“Who?” he barked irritably, and her heart sank.
She paused a second, and then hung up the phone. She wanted to smack herself for even trying. At least Frederick hadn’t been there to offer to “cheer her up”.
She was distracted by the sound of loud arguing coming from the front of the building.
“Tramp!”
“Dried up old prude!”
“Ladies, please!” The two women yelling insults at each other sounded as if they were well into their seventies. That last voice belonged to Bettina.
Well, this promised to be more interesting than the obits, and she had until five to get those finished.
She pushed back her chair and strolled to the front of the newspaper’s office. The newspaper was housed in a low-slung brick building on Main Street, and most of the reporters and photographers worked in one big open room. The newspaper’s publisher and a couple of the editors, had offices tucked away on the side of the room. The reception’s desk was at the front of the room facing the street.
An older woman, a wolf shifter in a pink floral dress and pink sneakers stood there. Her hair was done up in a complicated waffle-weave beehive which was undoubtedly sculpted on a regular basis at the Kurl Up And Dye salon down the street, and there was a pink floral braid woven into the beehive. She was seventy if she was a day.
The object of her ire was Maybelle Briard, the newspaper’s librarian, also a wolf shifter.
“What is that thing in your hair?” Maybelle demanded of the woman, pointing at the pink braid. “And what would your mother say?”
“I visited her Saturday, and she thought it was very pretty.”
“That’s because she’s blind,” Maybelle glowered at her.
“Mind your own business, nosy parker. You always were a busy-body. Oh, hello! Coral Colby, there you are.” The woman marched over to her and stuck out her hand.
“I’m Blanche Briard. Maybelle is my cousin, but please don’t hold that against me.” She shot her cousin a dirty look. “She’s been jealous of me since high school, because I was always more popular with the menfolk.”
“That’s because she was a hussy with the morals of an alley cat,” Maybelle scoffed.
“Better than having your legs locked at the knees. Marigold asked me to keep an eye on you, and report everything back to her as soon as she gets home,” Blanche said. “She’s married to my nephew.”
Marigold was best friends with Ginger, and, since she was also so pregnant she was ready to pop, she and her husband had accompanied Ginger and her husband on their babymoon.
“Why does she want you to report back to her?” Coral asked. “What would there even be to report? We’re in Blue Moon Junction, where nothing ever happens – what’s so funny?” Maybelle, Blanche, and Bettina had thrown back their heads and were literally howling with laughter.
“Well, bust my britches, that’s a good one,” Maybelle said, wiping tears of merriment from her cheeks.
“It sure is,” Blanche agreed. “Just give it a little time here,” she added to Coral. “You’ll see.”
“I got here four days ago, starting working at the newspaper three days ago, and the most exciting thing that’s happened so far is a random cow wandering downtown,” Coral protested.
“That’s because you don’t know where to look. I figure we should go to the Henhouse, grab a cup of coffee, and I’ll catch you up on everything you need to know about Blue Moon Junction,” Blanche said.
“No, if anyone’s going to catch her up on what she needs to know, it’s me,” Maybelle said. “Just let me grab my purse.”
“Don’t listen to a word that old horse’s patoot tells you, especially about me,” Blanche said. “And she can’t come with us, because I’m not speaking to her right now.” You could have fooled me, Coral thought.
“Horse’s patoot! Why, you pug-faced-”
“Outside! Both of you!” Bettina bellowed, and Coral suddenly had a brilliant idea.
“Ladies,” she said. “You’re both coming with me.”
As the two women followed her out the door, Blanche turned to holler over her shoulder “I’ve been thrown out of classier joints than this one, believe me!”
“It’s true,” Maybelle grumbled as they walked to Coral’s car. “She always was a troublemaker.”
Chapter Two
Ten minutes later, they were pulling up in front of the sprawling rural homestead of the McCoy family. The McCoy’s had lived in Blue Moon Junction since forever, from what Coral had been told, and they owned a big property with half a dozen houses, and acres of blueberry bushes, raspberry bushes, and strawberry fields, as well an apiary with hundreds of beehives.
In addition to their farm stand, they had a little specialty store in town which sold home-made jams and jellies and honey.
