by Marta Perry
“I’ll put you in touch with our information officer,” he said briskly. “She’ll be glad to answer your questions.”
She’d be glad to give Ross the canned speech, in other words. “In order to do a series of in-depth articles, I need to talk to the people who are actually involved in the work. Amanda thought you could help me with that.”
The man’s face tightened, as if he didn’t like the reminder that Ross was his daughter’s employer. “Our information office will—”
“Daddy.” Amanda stood next to them, and they’d been so intent on their battle of wills that neither of them had noticed her. “I told you how important this is. You’re not going to fob us off on someone else, are you?”
Us, she’d said. Apparently Amanda considered them a team. Well, if that’s what it took to get him what he wanted, so be it.
Bodine’s deeply tanned face reddened slightly in a flare of temper, but it eased when he looked at his daughter. He shrugged, seeming to give in to the inevitable.
“I guess not,” he said. “We’ll set it up for you to come in and talk in the next couple of days.”
The words sounded right, but again, Ross read the body language, and it said exactly the opposite. Something was going on—something that Brett Bodine obviously knew about.
And something that, just as clearly, Amanda didn’t.
For probably the first time in her life, Amanda was eager to leave the beach house. The party had been lovely, but she couldn’t control the stress she felt at having her boss there.
That was all it was. Surely she’d been imagining the tension she’d thought existed between Daddy and Ross. They didn’t even know each other. What did they have to be at odds about?
She popped her head in the kitchen door, looking for Miz Callie to say her goodbyes and thanks. Her grandmother probably shouldn’t still be putting on birthday parties for the family, but no one had enough nerve to tell her so.
The kitchen was empty, the dishwasher humming, but before she could turn away, Miz Callie came in from the deck.
“There’s the birthday girl. Come here, sugar, and let me give you a birthday kiss.”
“And one to grow on,” Amanda said, smiling, and kissed her grandmother’s soft cheek. For a moment she stood, Miz Callie’s comforting arms wrapped around her, and unexpected tears welled in her eyes.
She couldn’t think of her vibrant, energetic grandmother, the rock of the family, as growing old. It was too soon for that.
She blinked back the tears, knowing what had put that thought into her mind. For months Miz Callie had been obsessed with the idea of righting an old wrong. She kept saying that it must be done before she died; a constant reminder that their precious grandmother might not have too many years left hurt.
Miz Callie drew back and patted her cheek. “Amanda, honey, have you found out anything more about Ned?”
And there it was—the albatross that seemed to be hanging ’round all their necks these days. Ned Bodine, Granddad’s older brother. They’d none of them even known him, except Miz Callie. He’d left long ago, running off in 1942, never in touch with the family again. Every old-timer in the county believed he’d run out of cowardice, afraid to fight in the war.
Amanda’s cousin Georgia, the first one Miz Callie had trusted with her quest, had found out that what everyone believed wasn’t true. Instead, after a sad love story and a rift with his father, Ned had left the island to enlist under a false name.
And there the story ended, as far as they’d been able to discover. How could you trace an anonymous man who could have gone anywhere, used any name?
Miz Callie’s eyes grew suspiciously bright, and she patted Amanda’s cheek again, her hand gentle. “It’s all right, darlin’. You don’t need to say it. I guess it’s too much to hope for after all this time.”
Pain twisted her heart. “We won’t give up. There must be something else I can try.”
She glanced toward the deck where her cousin Georgia stood with her fiancé’s arm around her waist. Matt’s little girl, Lindsay, leaned against Georgia trustingly. Lucky Georgia. She’d not only found the first clues to what had happened to Ned—she’d found love in the process.
Miz Callie shook her head slowly. “Maybe it’s time to give up on learning anything more. The nature preserve is nearly ready to go. Maybe I’d best just make the announcement and be done with it.”
“But Miz Callie, the scandal…” She bit her lip. The family might be satisfied that Ned hadn’t been a coward, but they didn’t have the proof that would convince anyone else. Plenty of folks would be unhappy at Miz Callie’s plan to dedicate the nature preserve she planned for a small barrier island to a man they considered a disgrace to Charleston’s proud patriotic tradition. She had a vision of scores of military veterans marching down Meeting Street in protest. Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Coast Guard—they’d all had a presence here at one time or another.
“I reckon we can live down a scandal if we have to.” Miz Callie wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. “I just want to get this done.”
“I know. But a little more time won’t hurt, will it?”
Please. They’d present a brave face to the world if it came to that. The family was agreed. But Miz Callie would be so hurt if folks she’d known all her life turned against her.
A fierce love burned in Amanda. She couldn’t let that happen.
“I’ll work on it. I promise.” She was the reporter in the family, after all. Finding out things was her job. At least it was more important than covering pet shows. “You’ll wait, right?” She looked pleadingly at her grandmother.
Miz Callie nodded. “I will. Don’t worry so much, darlin’. God will show us the way.”
She let out a relieved breath. She believed God would guide them, but she couldn’t help wanting to chart this course herself. “Good. I’ll…”
The sound of movement behind her stopped her words. She turned. Ross stood in the doorway. How long had he been there?
