by Tracy Sumner
More.
She would demand more—the key to a man's soul. He could see it in the questioning tilt of her chin, the cunning turn of her lips.
Adam didn’t want her to try to understand him.
Her gaze never left his. Not once. Adam swallowed. Did she know what she was doing to him with those wide, pure eyes? Loneliness and suspicion crept up on him.
Well, she could look all she wanted. She would never discover anything; he would make sure of it. “Why did you come here?” He frowned. Had that sounded harsher than he intended?
Charlie took a step back, her eyes glowing. “You know why I’m here and right on schedule.” Her hands shook as she closed them into fists. “I came back to work for the Sentinel. I want to make sure it isn’t destroyed.”
“Well, thanks one helluva lot for your exalted vote of confidence.”
She lowered her voice. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant.” Adam dropped his head as a rich, all-too-comforting fragrance permeated the air, slashing like a blade as no words could have. Damn, she smelled good. Not a cosmopolitan fragrance like Marilyn’s, but an arousing, earthly...essence. An honest sum and substance, like fresh sunshine.
“I thought the Sentinel was a good paper,” she whispered.
With a sigh, he pushed away, rubbing his forehead. “Charlie, Edgemont is a good market for a small press. There’s no other established newspaper. But face the facts. The Sentinel’s revenue is suffering because it’s not politically aligned. We need capital. Capital political backing will provide.”
She tapped her fingers on the desk. “Where do we start?”
Had he missed something?
“I’m assuming you would like a list of issues we’ve covered...to save the time of having to go through all the old copies?” She grabbed a stack of papers from the desk and began sorting and shuffling. “I’ll need a day or two to summarize the last two years. Most of those I still remember.” She frowned as she came to a page with a large ink stain. “We’ll meet on, say, Tuesday morning?” She crumpled the page in a ball and tossed it at him.
He caught it with one hand. By damn, she was no empty-headed female. The thought was not comforting. “Um...yes. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
She rolled her eyes. “You would have been reading a lot of decaying newspapers, that’s what.”
The door closed behind them with a click. They turned at the same time.
“Mr. Chase? Hello?”
Adam released a breath. Lila Dane. He glanced at Charlie, almost laughing as he saw her grimace before she could hide it.
Lila’s eyes sharpened as he crossed to her. She offered her hand.
“Hello again, Miss Dane,” he said, but ignored her hand.
“Please. Call me Lila.” Her eyes narrowed as she casually tucked her arm by her side. “Charlotte.” The name slipped past her lips like a lead ball.
Charlie glanced from the papers in her hand. “Hello, Lila. How are you?”
“Why, Charlotte, you’re looking...lovely.”
“Thank you, Lila. I don’t try as hard as you do, but I do so hope for positive results.”
Adam coughed and began a thorough search of the wood-plank floor.
“Charlotte Whitney, you’re never going to learn. And to think, I just wanted to welcome you to the Fourth of July picnic. It’s about time you took a break from your oh-so-busy schedule. I just saw Tom at the bank. He’s very excited that you’ve finally agreed to accompany him.”
“I’m terribly excited about it.”
“Your sarcasm is amusing, as always.” Lila waved her dainty, gloved hand in dismissal. “Actually, I came to speak to Adam. I was wondering—since you are new to Edgemont—if you would like to accompany my family to the Fourth of July picnic. My father suggested you go with us. I thought it a wonderful idea.”
He didn’t want to go to some damn town event, but...Charlie hated them, and she was going. With Tom Walker. “Why, Lila, I would love to attend the picnic with your family. I thank you for the gracious invitation. Since your father and I are both businessmen, we should have a lot to talk about.”
Lila clapped her hands. “Wonderful. You may call on me sometime this week. I’ll let my parents know you’ll be going with us.” Her full skirt whisked the floor as she crossed to the door. “Goodbye, Charlotte.”
Adam turned to find Charlie sitting at her desk, sorting and shuffling.
