by Mina Khan
Probably stored in the archives, or as the news staff referred to it— the morgue. “How much land are we talking about? What’s it worth?”
He grimaced as if he’d just bitten something bitter. “It was a decent-sized farm, about one hundred sixty acres right by the river.”
“With the developers sniffing around, it’d be worth some money today,” his friend chimed in.
“All of which would go into Callaghan pockets instead of mine,” Sam growled.
“Have you tried talking to Jack Callaghan or his sister? Maybe they’d sell you the land.” Lynn packed the tools of her trade into the backpack.
“Buy back what should be mine? I don’t think so!” Sam attacked his burrito with a vengeance.
The man next to her, obviously an old friend or just foolishly fearless, snickered. “There’s also the issue of being able to afford it.”
Sam lurched to his feet, swearing and cussing. Lynn said a quick goodbye.
She exited the booth and turned toward the door just in time to see Jack racing for the door. He carried a folded newspaper. Shit.
“Jack!” She rushed after him.
By the time she exited, he was already in his truck.
She flew to the window and knocked on it.
He turned an unsmiling face to her. After a moment, the window rolled down.
“I can explain,” she blurted.
His icy stare didn’t change. “No need. You’re curious like all the others about the infamous Callaghans.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
His lips curled into a sneer. “Well, your nosiness isn’t appreciated. And watch out who you trust, Sam White is neither stable nor reliable.” He paused and let out a deep sigh. “We employ him out of a stupid sense of obligation.”
The window went back up and the truck rumbled to life.
Lynn jumped back and watched him squeal out of the parking lot. Something inside her grew heavy and sank to the bottom of her stomach and she felt an overwhelming need to cry. Fool. She was only trying to find other suspects, and a disgruntled employee seemed like a good candidate. A long-drawn breath surged out of her. It didn’t matter what he thought of her. She was in Paradise Valley to help Jen and catch the rogue. Not to mess around with Jack.
Abby, the Herald receptionist, greeted her with a mile-wide smile and an impressive bouquet of red roses. “Someone’s got an admirer.”
“Huh?” Lynn hurried forward. The roses’ sweet, heady fragrance made her feel woozy. “Who sent them? Is there a card?”
“There is.” Abby plucked it out from the back and handed it to her.
Lynn held the small innocuous cream envelope like a dragon egg in mid-hatch. Could Jack have sent them? The man got an A+ for romantic follow up. She wished again he hadn’t overheard her conversation with Sam. Her heart thudded at the base of her throat.
“So, open it!” Abby leaned over the counter, her eyes shining.
Lynn pinched one end of the envelope and tore a section open. Spasm after spasm rocked her nervous system. True warning or haywire dragon? She opened her mouth and gulped in air, then grabbed the vase. “I’ll just take them to my desk.”
Abby’s smile dimmed. “Well. Enjoy your secret!”
Clutching the vase to her chest, Lynn tried to hold back the nausea stirred up by the roses and dashed into the newsroom.
A wolf-whistle stopped her. Hernandez leaned in his doorway, grinning. “Somebody must like you!”
“I guess.”
“So who is it then?”
Lynn’s gaze darted like a trapped fly. “I don’t know.”
“Hmm, a secret admirer.” He rubbed his hands together. “I like mysteries.”
She’d been afraid of that. “Got to go, lot’s to do.” Lynn trotted past him.
“Are you going to the Paradise Valley Picnic and fundraiser Wednesday?”
“Yes, I’ll write up a story for you,” Lynn answered without stopping.
“Good,” Hernandez called after her. “Maybe your admirer will reveal himself there.”
“That’ll be news.” She dumped the vase on her desk and slammed into her chair. With shaking fingers, she tore open the envelope and pulled out the card.
An ink sketch of a dragon adorned the heavy cardstock. No signature.
Chapter 16
Frisky banjo tunes and the mouthwatering smell of barbeque greeted them at the park entrance. Even though she could’ve flashed her press pass and entered for free, Lynn dropped twenty dollars into the hand-lettered Donations box at the entrance. The money would help the Jarvis family. Jen —carrying the brightly-wrapped bicycle for Timmy from the two of them— hightailed it to the work area to help with the set up, while Lynn got sucked into a whirlwind of people.
