With This Kiss

by Susan Meier

  Yet, somehow he couldn’t leave.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Rayne said, sighing with disgust. “What is it with men that when they see a woman with a bit of a problem they’re absolutely positive she can’t handle it alone? I’m fine. I’m betting I can even find my dad. I’m an investigative reporter, remember? Tracking down people and information is what I do.”

  “So you have contacts you can call at the Social Security Administration?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you call them?”

  Rayne sighed heavily, as if put off by his question, but Jericho wasn’t fooled.

  “You called, but if your dad got a job, he’s not using his social security number. I’m guessing you checked all your usual places and found nothing. That’s why you came to me this morning. You had already used all your resources. I was your last resort.”

  “Do you think I would have come to you first?”

  “No,” he said, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. She’d pursued all the normal avenues for leads and maybe even a few odd ones, trying to find her dad and she’d come up empty. That’s why his instincts were telling him not to believe her bravado. He really was her last resort. And he couldn’t help her.

  “Rayne, I…”

  “Just leave, okay?”

  “I can’t.” He didn’t know why but his feet didn’t seem to want to move.

  “You know what? I had a boyfriend like you, who thought I couldn’t handle my own life. He didn’t like my weight so he put me on a diet. He didn’t like my glasses so I got contacts. He didn’t like the way I dressed so he went shopping with me. He turned me into a completely different person.”

  Jericho said nothing, vividly remembering that person. The beautiful effervescent blonde he’d seen from across the room at a party.

  “Before I knew it I was so dependent upon him that I was running to him for even simple decisions and when he left me I crumbled into an idiotic mass of hysteria. I will never be that woman again,” she said, pointing at her chest. “I dress how I want. I don’t diet. And I don’t need anybody’s help.”

  “Okay,” Jericho said, suddenly understanding. Laura Beth had tried to change him, too. He believed living with a manipulator had made him cantankerous, but Rayne took a more optimistic approach. She thought her run-in with a manipulator had made her independent. He could accept that, but because he understood her need to be her own person, it was doubly important that he back off. If he couldn’t help her in his official capacity as chief of police, any assistance he gave would be something like charity, and independent people didn’t accept charity.

  “I’ll go then.”

  “Great.”

  With that he turned and walked out of her office, through the back room cluttered with boxes and into the alley. He made his way down the dark corridor until he came to the side alley that led to Main Street. He turned right and jolted to a stop when he almost ran into Elaine as she bounded out the side door of the diner.

  “Hey, Jericho,” she said, coming to a quick halt so she didn’t bump into his chest. “Are you on alley patrol tonight?”

  He quickly said, “Something like that,” then realized that he sounded exactly as he had when he was a teenager caught out after curfew. But tonight he had nothing to hide. No reason to cover the fact that he’d just been to Rayne Fegan’s office. Actually, it was good that he’d checked up on Rayne. Even better that Elaine had caught him. If he explained himself, this time tomorrow everybody in town would know he had treated Rayne no differently than he would anybody else in town. His objectivity for his job would stand out like a neon sign.

  “I saw the lights in the Chronicle offices and did a check. I figured Rayne Fegan was working late, but I stopped by anyway just in case something was wrong.”

  Elaine’s smile grew. “You checked on her?”

  “That’s my job.”

  Elaine laid her hand on his forearm and caught his gaze. “Well, good for you.”

  Mission accomplished. Now he had no reason to check on Rayne tomorrow. No reason to get sniped at. No reason to be accused of hating her family. No reason to be in the same room with a woman who drove him crazy with an attraction that was all wrong. Dead wrong. She wasn’t the woman he created in his fantasy. She wasn’t even the woman he remembered. That woman was a passing fad for her. Or the product of a boyfriend’s manipulation. From here on out he was staying away from Rayne Fegan and if at all possible he was forgetting what she looked like in that red dress.

