Secrets in a Small Town

by Kimberly Van Meter

  “Thank you. I—” she started amiably until Owen cut her off by switching the radio on and drowning her out with a blast of country music.

  By way of explanation, he said, “Interview’s not yet,” and then, tucking his arm out the window, he tuned her out as effectively as if he’d left her standing alongside the road.

  Oh, and she hated country music. Was it possible that he knew that? Quite possible and he was loving the advantage.

  So much for swimming with sharks.

  Right about now she felt like a guppy—and it had nothing to do with her outfit.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  OWEN RETURNED TO HIS truck after escorting Quinn safely to her classroom. He didn’t feel comfortable only dropping her off when things were so touch and go with that asshole Danny still at-large. He had no idea whether Danny might try and come after Quinn but Owen wasn’t taking any chances.

  Piper sat primly in his truck, back straight and hands clasped in her lap as if she were unsure of how to relax. She always looked so perfectly put together. That was one thing he noticed about her. Every detail appeared painstakingly thought out and planned, which to him seemed contradictory to the image he had of her hedonistic childhood. When she wasn’t badgering him, she was a little on the cute side. Snap out of it, he said to himself when he realized where his thoughts were headed. It’d been a long while since he’d dated anyone serious and, because he didn’t have the time—or the inclination—for casual dating, there’d been a drought of sexual activity in his bedroom.

  And his hormones had picked a cherry of a time to remind him of that fact.

  He climbed into his truck and tried not to look at her.

  “So are you ready now?” she asked.

  He turned to her, forgetting his seconds-earlier decree to stay focused on the road rather than her for the time being. “You’re something else, you know that?” he said, his tone hard. “Do you ever think of anyone other than yourself? Quinn is going through something you can’t even imagine yet all you can focus on is your story. You haven’t even asked if Gretchen has been found.”

  She drew back imperceptibly and her eyelashes fluttered as if she were trying to find an acceptable comeback yet found herself struggling. She moistened her lips and the slight motion drew his reluctant attention to the soft fullness of her pink lips. Totally clear of make-up of any kind, she had a dewy freshness about her that made his mind wander into dark corners before he realized where he was going.

  “I’m just doing my job and, since you’d already removed the possibility of doing the story on Gretchen, I had moved on,” she said finally, her chin jutting out, but her eyes held a wounded softness that he found incredibly intriguing. Sweet and charming yet hiding a dagger behind her back. That was Piper Sunday. He needed to stay reminded of that fact before he found himself stuck and bleeding. She glanced over at him through a thick curtain of lashes, adding stiffly, “I’m assuming she’s been found. I haven’t heard any chatter on the scanner that would support the fact that they were still searching for her.” When he grunted an affirmative, she nodded and tacked on, “I’m glad she’s been found. How is she?”

  “You don’t need to patronize me. I know you don’t care, and your fake concern is insulting.”

  She glared but shifted in her seat as if his words had illuminated an uncomfortable truth. “Of course I care. Are you going to tell me or do I have to find out through the grapevine?”

  He could only imagine the tangled network that comprised the local grapevine and he didn’t want to take the chance of Piper getting hold of bad information, so he told her what he knew. “She’s pretty banged up. The guy who did this left her alongside the road to die. I’m not even sure if the baby made it.”

  “I didn’t know she was pregnant,” she murmured, peering at him oddly. “Is it…your baby?” she ventured hesitantly.

  At that, he nearly did a double take. His kid? “She’s my office manager,” he said in a tone that communicated what he thought about dating employees.

  “It’s not against the law,” she said, but the way her shoulders relaxed told him she’d been tense over the possibility he’d been shacking up with Gretchen.

  “That’s not how I operate,” he grumbled, annoyed at how a minute thrill chased the knowledge she’d been apprehensive over his dating choices. He risked a short glance her way. “I draw the line at employees and cousins.”

  That last part was meant as a joke and he was relieved to see her crack a reluctant smile.