The Jarvis family took turns hugging her, and she hugged them back— glad to see them happy again. Being politicians in an election year, the county commissioners made sure to shake her hand. She waved at Timmy as he raced by.
She wove through the crowd, stopping and chatting with several of the firefighters, except the one she wanted to see. Where the hell was Jack?
Lynn spotted a familiar face. The statuesque blonde from the newspaper photograph. The one who’d been draping herself all over Jack. She seemed to be in an intense conversation with someone, leaning close to a man, who for the most part stood hidden behind a life-size cardboard cut-out of Ward giving everyone a thumbs up. Did he have to put the damn sign there? Lynn zigzagged toward them, trying to get a better look at the woman’s companion. Was she with Jack? Had to be. She’d recognize his relaxed stance anywhere.
Anxiety gnawed at her. Lynn didn’t want to interrupt, but she wanted to ask him about his late night trip and the Range Hotel fire and clear the air between them. As soon as the conversation ended, she’d pounce on Mr. Callaghan.
She positioned herself behind the sign and hovered over the table of desserts. Bits and pieces of the conversation floated to her.
“The Range was a dump. It needed to be razed,” he said. “I don’t know why everyone is so worked up about it?”
Shock rippled through Lynn. A man had died.
“It’s a historical building, something that can be a tourist attraction and an asset,” the woman’s tone cut like a rapier. “In other words, it’s worth money. A lot of money. I assume you can grasp that.”
Fire was, no pun intended, the hot topic around the area lately. But Jack had told her he loved history. She inched forward.
“Why are you lurking there?” The cool, cultured voice poked at her.
Lynn flushed as she stepped out and joined the couple. Swallowing, she turned to the man. Henry. Not Jack. The knot in her shoulders eased.
The developer’s representative had exchanged his suit for crisp blue jeans, a white shirt, black cowboy boots and a black Stetson. Jack-style attire, except for sunshades perched on the hat. The statement she’d heard earlier didn’t seem as surprising now. But, wow, the two sounded alike.
“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” The woman stood with her hands on her hips.
Lynn took a deep breath and counted to ten. “I’m just waiting for you both to finish talking.” Then sticking out her hand, she added, “I’m Lynn Alexander, with the San Angelo Herald.”
The woman’s gaze remained glacial even as her lips curved upward. “I am Kate Harrington,” she said, shaking hands. “So you’re the one I should thank for the Jarvises continuing to be my neighbors.”
The man pushed his right hand forward. “Hi, I’m Henry Chase, with Hope Builders.”
Lynn shook his hand and improvised. “I know who you are. I was waiting for my chance to speak to you.”
Kate excused herself and sauntered away after a speculative look at them. Lynn, for her part, pretended not to notice and turned her full attention on Henry.
“Sorry, I’ve been meaning to return your calls.” He smiled as he gave her the slow once over. “So what can I help you with?”
> “You have some exciting plans for Paradise Valley I’d love to interview you about.” She batted her eyes. “When can we get together?”
Henry’s eyes widened. “Oh, so you’ve heard about the development. How did you manage that?” His gray gaze zeroed in on her.
She tried to imagine herself as Hernandez and shrugged. “I have my sources and you just confirmed them.”
“We aren’t ready to have a news story about it yet.”
“You’re confusing news with advertising.”
Henry shook his head. “I guess I do owe you for rescuing me from that conversation.” He glanced at the crowd. “Some of the people here don’t like what my employers want to do, so they take it out on me.”
Lynn glanced away. While she felt bad for the guy, she also happened to agree with Ms. Harrington. The old building had been beautiful and an asset, and not just for the economic value. And it had nothing to do with the guy’s employers. Should she change the topic? She met his gaze. “She did have a point.”
He grinned at her. “I know,” he said. “I don’t know why I sometimes just argue for the sake of argument.”
Lynn laughed. “They expect the worst, so you fulfill their expectations?”