“I suppose this is my desk, as it has been for years. I like an organized area.” She threw a handful of paper at him, sheets drifting to the floor like snowflakes.
“What bee is in your bonnet?”
“You...you’re my bee. I’ll never get any work done with your women running in and out constantly.”
She turned to glare at Gerald, who upon hearing an argument start mumbled a quick, “I’ll go pick-up the mail,” and hurried out the door.
Adam gripped her hand to stall the paper shuffling. “My women?”
“You heard me.”
He tightened his grip. Was it possible she was jealous of Lila?
“You’re touching me again.”
“Do you have an aversion to being touched?”
“Yes. I mean...no.” She shook her head.
“What do you do when Tom Walker touches you?”
“Tom?” She made it sound as if the idea of Tom Walker touching her was the strangest one she’d ever heard.
“Thanks for saving the insane behavior for me.” Releasing her, he got as far away as he could, where he stood trying to catch his breath.
Jesus. She was making him crazy.
As the front door slammed, he tilted his head back and groaned.
Myra Hawkins and her mother watched as Charlie stalked by them without a backward glance.
“Mama, do you see the way she’s running down the boardwalk? Just look at her skirt, flipping around, ankles showing. It’s disgraceful.” Myra’s face wrinkled as she grimaced.
“Dear, stop looking like you sucked on a lemon. What if Chester Dole is in town today? Do you want him to see you looking like that?” Chloris Hawkins wanted her daughter to marry more than anything else in this world. To tell the truth, it was getting embarrassing. Myra was nearly twenty and without a single offer of marriage. Not even a desperate proposal from one of the Mays brothers, who wouldn’t find a girl to accept them, not in a hundred years.
Not that Chester Dole was the best catch in Edgemont, either, but he did come from good stock. The Doles had a productive cotton farm, Chester had all of his teeth, and he didn’t spit in public. Chloris considered him a fine prospect.
She was no dreamer. Her father had married her to the first man who came asking. It certainly hadn’t been love at first sight, but things had worked out fine.
Poor Myra. Unfortunately, she had taken after her father’s side of the family, and extremely average looks weren’t going to land a prince—like the new editor, for instance. Chloris snorted, then shifted to see if anyone on the boardwalk had heard. Anyway, rumor had it that Lila Dane had set her sights on him.
Everybody knew, what the Danes wanted, the Danes got.
“Mama?”
Her daughter’s flat voice stopped her daydreaming cold. “Yes, dear.”
“Mama, I keep telling you, I don’t even like Chester Dole. He’s a big, overgrown oaf.”
“Hush. Chester is a nice boy. Do you want to end up an old maid like Charlotte Whitney? Is that what you want?” She patted Myra’s arm.
Myra glared at Charlie’s swiftly moving, trim figure. “She’s not really an old maid, not with Tom Walker sniffing around. Oh, Mama, it’s not fair...he’s so handsome.”
Chloris shook her head in reproach. “He may have a liking for her—after all, she’s a pretty girl—but that’s not the kind any man in his right mind will marry. Her parents should have known they were starting something wicked by calling her Charlie.”
Chloris really felt
kind of sad when she thought about the poor girl, alone with almost no family. “Just be glad your mama is here to help guide you through life. You don’t realize how lucky you are. Now smile and, heavens, stand up straight.” She grabbed her daughter’s arm and urged her down the boardwalk.
In their haste, they failed to notice the lone figure standing in the open window of the Sentinel office.
6
Curiosity
The desire to learn or know.
Charlie pulled a strand of hair from her face, and the window caught her reflection. A clump of flour stained her cheek. She laughed and wiped it off.
Making dough was tedious, but it involved only her hands, which left her mind free. The kitchen curtains billowed like sails on a ship; the healthy breeze marched the scent of cinnamon about the room. She drew a deep breath. The scent of fresh cut grass was in the air, too.