  “So why is her daughter with you?” she asked. “I assumed because you were there for her at school that maybe you and her mom were a couple.”

  “I was just helping Gretchen out. She’s a good woman with questionable taste in men. And Quinn’s a great kid.”

  A slow smile lifted her mouth but she appeared perplexed by the information. Someone must’ve been filling her ear with bad press when it came to him, for she seemed suddenly adrift. “That’s very nice of you,” she finally said.

  “Yeah, sometimes I take a break from ruining the environment to be kind to someone else,” he quipped, turning to face her. “Listen, we got off on a bad foot. We don’t have to be enemies. I’m prepared to let bygones be bygones if we can start fresh.”

  “And what does that entail?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I still have a job to do. Are you still willing to do the interview?”

  “Of course,” he stated.

  “Okay. Then I’m willing to accept those terms,” she answered with an efficient nod that went as a perfect accessory to her flawless look. He wondered if she let herself go wild in the bedroom. And then because his mind had already sparked the question, his imagination provided the imagery. His groin tightened as he saw in his mind’s eye a bed-tousled Piper in a sea of tangled sheets with a wicked, come-get-me-bad-boy smile. Hell, that’s not helpful at all, he chastised himself. “Shall we head to your office to get started?” she asked, her eyes bright and cheery with expectation.

  But he didn’t want to be stuck indoors. It was part of the reason he’d gone into forestry. He hated being rooted to a desk for eight hours. He needed fresh air and a distraction. He started the truck and pulled onto the highway.

  “Speaking of jobs, I have one, too. You want your interview? You have to tag along with me to the job site.”

  “And where’s that?” she asked, trying to appear unconcerned by his announcement.

  He grinned and pulled onto the highway. “Up on the mountain. Where else?”

  PIPER’S GAZE DROPPED to her pretty heels, and she swallowed a moan at how ruined her new shoes would be after tromping after Owen in the Santa Cruz mountains. “Are you sure the office wouldn’t be more appropriate for an interview?” she asked, hoping to appeal to some sense of logic but to no avail. In fact, he seemed quite amused by the idea of her trailing after him dressed as she was in a tight silk skirt and ultra-feminine white chiffon blouse with fluttery georgette sleeves.

  “You want the real deal, you got it,” he said, that damnable grin returning so that he looked rakish and delicious at the same time.

  She huffed a silent breath and counted to ten. He was trying to get her to back out, to get her to relinquish their deal without losing face. Well, he didn’t know who he was dealing with. Piper had once won a staring contest even when a bug had landed on her nose. She wasn’t one to give up, no matter the obstacle. She liked to consider it one of her more impressive traits that would surely lead to success later down the road.

  Her mom liked to tell her she might need therapy to overcome some of her “obsessive tendencies.”

  “What about Gretchen?” she asked. “What if she needs you? Shouldn’t you be close by?”

  “Already called the doc early this morning. No visitors who aren’t family until she’s out of ICU. Besides, I need to keep busy,” he answered. “And the job doesn’t run itself. Gretchen wouldn’t want me crying at my desk, wringing my
hands. She’d tell me to get my ass out there and make the money that helps pay her salary. That’s just the kind of woman she is.”

  “Sounds like she’s…quite the woman.”

  “She is.”

  Piper heard the pride in his voice and she felt a tiny pinch of jealousy. It wasn’t that she didn’t have a great support system—her parents were her biggest fans—but for a small, infinitesimal moment she wanted to hear him say something about her with that tone. And that wasn’t going to happen. Not now, not ever, because even though he talked a good game about making nice, after she wrote the piece on his father and the Red Meadows incident, he likely wouldn’t want to speak to her again.

  She worried her bottom lip, unsure why that bothered her. You had to break a few eggs to make an omelet, she reminded herself. To get to the top, you had to step on a few heads. She was sure there were plenty of clichés she could lean on to support her belief but even as she repeated them in her head like a mantra, it only served to intensify the lonely feeling filling her chest.

