by Jeannie Watt
“Tyler Michaels,” Denise said, sipping her iced tea. “He lives on the hill above my house and his dad owns the newspaper and some other businesses.”
“He’s confident,” Callie said, her eyes on the boys, who were now teasing the waitress.
“You should see his brother, Mitch. Unfortunately, they have looks, lots of money, no respect, and they think they’re God’s gift to women.”
“That kid must be all of fourteen. Kind of young to be God’s gift to women.”
“Fifteen. Doesn’t slow him down one bit. And Mitch is even worse. I had to smack Mitch down at the school and now I guess his little brother is taking a shot.”
How nice. Denise’s carefree attitude had evaporated as soon as the teens arrived, so Callie decided to wrap things up.
“One last question.” The most important one. “How does the old guard feel about a young female firefighter with a college degree joining the ranks?” How is it working for that ass, John Marcenek? Callie couldn’t count the number of times she’d tried to talk to him and had gotten gruff put-downs for her efforts. It was as if she wasn’t good enough for Nate, or had been somehow leading him astray.
Denise rolled her eyes. “Where do I begin?”
“At the beginning?”
She hesitated, then leaned forward, placed her palms on the table and said seriously, “Before I answer, promise me you won’t write anything that will get me in trouble with the guys I work with.”
“I’ll be tactful.”
“Well, let’s just say it was a while before they took me seriously.”
“In other words, you had to prove yourself.”
“Yeah,” Denise said, relaxing against the red booth cushion, her smile returning. “If you put it that way, it sounds all right.”
“How long did it take…?”
When Callie left the restaurant, she felt confident that her writing slump was over. She was already composing the article in her head, had her lead, so the question now was how was she going to sell this article when the editor of the local paper had told her in no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t publish anything she wrote?
That was a toughie.
Callie unlocked the Neon, pausing to watch the teens leave the café and pile into a car parked on the other side of the lot, before climbing into the stiflingly hot interior and rolling down the window to let some marginally cooler air circulate inside. The kids drove by and Callie glanced over in time to see Tyler Michaels smile at her. The kid did think he was something.
Callie wondered if the dad, the owner of the paper, was the same way. She would soon find out.
On a hunch, she returned to the small grocery store where she’d found out how to track down Denise. As she had hoped, the same bored clerk was behind the register. Callie picked up a few items and set them on the counter. As the young woman started scanning the bar codes, Callie asked in a conversational tone where she might find Vince Michaels. The clerk glanced up. After explaining exactly where Vince Michaels lived—this clerk was truly a stalker’s dream—Callie asked if he could be found anywhere in town. Like, in an office.
No office, but he played golf.
Interesting. Especially to a woman who for one entire season was the worst player on the Wesley High School girls’ golf team.
JOY TAPPED ON THE DOOR and came in with the tea. Nathan had already dumped one cup that day, so he frowned at the second.
“Callie’s here.”
A day full of surprises. It made him wonder what kind of magic the evening might bring. “Send her in,” he said with a sigh of resignation.
She paused in his office doorway a few seconds later, looking wonderful. He hated that she looked wonderful, hated that he still reacted to her.
“Good to see you, Callie.”
She stretched her lips into a humorless smile. “Gee. With a little practice, you could sound like you mean that.”
“I’ll work on it,” he said drily.
“I ran into Vince Michaels on the golf course.”
Instant headache. “You were playing golf,” Nathan said flatly. Callie was awful at golf. She’d all but been kicked off the girls’ team the one year she’d played.
“I was practicing my swing with my old clubs, hitting a bucket of balls the same time he was.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I’m not without resources.”
Yeah. Nate imagined that Jesse Martinez, the golf pro, would have provided a wealth of information if approached in a proper manner. By an attractive female.
“Shouldn’t you be mourning Grace instead of playing golf?”
“I am mourning Grace,” Callie said in an intense voice.
Nathan felt a twinge of guilt at the low blow, but still—sucking up to his boss? He hadn’t seen that one coming.
“Anyway, I mentioned this great idea I had of writing a series of articles while I’m here. Unique career choices in a small town. Doll maker. Lady firefighter. Geriatric kindergarten teacher. He seemed quite interested. He’s heard of my work, you know.” Callie idly fingered the fabric of her blouse. “Of course, the final decision is up to you.”
“And we both know what that decision will be.”
“Look, Nate.” Her chin jutted out. “I was with you after your mom passed away. I admit I had no idea what you were going through until now, and you didn’t talk much, but I was there. I’m just asking you to return the favor.”
“You’re blackmailing me into being your friend?”
“I’m blackmailing you into letting me write for you, and if I really need to, to talk to you. Friendship will come later.”
“That ship sailed.”
“Nothing’s saying it can’t come back to port.”
“I’m saying.”
“Okay, we’ll hold off on the friendship clause. What about the articles?”