“It’s fun watching people get all worked up… sometimes.” Henry stepped closer. “Where are you from?”
Lynn grimaced as she realized that she still stuck out like a sore thumb in Paradise Valley. “Houston.”
“Yeah? Me too.” The strains of a fiddle sailed through the air. A band called The Howlin’ Hound Dogs played on the stage. “Want to dance?”
He dragged Lynn to the dance floor despite her protests of not knowing how to two-step. “Come on, we have to represent Houston,” he said. “It’ll be fun.”
However, Lynn kept tripping up because she was laughing so hard at the outrageous comments Henry kept making. For a moment, a whiff of dragon musk tweaked her nose, then it disappeared, replaced by her partner’s spicy aftershave and the mouth-watering smell of barbecue in the air. They discussed the life-draining long Houston commutes and compared notes on the meat-market aspect of the club-scene, including the cheesiest pick-up lines they’d ever heard. Toward the end of the song, Henry whispered his version of the lyrics into her ears: “Mah dawg died and I got the shingles, the missus she left me and she took the pork rinds and Pringles.”
Her laughter, he said, was like the night song of cicadas. Insistent and continuous, and something that’d keep him awake all night.
The music ended and before Lynn had the chance to catch her breath, Jack came and stood next to them. She looked into his eyes. They were wintery green and unreadable. He glanced at her partner. “Mind if I cut in?”
Henry’s grip tightened on Lynn’s waist. His gaze locked with Jack’s.
In return, Jack squared his shoulders and took a step forward, almost between her and Henry. His hands curled into fists.
Hot, dry desert heat rose in waves around them as if October had suddenly switched to deep summer. Lynn struggled to breathe and think in the stifling air heavy with the strong, musky scent of male dragon. Her muscles tensed, pulsing to change. Scales calcified one by one on her abdomen. What on earth?
A little girl squealed as she rushed by, pigtails flying. Timmy bumped into Lynn, then ran around her, waving a stick with a wooly caterpillar perched on it. The world shuddered and moved again. Lynn sucked in a lungful of cool, refreshing air.
Henry smiled, or rather bared his teeth, and released her. “Be my guest, as long as you return her.”
Jack responded with a steely stare.
Her heart twirled as she found herself caught up in Jack’s arms and settled against his muscular chest. The minute they touched, her insides turned liquid. “I really don’t know how to two-step,” she said.
Had Jack called the heat and the pheromones? Was he the dragon? She took a deep whiff. He smelled of mesquite smoke, musky and warm, from working the grills. His scent enfolded her, worked its way under her skin.
Jack showed her the basic steps. “Just relax and follow my movements.” The music started up again. The band was playing an old favorite, “Silver Wings.” Henry stood at the edge of the crowd, watching them, his face expressionless.
“You look beautiful darlin’.” Jack’s whisper tickled her ear, shot a shiver down her spine. His tone echoed admiration, and maybe a tinge of regret. Why? Her insides churned with mixed emotions.
Soon she was only aware of Jack. Lynn discovered her head came up to Jack’s collar bone and fit neatly under his chin when he leaned forward a bit. She snuggled in and relaxed. What would it be like to do the deed with a male dragon? She shivered and he tightened his hold.
They moved effortlessly around the makeshift dance floor. Two people fused into one. Lynn couldn’t think of anything save his hand at her waist, the touch of his body against hers, his warm breath playing on her hair.
She noticed Brenda and Tom dancing by. Brenda had her head on his shoulder, and Tom leaned down over her. Brenda’s hair was held in a ponytail by a yellow ribbon, its fluttering end whipping around Tom’s nose from time to time. They seemed to be in their own world.
Lynn sighed. This felt so right. She settled in and enjoyed the sway of their movement, and Jack’s possessive grasp on her. She closed her eyes and imagined they were a couple. She became just a woman, a much desired woman caught in the embrace of her handsome admirer.
Before she knew it, the music ended and they pulled apart. Why was he so quiet? So cool and distant? Was he still angry at her? His winter gaze burned into hers and they stood inches apart even as a new tune started up. Sweat beaded through her pores and pooled underneath her breasts.