  Focus. She needed F.O.C.U.S. Piper cleared her throat and brought out her notepad. “I can take notes while we drive,” she announced brightly. “Like background stuff.”

  “Background? What do you mean?” he asked, wary.

  “Well, like a bio. Stuff you’d put in a eulogy.”

  “That’s morbid.”

  “True, but it serves an excellent purpose. It’s like the highlight reel of your life. A synopsis, if you will.”

  “What’s on your highlight reel?” he asked, throwing it back to her.

  She waved away his question with an airy chuckle. “That’s easy and stuff you already know. Raised on a hippie nudist commune by two anthropology professors. Boring. End of story.”

  “In that one sentence alone I have a million questions.”

  She smiled. “Ah, too bad you’re not the one doing the writing. Now, back to you.”

  “All right. Ask your questions.”

  “Start with your childhood,” she suggested casually, though her palms had begun to shake with her excitement. It was one thing to read about something but to have someone who went through it personally is completely different.

  Owen focused on the road, his mouth losing the sensual softness she’d been trying really hard to ignore and she knew he was struggling with what to share and what to leave out. She could either use the direct approach and flat-out bring up the Red Meadows incident or she could take the circuitous route. She opted for the latter. He needed loosening up.

  “How about we start with Big Trees Logging. How did you end up the owner?”

  He visibly relaxed once she pulled the focus from his childhood to his livelihood. “That’s easy. An opportunity came up to purchase the company from the previous owner, who had made some bad investments and was nearing bankruptcy. I had a background in forestry and I’d always known I wanted to return to Dayton at some point.”

  “You were raised by your aunt, right?” she supplied, hoping to impress him that she knew some of the obscure details. But he surprised her when he shook his head.

  “My aunt gave me over to the state, said I was too much of a handful for a single woman who’d never raised kids. A woman named Mary Jo Bell, or as we call her, Mama Jo, raised me. She’s my true family. Along with my two brothers, Christian and Thomas. They’re all still back east in West Virginia.”

  She digested this unexpected piece of information. He’d lost his father and then his only other family had abandoned him to the state foster care system. How awful. She imagined Owen, a sad, grief-stricken boy thrust among strangers. A low, melancholy ache thrummed an odd tune in her chest, something she didn’t recognize or know how to process. “So you love this foster family?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah. I miss them a lot.”

  “So why do you stay in California?”

  He crooked a grin. “My brothers ask that question all the time. I stay because I like it here.”

  An internal sensor went off and she instinctively knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful. He stayed for more than the scenery. She wondered what it was and made a note to dig a little deeper later. “Must be hard, though,” she surmised, holding her breath even as she tried to remain nonchalant. “Being without your family, I mean.”

  “Yeah. It doesn’t get any easier. But a man’s gotta make a living and that’s what I do here.”

  “Plus, I imagine it’s nice to return to your hometown…” she fished for more information, hoping he’d latch on to the bait.

  But he didn’t. He simply shrugged and then offered a noncommittal nod. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

  Nice. What a perfectly blah word. And totally discordant with the vibe she was getting. Interesting.

  “Married?” she threw out there to catch his reaction, and she wasn’t disappointed.

  “Not me,” he answered without hesitation. In fact, he answered like a man who gave that particular hangman’s noose a very wide berth.

  “Afraid of commitment?” she guessed, dissecting his reaction with a clinical eye. Why else would someone like him be chronically unattached? Judging by the hungry looks he’d received by the mommies in Mrs. Hamby’s class that day, he probably had to beat women off with a stick. “So you’re more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am and don’t-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-way-out kind of man?”

  He scowled. “I don’t really want to talk about my personal life,” he said, which told her she’d hit a nerve. Interesting. She made a note of it as he continued. “I’ll answer whatever questions you like about the logging industry and any current jobs, but as far as my dating history…I’d rather keep that private. I doubt your readers want to know about that crap anyway.”

