by Holly Jacobs
"Me?" Paige asked, the picture of innocence. "I'm childish? You're the one who won't let me come over and play."
"You're not going to let this be, are you?" he asked.
"Nope."
"Fine. You can come to my house."
"Gee, Calhoon," she said, rising and brushing the sand off her behind. "That was such an elegant invitation. How's a girl supposed to refuse?"
"I take it you're both leaving now?"
"Yes, Officer. Thank you."
"THANK YOU," Paige said a couple hours later. "That was nice."
"Nice?"
Riley sounded insulted, and that made her want to laugh, but she tried to look serious while she nodded.
"Very nice. And speaking of very nice, your house is very nice. It's not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
Paige didn't answer. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but it wasn't the stately brick home in Erie's old neighborhood, Glenwood Hills; it wasn't a house full of antiques and warm colors. There was a richness and a texture in this house. Comfort.
She felt as warm and safe in the house as she felt in Riley's arms. Like everything else about him, his home had taken her by surprise, but when she thought about it, she wondered why. It suited him.
"I like it," she said, rather than offer up an explanation. "And I like you, you know."
He pulled her close. The soft mat of hair that covered his chest brushed against her cheek and tickled, but she didn't move away. She just drank in the scent of him—hot and spicy—even as she sank into the warm protected circle of his arms.
Wrapped in Riley, she felt brave enough to say what had been nagging at her for a long time. "More than like, I love you. Don't think you have to say anything back. I'm not asking. I just had to tell you."
She waited, sure that Riley would have something to say. Riley always had something to say.
But rather than words, she heard a deep breath.
He was asleep.
He'd missed her declaration. Paige didn't mind. She'd say it again, and again and again until he realized she meant it.
Until he said it back.
Because though he hadn't said the words, Paige suspected that he cared for her, too. As a matter of fact, she'd even begun to hope that he loved her.
With a Pollyanna certainty, she believed it was only a matter of time until he admitted it.
Paige Montgomery loved Riley Calhoon.
Now all she had to do was make him see he loved her, too.
9
RILEY WALKED ACROSS the parking lot toward the office building and realized he was humming.
He had experienced a lot of firsts since meeting Paige. He'd apologized; he'd shared things with her he never even realized himself; he'd prattled. But humming?
Now he was humming?
He realized something else—he was happy.
Deep down, bone deep, contentedly happy.
He could tack on a multitude of adjectives and still not completely describe the depths of his happiness.
Every now and then a niggling of worry, of his old cynical self appeared, telling him that this type of happiness couldn't last, but he ignored it.
He wasn't sure how long it would last, wasn't sure exactly what he felt for Paige, but he was sure that whatever it was, right now, at this precise moment in time, he was happy.
He did, however, stop humming. It wouldn't do to let the guys at the office hear him. The amount of ribbing he'd receive would be unbearable. He'd just hold on to the feeling and enjoy it privately.
He pasted a well-practiced scowl on his face and walked into the crowded office. There were no private offices for mere reporters and columnists. Instead, there was a huge room with a jumble of desks and file cabinets, ringing phones and the steady tapping on collective keyboards.
For Riley, the sights and sounds were comforting. They made his blood start to pump. They were familiar, like coming home. He slid into his chair and booted up the computer.
Maybe the reason he felt so comfortable at Paige's was that she was rather like the office—loud, slightly chaotic, and when he was with her, he felt his blood begin to jump, and he felt as if he was home.
"Hey, if it isn't Riley Calhoon, Erie's hero," said Todd Samuels, the paper's sportswriter.
He was standing next to Riley's desk, grinning in such a way that Riley knew the paper's resident joker was up to something.
"What are you talking about, Samuels?" Riley barked. A sinking feeling enveloped the happiness he'd felt just moments before.
From behind his back, the balding man with the potbelly and annoying sense of humor pulled a key dangling from the end of a string. "By the powers vested in me by the powers that be, I now present you with the keys to the city. . .well, at least the men's washroom here at the newspaper portion of the city."
Riley didn't touch the key. He simply glared at Samuels and waited, sure that there was more.
"Yes, the key to the city for Riley Calhoon, rescuer of pregnant mamas." Samuels paused and added, "Only she wasn't precisely pregnant, was she?"
"Samuels," Riley warned, and the sinking feeling in his stomach worsened.
Martin, who owned the desk separating Riley and Samuels, was all ears now, along with half the office staff.
"What he'd do?" Martin asked.
Samuels starting laughing and said, "About a month ago our own Riley Calhoon rushed a pregnant lady to the hospital thinking she was about to give birth, only she wasn't pregnant. She was that Paige Montgomery chick from WMAC, and she was in one of her crazy getups looking for a story."
"So why'd he rush her to the hospital?" Martin asked.
"It was her appendix. It was ready to burst, and Calhoon here basically saved her life."
"Samuels," Riley said, infusing as much warning as he could into his tone.
"Oh, did I embarrass you?" Samuels asked, innocence in his voice. "You don't want the office to know that you're a softie when all is said and done?"
