by Holly Jacobs
Maybe it wasn't enough that she'd simply lost the interview, though. Maybe she deserved a lesson on how it felt to be stalked. Maybe he was the one to teach it to her.
After all, how would she feel about having someone dog her every step? He doubted she'd like it.
He could follow her around for a change. Turn it into a column. "A Day in the Life of the Terminally Optimistic," or "Peeving Polly," or something along those lines. . .something guaranteed to annoy her and cause those rose-colored glasses to teeter.
A lesson.
He'd teach Paige a lesson, and get a column out of it.
Yeah, tailing Paige. It was a good idea.
And it was all about revenge, and didn't have a thing to do with not liking the idea of not seeing her.
Not a thing at all.
4
"SHE'S A MENACE, that's what she is," Riley muttered as he tossed a queen of hearts on the discard pile.
Annabelle eyed the pile of cards. "I'd ask who, but I know who. You two seem to be at odds."
"Odd is the word. Your niece is odd."
Annabelle scooped up the queen and laid out an ace, king, queen and jack of hearts, then discarded an ace of spades. She gave a happy little cackle. "I believe I'm out, which means I won this hand. Do the math, boy."
"I think you cheat," Riley said. He didn't just think it, he was almost positive.
It was one of the things he liked about the older woman.
"First you insult my beloved great-niece, then you insult me by calling me a cheat. Riley, you've always had an abrasive personality, but it's getting worse by the minute. Why, just last week you scared poor Bertha."
"She was talking to you as if you were a child, not a responsible adult."
"It's just her way. She's very kindhearted. You just take offense much too quickly."
He refused to discuss Bertha any further. When she'd come in and started asking Annabelle how "we" felt today, he'd simply seen red. Annabelle might be slowing down physically, but she was sharp as a tack, and could think circles around the Berthas of this world any day of the week.
Instead of commenting, he slid the tablet toward her and Annabelle glanced at his figures.
"Only fifty-three more points and I've won the match," she said gleefully. She scooped up the cards and shuffled them.
Riley watched her carefully, trying to see if she was stacking the deck. Though he couldn't catch her, and wouldn't be able to prove it in a court of law, it was a pretty sure thing that she was.
She dealt out seven cards apiece. "Play."
Riley picked up his hand and studied it carefully before drawing a card from the pile and discarding a seven of spades.
"You're a sweet lady until you get cards in your hand, and then you're a barracuda," he grumbled.
Annabelle looked as pleased as if he had told her she'd just won the lottery. "Barracuda. I like that almost as much as I like to win. You know, Paige likes to win, too, though she's much nicer about it than I am."
Annabelle drew from the pile and then discarded a nine of spades.
Riley took the nine and laid down a nine, ten, jack of spades set. He discarded an ace of hearts. "I don't know that Paige is nicer. She was at the mayor's news conference and distracted me on purpose."
Annabelle picked up Riley's ace. "Oh, you find Paige distracting, do you? Maybe fixing you two up was a better idea than either of you thought."
"Not distracting in the way you mean. She sidetracked me on purpose. I mean, she kept yammering at me, until I missed most of what the mayor was saying. And then she almost got me hit by a hockey puck. She's distracting in the worst way."
"Rummy!" Annabelle cried, laying her entire hand on the table. "I'm playing the queen and king on your set. And I have the ace, two and three of hearts. I'll just discard this little four of diamonds and I think that puts me over the top, and I won the match and game."
Riley did the math and gave her a little nod. "You're right. You won."
"Paige was correct, distracting you is an effective tool." She studied Riley a moment, and then said, "But that technique only works on men. A game of cards isn't going to make me ignore the fact that you want something. What is it?"
"You don't think it's possible I just wanted to play a game of five-hundred rummy with you?"
"No."
It was time to lay his cards on the table, figuratively this time. He got straight to the point. "I want some information about Paige."
Annabelle gave him a stern look. "I'll tell you what I told her—I'm not getting in the middle of whatever it is you two are doing."