  “I beg to differ,” she disagreed, omitting the part where she was most interested in the information. “It makes you more of a person.”

  “More of a person?” he repeated. “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, well, you know, it humanizes you. Instead of just the big, bad logger, you’re the man who shops at the local market and loves to eat Chinese food. I did a story on the mayor once and you know what people remembered the most? The fact that he loves musical theater and used to dream of being on Broadway before his life took a different turn. See? Who knew the mayor could sing? Now, his voters know.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d prefer my personal business—particularly my dating habits—to remain private,” he said, unwilling to budge on that score. She blew out a short breath and scratched out some notes. A pregnant pause rested between them as Piper tried to think of ways to get him to open up. An idea came to her and she snapped her notebook shut with an easy, inviting smile. “Okay, so tell me off the record, then.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  OFF THE RECORD? HE shot her a wary look. “Do reporters ever actually do anything off the record? Or is that just something you say to get people to trust you?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t say what other reporters do. I can only say what I do. If I say it’s off the record, I mean it.”

  “How about this…for every question I answer, you answer one in kind.”

  She frowned as if she didn’t think that was a fair exchange but he was curious about what made Piper Sunday tick. She agreed with a slow nod but he could tell she wasn’t quite sure if she should. He liked her uncertainty. It put them on a far more even keel and that was always a good thing during negotiations of any sort.

  “So why do you want to know so much about me? I’m hardly interesting,” she said.

  “I guess I’ll find out if that’s true for myself.”

  She exhaled a long breath and shook her head as she smoothed her skirt and straightened the seat belt so it rested perfectly across her chest. “Fine. I’ll go first,” she volunteered. “What do you want to know?”

  “Any brothers or sisters?” He figured he’d start off with the easy stuff.

  “No. But before you start to think that I spent my childhood alone without playmates, rest assu
red, I was never alone being raised in a tight-knit community.” She didn’t hesitate when she said, “My turn. What happened to your mother?”

  He spared her a short look. “My biological mom died in a car accident when I was about two years old.”

  “That’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t remember her, so the pain wasn’t raw like when he lost his father. There were times, during private moments, when he wished his dad were still around for advice. Mama Jo had definitely filled the void left by his mother but there were some things he would’ve rather shared with his dad. His dad had been an ace when it came to offering counsel. He’d had a way about him that made people listen. The FBI had called him “dangerously charismatic.” Owen pulled off the highway and onto a county road that would turn into a forest service access point. “You might want to hold on, it’ll get bumpy in a minute,” he advised, slowing as the paved county road gave way to hard-packed dirt. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw her clutch the handle on the passenger side while the other hand held her notebook.

  “Where are we going exactly?” she asked as they jounced along the dirt road.

  “A piece of private property along the lake. Owner sold us twenty acres for harvesting.” Before she could interject, he added, “And yes, I have all the required clearances and permits. And no, there’s no old-growth, so take a chill pill.” He slid a sidewise glance her way. “Are you always so tightly wound?”

  “Is that your question?” she said, returning the look.

  He laughed. “Stickler for the rules, I see. Okay, no, that’s not my question, because I think I already know the answer.”

  “I’m not uptight if that’s what you’re thinking,” she retorted, but her cheeks had pinked an interesting shade.

  “We’ll see. Tell me what it’s like to grow up on a commune.”

  She sighed as if the question annoyed her. He suspected she got asked that a lot. He could commiserate. His unique childhood often sparked curiosity, too. He was just as reluctant to share. “It was like anyone’s living situation until I realized I was different. When I was little, it was bliss. I was never alone, we always had big barbecues and everyone brought something. We had a community garden where everyone got to share as long as they helped with the work. It was great. Then as I got older and started to realize that not everyone lived as we did, I started to wish we had a more traditional family structure. I mean, what kid doesn’t know what cake tastes like until they’re in the eighth grade? My parents never allowed processed sugar in the house and the only sweetener we used was natural honey raised from the bees on the farm. And then the first time I tried a hamburger I was in college.”