Her Heart's Promise

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “Wow. Do you ever look terrific,” Trace greeted her appreciatively. “I didn’t think you could get even more gorgeous.”

  Nadine smiled, passing off his compliments with a dismissive gesture.

  Trace caught her hands. “I know what that means, you silly girl. Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said. “I got stuck at the bank.” He pulled her closer and kissed her on her cheek. “Forgive me?”

  “I was wondering if you were standing me up.”

  “Are you kidding?” Trace pulled her close to him. “A guy would have to be crazy to do that to someone like you.” He kissed her again. “The movie just started. We can grab supper later.”

  Nadine ran back down the hallway and got her purse from her office. She stepped out of her office, and, pausing a moment, walked back to the coffee room. Clint still stood at the counter, his coffee cup in his hands.

  He looked at her. “Still here?” was all he said.

  Nadine bit her lip, unable to pass off what just happened, unsure of what to make of it. “Thanks,” she said finally, hoping he understood what she meant. “For everything.”

  Clint nodded. “Any time, Nadine,” he replied softly. “Any time at all.”

  “C’mon, gorgeous,” Trace called. “The night isn’t getting any younger.”

  “See you Monday,” she said, then turned and left.

  Nadine checked the picture she had taken as the noise of the winning team roiled around her. It was Saturday night. The home team had won their invitational volleyball tournament and was celebrating in the true manner of high school champions.

  They were screaming their fool heads off.

  Nadine checked the last few shots then turned her camera off and dropped it and the other one she had looped around her neck into her large camera bag. She would load the pictures onto the computer tonight and see what she could do with them before deadline on Monday.

  “There you are.” Trace’s voice behind her made her whirl around in surprise. He wore a denim jacket, blue jeans, and cowboy boots. He looked like a rodeo poster boy—rugged and almost too handsome.

  “Hi.” She smiled up at him, and he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re early.”

  “I was even earlier than you think. I watched the final game.”

  “They’re pretty good, aren’t they?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” He took her bag from her and winked at her. “I kept getting distracted by this cute reporter on the sidelines snapping pictures.”

  Nadine just shook her head at his lavish compliments and slung her knapsack over her shoulder, leading the way out of the gym. As they passed the group of celebrating teenagers, a few of the girls cast admiring glances Trace’s way. Nadine knew she shouldn’t feel proud, but she did. Nothing boosted a girl’s ego more than knowing that other women, no matter how young, thought your escort was good-looking.

  She looked up at him and caught him smiling down at her. “I missed you, Nadine,” he said.

  Nadine looked away, her feelings uncertain. On the one hand, she felt inundated with his charm, his obvious attraction to her, yet she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable with how quickly he’d laid a claim to her. His intensity didn’t seem right, for a reason she couldn’t put her finger on.

  They walked out to his truck and as they did, Nadine’s cell phone rang. She pulled it out and answered it. It was Grandma.

  “I’ll be home in a while, Grandma. Don’t wait up for me.” Nadine rolled her eyes at her grandmother’s response, then ended the phone call.

  “Handy things, aren’t they?” Trace said with a grin as he unlocked the door and opened it for her.

  “Not really. I wish I didn’t have to carry it around, even though it is a great tool for a reporter.” Nadine got into the car and laid the phone on the seat as she buckled up.

  “Where do you want to go tonight?” Trace asked as he started up the car and backed out of the school parking lot.

  Nadine shrugged, stifling a yawn. She had been busy all day and hadn’t given a thought to dinner.

  “You look tired,” Trace said as he pulled into the street. “How about someplace quiet?” He grinned at her and, gunning the engine, headed down the street.

  Once again, they ended up at the Riverside Inn. She ordered soup and a salad, and Trace ordered a burger.

  Nadine felt a little better once she’d eaten. Trace was stimulating company, and he made her laugh. The talk stayed light, something for which Nadine was grateful. She was also thankful when Trace said he had to leave early.

  She was also thankful Clint wasn’t at the inn tonight as he had been the last time.

  “Looks like your grandma is still up,” he commented as they walked up to the apartment.

  “She usually goes to bed.” Nadine shook her head knowing that since she started “dating” Trace, her grandmother stayed up until she got home. “I’d invite you in, but with Grandma still up...”

  Trace shrugged. “I don’t want to bother her. Besides, I hope to come here tomorrow after church. If that’s okay,” he added quickly.

  Nadine smiled back, a feeling of well-being bubbling up in her. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Trace caught her close, and he lowered his head to kiss her. A cough sounded in the hallway behind them.

  “Nadine, are you coming in?” Barbara demanded, her voice querulous. Her gray head poked into the hallway.

  Trace pulled back and winked at Nadine. “I should let you go.” He ran a finger down her chin and then looked past her. “Hello, Mrs. Laidlaw. How are you?”

  “Tired,” said Grandma. This time, she sounded a little more friendly; maybe she was warming up to Trace.

  “I’m sorry.” Trace looked back at Nadine. “I guess this is goodnight?”

  Nadine nodded, curiously glad Grandma had shown up. She felt once again that Trace was moving too quickly. Too quickly for her, anyway.