A groan escaped her as she flexed her cramped fingers. Her gaze strayed to the green hills in the distance. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the creek gurgling. Decided, she wiped her hands on a dishtowel and headed out the door.
She paused on the porch, not expecting anyone. However, with Chase’s unexpected visit last week and Tom’s yesterday, you never could tell. She glanced at her faded dress and bare feet. She didn’t intend to get caught in trousers again. She drew the line at wearing shoes in her own home, though.
Humming, she strolled toward the creek. She detected the gentle lap-splash against the bank before she saw it. Dropping to her knees by the creek’s edge, she splashed her face. Moisture seeped through her dress, but she was too hot to care. She leaned back on her elbows and extended her legs, dangling her feet in the water. A hawk swooped and dove into the trees.
She rolled her head back, stretching her neck until the crown of her head brushed the ground. Oh, it felt good. Even if someone did stop by, they would never know where to find her.
Too bad I wasn’t hiding yesterday.
Oh, Tom. She bit her lip, holding back a smile. At least she hadn’t had trousers on.
Truly, she couldn’t figure out why he insisted on pursuing her. Didn’t he see they were a mismatched pair?
He was a good man, yes, invariably.
She knew this...and she still wasn’t interested the way he seemed to be interested. The way she would need to be interested to marry. There were too many things missing.
Eyes the color of burnt chestnuts. A pair of irresistible dimples. Dark hair that showed auburn highlights when the sun hit it just so.
How had he reacted to the sight of her in trousers? With a subtle show of male appreciation and implied respect, that was how.
Her grin shriveled. Oh, her week had been full of Adam Chase.
They worked at the newspaper every day, writing, deliberating, proofreading—long after Gerald left. Despite Chase’s objections, she stayed late each night. She didn’t want to tell him—it had been hard enough to admit it to herself—that the work was more stimulating than ever.
It was hard not to get excited about a project when you worked with him. He was ambitious and energetic, and painstakingly demanding, a firm believer that every story could be a bit better.
He was a good editor, encouraging her to write using her own style. All the while, he calmly observed, in a way that was neither intimidating nor autocratic. It was a challenge to write a piece and have him dissect it. He could review an editorial she had worked on for days—one as flat and lifeless as a pancake—and instantly spot the missing element. It was almost as if he climbed into her mind and helped her redirect her thoughts to paper.
He walked her home each night, her lunch basket a silent chaperone between them, a deserted road and bright moonlight their only companions.
She had never had anyone to really talk to, except her father and the Lamberts. She and Chase discussed everything: life, philosophy, religion, politics, trade, agriculture.
Everything but love and misfortune.
Chase described his home in Richmond and the newspaper there, his travels to Europe and the west, even a little of the summers he spent along the Virginia coast as a boy—rare descriptions of his mother cropping up between the high dunes and blue sea. Personal subjects seemed forbidden fruit.
Often, they didn’t discuss anything at all.
She closed her eyes. Sunlight scattered by tree limbs danced across her lids. As much as she wanted to deny it, Adam Chase intrigued her.
More than that: they shared something. Something she had never shared with another person in her life.
She only wished she knew what that something was.
“Miles!”
Miles leaned his ax against a maple tree and waved in greeting. “Adam, hello.”
Adam slid from the saddle.
“So, this is Taber.” Miles nodded approvingly. “Landsakes, what a beautiful beast.”
Adam grinned. “He’s a damn fine beauty, is he not? We haven’t even begun to stretch his legs.” He pushed his hat back and flexed his shoulders. “Do you know this is the first day this week I’ve had a chance to ride?”
“How about a drink to cool you off? Do you have a little time?” Miles hitched his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the farmhouse behind him.
Adam shrugged. “Depends on the drink.”
Miles clapped him on the shoulder. “I think I have one that’ll convince you.”
They laughed and climbed the porch steps, entering the house through a large pantry. “Go sit in the kitchen, I’ll get the drinks.”
Adam pulled his hat off and dropped into a chair. Rubbing his eyes, he yawned.
