He waited for her comment on this concession and when none came, he looked up.
She was asleep.
Rick rested his elbows on his desk and leaned forward, watching her. Allowing himself this moment to let his eyes pass over her face, to remember her smile.
Her head drifted to one side, then jerked.
Staying in the chair would give her a horrible crick in her neck, but he didn’t want to wake her up.
He got up and cleared off the couch, then walked back to her side. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he fitted his arm under her knees, around her shoulders and carefully picked her up. It was only a few steps to the couch, but he moved slowly, afraid to wake her. Afraid to let go of her.
She shifted in his arms, and he gently laid her down. She stretched out, groaned, then muttered a few words, frowning in her sleep as she flopped over onto her side.
Her hair had fallen across her face and her lips twitched as if in annoyance. Rick took a chance and carefully brushed her hair back, once again allowing his hand to linger on the soft curve of her cheek.
He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he couldn’t stop himself. She shifted on the couch, pulling her arm up beside her face then, incredibly, a smile tugged at her lips.
He felt a clench of longing and, giving in to an impulse, bent over and brushed his lips over her forehead, inhaling the soft sweet scent of her hair, her skin.
He sat back on his heels, laughing shortly at his own foolish impulse, then got up and walked back to his desk. He grabbed her article and took it out of the office. He could just as easily look it over in the coffee shop across the way.
But before he closed the door, he chanced one more look at Becky.
Her eyes were open and she was watching him.
“So far, our subscriptions are slowly increasing. I guess the ad campaign is doing what it was supposed to, but we’re still bleeding red ink.” Trixie handed Rick and Becky each some papers stapled together. “You’ll see that we’ve spent a lot more on drumming up new business in the last quarter.”
Becky chewed on her bottom lip as she looked over the figures. Numbers weren’t her strong point, but it didn’t take a degree in accounting to compare figures and know that they were falling behind.
“Our own advertising income is slowly increasing and I know we’ve picked up a few more accounts,” Rick put in from his perch on the edge of his desk, swinging his foot back and forth. He seldom sat down during their business meetings. He was often pacing around, talking aloud, urging the sales force on, challenging the art department and placating Trixie. “Subscriptions are edging up. I think we’re getting close. If we can up the advertising, we can get a better influx of cash.”
“But we still have to maintain a balance between ads and content,” Becky said, glancing over the rest of the figures. “People buy the magazine because of the teasers on the cover. And if they have to go burrowing through twenty pages of ads in order to get to what they were looking for you’re going to get frustrated readers. Which doesn’t translate into increased subscriptions.”
“But we need the ads for revenue. And they need space.”
Becky looked up at him, her momentary pique tempered by a gentle thrill when she caught his eye. So easily she felt again the touch of his lips on her forehead.
He held her gaze, those same lips softening in a gentle smile.
Focus, Becky, focus. Your job is on the line here. This magazine can’t keep operating in the red.
“People are willing to put up with a certain amount of advertising to read articles with good content. Cut that back and you’re going to see your subscriptions go down. When that happens, ad revenues go down.”
Rick’s lazy smile kicked her heart up a notch, but she held his gaze, determined to keep this part of her life professional.
“A tricky balancing act we’ve been discussing since I came,” Rick said softly.
She wondered if his comment was as innocent as a mere agreement. No matter. She was still an editor. He was still a publisher. And though the lines were growing increasingly blurred, she was determined to keep her focus when she could.
“It can be done,” she said, lifting her chin a notch. “If there’s a vision to see growth over the long term, rather than short. And if we are willing to slow the pace of the change.”
“Commitment, in other words.”
Becky frowned, sensing a wealth of meaning beneath the simple comment. But she wasn’t going to go fishing in that pool. She looked back down at the paper. “I want to keep this job for a long time, so obviously my focus, my vision for Going West, is slow but steady growth.”
Rick blew out his breath in a long sigh but Becky kept her eyes down.
“How ever we look at it, we’re going to need a better month than this one. For the next month we’ve got a good lineup but I’m pretty sure the month after that is going to be the turning point.” Rick paused, as if waiting to get Becky’s attention. She reluctantly looked back at him.
“Do you have the interview with the premier sewn up?”
“All set for this Thursday.” She held his gaze and once again felt an involuntary quiver.
“Good. That, combined with the Triple J ride, will give the magazine some meat. Excellent.”
He didn’t exactly rub his hands, but Becky easily sensed his enthusiasm and excitement. How could he be so positive when things looked so bleak for the magazine? Going West had seen tough times during Nelson’s tenure, but never had they been so far down financially as they were now.
“In the meantime, we still have a serious cash-flow problem, Rick,” Trixie said. “We need to figure out how to solve that.”
Becky’s earlier thrill was washed away by a rush of dread. This magazine might be just a project to Rick, but for her it was her livelihood until she sold her book and got a commitment from the publisher for more. But to sell, she had to finish—and how was she going to find time to do that?
“Well, I’ll see what we can do about that.” Rick jumped off the desk, seemingly unfazed by this new disaster. And why should he be? If the magazine failed, he would move back to Toronto and work for his grandfather.