Flint had swept into town a few weeks ago, announcing plans to expand the family business. He was building a new, modernized factory on their property, and also had a construction crew swarming all over the house his parents and brothers and sisters lived in, updating it and adding a new wing on to the century old farmhouse. For reasons Coral did not understand, he didn’t want to talk to anyone at The Tattler. What kind of businessman refused guaranteed good publicity?
There were houses scattered all over the property, with various McCoy aunts and uncles and cousins and their families living in them. Blanche and Maybelle were still arguing as she pulled off the main road, but Blanche stopped long enough to point out the house where Flint was staying, and where he’d set up his office.
Coral pulled up in front of the house and parked, a malicious smile twitching at her lips.
Flint’s home was a three story Queen Anne style house with gingerbreading everywhere. Pansies and violets were artistically arranged in fresh red mulch around the front of the house. There was a huge wraparound porch with a porch swing and a wicker table and chairs.
The three of them walked into the front room which Flint had converted into a reception area. A bench with cushions faced an antique walnut desk. His secretary, a severe looking woman with hair pulled back into a bun so tight her skin was stretched, glanced up in annoyance.
“I’m sorry, Miss Colby, but Mr. McCoy isn’t in,” she informed her.
“Yes he is,” Coral said, settling onto the wooden bench that faced the desk. “I saw his car parked off to the side.” He drove a big Lexus. Pretentious jerk, Coral thought.
“Well, this should be fun,” Blanche said to Maybelle. “Now I have something to tell the ladies about at the bingo game tonight.”
Blanche and Maybelle settled down on the bench on either side of Coral. The receptionist shot Coral a dagger-eyed glare.
Coral turned to Blanche and Maybelle. “By the way, I was just wondering…you both went to high school together…which one of you was more popular?”
The subsequent shouts and shrieks contained language which would have made a sailor blush. The receptionist looked appalled. The phone rang, and she cried out “Ladies, please!” They both ignored her. The receptionist looked at the ringing phone again, as the two women shouted obscenities at each other, but she didn’t pick it up.
“You were a shameless hussy in high school!” Maybelle shouted. “And nothing’s changed, you octogenarian skank!”
“Octogenarian? I am 75, and you know it, you senile old bitch!”
“You all have to leave! Mr. McCoy is going to be busy all day!” the receptionist shouted over the din.
Coral settled back in the bench, pulled a paperback Nora Roberts book out of her purse, and smiled. “I’ll wait,” she said.
It only took five minutes for the receptionist to crack. She pushed her chair back, glowering at the three of them, and vanished through a door in the back of the room.
She appeared a couple of minutes later with the man who’d been so successfully dodging Coral’s interview requests – Flint McCoy.
Blanche and Maybelle fell silent, and all three women stared at him a
s he loomed in the doorway.
From his picture, she hadn’t realized just how massive Flint was, which shouldn’t have surprised her – bear shifters tended to be huge.
He filled the doorframe, the top of his head brushing it. Today he wore a suit which fit him so well it must have been custom tailored, with a silky looking blue shirt and a dark navy tie.
He moved with a lumbering grace, like a very talented quarterback, instantly taking command of the room. He flicked his gaze in annoyance at Blanche and Maybelle, and then settled his caramel-brown glare on Coral.
Oh, my. The physical effect his picture had on Coral was nothing compared to the effect he had on her in person. She felt as if she’d been zapped with a bolt of lightning which sizzled through her body to the tips of her fingers and toes. Her panties went damp, and she pressed her thighs together, praying that he couldn’t scent her arousal. Did bear shifters have a good sense of smell? She couldn’t remember.
Her sense of smell was excellent, and she could smell his patchouli cologne and his unique masculine musk, and the faint scent of honey and berries. She swallowed hard and struggled not to squirm where she sat.
His thick brown brows drew together in exasperation.
“My secretary told you, I’m busy,” he rumbled.
“I only need fifteen minutes of your time, for an interview for our feature section,” she said, forcing a bright smile onto her face.
“I already told you no. This isn’t news; it’s a puff piece. Go bother someone else.”
Now she was torn between the urge to tear his throat out with her fangs, and the urge to straddle him and hump him like a dog. Damn the man.
“Actually, it is news,” she said through clenched teeth. “You are renovating your family’s historic home, and their business, and expanding the business operations, which is news-worthy.”
“I already told you, my answer is no,” he growled.