She spoke offhandedly, but Nathan was probably one of the few people on earth who was aware that Callie hid her vulnerabilities that way. She was hurting.
He’d been dead honest when he’d said they wouldn’t be friends again, because friendship involved trust. He no longer trusted Callie, but he felt for her. He couldn’t help it, having lost his own mother.
He gritted his teeth as if trying to hold back the words he knew were coming.
“Write one article on spec.”
She didn’t exactly break out smiles, but she seemed satisfied with the small concession.
“And the other…?”
“I’ll listen if you need someone to talk to,” he replied gruffly. But that was all he was going to do, and only because he owed her. “Once or twice. Plan accordingly.”
“Another thing.”
“There’s more? What do you want? My car?”
“You’re close. Can you give me the name of a decent auto mechanic in town?”
“I go to R&M.”
“How about bikes?”
Nathan frowned.
“I found my old bike,” she explained. “It needs a tune-up and new tires.”
“Elko.”
“The Neon won’t make it to Elko and the bike is my transportation while the Neon’s in the shop.”
“Bring it over to my place. I’ll see what I can do.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest.
“Tonight?”
“Tomorrow around six. What size rims? Twenty-six?”
“I don’t know.”
“Measure them when you get home. If they’re not twenty-six inch, call me.”
“Great. See you then.” She turned, looking so happy that Nathan almost hated to ruin the moment. But he did.
“This is a one-time deal, Cal. I’ll help you out because of circumstances.” His mouth tightened before he added, “Because I owe you for being with me after Mom died. But you owe me, too.”
She was no longer smiling. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Nothing. And I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”
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THE HOBART BOY DASHED across the empty lot to his house just as Callie turned onto their street. It was dark. The library had just closed and she was on her way home with a folder of research on unusual occupations people had held in Wesley over the years, gleaned from the special collections. So what was the kid doing out at nine o’clock again? Alone this time.
What disturbed her most was that the Hobart house was once again dark. This time there wasn’t even the glow of a television showing through the windows.
Was that kid in there sitting in the dark? Surely if an adult were home, the house wouldn’t be pitch-black.
Callie forgot all about minding her own business and marched up to the front door and knocked. No answer. She knocked again. Nothing.
So now what? Was she nuts? Did she or did she not see a white-haired kid? Was he inside or hiding in the thick foliage that surrounded the house?
Slowly, she walked down the buckling sidewalk toward her own house, then on impulse walked past her gate to Alice’s.
Her neighbor answered on the first knock. “Hello, Callie,” she said stiffly.
“Hi. I, uh…” She pointed down the street. “Do you know if there’s an adult home at the Hobarts’?”
“There must be.”
“No one answered when I knocked and there’s no car.”
“It looks dark,” Alice said helpfully. “Maybe they aren’t home.”
“I saw the boy go into the house.” Or at least she thought she had.
“Oh, my. Well, Callie, I don’t know what to tell you. The mom works downtown at the Winners Casino, but…” Alice’s plump face brightened. “I think her mother lives with them. Yes. I seem to remember hearing that at club.”
“Well, if she’s there, she’s fond of the dark.”
Alice cocked her head, then stepped out onto the porch to look at the Hobart house. “Maybe the electricity got turned off. That does happen, you know. And I don’t believe the family is well off financially. Single mom working at a casino…” She shook her head.
Callie moistened her lips thoughtfully. “So you think everything is all right?”
“I think I wouldn’t go sticking my nose in their business. They can be a cantankerous bunch.”
“Didn’t they just move here?”
“From the Bellow’s Ridge area. The family has been up there for generations.” Bellow’s Ridge was an extremely rural ranching community forty miles from Wesley.
“I see.” Callie nodded as she digested the information, then attempted a smile, even though she wasn’t reassured. The smile must have come off as genuine, though, because Alice smiled back. “Thanks,” Callie said.
“You bet. Good night, Callie.” Alice started closing the door, then stopped and asked, “How long do you plan on staying?”
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully.
Alice’s fingers tightened on the half-open door. “Why didn’t you come home when Grace was sick?”
Callie’s shoulders rose and fell as she inhaled, then exhaled. “Poor planning on my part,” she finally answered. “Good night, Alice.”
Callie stayed up past midnight, reading, jotting notes, staring into space.
Every now and then she would go to her side window and look out at the Hobarts’. It was still dark. No television glow. Nothing. That bothered Callie immensely.
She thought about calling the police, but…what if she didn’t have her facts right? What if she’d strung a bunch of minor incidents together and come up with a scenario that was blown all out of proportion because of her own experience having a working parent—not that her father had neglected her. He’d always seen that she was cared for.
Callie was still not certain what her dad had done for a living, why he’d traveled so much. She’d been very young when she’d been with him, and he couldn’t exactly take her on the road with him—especially after she’d entered kindergarten and then first grade. She had few clear memories of who she’d stayed with, for how long or why, but she recalled being with many different people. She’d even stayed with Grace a time or two before that fateful trip when her father had dropped her off, never to return.
