecting as much frost into her voice as she could, “but I know I don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”
Lance snorted. “Then you’ve forgotten what it means to live in Shepherdsville. Around here, we work out our differences with a handshake and a cup of coffee.”
“Is that right?” she asked. “And that’s why you’ve been secretly planning to take a vote next week? Is that how you work things out over a cup of coffee?”
He paused for a long moment. “There’s nothing secret about it.” Some of the outrage had faded from his voice. “You know I can’t do something like that without going through the right procedure.”
“True, but I don’t remember you telling me about it.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with the Times article.”
Of course you don’t. It’s only wrong if you didn’t think of it first.
“Throwing dirt won’t make folks around here feel sorry for you,” he continued.
“Throwing dirt?” What dirt? Since when did talking about her grandparents’ early marriage constitute mudslinging. Unless....
Unless Ron printed his suspicions. And put her name on them.
Oh, crap.
“Lance, what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about corruption and behind-the-scenes deals. You’ve been gone for ten years. You’ve got a lot of nerve—”
“Corruption?” she interrupted. She replayed her conversation with Ron in her mind. He had told her about someone influential selling land, but she’d never accused anyone of corruption. “I never said that.”
Lance didn’t answer for a long moment. “Then you should be more careful who you associate with. I’m calling Ron Landry.”
Before Maren could reply, he had discon
nected the call. She stared at the receiver for a moment before laying it back in the cradle. The epic struggle of good versus evil. Ron had been a little over the top when she’d agreed to the interview. What else had he said?
And about whom?
She needed a copy of that paper. Fast.
The newspaper rack sat just outside the door of the convenience store down the road. When Maren arrived there less than ten minutes later, she found her story on the front page. Its impossibly large headline poked out of the rack.
Maren slapped a hand to her forehead. “Economic Development Fosters Greed and Corruption.” Seriously, Ron?
She jammed her quarter in the slot, took the top paper, and scanned down the page. Ron had taken a simple story about two people living out their lives in the quiet grace of the countryside and turned it into a stinging tale of politics and fraud. Jack, driven by greed and a thirst for power, paid the corrupt Board kickbacks in series of secret deals, all designed to roll over a pathetic waif who was powerless to stop them. Oh, brother. All he needed was a tommy gun, and this could pass for a 1920s gangster movie.
Jack’s gonna kill me. If he ever speaks to me again.
She dug her cell phone out of her purse and punched in Ron’s number. He answered on the first ring. “Hey, Maren! What did you think? Pretty good stuff, huh? Lance has already called. Oh, man, is he hot!”
“I know. He got to me first.” She bit down on an epithet. “What were you thinking?”
“What?” Confusion muddied his voice.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Since I bought the Times. Two years next March. Why?”
“Because you obviously haven’t learned to read your market.” Oh, for heaven’s sake. She sounded like Lance. She ducked back into her car. “You can’t do...this. Nobody here will trust you if you write stuff like this.” Or me, for that matter. Wonderful.
He let out an impatient sigh. “We exposed this thing for what it is. That’s good journalism.”
“What ‘thing’? Sure, there might be some back-scratching going around, but I don’t think we’re dealing with full-on criminal behavior here.”
Interesting. And hadn’t she been telling herself the same back-scratching meant she couldn’t trust Jack?
Well, yeah. But that doesn’t mean he’s Bill.
“I was going for drama,” Ron said. “I thought it would catch people’s attention.”
Mission accomplished. Ron had no idea what a hornet’s nest he had stirred up. She could feel her tenuous truce with Jack crumbling from beneath her, and a slow, heavy pain throbbed in her head. She drummed her fingers on her steering wheel. “I need to fix this.”
“Why?” he demanded. “You needed to have your story told, Maren. They’re trying to take your farm. You have to fight back.”
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Not like this. They’ll work even harder to bury me.”
“That’s not how it works,” he said, his smug tone assuring her she was a babe in the woods when it came to manipulating public opinion. “When you expose self-interest in the government, everyone starts protesting and officials have to do the right thing.”
She shook her head. “No. Here, an outsider that attacks their own becomes an outcast. And you and I are both outsiders.” She flinched at the thought. No matter who her mom and her grandparents had been, Maren had never felt like one of the town’s own. She’d always been that kid from Massachusetts. Ron’s article had only highlighted the fact that she’d never belonged.
He fell silent, then after a moment, he continued, his voice almost meek. “There’s something else you should know, then.”
She paused with her finger on the ignition, trepidation rising in her chest. There’s more? “What?”
“I was going to tell you when I dropped your copy of the paper at your house. I have a friend at the Register.” Her trepidation turned to dismay.
“You put the story in the Franklin Hill paper, too?” She clutched the phone and waited for an answer she didn’t want to hear.
“Yeah,” he said. “Mid-South’s corporate offices are over there. I thought it would make an impact.”
She blew out a long breath. “Oh, it’ll make an impact alright.” Jack will be furious. Any inclination he might have had to work with her would be gone.
And he would bitterly regret the few moments of bliss she’d spent in his arms.
Stop it. As if he hadn’t regretted it already. Didn’t she? Of course she did. Jack Mason was the last man on Earth she ought to be kissing, and for that reason alone, she ought to ignore how he might feel about the article and push forward with her plan for an injunction. This might put some much-needed distance between them and force him to stop trying to charm her into getting his way.