"She's stalking me." He didn't mention that he hadn't seen hide nor hair of Paige for two whole days. He didn't really expect to see her today. But it didn't keep him from constantly looking over his shoulder. And maybe, just maybe, he was a little disappointed.
He'd watched the news that night and seen her segment on the Big Brothers program. There was a long clip of Zac, talking about all the things they'd done together. And there was no mention of Riley at all.
He'd called and talked to the boy. Zac was beyond excited to have been on television, and couldn't stop talking about Phylis's delight.
Riley had worked on Monday, fully expecting to bump into Paige at any given moment all day. But he hadn't seen her. Obviously, she'd meant what she'd said. She was giving up on the interview idea.
He couldn't believe she'd admitted defeat so easily.
That night there was no segment on heroes, just Paige interviewing a local woman about Erie's Warner Theater's new renovation and extension plans.
Paige Montgomery was out of his hair.
Riley was relieved to be rid of her. But there was still the little matter of teaching her a lesson.
Of course, he wouldn't be doing it because he missed her. It was just that he couldn't let her get off so easy. She'd made his life miserable for days, and now it was his turn to do the same to her.
So the fact that he was here, playing cards with Annabelle and milking her for information had nothing to do with missing Paige. It was just that Annabelle was the key to Paige's lesson.
"I mean," he continued, "first she ruined my lunch, then the press conference, and then—well, feel this. . . ." He took Annabelle's hand and rubbed it over a tiny bump on his forehead. "She knocked her head against mine and almost got me seriously injured at that hockey game. I just want to turn the tables on her."
"Well, turn them on your own time, because I'm not going to tell you anything." Annabelle picked up the cards and started shuffling. "She's not doing anything that would interest you anyway. I mean, you certainly wouldn't lower yourself to covering the financial problems of the pound, would you?"
"The pound?" Riley asked, as nonchalantly as he could.
"Yes. Paige got a letter from the director explaining that it was running in the red, and that they're hoping this new fundraiser will—"
"So when is she doing this piece?"
Annabelle glanced at her watch. "Why, she was taking her cameraman over this morning. I talked to her right before you came. She was so excited about filling in for the anchor, and was going to do this piece, then get her hair done and—"
Riley was out of his seat before she finished her sentence. "Thanks. I'll bring Zac over next week."
"Oh, you and Paige both think you can just harass me for information whenever. . ."
Riley was halfway down the hall before Annabelle finished her sentence.
It was time to teach Paige a lesson. Little rays of sunshine should stay out of storm clouds' way before they got completely blotted out.
ERIE'S DOG POUND WAS a small cinder-block building on the west side of town. Riley parked across the street, then watched and waited until he saw the WMAC news van pull into the parking lot.
He felt like whistling, though he didn't, because Riley Calhoon didn't whistle any more than he made a habit out of saving damsels in distress. Instead, he allowed himself one little smirk as he got ou
t of his car, zipped his jacket against the brisk October wind and walked across the street.
Paige and the cameraman were taking equipment out of the back of the van when he nonchalantly walked up behind her.
"Why, Paige Montgomery, what on earth are you doing here?"
She turned around. "Riley?"
Riley wished he could take a picture of Paige's expression. She was shocked to see him and it showed.
"Now, isn't this a coincidence?" he said.
"I'm not following you," Paige said hurriedly. "After that little hockey game injury, I thought maybe you were right. Maybe I am hazardous to your health. And you're certainly hazardous to—what did you call it?—Polly World? Well, I like my Pollyanna outlook, and you're ruining it, so I've given up on following you. No more talk of interviews. Plus, I was here first, so I can't be following you."
"If you say so," he said with just enough sarcasm to cause her to frown.
He wasn't about to tell her that he enjoyed annoying her. When she gave him the look that said she'd like to stomp on him, she got the cutest little dimple in her cheek.