  As Rayne walked down Prospect Avenue the next morning, she saw Bert Minor, owner of the hardware store, parking his truck in front of the post office. Bert was one of the people who not only hadn’t called to authorize her to put his longstanding ad in this week’s edition of the paper, but also hadn’t paid his bill for past ads.

  She needed that money. Her dad had been paying his employees and their payroll taxes by taking cash withdrawals on one of his personal credit cards. She wasn’t responsible for any of that debt, but she still had plenty of expenses. Utilities had to be paid, so did the printer. She hadn’t bought gas for her car in a week. Unless advertisers began paying their bills, this time next week she might not be able to afford the cup of coffee that sustained her every morning until she could walk home and heat a can of soup—which she would eat for both lunch and supper.

  She could buy a lot of soup with the four hundred dollars Bert owed her, but more than that she needed him to begin running his ad again so the money would continue.

  Knowing she had just enough time to get down the hill before he retrieved his mail and returned to his truck, she quickened her steps. As she rounded the corner onto Main Street, he burst from the post office, hurrying to his vehicle to escape the chill.

  Catching a sliver of his jacket sleeve, she stopped him. “Hey, Bert!”

  “Hey, Rayne.” The tall, round, hardware store proprietor ducked his head, refusing to meet her eyes. “I heard about the paper. Sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, just because I let my employees go that doesn’t mean the paper’s out of commission. So if you didn’t call to authorize this week’s ad because you think we’re shutting down, you’re in luck. I’m running the paper.”

  He peeked over at her. “You’re running it?” he asked, sounding surprised.

  She would have been insulted that he apparently didn’t consider her able to take over, but Bert wasn’t known for his tact. “Yes, Bert.”

  “But you don’t have any management experience.”

  Deciding it wasn’t out of line for the locals to want her to prove herself, she smiled at him. “What I don’t have in experience, I make up for in brains.”

  He laughed. “Not a person in town can argue that you aren’t smart.”

  “So? Can I run your ad?”

  He glanced down. “Uh, I don’t know, Rayne.” He looked up and caught her gaze. “It’s a small town. Everybody knows I own the hardware. Everybody knows where I’m located. I’m not having a sale.” He shrugged. “No reason to run an ad.”

  “Everybody’s always known who you are and where you are and what you sell, but you still took ads in the paper.” She nearly reminded him that all the local businesses advertised more to support the paper than to draw in customers, doing their part to make sure the Chronicle didn’t close. It was the same reason farmers in the area bought all their tractor parts and tools from him, to support him so that he would be there when they needed something in a pinch.

  But she stopped herself because she suddenly got the picture. He wasn’t running his ad because he didn’t care about keeping the paper. He didn’t care if she had to close down.

  “I know I always had those ads, Rayne, but your dad was pretty hard on Ben Capriotti and Ben got elected and now his son is chief of police.”

  “And you’re afraid of reprisal?”

  Bert batted a hand. “Not even a little bit. Ben’s a good man. He wouldn’t cheat. And I’m not afraid of Jericho. I
f anything I think we’re really lucky to have somebody with his background protecting our town.”

  She couldn’t argue with Jericho’s experience. When she was helping her dad try to oust Ben Capriotti, she’d checked into Jericho’s life and discovered he was a well-respected member of the Las Vegas police department. Pressed for an opinion about Jericho’s competence, she’d have to agree with Bert that Calhoun Corners was lucky to get him.

  But she’d never considered the reprisal aspect. Because Ben had announced that he’d hired Jericho to replace Chief Nelson the same day that Rayne’s dad had disappeared, she’d hardly paid any attention to the fact that Ben had hired his own son for a position that held a lot of power. For the past two weeks her focus had been on finding the loan shark and getting her dad’s debt paid. Taking the time now to consider Ben giving his own son such an important job, Rayne didn’t believe Bert had to worry about reprisal, but she did have to wonder about herself, the paper and even her dad if he ever came home.

  But that was a worry for another day. Right now she had to focus on saving the paper.

  “So if you’re not concerned about Jericho or Ben, what’s the deal? Why don’t you want your ad?”