She’d asked Grace what her father had done for a living exactly twice. The first time she’d been in elementary school and had been curious, since all the other kids were spouting off about what work their dads did. Grace had told her he was a traveling salesman. Years later, Callie had asked again, thinking that “traveling salesman” might have been a euphemism Grace had used for a seedier occupation—such as drug dealer or something. But the answer had been the same.
Callie had pushed a little more, asking if he was involved in any kind of criminal activity that may have gotten him killed. Grace had replied that to the best of her knowledge, Callie’s father had been a salesman or unemployed, as finances allowed. And he’d loved traveling. No. He’d needed to travel.
Callie understood the need to travel, and because of what Grace had told her, knew that she came by her inability to settle in one place honestly. Yet…here she was in Wesley, where she had been ensconced in Grace’s house for a couple weeks now, and she hadn’t yet felt the tug to move on, to see what was around the next curve in the road.
The tug would come.
It always did.
CHAPTER SIX
MITCH MICHAELS WAS well dressed and personable, a kid meant to manage—as long as it didn’t take a lot of effort on his part. Nathan was willing to concede that maybe Mitch would be all right if he was doing something he actually wanted to do. And there were no women around. Truthfully, Nate despised the kid and resented being saddled with him at the paper. He didn’t have a much higher opinion of Mitch’s younger brother, Tyler, who thankfully was not yet an intern. That day was coming, though. Nathan was certain of it.
“Hey, Mitch,” he said when the young man swaggered into his office later that day. “Have a good summer?”
“It was all right.” Once upon a time, the statement would have been accompanied by a charming smile. Not anymore. Not since Nathan had set Mitch straight on the matter of sexual harassment last spring. “It was nice to get out of this hellhole town for a while.”
Mitch and Tyler had been urban transplants five years ago, when Vince had moved to Wesley from Salt Lake City after his divorce, and built a mansion in the foothills of the Jessup Mountains. He wanted his sons to grow up in a less complicated environment, he’d said, but Nathan suspected that he wanted to get his boys as far away from his flaky ex-wife as possible.
Whatever the reason, Mitch was being groomed to follow in his father’s footsteps and take over either the newspapers or the trailer manufacturing business Vince was developing near Elko.
Last spring Nathan had had the kid answering phones and doing office work, which had proved to be a disaster. It ended in Nathan’s explanation to Mitch that if the kid persisted in harassing Katie, Nathan would personally make sure she pressed charges.
“My dad wouldn’t like that.” Mitch had worn an expression that made Nathan want to smack him, which was what the kid had probably been angling for.
Nathan had merely shaken his head, unfazed. “Your dad has nothing to do with it. What you’re doing is illegal.”
Mitch had shown no sign of believing Nathan. But it was possible that he’d discussed the matter with his father later, because for the last three weeks of the internship, he’d shown up, sullen and withdrawn, and had kept to himself, doing the smallest amount of actual work possible and making everyone feel uncomfortable while he was there.
When the school year ended and he headed off for the summer with his mother, Nathan didn’t know who was happier, Mitch, Katie or himself.
And now Mitch was back, but this time he was going to be where nobody had to deal with him—in the basement, scanning and digitalizing the archives, thus killing two birds with one stone. Vince had purchased the equipment the previous year, but no one in the office had time to do it. Perfect solution for everyone.
“Yeah.”
“Chip’s already down there printing photos. He’ll show you how to run the equipment and then you’re on your own.”
Nathan watched Mitch descend the basement steps with the air of someone who was going to have to do something about this situation. Though he understood very well why Vince wanted Mitch to work, Nathan truly wished he wasn’t the lucky guy in charge of transforming Prince Mitch into a hardworking employee.
Mitch paused three steps down and looked back. “This’ll be my only job this semester?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll sure learn a lot about running a paper,” he said snidely.
“You want to run a paper, Mitch?” Nate had heard that the kid actually wanted to be a doctor, probably for the prestige and the money.
“Not really.”
“Then I guess this’ll work for both of us.”
As soon as Mitch had disappeared, he returned to his office. He’d barely brought up the screen when Joy came in with a typed article in one hand.
“Callie McCarran just dropped this by. You might want to take a look,” she said in a tone indicating she was aware of the possibility that he wouldn’t. “It’s pretty good.”
Nathan gazed at her over his glasses. Joy held the article out. “Read it.”
He leaned back in his chair and did as she asked, reading Callie’s take on Denise Logan. It was well crafted, but he expected nothing less from Callie. She’d caught the essence of what it was like to be a formally trained, young female firefighter on a volunteer crew of older men. He knew for a fact that his father, as fire chief, had given Denise fits and she had done the same to him.