Want Ad Wedding

by Neesa Hart

  Molly worried her lower lip between her teeth for a few seconds. “I don’t want to lie.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “But you also have to understand—I don’t know—I guess I’ll make it up as I go along.”

  “May I assume, then, that you agree?” he asked quietly.

  Molly hesitated a moment longer, then nodded. Standing, she extended her hand. “We have a deal, Mr. Reed.”

  He folded her hand in his and took the opportunity to skim his thumb over the pulse in her wrist. “I think you’d better start calling me Sam.” He glanced at his watch. “And we’d better get moving. I don’t want to be late for this meeting.”

  Chapter Three

  Sam slid a glance at Molly as she sat beside him in the conference room of the mayor’s office. She was studying a sheaf of papers the mayor’s secretary had handed Sam when they’d arrived for the meeting. And she was worrying her tongue between her teeth again.

  He watched her tuning out the nasal voice of the management contractor the town had hired to oversee the development of a rail, air, and shipping distribution hub. If successfully built and managed, this hub could soon triple the size of the small town of Payne.

  But Sam had several suspicions about the project, especially about the management firm and the bidding process. He knew from editorial meetings that Molly shared his suspicions. Reviewing the public documents himself, he had thus far turned up nothing. Molly had been badgering him for an assignment for weeks, but he’d evaded her, primarily because he didn’t want to send up warning flags for the mayor’s office.

  There wasn’t an influential citizen in Payne who didn’t understand that Molly was no ordinary small-town journalist. If the mayor had something to hide, he sure wouldn’t want Molly looking for it. And the wary glance Sam had gotten from the mayor’s assistant when he and Molly arrived for the meeting had confirmed his suspicions.

  “Mr. Reed,” the young woman had said, studying Molly with a sharp gaze. “The mayor didn’t mention you were bringing anyone.” She had tipped her head toward Molly. “Hello, Molly.”

  “Jean,” Molly had said coolly. She’d slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Sam could never figure out how Molly managed to look professional and sophisticated in jeans and a sweatshirt—which appeared to be her attire of choice. The only time he’d seen her in a dress was the day she’d had to attend a midday funeral. She’d come to work wearing a dark brown dress that did something incredible to her figure and her coloring. The hem had skimmed her knees, and though the dress itself was nothing other than sedate, it didn’t look sedate on Molly.

  He’d had a hard time concentrating that morning at the editorial meeting. She’d kept crossing her legs, and he’d kept staring at the way her shapely legs tapered down to a pair of conservative heels. He’d asked himself repeatedly what the hell he was thinking. Sam had decided there was a very good reason for Molly to stay in jeans and sneakers. The sedate brown dress had been bad enough. Anything more seductive might do him in.

  When they’d arrived at the town offices, Molly had looked squarely at the mayor’s assistant and waited for Sam to explain her presence at the meeting. Sam had seized the opportunity. “Molly and I have lunch plans,” he had said casually. “I figured if she came with me to the meeting, we could just leave from here.”

  Jean’s perfectly shaped brows had disappeared beneath the sweep of hair over her forehead. “I see,” she said. “Well, I suppose I could ask—”

  “I’m sure Fred won’t mind,” Sam had insisted, referring to the mayor. “This is just an informational meeting, isn’t it?”

  Jean had hesitated slightly. “Yes.”

  Sam had taken the folder of briefing papers from her and handed it to Molly. “Then I’m sure there’s no problem.”

  Left with no reasonable rebuttal, Jean had shown them into the conference room.

  As usual, Sam had been the first to arrive. He took a seat to the right of the mayor’s designated chair at the head of the table. Molly had waved the folder at him with a dry grin. “You’re good, Sam.”

  Sam had accepted the throaty compliment with a clench in his gut. He was looking forward to hearing her tell him that under more intimate, and more private, circumstances. “I figured you were going to make them nervous. That’s the main reason I didn’t want you looking into this before.”

  She’d seemed surprised. “You suspect something, too?”

  “For weeks,” he’d confirmed.

  “You could have just told me that, you know.”

  At the note of irritation in her voice, Sam had shrugged. “I wasn’t ready.”

  He sensed Molly struggling with frustration. “You know what your problem is, Sam?”

  “No, but I assure you plenty of people have tried to figure it out.”

  She ignored that. Her eyes were sparkling. He’d noticed weeks ago that Molly’s eyes always sparkled in proportion to her passion. He felt another clench in his gut as he considered what she’d look like with her hair rumpled and her face flushed in the aftermath of passion. “Your problem,” Molly said pointedly, “is that you don’t trust people. Life’s more rewarding when you trust people.”

  “I’ve heard that,” he said noncommittally. He’d indicated the seat across from him to the mayor’s left. “Why don’t you sit over there? That way, we can see all the faces and compare notes later.”

  “Divide and conquer?” She’d made her way to the other side of the table.

  “Something like that.”

  Molly had nodded thoughtfully. “How nervous do you think it’ll make the mayor if I study these briefings during the meeting?”

  “Extremely,” he’d assured her. “That’s what I think. You listen, I’ll read.”