The sinking feeling was replaced by dull, burning sensations. Paige had told. It wasn't that the office knew, although he was sure they were going to do their best to make his life a living hell. It was that he'd trusted her.
Actually, though she asked every day—and every night—if he'd do the interview, it had simply become part of their banter. A running joke.
No, it wasn't that the office knew.
It was that he thought Paige had understood. Though they joked about meeting to talk about an interview, he thought she realized he wasn't ever going to do one. That he was meeting her simply because. . .
He should have known better. He should have known that whatever he and Paige had couldn't last. He'd been stupid to think there was anything more than a momentary flare of passion. And even that spark had died the moment he realized she'd gone behind his back and told the story.
His very private story.
"Hey, Calhoon, where're you going?" Samuels called. "I didn't mean to make you mad. I was just joking."
"Come on, Calhoon," Martin called.
"I'll be back," Riley said simply as he stormed out of the office. There was no humming as he got into his car. The Major had been right—don't count on anyone but yourself.
He had begun to count on Paige, and she'd let him down. The thought beat a steady tempo in his head as he drove from the paper to the news station.
He'd trusted her, maybe even cared about her more than he should. And she'd told. He'd explained his reasons, and still she'd told.
"I need to see Paige," he said to Penny, the receptionist, as he stormed into the WMAC office.
She'd obviously become used to seeing him, because she just smiled and waved her hand. "I guess you know the way by now."
Yeah, he thought as he opened the door and made his way through the office, he knew, but he was going to forget as soon as he had this one last meeting.
"Riley," Paige said, a warm smile on her face as he walked into her cubbyhole. "What's
up?"
"You told."
She looked confused. Riley wasn't buying it. She was a good actress, she'd already proved that. She'd let him think she really cared, when all the time she was planning to get her interview, one way or another.
"Pardon?" she simply asked.
Willing to play along and explain, though he was sure she knew what he was talking about, he said, "I trusted you, and you told about that hero stuff. It's all over the office. You knew how I felt, and you told anyway, hoping to make me do the damned interview. Were you hoping that if my boss got wind of it, he'd agree with you that it was great press and try to pressure me into your interview? Well, it won't work."
"Riley, I didn't—"
"You told someone."
"Listen, in the hospital I told Aunt Annabelle and Stephanie, but neither of them breathed a word. I'd bet my life on it. Aunt Annabelle didn't even mention to you that she knew because I told her not to. Riley, I didn't tell anyone else."
"I don't believe you." Maybe there was a certain sincerity to her words that made Riley pause a moment. A small voice whispered that maybe she was telling the truth. He shoved the doubt away. He didn't believe, couldn't afford to believe, her story. This was a reminder that he'd become too dependent on Paige.
"What?" she gasped.
"I didn't come here for excuses. You told someone—someone in my office. Samuels and Martin both know now. I just came to tell you that this was a mistake."
"This?"
"You and me, and whatever it is we've been playing at. We knew it wouldn't last, and this just reinforces it for me. I won't be calling, and I won't be doing any interview."
"Fine."
Riley wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it was more than her terse monosyllabic response. "That's all? All you have to say is fine?"
"I've already told you that I didn't tell anyone. You don't believe me. So why would I think you'd believe me when I say that I don't think what happened between us was as casual as you seem to feel it was? That I had thought we had something deeper going on. But you were right, and I was wrong. Because deeper would imply trust, and it's obvious you don't trust me. So, you're right, we need to end this—whatever this is—now. Goodbye, Riley. It's been, well, not exactly fun, but interesting. And thank you for saving my life. It might not mean much to you, but it meant everything to me."
"That's it?"
"What else did you want me to say?" She watched him and he thought there was a hint of something, maybe optimism, in her expression. But as time stretched and he remained silent, whatever that glimmer was faded.
The hell of it was, Riley didn't have a clue what he'd expected when he confronted her. He'd been out of his element since the moment Paige had reentered his life. All he knew was that who and why she told didn't matter. He should have called things off well before this. It was time to go.
"Goodbye, Paige."
"Goodbye," Paige whispered as she watched the man she loved walk out of her life.
Rose-colored glasses?
Everyone said she wore them, but right now, she couldn't seem to find them. Couldn't think of a silver lining for this entire situation. Couldn't feel the least bit optimistic.
What on earth had she been thinking? Trying to make herself believe that Riley was changing. That there was a chance for them.
There was nothing between them, and no future for them. She'd been a fool, reading what she wanted to see in their situation when all the time there'd just been a healthy sense of lust, and nothing more. Well, fine. She could live with that, or at least she would learn to live with it. But first she needed some time. Time to put whatever it was that had been growing between them behind her. She was going to give herself permission to wallow in the misery that racked her.
"Paul," she said as she walked into her boss's office. "I have to take some time off. Personal time."
"Is something wrong?"
"Wrong? No. It's that, listen, I just need some time off."
"How long?"
