Heart to Heart

by Meline Nadeau

  “According to the guards, he’s behind all the chaos.”

  She studied the photo some more. Bear Child’s gaze showed none of the violence she saw in the other pictures of fighting inmates. “But look at him, he looks like — ”

  “Like he’s having a religious experience?” Geoff chimed in. “He probably was. The other inmates think he’s some kind of spiritual guide.”

  She looked again at Bear Child’s deep steady gaze. Under the photo, someone had already written a temporary cutline. “More trouble with Kingston Pen’s inmate population.” She had to talk to that man.

  • • •

  The next day, David looked at Page One with a mix of horror and fascination. Bad news was always good for sales. They’d scooped the prison suicides story and been given more access than all the other major news outlets. Every local merchant had sold out of papers by noon — a feat The Watford Sun hadn’t accomplished in years. Now if they could only keep that up, somehow.

  He scanned the front page, and a chill traveled down his spine. When it came to choosing photos, he trusted Geoff’s judgment implicitly. But there was something unsettling about the subject of this cover art. Something about the inmate’s eyes. Something that reminded him of the look in his father’s eyes when they’d come for him.

  He shook it off. His father was long gone. God rest his sad, pathetic soul. He hoped, against all odds, that death had brought him back to his Abenaki ancestors. When he’d died in the slammer a few years before, the only other person who’d known about it was Ben. Now Ben was gone, too. How would Princess Leigh react if she knew David Stone, The Sun’s managing editor, was the bastard son of an inmate known as Lone Wolf?

  Leigh. She’d looked pretty annoyed after their first story meeting. He couldn’t blame her, really. He’d been rather hard on her.

  He glanced at his wristwatch. Almost quitting time for day two on the job, and he hadn’t given her a second thought since morning.

  He picked up the phone and dialed her extension. Might as well go over the new marketing plan with her now. She was probably bored out of her mind. Her voicemail clicked on. “Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Leigh Cameron … .” The recording caressed his eardrum like a warm summer breeze. Jeez. His groin grew heavy at the underlying sensuality in her voice. At the sound of the tone, he hung up, too distracted and annoyed to leave a message.

  He looked into the Bull Pen through the glass partition and waved the intern over. She scuttled over to his door, a worried look creasing her brow. Was he really that scary? Whatever. He’d deal with that, later. “Have you seen Miss Cameron?”

  The girl’s face relaxed. “She went to meet with the Kingston Pen superintendent.”

  “She what?”

  Pam cast her eyes downward, and the reddish hue coloring her cheeks spread to her ears. “I huh, I think that’s what she said.”

  He spoke in a gentler tone. “Did she take anyone with her?”

  “No,” Leigh’s soft voice answered from behind the girl. The new publisher poked her head in. “She went alone.”

  Leigh stepped into his office, and Pam took the opportunity to disappear. He didn’t try to stop her.

  His new teammate’s nonchalance put him on edge. “Well, you sure didn’t waste any time.”

  She sat in the chair across from his and leaned back. “Hello to you, too.”

  “Leigh, you’re the publisher. I need you here to help me run the paper.”

  “I won’t be of any real help to you until I’ve familiarized myself with the town’s issues. And according to my research, a third of the local stories we’ve covered in the past month have had to do with one of the pens. So I went to K Pen to meet its superintendent. Besides, I’ve been gone for hours, and you just noticed. You couldn’t have missed me that much.” Two dimples filled with sarcasm punctuated her words.

  He groaned. “I don’t want you going to that place anymore.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s dangerous and — ”

  Her lips puckered with annoyance. “And what? David, I appreciate your concern. If that’s what it is. But I’m a grown woman, and I will do as I see fit.”

  He sighed. If they were going to get along, he was going to have to be a little accommodating. “All right. If you must go out to these places, promise me you won’t go alone.”

  Her frown lifted and her lips parted in a slight smile of defiance. Or was that irony? He didn’t remember her being so beautiful or so damn annoying. The teenaged Leigh he’d known was quiet and sullen. His stomach tightened. Had to be hunger. It couldn’t be her.

  David inhaled deeply and closed his eyes to wipe that pouty mouth from his sight and give his brain a chance to recuperate. “What the hell were you doing at the pen for two hours anyway? I didn’t think they held media visits midweek.”

  “They don’t. I went to talk to the superintendent and the public information officer about letting me interview their medicine man.”

  She’d said those things as naturally as if she’d said she’d gone to spend the afternoon at the mall. “Their medicine man? You mean that old hippie who thinks he’s an ‘Indian’? Are you completely out of your mind?” The pencil in his hand snapped in two. He glanced at it, irritated. Not another one. They really had to get better pencils. He tossed the two halves in the trash.

  Leigh’s glance followed the pieces’ trajectory. “You’re right. I don’t know why I went over there when I could have been right here watching you break pencils. That’s much more interesting.” A flash of disdain crossed her face. “We’ll talk about this later — once you’re thinking more clearly.” She got up to leave.

  He decided then and there, that the only thing he hated more than being wrong was being proven wrong by Leigh Cameron.