  Bert shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems wrong to support you when you worked so hard to get a good guy out of office.”

  “Okay,” Rayne said, agreeing because she didn’t know what else to say. She couldn’t tell him that her dad had brokered a deal to get Auggie Malloy elected as a way to pay a debt he’d made with a loan shark. She couldn’t even tell Bert that she hadn’t necessarily agreed with her dad that Ben Capriotti needed to be replaced. The truth was, she hadn’t looked into the situation hard enough when she’d returned from Baltimore. Still upset by her breakup and happy to be with the one person she knew loved her as herself, she’d simply signed on for whatever her dad wanted.

  The best she could do now was keep the paper going, return it to being the nonpartisan publication it was supposed to be and prove to Bert that it would be okay to run an ad again.

  Squirming uncomfortably, Bert said, “I’ve gotta run.”

  Rayne nodded but Bert was already on his way to his truck. “Hey, Bert,” she called, and he paused by a parking meter. “Just keep an open mind, okay?”

  “Sure, Rayne,” he said, but Rayne got the distinct impression his kind response was only lip service.

  She turned to walk down the street. It was unfair that Bert wouldn’t renew his ad, but she understood his reasoning. All the same, she began to shiver with the seeds of an emotion that felt very much like anger. Not toward the Capriottis who were beginning to look like innocent victims of her dad’s bad investment. Not toward Bert who was being a thorn in her side, but who thought he had good reason. No. She was starting to feel angry with her dad.

  She took a breath to calm herself. Being angry with her dad was wrong. Yes, he’d been difficult during the election. But newspaper editors had the right to question politicians in editorials. That had been going on since colonial days. And Ben Capriotti had had a heart attack. Her father had a responsibility to ask the voters to consider if Ben was still physically able to do the job as mayor. Her dad hadn’t really done anything wrong.

  Stepping inside the diner for a cup of coffee to take to the office so she didn’t have to waste the grounds for an entire pot, she saw Jericho sitting at the counter.

  She could easily envision him fitting in the police force of a big city. She could understand how the excitement of a fast-paced place like Vegas had attracted him. He had always been the kind of guy who wanted something bigger and better than what Calhoun Corners had to offer, yet he had come home. And Rayne had to wonder why. Had he taken a job as chief of police of his little hometown because he suddenly wanted a quieter, more settled life? Or had he come home to get revenge for his dad?

  Her conscience tweaked. Jericho had been kind to her when she’d come to his office. He’d listened to her story like a professional, and he’d even given her dad the benefit of the doubt. Then he’d checked up on her to see if she’d hired the skip tracer.

  She drew a quiet breath. All right. From the way Jericho had handled this situation so far, she had to admit it didn’t seem as if he had come home to carry out a grudge against her dad. But that didn’t mean there was any reason to go overboard about him and the way he’d treated her. Sure, he’d checked up on her. Going above and beyond the call of duty since it wasn’t his job. And, yes, he’d spoken kindly about her dad, giving him the benefit of the doubt when people like Bert didn’t. But that didn’t make him good or even nice.

  She frowned. If none of those made him nice, then why had he done them? Why had he milled around her office, upset that there was nothing he could do to help her?

  Unless he’d felt sorry for her?

  She nearly groaned out loud. For Pete’s sake! That was worse than his teasing when she was in grade school! Her dad was gone. The family business was in trouble. She didn’t have a dime to spare. And the local chief of police, the man she used to have a killer crush on, felt sorry for her. She was, quite literally, at the lowest point in her life.

  When she got to the end of the counter, where the cash register sat, she pretended she didn’t see Jericho as Elaine came scrambling over. “Hey, good morning!”

  “Good morning, Elaine. Just a cup of coffee.”

  “No Danish?”

  She shook her head and smiled. “Nope. Dieting.”

  As she said the words her cheeks flamed with color. Not because it was a lie. Though it was. She’d love to have a Danish, but couldn’t afford to spend a dollar on a pastry. Her face flushed with embarrassment because Jericho Capriotti was within hearing distance and the night before she’d told him that she’d vowed never to diet again.