No. No. He took that back. There was nothing about Paige Montgomery that he enjoyed. This was about teaching her a lesson, not about dimpled cheeks.
"So, what are you covering today?" he asked. "Let's see, you like witty little titles such as 'Erie's Heroes.' I'm sure you've got something great in store for your viewers. How about 'Tail Tales,' or 'Rover's Report,' or 'The Flea Files,' or some such non-news caption to attract the attention of your non-news seeking viewers?"
He was pleased to see she looked even more annoyed than she had a minute ago. Oh, yeah, he was getting even with her.
"I'm here to talk to the director about the pound's financial instability and what the community can do to help," she said in a tight voice.
"Oh, that's so much more newsworthy than fleas. I apologize." He gave a small bow of his head.
"I realize it's not we interrupt your scheduled programming sort of news, but it's still news. It's current. It's relevant. And it is important to the people here and the animals they work with. It's important to Erie as well. Without the pound we'd be overrun by stray pets. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." She turned her back to Riley and started walking into the pound.
"I'm sure, since you're so good at multitasking, you won't mind if I just tag along and see you on the job."
Paige didn't reply. She just kept walking.
Riley trailed after her, which meant he got a great view of Paige's tight little behind.
Darn. She might be a walking disaster, a woman whose sunny nature annoyed him, but that didn't stop him from admiring her ass. . .ets. And, oh, what an asset it was.
Paige Montgomery was a looker, the kind of woman he found attractive, and—
Riley cut off the thought.
Attracted to Paige? Maybe in the most base, physical way, but that was it. She was too upbeat, too focused on feeding the public pap rather than real news. A woman like Paige didn't interest him at all, at least not in more than the most elemental way.
She was his total, diametrical opposite. They had nothing in common. Not even the fact they were both reporters. She didn't have a clue what it was to be a real reporter. After all, her idea of a hot story was a dog pound.
Riley followed Paige into the building, lost in the view, when suddenly he felt his foot sink into. . .he didn't even have to look to know what his foot had sunk into.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," a woman said. "I meant to get that, and just hadn't—"
"This was a new pair of shoes," he grumbled. "When I put them on this morning I knew I'd step in something disgusting today. If it hadn't been dog excrement, it probably would have been bubble gum, or something. It was only a matter of time. Don't worry."
Riley stopped. Suddenly he was the one who was worried.
Was that him, trying to make the woman feel better? He should have said something more along the lines of If you'd done your job, I wouldn't have ruined a brand-new pair of shoes. Or maybe something like I'll be sure to send you a bill for the new pair.
Maybe he'd caught a sweetness gene from Paige. Was sick and pathetic cheerfulness contagious?
Next thing he knew, he was going to start to look on the brighter side of things. He'd be. . .optimistic! The shudder that ran up the length of his body had more to do with the thought than the excrement on his shoe.
He caught Paige smirking in his direction as he walked on his right full-foot and left toe toward the door. He didn't want to track the goo all over the pound, though if he had, he'd be teaching another lesson to that woman who ran the place. But he just wasn't up for any lessons except the one he was planning to teach Paige.
When he reached the grassy area outside, he started wiping his shoe off with gusto.
Annoying Paige. He was supposed to be annoying Paige. Instead, she looked almost amused at his predicament and he had ruined a pair of new shoes.
Satisfied he'd gotten most of the mess off the bottom of his shoe, he walked back inside just as Paige began her interview. He moved quietly against the wall and watched. At first the woman being interviewed was nervous and fidgety, but under Paige's careful guidance, she was soon answering questions like a pro and seemed to forget that the camera was even present.
They discussed pet overpopulation, the pound's role in controlling it, and the need for money to fund their operations, but even more so their need for people to adopt pets before they had to be euthanized.
"Take Pugsley here, for instance," the woman said, holding up a small, pug-nosed bulldog. "He's a wonderful dog. . .a wonderful dog who's scheduled to be killed tonight if no one adopts him. . ."