Miles dropped into a chair across from him and shoved a glass his way. “This should fix you up.”
Adam lifted it to his nose and sniffed. “What is it?”
“Homemade mash. The best in this county...maybe the state.” Seeing Adam’s frown, he urged, “Go on, take a swig.”
Adam took a sip and immediately began coughing.
Miles swilled it in his mouth before swallowing. “Ah, hair of the dog.”
“Sure.” Adam coughed again.
Miles pounded his fist on the table. “Haven’t you ever had this stuff before?”
Adam shook his head. His throat burned like someone had taken a match to it.
“Oh, only the good stuff, huh? Well, a true southerner you’ll never be until you’ve wet your whistle with this.”
Adam licked his lips, wishing feeling back into them.
They sat a moment, the silence welcome. The late afternoon sun cast shadows across the kitchen floor. The smell of apple pie permeated the room.
Adam leaned back in the chair, stretched out his legs. “It feels good to...do nothing.”
“The newspaper been busy?”
“Extremely.”
“You know, maybe that’s why I haven’t seen my pa in a few days.”
“He’s been putting in long hours. Hell, we all have. It's looking better, though.” He stared at the liquid in his glass as his thoughts traveled along the dirt road, through town and into the newspaper office.
Miles drew his finger along a scar on the table. “How is Charlie doing? In fact, if you were wondering, that’s who my lovely wife is with right now. Some nonsense about a dress for the dance.”
Adam raised a brow. “Charlie worrying about a dress?”
Miles chuckled. “Oh, no. The dress is all my Kathy’s idea. Charlie, I’m sure, could care less.”
Adam began a fierce inspection of his thumbnail.
“This is the first year I can even remember her going. Charlie isn’t much for social gatherings,” Miles said.
“Well, Tom asked. What else could she say?”
“Ha. She could have said no. Just like all the other times.”
“Other times?”
“Yeah, Tom has been asking for nigh’ on two years. A dance here, a church gathering there, a picnic. Always the same answer...no, no, no.”
Adam could hear crickets chirping
outside the window. The sun had dropped low, throwing a wide gold band across the table. He placed his hand in the strip, moving it in and out of the light. “I’m coming to know Charlie pretty well. She’s sure contrary to any woman I’ve ever run across.”
“Tiny-bird chairs.” Miles shifted. “Contrary, yep. That does sum it up nicely.”
Adam scratched his chin. “What I can’t figure is, why does Walker keep trying? Lila was telling me—”
Miles slammed his hand on the table. It was the first angry action Adam had seen him make. “Lila is jealous of Charlie and always has been.”
“And you know this, how?”
“I sparked her a bit, before Kathy came along.”
Adam blinked. Miles and...Lila.
“Surprised? So were her parents. She was sixteen. And lovely. But, such a spoiled—” He shook his head. “I can’t tell you what I saw in her. Probably nothing past her bosom.”
Adam took a slow sip. The fire trailing down his throat kept him from replying, which was probably a good thing.
Miles laughed and leaned his chair back on two legs. “We went to a few dances, and then I met Kathy—and boom. End of story.” Miles' gaze slid towards Adam. “Aren’t you taking her to the dance? Make you jealous to hear about other fellas?”
Adam snorted and finished off his drink.
“Yet you’re concerned about Charlie and Tom. Mighty interesting.”
“Curiosity isn’t concern, my friend.”
Miles smiled and drained his glass. “Charlie grew up...differently. She was allowed to roam free, write, sketch. Work at the paper.” Miles' gaze caught Adam’s. “Nothing has happened with Tom because she’s too strong for him. The milksop. And he knows it. Still, he’s hanging in there, thinking that sooner or later she’s going to come round. But, damn, how long does it take to fall in love?”
Adam released a disgusted breath. “Don’t even think of asking me that question.”
Miles lingered, staring into his empty glass. “One day...one day you’ll feel for someone what I feel for Kathy. Then you’ll understand.”