She wanted to reach up and touch his face. She wanted to tell him everything —about dragons, fires and suspicions— and hope he’d understand. Her nerves skittered every which way. Damn, had she hurt him? She took a deep breath and gathered her courage. A well-manicured white hand settled on Jack’s shoulder.
“I believe you promised me this dance,” Kate laughed.
Lynn turned away and ran smack into a broad chest. Henry.
“Ready for the next dance, m’lady?”
She laughed. There were other men. Jack and his bad temper suddenly seemed too much work. Of course, she needed a man about as much as her dragon needed to get laid. “Only if you commit to an interview first.”
He chuckled and gathered her in his arms. A whiff of warm orange and bergamot swept through her, relaxed her. A voice whispered in her head. No reason you can’t enjoy the company of a nice guy.
“You are relentless,” he said.
“Yes, I am. The relentless reporter.” That sounded so good that she almost believed it. She quirked an eyebrow at him.
He pulled in a sharp breath, his gaze fixed on her. “Okay, let’s meet for drinks on Monday.”
Laughter spurted out of Lynn. “The way an interview works is I ask you questions,” she said. “I think I want my wits sharp for that.”
He dipped her, held her off balance for a minute. “Are you saying you’re done in by one drink?”
Relax. When she was upright and looking into his eyes, she cleared her throat. “I’m saying I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
Henry whirled her out and pulled her close again. “Okay, I’ll have a beer and you can have San Angelo water. Believe me, that’s not a pleasure.”
A giggle burst from her, and then Henry swung them around the dance floor. Her gaze found Jack and Kate dancing. A lightning bolt of jealousy shot through her, followed by a tumble of emotions. Better matched in height, Kate looked into Jack’s eyes as they waltzed by.
Henry blew into her ear. She raised her head from his shoulder and saw a teasing smile on his face. Live a little. “Made up your mind about Monday yet?”
Say yes. Say yes. What was wrong with a little bit of fun? Henry was a nice guy. So he didn’t make fireworks go off inside her, but he made her feel good, made her laugh. “Sure
, when and where?”
After cheering Timmy on as he blew out his candles and cut the cake, Lynn grabbed her piece and found a seat. Elsie Tavistock clapped a hand to her heart and beamed. “Oh you looked so happy on the dance floor.”
“It tired me out,” she laughed and wiggled into a comfortable position.
“You know, dancing is one of the things I miss the most,” Elsie looked down at her lap. “This danged arthritis has taken so much from me.”
“Oh.” Panic gripped Lynn as she stared at the metal rims of Elsie’s wheel chair. What could she say that wouldn’t sound trite? “I-I’m sorry. I hope you had many dances before.”
Tavistock settled on Elsie’s other side, and handed his wife a glass of punch. “Aye, that we did.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Enjoyed every one of them. And Elsie was the most beautiful woman there, still is.”
Elsie laughed and leaned into her husband. “He’s partial to me,” she said. Her bright blue eyes turned serious. “Make good use of every chance life gives you to dance.”
The words slipped inside her head, resonated, called up an answering twinge of emptiness. She nodded. They were joined by Jen and a tall, pretty woman with a cloud of auburn curls held up by a gigantic silver clip.
Jen introduced her as Annie Avery, Jack’s sister. On hearing Lynn’s name, Annie squealed in delight. “I read that story you did on the fire at the Jarvis house.”
Lynn smiled as warmth spread through her. “I hope you liked it.”
“Oh yes, I cried,” Annie said. “But it was funny to see my brother portrayed as the hero.”
“Well, he was rather heroic,” Lynn replied.
Annie laughed. “I’m sure he was, but it’s still funny to me.” She proceeded to regale the table with a “you-wouldn’t-believe-what-Jack-did-as-a-young-‘un” story.
Apparently, Jack was twelve when Annie got married. “Half-way through the reception, the family couldn’t find Jack. “Imagine me clutching my puffy wedding-cake dress up a mile from the dirt as I tottered around.” She shook her head. “But he was a hot-headed tyke with a tendency to get into trouble, so we wanted him found.”