Paige wrapped up the piece, but Riley was no longer listening. He was watching the dog. The dog on doggie death row.
Only there would be no pardon from the governor for Pugsley.
"So what do you think?" Paige asked, after she finished. "Still think it was non-news?"
Instead of answering, Riley simply continued to stare at the dog that the director had held up as an example. He was sitting morosely in his pen, as if he knew his end was near. "They're going to kill that dog tonight."
"He looks like such a nice dog, it's a shame. It's too bad this piece won't air until tomorrow when it will be too late for Pugsley. But hopefully people will come in and other dogs will find a home."
The dog stared at him with soulful black eyes. It was as if he were accusing Riley of letting him die. Well, it wasn't Riley's fault the dog was about to be executed. He didn't have anything to feel guilty about.
And yet those dark soulful eyes sent a shot of something through Riley's system.
"They couldn't give him one more night?" he asked.
"They have rules, just like everyone does. If you'd listened to the piece, you'd know they don't like that part of their job any more than you do."
She gave the dog a small pat on the head and murmured, "Poor thing," then started to put her files back in her briefcase. The cameraman had already taken the equipment out to the van.
Tentatively, Riley reached into the pen and stroked the dog's head.
Pugsley licked his hand.
Normally he would object to dog saliva on his hand, but since the poor dog was going to bite the doggie bullet in a few hours, he didn't complain.
"He seems like a nice dog," he murmured, more to himself than to Paige. He withdrew his hand and felt as if he were abandoning an old friend.
"He's an old dog," Paige pointed out gently. "I'm sure he lived a good life."
"I used to have a bulldog when I was a kid." Riley wished he could take the words back the minute he saw the softening of Paige's expression.
No dimples now, just concern, and maybe even empathy. He wasn't sure why he'd brought it up. He stood by Pugsley's cage, hands in his pocket, staring at the dog.
Well, he certainly wasn't going to mention that he'd only had his bulldog for two days until his father found he'd hidden i
t in his room and took it to the pound.
The Major—that's how he always mentally thought of his father—had claimed that with all the moving around they did in the military, a pet was inconvenient, that they couldn't afford to feed it and, mainly, that Riley wasn't responsible enough to care for one.
"You did?" Paige asked.
"It was a long time ago," he muttered. He always wondered what had happened to Pete. He hoped the dog had been rescued before it met the same fate as Pugsley.
Paige moved closer to the cage. "Hey, Pugsley."
The small dog's tail twitched in response to her voice.
"He likes me," she said.
Of course the dog liked her, Riley thought. Everyone liked Paige. Everyone except him, he reminded himself sternly. Her upbeatness annoyed him. At least it did when he reminded himself it annoyed him.
Needing that reminder, he said, "Oh, don't act all surprised that he likes you. You work hard at making yourself likable, but I've caught glimpses of the real you, and you're not as sweet as you'd like people to think. Why, you pushed me in that puddle on our date. That wasn't exactly nice. . ."
THE DATE.
For six months Paige had thought of it as the date from hell.
Why did Riley keep bringing it up? All Paige wanted to do was forget it. Just like she planned to forget Riley himself. Of course, she couldn't help that he seemed to be creeping into her thoughts, and even her dreams, lately. That wasn't her fault. She was doing her best to forget him. She'd given up on the interview idea, hadn't she?
Let him wallow in his surliness. Why should she care? Let him remember the date as inaccurately as he wanted. It didn't matter to her that he remembered it wrong. . .
It rained while they ate their dinner in the restaurant. The rain seemed appropriate to Paige, after all, this date had been all wet. No, not the date, the man.
What on earth had made her aunt think that she had anything in common with Riley Calhoon? He was annoying, opinionated and cantankerous. He'd sent his steak back twice, claiming the cook didn't understand the term well-done. After the second trip back to the kitchen the waiter brought back what looked like a charcoal briquette, and Riley had actually looked almost pleased. He ate the entire charred piece of meat.