  Now, an hour later, true to her word, Molly had said nothing since greeting the mayor, the director of development and public works, and the lawyers and the front man for the management firm. She’d settled into her chair and begun to read systematically through the information in the folder.

  The mayor, Sam noted, continued to slide nervous glances in her direction. The tip of Molly’s tongue had appeared between her teeth about thirty minutes ago. She’d started flipping back and forth between pages in the folder as if comparing information. Sam observed one of the development lawyers thumping his pencil on the conference table in obvious agitation.

  “I really just wanted to bring you up to speed, Sam,” Mayor Fred Cobell told him. “It’s like I told you in the beginning, this project is going to mean a lot to the future of Payne.”

  “Without a doubt,” Sam agreed.

  Ed Newbury, the Director of Transportation and Public Works, nodded avidly. “And the Sentinel can have a huge influence on how people perceive it.”

  Sam saw Molly bristle. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “We have every intention on reporting about the phases of the project,” he assured them.

  The development firm’s spokesman laughed nervously. “Positively, I hope.”

  Molly gave him a chilly look. “We report the news, Mr. Patterson. It doesn’t matter whether it’s good news or bad news, we just tell the story.”

  “Now, Molly,” Fred Cobell said, patting the table in front of her, “don’t get your reporter instincts in a twist. Nobody’s asking for any favors here.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” she told him.

  The mayor looked at Sam. “However,” he said, “you know as well as I do that a local news outlet can seriously influence how citizens feel about a certain project.”

  “No doubt,” Sam agreed.

  “And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope that the Sentinel would help the people of Payne see how important this project is to our community.”

  Sam didn’t like Fred Cobell. He’d decided that the first day he’d met the man. Cobell had a clammy handshake. In fifteen years of business, Sam had never met a trustworthy man with a clammy handshake.

  And sub
sequent meetings and conversations had confirmed his first impression of Cobell as a small-town politician with big-city aspirations and an over-developed love of wealth and power.

  Now, Sam met Cobell’s probing gaze with a cool look. “I have every intention of keeping the community informed about the benefits,” he assured Cobell. From the corner of his eye, Sam detected Molly’s sharp frown. “The Sentinel has always been committed to serving this community.”

  Cobell searched Sam’s expression for long seconds, then nodded, apparently reassured. “I’m glad to hear that, Sam. I’m sure you’ll find that maintaining a good relationship with our office will make your job in Payne a little easier.”

  Sam gritted his teeth against the urge to tell Cobell he had a seriously overinflated impression of his own importance if he thought his influence and opinion even registered on Sam’s radar. “I’m going to do the job Carl asked me here to do,” he stated flatly. “The Sentinel needs some restructuring, but I’m sure we can maintain its credibility in this community.”

  The mayor nodded. “Sure, sure. Payne has always relied on the Sentinel for important community news. I’m sure your cooperation with us is going to enhance that reputation.”

  Sam shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “I’m sure we will,” Cobell assured him. He looked at the other two men in the room. “I’m certainly glad we had this meeting.”

  “Me, too,” Patterson agreed. He pulled on his collar. “I think this is going to be good for all of us.”

  Cobell returned his gaze to Sam. “I’m sure Jean can answer any other questions you might have. I’ll make my staff available to the Sentinel for any information you might need.”

  Sam recognized the dismissal. He glanced at Molly. Her color had heightened slightly, and her eyes glistened. She pressed her lips tightly together. Sam sensed that her annoyance at Cobell’s condescension was surpassed only by her annoyance with him for playing the unfolding story so close to his chest.

  He couldn’t blame her, either. He’d been tough on her for the past few weeks, and undoubtedly deserved the blistering lecture he’d get when they left the mayor’s office.

  He rose to leave. “I’m sure you will, Fred. Thanks.” He gestured at Molly. “Now, if we’re through, Molly and I have lunch plans.”

  Cobell looked quickly from Sam to Molly and back again, his gaze speculative. “I see,” he said carefully. He grinned broadly at Sam. “I see.”

  Sam squashed his irritation while he and Molly said their goodbyes and made their way through the mayor’s outer office. As he punched the down button in the elevator he uttered a dark curse that succinctly summed up his opinion of Fred Cobell, a word which questioned the mayor’s lack of paternal heritage. Molly shot him a quick look. “I’m surprised.”

  “You’ve never heard me swear before?” he asked flatly, still trying to shake his lingering foul mood.

  “Funny, Sam,” she said. “What I meant was, I was a little surprised to hear you calling him names in the elevator when you seemed awfully ready to give him what he wanted by the time he wrapped up the meeting.”

  “Then you don’t know me very well,” he said as the elevator glided to a stop at the ground floor. He pinned her with a sharp look. “We’ll discuss this in the car,” he stated. “I don’t want to be overheard.”

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Molly drummed her fingers on the table of Stingy Eddy’s diner and admitted a reluctant, but growing admiration for Sam Reed. At least, she thought wryly, since she’d admitted to herself that she found him incredibly attractive, she could take comfort in the fact that she had exceptionally good taste. He’d played Fred Cobell, she’d realized during the meeting, but the extent of Sam’s insight into the matter still surprised her as he’d explained his suspicions about the development project in the short ride to the restaurant. “How long have you known this?” she pressed him now.