  Trace flashed her a grin. “I’ll see you at church tomorrow?”

  “I’d like that,” she said softly.

  “Good.” He winked at her and then, with a quick wave at Grandma, left.

  Nadine watched as he pulled open the doors and sauntered down the walk. He got in the truck, waved at Nadine, and drove away.

  “So,” Grandma said from behind her. “Why didn’t he come in?”

  Nadine sighed and turned to face her grandma. “I think he’s afraid of you.”

  Barbara snorted at that. “He looks a little too polished for my liking.”

  “How can you say that? He wears blue jeans and cowboy boots.”

  Barbara shrugged and sat on a kitchen chair. “It’s just an impression.”

  Nadine turned on the tap and filled a glass with cold water. “I don’t know why you dislike him.”

  “I don’t dislike him, Naddy. What a thing to say.” Barbara sounded hurt.

  Nadine gulped down the water and set the glass on the sink. “You don’t treat him very well. The last time he stopped by here, he asked me what I had told you about him.”

  Barbara fingered the belt of her housecoat, her eyes downcast. “I don’t trust him, Naddy,” she mumbled. She looked up, her blue eyes softened with concern. “I’m just not comfortable with him. I would much prefer it if you were to go out with...”

  Nadine held a hand up. “Stop right there, Grandma.” She tilted her head, studying her grandmother. “I think you don’t like him because you didn’t handpick him for me yourself.”

  “I already said I don’t dislike him,” protested Barbara.

  “Well, treat him better tomorrow, because he’s coming over,” Nadine announced, a warning note in her voice.

  “I will, Nadine. I’m not rude.”

  “No, you’re not,” conceded Nadine. “But I know how you can smile and sting at the same time.”

  “I’ll be kind and considerate.”

  But Barbara didn’t have to exert herself because Trace didn’t show up at church the next day and con
sequently didn’t come to the Laidlaw residence for the Sunday lunch Nadine had risen so early to prepare.

  Nadine tried to hide her disappointment and Barbara tried to hide her triumph—neither was successful. As a result, Sunday was not the blessing it should have been.

  Chapter 8

  Nadine spread the latest edition of the Sweet Creek Chronicle out, propped her elbows on her desk, and began her Tuesday-morning hunt for typos. It didn’t matter how up-to-date the technology or how eagle-eyed their copy editor, on a good day only one typo slipped through, on a bad...

  Nadine sighed, pulled out her red pen, and circled the spelling mistake that jumped off the page at her.

  She glanced over a few more articles, turned a few more pages, then stopped at her article on Skyline. She skimmed it, then reread it to make sure she had been balanced and fair.

  Nadine tried to read it critically, which was difficult when the words were so familiar. It had taken her a couple of drafts to get it just right.

  “Their labor practices are questionable, and when asked for a copy of their safety code, this reporter was brushed off. What do they have to hide? And why do they continue to obtain government grants by fair means or foul...” Nadine read. And it got stronger after that.

  Because when it came to Skyline, she had emotion to spare. Nadine sat back and closed her eyes, reliving the helpless anger and frustration and grief of her father’s life wasted by a company that lied. So much had been taken away from them, with so little explanation.

  I want to bring these guys to justice, Lord, she prayed, as she so often did when she thought of Skyline and all the sorrow their actions had caused. Show me the right way; show me how to do this. But the prayer brought no peace, no answer. She knew only that she felt better doing something instead of sitting back, a helpless David facing down an indifferent Goliath.

  “Call for you on line one, Nadine,” Julie’s voice came over the intercom. “It’s Trace. Oh, and some woman phoned for you a few minutes ago. Didn’t leave her name.”

  “Thanks, Julie.” Drawing in a deep breath, Nadine picked up the phone. “Hey Trace.”

  “Hey girl. How’s things?”

  “Good. I missed you Sunday,” she said.

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  He didn’t sound as repentant as he should, considering all the work she had gone through to make lunch.

  “How are you otherwise?” she asked.

  “I have to bail on seeing you tonight. I have to run into Edmonton to meet with one of the company execs I’ll be working with.”

  “What time will you be back?”

  “Not sure. Sorry.” This time he sounded more contrite.

  Nadine sighed her disappointment. “Okay,” she said.

  “Hey, Nadine, I’m really sorry.”

  “Of course you are.” She was unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice as she recalled Sunday’s also-broken promise. It shouldn’t matter as much as it did. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about Trace, but it was so wonderful to be wanted, to look forward to being with someone. “I’ll see you when I see you then.”

  She hung up the phone and fell back against her chair. Not an auspicious start to the week, she thought. And tomorrow she had to head off to the FoodGrains project, which would keep her tied up all day. Normally she didn’t mind, but the paper was still short-handed and Wally was supposed to go with her.

  Wally was a good writer, but had a hard time staying focused when he was out and about in a large group. He spent so much time chatting up people, he often forgot to take notes.

  An abrupt rap on the door made her sit up. “Come in,” she called, folding up the newspaper.

  The door opened and Clint stepped inside.

  He dropped the newspaper on her desk and stood in front of her, his eyes narrowed.

  “I thought you weren’t running the article,” he said tightly.