  • • •

  “Wait.”

  Leigh turned to face David, wondering which unsuspecting object on his desk would get it next.

  “I need to discuss this marketing plan with you. Let’s grab a bite and get the ball rolling on this.”

  She lifted her chin and searched his face for any trace of irony. “Did you just ask me to have dinner with you?”

  “Yes.” He ran a hand through his thick, cropped hair. “We’ve obviously gotten off on the wrong foot. Let me make it up to you and buy you dinner.”

  She was too taken off guard by his sudden peace offering to object.

  “I’ve got some facts and figures I want to discuss with you, and I’m starving.”

  Bingo. Men only cared about three things — sex, food, and work. Usually in that order. Her stomach gurgled. All right. So her priorities weren’t that different from his. “Sure. Let’s go.”

  It was his turn to seem surprised.

  Minutes later Leigh followed him into Maggie’s, the homey little greasy spoon next door. The sweet pungent smell of fried onions and seared beef made her realize it had been hours since she’d had that half a grapefruit and piece of toast for breakfast.

  The diner teamed with people, most of them evening shift Watford Sun employees. Curious stares and animated whispers greeted their entrance. She couldn’t blame them. David cut quite the imposing figure. He was tall, rawboned, and he walked with the nonchalant grace of a man who knew how to seduce a woman. At least the waitresses behind the counter seemed to think so. They giggled as he walked by.

  He smiled, a grin tugging at his lips. “Hello, Miss Maggie.” The woman beamed, and her smile took about ten years off her face. He turned to the girls, who, by their uncanny resemblance to Maggie and each other, had to be her daughters. “Ladies.”

  More laughter.

  Leigh groaned and followed him to the back of the room where a table for two beckoned.

  The oldest of the bunch came over and took their orders. A hot steak sa
ndwich for him and a Cobb salad with a bowl of clam chowder, for her. Then, after giving David one last wistful look, the waitress ran off with their orders.

  Leigh rolled her eyes. If he was trying to impress her, it was having the opposite effect. “You’ve got quite the fan club here.” She studied his strong, dark features. He was the kind of man men aspired to be and women wanted to marry. Well, most women, anyway. She knew better than to fall for a guy like him.

  He chuckled and ran his hand through his ebony locks. “It’s not what you think.”

  This should be good. “I didn’t know you could read minds. What am I thinking?”

  The waitress put down their drinks. He remained silent until she was out of earshot. “That I’m some kind of womanizer.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “Well, aren’t you? You’ve been looking at me like you expect me to swoon and fall into your arms any minute.” Amusement flickered in the eyes that met hers.

  He leaned in and whispered, his voice a low grumble. “Are we going to spar with each other like this all through dinner?”

  His tone made her insides swish around. His seductive smile and the warm glow in his dark eyes told her he would be so much more than a coworker if she let him. Her mouth went dry. She sipped her soda and glared at him. Jerk. He had to know what kind of effect he was having on her.

  At her silence he added, “Listen, I just want to sit down, relax, and get to know you a little better. Is that all right with you?”

  “Sure.”

  “You’ve got to admit, this whole situation is, well, it’s not anything any of us ever imagined.”

  “My father always did have a flare for the dramatic.”

  “But that’s just it. Ben loved orchestrating the lives around him as much as he enjoyed getting to the bottom of a story. Are you sure he never said anything, hinted at anything?”

  Leigh sighed. “I thought you brought me here to talk shop.”

  David shifted, and his leg brushed against hers in passing.

  Her heartbeat sped up. Ignoring his obvious charms was not going to be easy. “Tell me about your marketing plan to save the paper.”

  An amused sigh escaped his mouth, but he went along with the subject change.

  “Your dad and I were working on increasing The Sun’s circulation by targeting the portion of the population that buys the fewest newspapers.”

  “And they are?”

  “Young adults and women.”

  The waitress came back with their orders and a sweet smile for David.

  “Excuse me? Could I — ” The girl left without a second look in Leigh’s direction. She smirked. “Next time, I’m picking the restaurant.”

  David laughed. “You aren’t jealous, are you?”

  “Oh yes, Mr. Stone,” she said, imitating the girl’s wide-eyed stare. “I’ve always wanted to work in a greasy spoon so I could hang around all day hoping you might drop by.”

  “You don’t mince words, do you?”

  She ignored the comment. “What have you done so far to attract the eighteen-to-twenty-five market?”

  “I’m looking into hiring a couple journalism students to write for our Lifestyle and Entertainment beats. We’ll get them to pitch us on what they think is cool and hip, send them out to cover concerts, club events, Ultimate Frisbee competitions, Roller derby, you name it.”

  “Love the idea. And to attract female readers?”

  “So far, we’ve beefed up our Home and Garden, Food, and Parenting sections. We’ve hired more freelancers, and we’re assigning them cooler, hipper stories.”

  “Hmm. That’s not enough. It’s not just about the content. We need an image change.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Reading The Sun has to be cool. People who buy it have to feel like they’re a part of something bigger. Reading our newspaper is a lifestyle choice.”