  Sam shrugged. “Something smelled bad right from the beginning.” He took a long sip of water and settled down in the banquette. His lazy grace, Molly noted, made him seem at home in any setting—from the mayor’s office to the greasy spoon. “I think Cobell is one of those small town politicians who lets power and money go to his head.”

  “He’s been mayor for fifteen years,” Molly said. “I don’t think he started out wanting to be a career politician—”

  “But he changed his mind.”

  She shrugged. “What does the retired mayor of a small town do except marshal a few parades now and then?” She mentally reviewed the reports she’d scanned during the meeting. “I find it hard to believe that Cobell would actually do anything illegal, though.”

  “Not in a place like Payne?”

  She frowned at him. He had a way of talking about her small community that made her bristle. It had been one of the first things she’d noticed when he arrived at the Sentinel. Sure, Payne might not have the cosmopolitan atmosphere of Boston, but the town had a special quality that Molly found both charming and comforting. “Look, Sam, small towns may not be your personal cup of tea, but they provide a certain security for their citizens. Payne is a community. It’s still the kind of community where you don’t have to lock your doors and look over your shoulder when you walk down the street at night. Some people like that.”

  “Just an observation, Molly. Not a criticism.”

  She exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Do you know that every time you talk about the community you sound condescending?”

  He looked surprised. “I do?”

  She nodded. “Yes. You seem to think we’re beneath your standards—”

  “I do not.”

  She gave him a pointed look. “Now who’s interrupting?”

  Sam frowned. “I do not think the people of Payne are beneath my standards.”

  “You sound like you do.”

  His face was a mask of concentration and, unless she missed her guess, genuine concern, as he thought about her statement. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

  “It’s the way you talk about us, about our lives.” She paused as she weighed the wisdom of her next statement. “As if you think we’re trivial.”

  He frowned. “You’re serious?”

  “Maybe we’re not the kind of town that makes national news, but we’re good, solid people. We deserve more than your contempt.”

  He nodded, visibly thoughtful. “I agree. I never meant to communicate contempt.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe not, but it would help if you actually involved yourself in what goes on around here.”

  “How so?”

  Molly took a deep breath, ignoring the voice in her head that said she’d clearly lost her mind. “What are your plans for the weekend?” she asked, knowing full well that Sam left town every Friday afternoon. Most of the Sentinel staff knew he lived in a residential hotel outside Payne and that he commuted home to Boston on weekends. The fact that he’d made no pretense of the strictly temporary nature of his stay had chafed.

  “I have some plans on the coast.”

  She could well imagine. The Reed clan’s connection to the Massachusetts coastline was legendary. Sam’s brother owned a large home in Rockport, and his sister had indulged in several infamous, high-profile retreats in trendy Martha’s Vineyard. “The duck races are Saturday,” she reminded him.

  His lips twitched. “How could I forget?”

  Irritated, Molly gave him a sharp look. “You see? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. So what if the duck races aren’t the Indianapolis 500? The festival is the biggest event of the year in Payne. Even if you think it’s corny, you don’t have to be so smug.”

  Sam shook his head, his expression rueful. “Molly—I was serious. How could I forget the duck races when you spent last week’s editorial meeting arguing with me about my plans for the coverage?”

  She, too, remembered the heated meeting. Sam had decided to do away with the traditional coverage of the festival in favor of a background piece that explored the original visio
n of Howard Edgington, founder of the event and the primary endower of the scholarship program that encouraged Payne High School students to participate. “People are going to miss the recap,” Molly told him, now. “They look forward to it.”

  “Then why don’t the last three years’ business stats show an increase in sales the Monday morning after?”

  Irritated, Molly glared at him. “Despite what you might think, Sam, I’m probably the biggest proponent on staff of making changes to the Sentinel if that’s what it takes to save it.”

  “Is that why you’ve been harassing me in meetings since the day I got here?” he drawled.

  “I don’t harass,” she stated. At his dry look, she shook her head. “I don’t. I just argue.”

  Sam laughed. “Point well taken.”

  “And it might surprise you that I want to fix the problems, too, but I don’t think we have to do away with the Sentinel’s character to do that.”

  “Neither do I,” he assured her.

  “Then why are you giving me grief about the duck races coverage?”

  “Your way won’t sell papers. My way will.”

  Molly gritted her teeth. “Look, Sam, I’ll grant you that the festival is a little quirky. Fine, the duck races won’t stand up to Paul Revere Days in Boston. Maybe they won’t make the national registry of historic events, or get a write-up in Town & Country, but the duck races are ours.” She gave him a hard look. “And we like them, Sam. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “I know.”

  “The teenagers who compete in the scholarship contest work toward this all year—sometimes for longer than a year. They deserve better than a two-line mention in the community newspaper for their accomplishments.”

  “Are you listening to yourself?” he asked.

  “Yes. And that’s exactly my point. You can’t believe I feel this passionately about ducks.”

  “Sure I can. You feel passionately about everything.” He paused. “Especially everything about Payne.”