“I don’t want to take you away from your party, but I do need to get back to the office.”
“That’s all right,” she said quickly. “I’ll just get my things.”
Had he heard her conversation with Miz Callie or hadn’t he? It worried at her as she gathered her things. She had to say goodbye to everyone, had to endure all the teasing about being a year older and exchange a special hug with Annabel, aware all the time that her boss stood waiting.
Finally, she got out the door, walking to the car with Ross on her heels.
The air between them sizzled with more than the summer heat as she started the car and turned the air-conditioning on high. And that was her answer. He’d heard something of what Miz Callie said. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did. It was just there, in his concentrated expression.
They passed the island’s park, the small collection of shops and restaurants, the old Gullah cemetery. Finally, as they approached the drawbridge that would take them off the island, she could stand it no longer.
“You heard what my grandmother said, didn’t you?”
If that sounded like an accusation—well, she guessed it was. She spared a fleeting thought for her fired colleagues. Maybe she’d soon be joining them.
Silence for a moment. She saw the movement of his head at the edge of her vision as he turned to look at her.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping, if that’s what you’re implying.” His tone was surprisingly even. “I realized that your grandmother was upset, so I didn’t come in. I’m not in the habit of listening in on the worries of elderly ladies.”
She wasn’t sure that she believed him. Still—
“You’d best not let her hear you call her elderly.” She managed an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I hate it when she gets upset.”
It was none of his business what Miz Callie had been upset about. Amanda had the sudden sense that the family skeleton had grown to an unmanageable size and was about to burst from its
closet.
“You have a good heart.” He sounded almost surprised.
“I love her,” she said. “I’m sure you felt the same about your grandmother.”
He nodded, staring out the window at the marsh grasses and pluff mud.
There didn’t seem anywhere else to go with that conversation. She cleared her throat. “I hope meeting my people was helpful to you. For the articles, I mean.”
“Very. You’ll set up that appointment with your father as soon as possible.”
“Right.” When he didn’t respond, she glanced at him. “Don’t you want to talk to anyone else? My cousin Win is a rescue swimmer.”
She held out the prospect enticingly. Win, an outgoing charmer, would be delighted to be interviewed, and surely that would be more interesting to readers than Daddy’s desk job.
“What?” Her question seemed to have recalled Ross from some deep thought. “Yes, I suppose. I’ll think about it and let you know.”
Odd. Not her business, she guessed, how he approached the series of articles he said he was writing, but odd all the same.
She stole a sideways glance at him. His lean face seemed closed against the world, his eyes hooded and secretive.
Why? What made him so forbidding? The professional scandal they’d all heard of, or something more?
She gave herself a mental shake. This was the man who kept the entire news staff dangling over the abyss of unemployment. Maybe she felt a bit easier in his presence since this little expedition, but that didn’t mean she knew him.
Or that she could trust him any farther than she could throw him.
He was going to have to tread carefully with Amanda, Ross decided. Something had made her suspicious of him after that family party the previous day.
He stood back to let the high school student intern precede him into the newsroom, assessing the young woman as he did. Cyrus Mayhew had chosen the recipient of his journalism internship on the basis of her writing, not her personality.
C. J. Dillon was bright, no doubt about that. She was also edgy and more than a little wary.
Suspicious, like Amanda.
The new intern had no reason for her suspicion, other than maybe the natural caution of a young black woman from a tough inner-city school toward the establishment, represented at the moment by him.
Amanda, on the other hand…well, maybe she did have just cause. He’d told the truth when he said he’d stopped outside the kitchen because he’d realized her grandmother was upset. He’d just neglected to mention that he’d heard the word scandal used in relation to her family. Or that all his instincts had gone on alert.
If he wanted to find out what scandal in the Bodine family would leave the grandmother in tears, he’d better find a way to mend fences with Amanda.
Assigning the student intern to her might disarm her. From what he’d seen of Amanda’s relationship with everyone from the mail room kid to the cleaning crew, taking in strays was second nature to her.
“This way.” He moved ahead of C.J. to lead her through the maze of desks in the newsroom. A few cautious glances slid their way. C.J. couldn’t know that the looks were aimed at him, not her.
All right, so his staff didn’t trust him. That was fine with him. He was here to turn this newspaper around, not make friends. He didn’t need any more so-called friends who waited with a sharpened knife for him to make a slip.
Amanda’s desk was at the far end of the row. Focused on her computer, a pair of glasses sliding down her nose, she didn’t see them coming. She wore her usual version of business casual—well-cut tan slacks, a silky turquoise shirt, a slim gold chain around her neck.
That was a bit different from the way she’d looked at the beach house in an old pair of shorts and a Fort Moultrie T-shirt. He let his mind stray to the image. That had definitely been casual, to say nothing of showing off a pair of slim, tanned legs and a figure that would make any man look twice.
He yanked his unruly thoughts back to business. Amanda’s only usefulness to him was the opening she provided to the Coast Guard base. And given that tantalizing mention of scandal, to the Bodine family in particular.
He stopped a few feet from her desk, feeling the need for a little distance between them.