  David snorted. “A week ago you couldn’t stand the thought of working with us, now it’s a lifestyle choice?”

  She really had to hand it to him. He could get under her skin in two seconds flat. She bit into her sandwich and chewed in silence. “Why do you like it here?”

  “It’s beautiful, quiet, the people are unassuming, it’s small but still has a vibrant arts community, it’s right on the water — ”

  “So, Watford is a cool place to live.”

  “You don’t really believe that.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s all about perception. We need to get a street team to go out to everything — contests, festivals, regattas — we’ve got to get our signage, our branding, our logo everywhere. We got to get big sponsors and get our message out. And we definitely need to get new billboards.”

  “What’s wrong with the billboards we have now?”

  “The picture of the Georgian Federal? It looks like those postcards you get for free in the mail. Which story got you the most hate mail last year?”

  David’s eyebrows drew together. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Which one?”

  “Last summer NPR listeners complained that the station was providing too much religious coverage. Your dad wrote an editorial in which he replied something like, ‘Cry me a river. It must be tough living in a world where the only mentions of deity come in response to toe-stubbing, traffic jams, and long lines at the ATM.’”

  Leigh laughed. “Dear old Dad.” She paused for a moment, the sound of his laughter a distant memory. She’d forgotten how funny he could be. She shook it off and snapped her attention back to the topic at hand. “We could get funky looking posters and t-shirts with Cry me a river printed on them and hand them out at events.”

  David shook his head. “You can’t be serious. That kind of stunt might get us a few younger readers, but it would completely alienate all of our core readership.”

  “Not if they felt included in the paper’s growth and change.”

  “Please tell me how ‘Cry me a river’ is going to make people feel included?”

  “Sheesh, David, do you have to be so literal? So maybe that’s not the right slogan. It’s just an example of the kinds of things we can do.”

  “If your aggressive marketing stunts backfire, we’ll be even worse off than we are now.”

  “No wonder the paper’s in trouble. You’re too scared to try anything new.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  She frowned. “Is this conversation going to turn into another sparring match? ’Cause frankly, I don’t have the energy right now.”

  “All done?” One of the waitresses interrupted putting an end to their discussion. “Any coffee or desert for you guys?”

  Leigh welcomed the girl’s intrusion. She glanced at her nametag. “Lizzie, is it?”

  The hostess nodded and smiled at David.

  “You read The Sun, right?” Leigh asked.

  The girl put her hands on her hips and struck a pose. “Yuhuh. Mostly on weekends, though. And I read your column, Miss Cameron.” She grinned.

  Sweet kid. “Thank you. Lizzie, what would it take to make you buy the paper every day?”

  The girl offered an eager smile and shifted her weight. “I dunno. I love the funnies. Maybe you could have them every day.” Her ponytail bounced as she spoke. “But like, I read other stuff, too. The movie section, fashion, and the news, too.”

  Leigh grinned. “I read the funnies first, too. And I’ll have a cup of decaf, please.”

  “Mr. Stone?”

  Faint hesitation colored his hawk like eyes. “Uh, me, too.”

  The girl walked away, a bounce in her step.

  “What on earth was that all about?”

  “That, my friend, is our new readership.” Leigh watched the girl
’s animated conversation with a couple of high school kids at the breakfast bar. “Our new attitude and cooler vibe is going to be one of the most exciting events of the summer.”

  David looked far from convinced.

  Leigh glanced around at the local businessmen and women having lunch. This crowd didn’t look like they were ready for change, either. Much less for her ideas of cool and sexy.

  • • •

  Nearly a week had gone by since Leigh’s arrival and despite his reservations, she seemed to be fitting in well enough. David flipped open the weekend edition of The Watford Sun and leaned back ready to indulge in a well-deserved cup of steaming hot coffee.

  He stifled a curse. There, smack in the middle of the broadsheet, was an editorial written by Leigh Cameron, herself. Immediately wary, David read it inch by inch, his annoyance growing with every word. He looked across the room to her office, picked up the phone, and dialed her extension.

  “Leigh Cameron speaking.” She sounded as cool as a cucumber.

  “I need to speak to you.”

  She looked up and made eye contact with him from across the room. “Sure. Come on over. I’m alone.”

  He slammed the receiver down. Take it easy, Dave. He’d already broken a phone this month. It would be hard to explain another one.

  He crossed the Bull Pen to her office, stopping twice to answer a question and approve the weekend fashion layout. He stepped into her office, his fury barely contained.

  Leigh looked up at him, a puzzled look on her face. That woman was either a great actress, or put on earth to make his life miserable. He decided on the latter.

  “What is this?” He pointed to the inches of print.

  “That’s the editorial I wrote for today’s paper.”

  He could have sworn she was suppressing a smile.

  “Don’t play coy with me, Leigh.” He turned red hot with anger. “You know exactly what I’m taking about. I didn’t authorize this.” He pointed to the aberration bearing her byline, Behind The Prison Walls: The Hidden Truth.

  “First off, I don’t need your permission to write for my own paper. And secondly, weren’t you the one who said, ‘sexier, edgier, cooler’?” she said, hands on her hips.