She would be stuck back here in Holmes Crossing trying to figure out how to make a living.
And trying to figure out if she could live without Rick.
“I’m on my way to an important interview right now, Terry. I can’t come to the bank.” Rick spun the steering wheel one-handed around the corner and glanced at Becky who was trying not to look as if she was listening to the conversation. “Well, let me know as soon as you find out. And don’t forget, Terry, this magazine is going to go places. Don’t bail on me.”
He disconnected and dropped his phone into a pocket of his vest, stifling his impatience.
“I’m guessing that was the bank,” Becky said after a moment.
Rick shook his head in disgust. “Terry is getting antsy. He wanted me to come to a meeting to justify the bank’s extending our line of credit. A few years ago banks gave away loans like they were popcorn prizes. Now, even though they are still making record profits, they’re going into deep miser mode.”
Thankfully Becky said nothing. He didn’t want to talk about the magazine’s financial woes. Not when he was on his way to an interview that had the potential to change everything.
He came to a halt at a quiet intersection. “Where do we go from here?”
“Follow the road along the ravine until you come to a cul-de-sac. He lives at the end.”
The homes grew farther apart as they drove. Not the wealthiest section of Edmonton, but money was definitely in evidence here. Old and new money from the looks of the houses and the towering elm trees sheltering the road.
The whole effect was one of seclusion and genteel country right in the middle of the city.
They parked in front of the house and were greeted by a tall, unsmiling man who checked them over.
“Where’s your notepad?”
Rick whispered as they were led to the back of the premier’s house.
“I’m not going to write things down. I’m just going to use the recorder.”
“Backup, Becky. You know the first rule of journalism.” Rick caught her arm just before they entered the backyard. “You’re not going to catch everything.” Was she trying to sabotage this interview?
“Maybe not, but I think he’ll be more relaxed if I’m not scribbling down everything he says. Makes it look like I’m not listening if I do that.” Becky flashed a smile at Rick but at the same time she tried to pull her arm free.
Rick wasn’t ready to let go of her yet. “Do you mind if I write something down?”
“You’ll be too busy taking pictures.” Becky stopped pulling, but looked away from him. “Please trust me to do this interview my way, Rick,” she said softly.
Rick reluctantly let go of her arm and agreed.
Jake, dressed casually in jeans and a golf shirt, sat at a patio table. He looked tanned, fit and in charge. But when he saw Becky, his smile lit up his face, giving him the boyish charm that made many a single woman’s heart beat just a little faster.
That the same charm was directed at Becky gave Rick the same foolish twinge of jealousy he felt around Trevor.
Becky introduced Rick and he noticed Jake’s polite but forced smile. Noticed a sudden wariness. “I’ve read a number of your articles, Rick,” he said, the polite heartiness in his voice the hallmark of a good politician. “Very insightful, though at times negative.”
“Not what you’re going to see in Going West,” Becky said, glancing nervously from one to the other. “We’re interested in getting to know you as a person.” Becky laughed lightly, touching Jake on the arm, drawing his attention back to her. “Because I know another side of you that you don’t always let out.”
Jake flashed his smile back at Becky now. “Glad to hear that. Shall we sit down?” Jake waved to the table he had been sitting at.
“You know what, Jake? It’s such a lovely yard. Why don’t you show me around it?” Becky asked with a quick smile, looking around the immaculately groomed yard. “I recognize some of the same plants Dad has, but others are different.”
Though the yard didn’t have the same vigor and charm that Becky’s father’s had, it was still a showpiece. Flowers and shrubs edged a large expanse of golf-course grass. A cedar gazebo was tucked away in a far corner against tall trees, also edged with flower gardens.
“You don’t have the fountain yet,” Becky commented as they strolled down an inlaid brick path that broke up the lawn.
“That’s coming soon. I’m not sure what kind to put in.”
“You take care of this yard yourself?” Rick asked, slipping the covers off the lenses of his cameras. He had two slung around his neck, each with different lenses giving him a variety of options.
“When I have time. I employ a gardener during spring session of the legislature, but when I’m not traveling I try to spend time here.”
“Is that an Intrigue rose?” Becky stopped by a rounded bush resplendent with deep purple-red, showy roses, and dropped to one knee. She bent over, touching a flower with one hand, inhaling deeply. “Oh, smell that. Very strong citrus smell. Where did you get this one? My dad’s been itching to get one for a while now.”
“Hole’s Greenhouse in Edmonton. I got the last one a year ago.”
“Amazing.” Becky smiled and gently touched one of the flowers. “They are so beautiful.”
Jake hunkered down beside her, and as they chatted about the pros and cons of raising tender roses in a prairie climate, Rick went to work snapping pictures. He worked carefully, trying to remain inconspicuous as possible, yet listening at the same time.
They moved on to some of his other flowering plants. Rick was lost in all the talk about pruning, mulching, bone meal and dividing, but Becky had complete control of the conversation at all times. She gently led Jake from a discussion on sedum to environmental issues, from admiring his lilies to health-care funding. Rick couldn’t help but admire her style.