“Ms. Bodine.” Amanda, he thought, but didn’t say.
Her gaze jerked away from the computer screen. The startled look she turned on him softened into a smile when she saw that he wasn’t alone. No, the smile wouldn’t be for him.
“This is C. J. Dillon. C.J., I’d like you to meet one of our reporters, Amanda Bodine.”
“Hi, C.J. It’s nice to meet you.” Amanda held out her hand. After a moment, the young woman took it gingerly.
“C.J. is the winner of the journalism competition Mr. Mayhew set up in the local schools.” The contest had been another of Cyrus’s bright ideas for drawing attention to the Bugle, and all the staff should certainly be awareofit.
“That’s great. Congratulations.” She focused on C.J. “What did you win?”
Obviously the staff, or at least this member of it, hadn’t kept up-to-date. His decision was even more appropriate, then.
“C.J. has received a six-week internship with the newspaper. A chance to find out if journalism is the right career for her, as Mr. Mayhew said in his editorial about the competition.”
Which you should have read. The words were unspoken, but Amanda no doubt caught his meaning, since her lips tightened.
“You’ll be happy to know I’ve decided to assign C.J. to work with you for the duration. You’re going to be her mentor.”
“I see.” A momentary pause as Amanda turned to the young woman, and then came the smile that resembled the sun coming up over the ocean—the one she had yet to turn on him. “That’s great, C.J. I look forward to working with you.”
The ironic thing was that she probably did. For him, this brainstorm of Cyrus’s was nothing but a nuisance. He had no particular desire to have a high school kid wandering around his newsroom.
Still, paired with Amanda, she couldn’t do much harm. And if Amanda could persuade her that skintight jeans and a skimpy top weren’t appropriate professional apparel, so much the better.
“Don’t I have anything to say about who I work with?” The kid turned a belligerent frown on him. “I don’t want to run around town covering stuff like boat parades and charity races. That’s all she does.”
He’d been so intent upon ridding himself of the problem that he was actually surprised when the kid spoke up. Irritation edged along his nerves. She was lucky to be here. Still, she’d obviously done her homework and paid attention to bylines.
“C.J., that’s how everyone starts out,” Amanda said quickly, as if to block out his response. Maybe she sensed his annoyance. “You’re lucky you weren’t assigned to the obit desk. This is much better than writing obituaries, believe me.”
C.J. didn’t noticeably soften. “Not much,” she muttered.
“Hey, we do interesting stories. In fact, this afternoon we’re heading down to Coast Guard Base Charleston for an interview. You’ll have a chance to see the inside workings of the place.”
“We?” He stressed the word. Taking Amanda along on interviews hadn’t been part of his plan.
Amanda’s eyebrows lifted. “My father is expecting us at three-thirty today. I hope that works for you.”
He was tempted to make it clear that he didn’t need or want her company. But if he did, that could put paid to any more help on her part. He might need her goodwill to gain future access.
“Fine.” He tried to look as if he welcomed her company. “I’ll see you then.”
He turned away, startled to realize that on at least one level, he did.
Chapter Three
Amanda didn’t know whether she was more relieved or surprised that Ross didn’t fight her on the visit to Coast Guard Base Charleston, but he’d headed back to his office without further comment. Maybe he was beginning to see that she had
something to offer. If this worked out well, maybe he’d…
She looked at C.J., and she came back to earth with a thump. Ross hadn’t changed his mind about her. He just hadn’t wanted to get into a hassle in front of the new intern.
No, that didn’t sound like Ross. He didn’t mind coming off dictatorial, no matter who was listening.
Thinking of him had brought a frown to her face. Amanda replaced it with a smile for C.J. Although, come to think of it, she wasn’t exactly feeling warm toward the young woman. What had she meant by her outspoken distaste for working with Amanda?
She nodded toward a chair at the vacant desk next to hers—vacant since Ross had decided that its occupant was expendable. “Pull that seat over, so we can talk.”
Wearing a sullen expression, C.J. rolled the chair to Amanda’s desk and plopped into it, folding her arms.
Amanda had to hide a grin. C.J.’s body language was eloquent. Still, she’d have to learn that she couldn’t call the shots at this point in her career. Any more than Amanda could.
“I suppose you’ve been working on your school newspaper,” she ventured, wondering what the key would be to opening up this abrasive personality.
C.J.’s lips pressed together. After a moment, she shook her head. “Have to be a teacher’s little pet for that, don’t you? Anyway, I’m not gonna write stupid stories about poster contests and decorating the gym. I want to write about important things. That’s why I entered the contest.”
That hit a little too close to home. “Sounds like we have something in common then,” she said briskly. “We both want to write more challenging subjects.” She’d never really regretted retuning home, but the truth was that with the paper’s already well-established staff, it was tough to move up. Especially when the new editor refused to believe she could write.
C.J. glowered at her for another moment, and then she shrugged.
Amanda resisted the desire to shake her. Working with this kid might be an exercise in suppressing emotions.
“Okay, then.” Might as well go on the offensive, since nothing else seemed effective. “How did you know what kind of articles I write?”