  “Dieting!” Elaine gasped. “You’re thin as a rail!”

  Positive Jericho would make some kind of smart remark about her having said she’d never diet again, Rayne was relieved when he didn’t comment. He didn’t even look in her direction.

  She relaxed a bit and laughed. “Elaine, you worry like an old woman.”

  “I am an old woman. Any word about your father?”

  Tears flooded her eyes and Rayne nearly cursed. Of all the times to pick to get weepy about her father, this was the worst. She didn’t want to cry in front of Jericho—who already felt sorry for her. Hell, she didn’t want to cry in front of anybody. She was a twenty-four-year-old woman who should be completely capable of handling a crisis. And she was. If this were a simple matter of taking over a failing paper she’d just do what needed done. But this wasn’t a simple matter of taking over a nearly bankrupt business. Her dad might not be lost or kidnapped or even in danger now that she’d paid off his debt, but he was gone. And she missed him.

  She sucked in a breath. “No word.”

  Elaine caught Rayne’s forearm, drawing her gaze to hers. “He’ll be okay.”

  Rayne forced a smile. “Yeah,” she said, then batted her hand in dismissal. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

  She paid for her coffee and stepped out into the crisp morning air. Walking to the offices for the Calhoun Corners Chronicle, she straightened her shoulders. She’d fought worse battles, harder fights, and she’d lived. What made this one different was that she wasn’t only alone, she was broke. So broke she had to worry that the utilities would be shut off at her house and she’d end up sleeping on the leather sofa in her dad’s office. So broke she was surviving on soup.

  Reminding herself of her dire straits actually made her stronger and she hastened her steps to get out of the cold. She wasn’t going to wait for the accounts that owed money to “decide” to pay. She would call them. She needed to cover the paper’s expenses and to pay the utilities at her dad’s house. If everybody brought their accounts current, she might even have a couple dollars left over for food. She didn’t have to do anything except write the copy for the newspaper, create the ads and pay the bills. She’d take this one step at a ti
me. One ad at a time. One article at a time. One bill at a time. And who knew? Maybe one day her dad would see the paper was still in operation, and he’d contact her and she could tell him he could come home.

  At eleven o’clock, Rayne’s coffee was long gone and her stomach was officially growling. But she told herself to go back to work to get her mind off her hunger and picked up the receiver of the phone to make another call to one of the advertisers who owed her money.

  Before she dialed the final digit of the phone number, she heard a sound. Dull and muffled, it wasn’t easily identified. She stopped dialing and listened again. This time the sound came through a little clearer. Someone was knocking at her back door.

  Confused, she rose from her office chair and made her way through the maze of boxes in the back room. She opened the door and saw Jericho Capriotti standing in the alley.

  Wearing his police uniform with heavy jacket to keep out the cold, he looked strong and capable, and the first thought that jumped into her mind was that she would have killed for this kind of attention from him in her teen years. Unfortunately the second thought was that he felt sorry for her.

  “What do you want?”

  He drew a breath. “I got to thinking about your dad—”

  “I thought you said this wasn’t a police matter?”

  “It isn’t. But we’re not exactly swamped over at the borough building and I got to thinking about your dad—”

  She had no idea why he had been thinking about her dad, but she did know it wasn’t because he had just popped into Jericho’s head. “I don’t need your pity.”

  He sighed heavily, then glanced to the right. As he did that Rayne noticed that he carried a brown paper bag. At the same time her nose caught the scent of something wonderful. Warm bread. Her stomach growled, just as the wind gusted, and Rayne prayed Jericho hadn’t heard.

  “Look, I don’t feel sorry for you. I do need something to do. We can’t make this official but unofficially there are things I can try.” He smiled slowly and held up the brown paper bag. “And I sort of figured you might be suspicious or unfriendly, so I brought a peace offering. I got Elaine to make roast beef sandwiches on freshly baked bread.”