She pitched her voice a few notes lower, creating an air of intimacy. She made eye contact frequently, occasionally touching Jake on the arm to underline a question or a point. Each time he spoke she leaned forward ever so slightly, showing him that he had her complete attention.
And the most interesting part of it all, Rick knew that with Becky it wasn’t just a game. A way of getting information from this elusive man. It was a genuine interest in his hobby, in him as a person.
By the time they had gone through the garden, and were sitting at the patio table with a glass of lemonade in front of each of them and a plate of macaroons placed discreetly by an older women, Jake looked far more relaxed than he had when they began the interview. Rick positioned them for a photo so they were facing each other with Jake’s chair slightly angled away from where Rick had planned on sitting. He wanted to be able to listen but at the same time be as unobtrusive as possible.
“I think it’s fascinating how you’re trying to focus on native prairie plants. I should get my father to partner with you on that,” Becky said as she casually dropped her tape recorder on the table. “I’ll need to record this. Do you mind?” she asked, gesturing to it as she flicked it on.
Jake waved her question aside with a casual flick of his hand. “I had envisioned working with private business on that rather than creating yet another government bureaucracy. I think if we can get enough people to catch the vision, we can expand the program and make it self-funding.”
Jake was leaning forward now, his attention fully engaged on Becky, which is just what Rick wanted. Becky had forged an uncanny connection with the premier and in spite of his own faint jealousy, he knew that connection was going to make the difference between a bland interview and one that sparkled and surprised.
So he took a few pictures, then returned to his seat, content to be ignored, but listening intently to everything that was said, jotting down relevant notes.
The interview ranged from his plans to reduce government red-tape to encouraging new Alberta-based value-added business to more social issues. As they spoke, Rick felt a growing impatience with Becky’s style. Sure the premier was opening up to her, but as he had clearly stated initially, the interview was starting to ramble.
He tried to catch Becky’s eye, to warn her, but she steadfastly ignored him, her entire attention on Jake.
They were now talking about family values. An older, outdated subject, but Becky seemed to warm to it.
“I think it’s important that we support the traditional family unit,” Jake was saying, “but at the same time we need to recognize that there are many single-parent families who are coping with a tremendous amount of pressure.”
This was not Going West’s focus at all. Rick raised his camera and took a few pictures, then glanced over it when he saw he had caught Becky’s attention. He shook his head slightly and pivoted his finger in a circle, a subtle reminder to get back to the point.
Becky turned back to the premier, ignoring Rick. She asked a few more questions pertaining to family, made a few comments, and as they chatted, Rick could sense she was winding the interview down.
He shifted in his seat, impatient with Becky. They had talked about what they were going to do with this. What their focus was going to be. She had barely touched on the topics he needed covered. How was she going to glean anything of substance, anything different from a thousand other interviews that would set this one apart?
Sure, they had been invited into his yard. Sure, he had some pet project that they could maybe focus on, but what was that?
Then he caught a different note in Jake’s tone. A subtle shift in his body language.
Jake was getting comfortable. And personal.
Now they were getting somewhere.
“People need to take responsibility for their actions, Becky,” he was saying. Rick felt the hairs on his neck go up and he straightened, straining to hear w
hat Jake was saying.
“I know I’ve been remiss in that department.”
Becky leaned closer, touching him on the arm again. She was no longer the interviewer. She had become a friend. Confidante.
How had she done that?
He didn’t care. He had become hyperaware of the change in the atmosphere and was watching Jake like a hawk.
“What are you trying to say, Jake?”
He sighed and dragged a hand over his face. “I know I shouldn’t be saying this on the news. You’re a reporter.”
“I’m also your friend.”
Jake laughed lightly. “That’s a rarity for someone like me. I guess what I’ve always appreciated about you, Becky, was the fact that you were never fazed by the idea that I am premier. That I hold power.”
“Your power is given you by God. You’re holding it, yes, but in trust. I serve the same God but in a different capacity. We’re equal that way.” Becky smiled gently at him. “And as for the fact that you’re single—” she winked at him, then glanced at Rick “—that has never been a factor.”
Rick held her gaze a moment, wondering what she was saying.
“I’ve often seen you alone at functions. No boyfriend?”
Again Becky’s glance slid to Rick’s then away as if she wasn’t sure where to put him in her life.
He had kissed her. Had flirted with her.
She shook her head. “How about you? Any significant others in your life?” she asked, her attention focused back on Jake. “You’re seen with a different woman just about every time you step out.”
Jake waggled his hand. “You know how it is, Becky. I have functions I have to attend. I can’t come alone so I find someone. Or get my assistant to find someone. Usually a friend of a friend. Often a married woman to help me avoid any personal entanglements.”
“I remember a girl named Kerra. You’ve mentioned her once or twice.”
Kerra? Becky knew about a “personal entanglement” named Kerra? How had she known and why hadn’t she told him this?
Jake shifted in his chair, his hand stroking his chin as he seemed to be looking past Becky into the middle distance. His body language was so different from when they had first come that Rick could only be amazed at the transformation of the high-comfort level Jake felt with Becky.
A Place in Her Heart Page 14