"A couple days. I have plenty of vacation time." She might have plenty, but she wasn't wasting more than a couple of those days on Riley. She'd give herself that much time to grieve over what they could have had, and then she'd come back to work and put the whole unfortunate incident behind her.
Riley's veneer might have cracked on occasion, but he was good at pasting it back together. There was no hope of reaching the man she knew was there. She could keep smashing her head against his wall, or admit defeat and move on.
She was admitting defeat.
She wasn't masochistic enough to keep chipping away his charade when it was clear he was comfortable with it.
She realized Paul, the news director, was talking. "You also have some personal time owed you. Just go. We'll cover things here. I'll talk to Steph. Don't worry."
Paige turned and left the office. She wasn't going to worry. She was going to get on with her life, maybe a little wiser, and a lot less Pollyanna-ish than she had started.
THAT AFTERNOON, Riley sat at his desk and typed, but it was simply a jumble of letters. He was moving his fingers, but nothing worthwhile was coming out.
He went over and over his conversation with Paige, and something didn't ring true. She'd denied leaking the information. But if she hadn't done it, who had.
"Hey, Samuels?"
"Calhoon. Listen, I'm sorry I upset you. When Stella told me about you saving Paige—"
"Stella? Who's Stella?"
"You know, the nurse from the hospital I've been seeing now for a few weeks. She was Paige's nurse and Paige was asking for you right after she woke up, sent Stella out looking for you, only you'd gone. I was talking about the office, and she mentioned it. I didn't mean to tick you off by mentioning it."
"You didn't. Not really."
"If that's you not really ticked off, I don't ever want to get on your real bad side."
Riley turned and simply walked away from Samuels, walked out of the office.
What had he done?
He'd accused Paige and broken things off with her. And she hadn't done a thing. He'd jumped to a conclusion. That wasn't like him. Why?
Because he was scared.
"Hey, Calhoon, where are you going now?"
"To take my foot out of my mouth."
He was terrified by the strength of his feelings for Paige.
She thought he was brave, thought he was a hero. But he was a coward. He'd figured that much out within minutes of walking out of WMAC's station.
He felt so much for her, it left him uncertain and afraid.
Well, it was time to get over his fear and win Paige back. He was going to have to grovel. He knew that. What was it about Paige that made him willing to apologize? He cared about her.
More than cared.
The reason he'd been so mad that she'd told was he'd trusted her. That he. . .
He loved her.
What on earth was he supposed to do about that?
Apologize. That was his first step. Thank goodness he was getting good at saying I'm sorry.
Once he was back in her good graces, he'd worry about the next step.
MEN.
Paige took a huge bite of ice cream.
Men. You couldn't live with them. . .you couldn't live with them.
The ice cream melted, trickling down her throat.
They were toads.
She stabbed another spoonful of the ice cream from her float.
No, men were the warts on toads.
They were the hemorrhoids on the backside of life.
No matter how cold the ice cream was, it wasn't cooling the heat of her ire.
She sat silently admonishing herself. No matter how mad she was, she didn't have the right to condemn an entire gender. It wasn't men who were the problem. It was a man. One single individual of the male species.
Riley Calhoon.
He was everything she originally thought he was.
His act of heroism was, just as he had cl
aimed, a small blip in his surliness.
He'd rather believe the worst about people.
The worst about her.
That's what hurt.
She drank the dregs of her ice-cream float. It hadn't helped ease the ball of tightly wound anger, twisted with a good deal of hurt, that sat in the pit of her stomach.
Normally, ice-cream floats fixed almost anything, but not today. Despite three floats, as the day went on, her anger got tighter and tighter until right now, at this moment in time, it was all she could do not to combust.
She needed to do something.
What she'd like to do was kick Riley good and hard. But she didn't believe in violence. So, instead of tracking him down and kicking his butt, she threw on a pair of sweats and went running. And Paige hated running.
It was a cold and drizzling fall day. It was as miserable out as she felt inside. Every cold, wet step only made her madder. And the fact that she avoided physical exertion until it was absolutely necessary, made her madder still.
She hated to sweat. Hated exercise.
Each cold, wet, sweaty step infuriated her. By the time she ran back into her building, she was steaming. The cramp, caused by running on an ice-cream-float-filled stomach, only served to increase her anger.
She reveled in the heat of what she felt. It was so much easier to cope with than the pain she'd experienced when Riley had said goodbye.
Yeah, mad was good.
She turned down the hallway to her apartment and saw Riley standing there, and her anger burst into a full-fledged rage. "What are you doing here?"
"I had to see you."
She brushed by him, pulled her keys from the rope around her neck. "You've seen me, now leave."
"Why are you all wet?"
"I was out running." She fumbled trying to get the key into the keyhole. It didn't seem to fit. She must have grabbed the wrong key. That had to be the answer. It was much more palatable than the thought that Riley had flustered her so much she was trembling and couldn't stop long enough to get the key in the hole.
"You were running in this? You'll catch your death of pneumonia and I'll be hauling you back to the hospital."
"Don't worry, I think I'd prefer suffering to getting a ride with you." Finally the key slid in and she twisted it in the lock.