But she wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t. He would think she’d publicly called him greedy and crooked in two cities. Maren couldn’t stand the contempt she knew he would feel for her now. She had to make it right. Or, at least, she had to try.
When she pushed open the door to the county administrator’s office twenty minutes later, her skin crawled with nervousness at the thought of the angry people who might be waiting for her inside. She prayed Laura May would be here. And that the board members wouldn’t. For once, her luck held.
“Ooo, girl, did you ever cause a stink around here this morning,” Laura May greeted her. She leaned on the counter between them, her eyes twinkling. “This bunch hasn’t been that mad in a long time.”
“Well, you told me to dig. And I dug up Ron Landry.” She grinned. “He’s got a way with words, doesn’t he?”
“That’s not quite how Lance put it.” Laura May laughed. “So, what brings you up this way? Death wish?”
Maren dropped her elbows onto the counter. “No, I need your help.”
“Oooo, I get to be a double agent, huh? What’s up?”
“I guess Ron’s a good enough guy, but he’s got a lot of… um… enthusiasm,” Maren said. “I didn’t say all those things, Laura May.”
“I didn’t think you did. Ron tries to stir things up sometimes.”
Maren could have hugged her. “Thanks. But it’s a little more complicated. He called a friend at the Franklin Hill Register and had the story run there, too.”
“Oh.” She gave Maren a knowing nod. “And you’re worried about Jack?”
“No. Well. Yeah. I mean...” Heat flooded her cheeks. How could she keep Laura May from getting the wrong idea? From the look on her face, that might already have happened. “I didn’t say all of that stuff. And Jack...” She bit her lip. “We’ve had our problems, but I wouldn’t do that to him. I need to talk to him.”
Laura May’s eyes sparkled. “Jack will understand once you explain it to him. Ron didn’t know you and Jack are sweet on each other, or he might have toned it down.” Her eyes darkened. “On the other hand, it might have been even worse. The man had to have been a gossip columnist in another life.”
Sweet on each other? The quaint phrase would have made Maren smile if Laura May hadn’t just accused her of having a thing for Jack. She hadn’t been in love with Jack for a long time. Her lips tingled at the memory of his mouth on hers, and she forced the sensation away.
“Jack and I are ancient history,” she replied. “But that doesn’t mean I want him thinking I bashed him. Where can I find him? His parents’ house is the only place I know to look for him, and I just couldn’t go there. I’d be mortified if I had to face his father right now.”
Laura May winked. Great.
“Sure. Hang on.” She pushed back from the counter and disappeared behind the partition. “He lives over in Mill Creek, right down the road from Mark and Deborah Morgan’s old place, but you won’t catch him there,” she called. Papers shuffled as Laura May chattered. “His office is over in Franklin Hill. That’s where I usually reach him.”
She reappeared with a slip of paper, which she slid across the counter. “Here’s his phone number
and address.” Her smile faltered. “Don’t tell anyone where you got that, okay?”
Maren smiled. “Of course not. Wouldn’t be much of a secret operation if I gave away my source.”
“Anything else I can do?”
Maren took a deep breath and picked up the address. “Want to go take a beating for me?”
Laura May laughed. “It won’t be that bad. He’ll understand once you explain it to him.”
I’m not so sure about that. “If he lets me explain.”
“You’ll be fine. Come by the house and tell me what happens.” Her smile widened. “You don’t have any problems a pitcher of margaritas on the back deck wouldn’t help.”
“This is still a dry county, isn’t it?” Marquette County had never come out of prohibition, but most of its residents didn’t seem to notice.
“Yep. Like that’s ever stopped anyone before.”
“True.” She picked up her purse and turned to leave. “And if I come away from his office in one piece, I’ll need one.”
Maren stopped at a gas station outside of Franklin Hill and picked up a copy of the Register. She scanned the page, and her blood ran cold. Franklin Hill, a larger city located twenty-five miles past the county line, couldn’t care less about Maren Campbell. But Jack? Now there was a news item. Sometime in the last ten years, Jack had become a big deal. And the writer for the Register seemed as determined as Ron to tear a chunk out of his hide.
She tossed the paper onto the passenger seat. If she’d been reluctant to show up on Jack’s doorstep before, the Register’s version of her story almost changed her mind entirely.
No. She fastened her seatbelt and started the car. She’d created this mess, even if she hadn’t meant to. She would fix it. Even if Jack threw her out the moment he saw her, she had to try.
She pulled her car into the parking lot of the address Laura May had given her, and her throat went dry. Two wrought iron poles in the middle of the front lawn held a black sign adorned with gold letters. “Mid-South Development.”
Well, I’m in the right place, at least. Holy Moses, Jack had been busy. Luxurious, bright green grass stretched like a carpet from a row of tidy boxwoods which lined the buildings to the sidewalk that spilled out onto the parking lot. A matching pair of two-story brick buildings sat at the end of the sidewalk, each trimmed with columns of crisp, white blocks on each corner and white windows bordered with black shutters in between. A balcony ran along the second story of each building, and tendrils of ivy climbed the walls and twisted around black metal banisters.
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