  Nadine looked at the paper folded open to her story on Skyline. “That was your thought, Fletcher, not mine.”

  “I called you into my office last week and asked you not to run the story.” His voice was even, but Nadine could hear the suppressed anger.

  Nadine steeled herself to look up into Clint’s irate eyes so close to hers, trying not to remember their time in the coffee room; that small moment of connection.

  “The article is correct, and the facts have been verified by enough people that I feel more than justified in running it,” she replied, her own anger building. “I also told you that we could call an editor’s meeting and make a diplomatic decision on whether to run it or not.”

  Clint looked down at her, his hand resting on her desk. “It shouldn’t have to come to a showdown of authority, Nadine.”

  “Maybe not,” she acknowledged, “but an editor of a paper should be just that—an editor. Last I checked, that gives me certain authority in what goes into the paper.”

  “And last I checked, my name is on the masthead as well.” He straightened. “As the owner.” He held her challenging gaze. “I wish we could work together on this, Nadine,” he said with a sigh.

  Nadine watched him, her heart doing a slow flip. He looked vulnerable. For a moment, she felt a stirring of pity, mingled with attraction. It bothered her more than she cared to admit. It hearkened back to numerous daydreams she had spun over him years ago—and if she dared to admit it, even more recently.

  And now, to her dismay, all those dreams and emotions threatened to undermine her. She was determined to see her self-appointed job to the end, and her ever-changing feelings about Clint shouldn’t interfere.

  Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on Skyline and the pain they had caused her family. “I don’t know if we can,” she said, her voice sharper than intended. “Skyline has blood on their hands. Men have died working for them. We have a responsibility to stop them.”

  “Your father, among the lives lost,” he said.

  Nadine nodded.

  Clint blew out his breath and rubbed his neck. “This will help?” he asked, indicating the open newspaper.

  Nadine stood and reminded herself why she was doing this: Justice. “I intend to serve notice to them, indicating that we report on more than just local sports and library board meetings.” She leaned forward as if to emphasize her point. “We have a duty to expose companies like Skyline. They’re crooks and liars, and if they did the same thing anywhere else, they’d have a pack of reporters on their back and lawsuits coming down their throat.” She drew in a breath, afraid she was beginning to sound shrill. “I need to do this, Clint.”

  Clint looked across the desk at her, his features softening. “I understand why, but...”

  Nadine waited for him to say more. Their gazes met, locked, and it seemed that all else, for that moment, drifted away. Nadine felt gripped by the same curious feeling from the other evening in the coffee room. Once again, she felt the tug of attraction and the pull of his personality, and she knew the feelings surfacing were the same ones that had plagued her so long ago.

  She forced herself to look down and break the intense connection, busying herself with the newspapers on the desk.

  She refolded his newspaper and handed it back to him, her eyes going no farther than his dark tie cinched around the collar of his gray shirt. “Here’s your paper,” she said.

  Clint cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he said as he took it. He tapped the paper against his thigh, still towering over her.

  He hesitated, then finally left.

  When the door closed behind him, Nadine pressed her fingers to her eyes as unwelcome tears rushed her. She dropped her face into her hands, and in the privacy of her office, allowed the confusion of her emotions to overwhelm her.

  She missed her father, she still grieved her mother. She felt alone though surrounded by people who cared for her. She had been put off by Trace for the second time in two days.

  And now she was falling for Clint Fletcher all over again.

  How do these
things happen? How can a heart work so independently of a mind?

  Was she an idiot? How could she fall for a man whose presence intimidated her so much that she resorted to deflecting his attention with cutting comments?

  She looked heavenward. Why, Lord? Why am I falling for this man? He doesn’t like me that way, never has. Please take away these feelings. Please.

  She stopped, as if waiting for something, anything: a feeling of reassurance, a still, small voice guiding her. But she felt nothing, heard nothing. Nadine felt as if her prayers went only as far as the ceiling above her.

  And later that evening, as she sat alone in the inn, pretending to be on her date to keep her grandma off her back, she wondered what she had done to deserve the loneliness that seemed to surround her.

  “Two cameras, notebook, recorder.” Nadine scooped her hair away from her face and retied her ponytail, pencil stuck in her mouth. Looked like she was ready to head out.

  For the past few years she had been covering the local FoodGrains Bank project, a joint effort of the Sweet Creek community to grow food for people in impoverished countries. Every year it was a celebration of coming together and this year, for a change, the weather was picture perfect.

  She glanced over at Wally who stood in her office door, looking pale.

  “I think I’ve still got the flu,” Wally mumbled.

  “I thought you were finished with that.”

  “Maybe it was your article on Skyline that brought it back on,” he joked.

  Nadine didn’t think that was funny. She and Clint had avoided each other since their standoff, but the tension between them was palpable through the whole office.

  Wally groaned again and doubled over. “I think I’d better get back home,” he said as he clutched his stomach.

  “Okay,” she grumbled, annoyed at him for still being sick and feeling guilty at her reaction. The project often required two reporters and two photographers. That’s how she’d always done it. It showed the people on the project that the paper took this event seriously. “I’ll drop you off on my way. Can you make it to my car?”