“I’m not going to give up,” she said, barely managing to keep her tone civil. “And why are you so secretive? Since when does a business owner refuse good press and publicity? Is there something else going on here?”
She thought she saw an odd flash of alarm in his eyes when she said that. Had she stumbled on something? Did he have something to hide? And for that matter, why would a man who owned a successful business on the other side of the country suddenly drop everything to build up a tiny little jam and honey factory? It didn’t make sense. His family was comfortably well off, the business was small but successful, and they certainly didn’t need his help.
“Fine,” he said quickly, but with a scowl. “I’ll meet you at the Donut Hole tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. Fifteen minutes. No more.”
“I need to have my photographer there so he can get a picture of you,” she said. Fifteen minutes would be about all she could stand of this stuck up jerk anyway.
“No,” he growled. “I’ll have Velma send over a publicity still to your office.” He nodded his head at the receptionist.
And he quickly turned and banged his way back through the door, slamming it shut behind him. She could hear his big feet pounding down the hallway. He’d practically run out of the room in his rush to get away from her.
“What. An. Ass.” Oops, she’d used her out-loud voice.
“I’ll say,” Blanche agreed. “If I was fifty years younger, I’d be all over that.”
“Of course you would, because you’re a shameless tramp,” Maybelle said.
“Let’s go, ladies, I have obits to type up,” Coral said glumly.
She’d gotten what she wanted, which was an interview, so there was no reason for her to feel so rattled. She’d dealt with plenty of rude people who didn’t want interviews before; why was she letting this jerk get under her skin?
Well, there was the fact that he was totally hot and clearly not the least bit interested in her, which kind of stung, although it shouldn’t. It was exactly what she’d expected.
Funny thing, her sister Ginger had told her that in Blue Moon Junction, men tended to be attracted to larger women. Well, this one wasn’t.
Outside the house, she opened the front door of her car for Blanche, and then the back door for Maybelle, and once they’d climbed in she pulled away, trying without success to shake the gray cloud of gloom that had descended on her.
***
Flint stood at the window of the second story room of his house, watching her go. Damn it. In general, he hated reporters, and he really wanted to hate her, but he couldn’t. He watched her open the door for Blanche and Maybelle. He watched her hold Blanche’s arm as she helped her get in the car.
She was actually a good person. And she was clever – he had to admit, using those two old biddies to force his receptionist to go fetch him was a stroke of genius. And worse, he was attracted to her. In fact, he’d been shocked by the jolt of arousal that shot through him the second he walked through the door and laid eyes on her.
It had taken just about everything that he had not to openly gape at her like an infatuated teenager. Years of clawing his way to the top through ruthless business negotiations, and his other, secret training, had taught him to maintain a poker face, but he’d almost lost it when she walked in the room.
By God, she was just about perfect. From her plump red lips to her soft, generous curves, she was everything a bear could want. He wanted to bury himself in her yielding, sweet scented flesh. He wanted to crush her against his body, and –
No! This wasn’t just about him, unfortunately. If it was, he’d beg her forgiveness for dodging the interviews, and insist on flying her across the country for an exotic dinner and then take her back to his home in Seattle and ravish her all night long on silken sheets. And then the next day. And the next.
But there was much more at stake here than his raging testosterone and the uncomfortably hard erection which he prayed she hadn’t noticed. International security, the safety of his own family, and the oaths he’d sworn to uphold, were at risk.
Unfortunately, the beautiful wolf shifter wasn’t stupid. She’d started to ask probing questions, questions which alarmed him. She was right; if the main reason he was here was to help his family expand their business, he’d be eager for publicity.
He needed to head her off at the pass, give her the information she thought she wanted, and send her on her way. In fact, it couldn’t hurt to let her tour the construction site, check out the renovation, get pictures of it, and emphasize that the reason he was in town was to expand the operations of Sweet Stuff. No other reason. It was vital that she believe that.
If only he’d met her somewhere else, under some other circumstances, he thought regretfully. The things he wanted to do that sexy woman. He wanted to rip her clothing from her body and -
His phone rang, mercifully interrupting the pornographic thoughts which flooded through his brain, and he pulled it out of his pocket. It was his mother, calling from the main family house on their property a quarter mile away.
“Mom! How are you doing?”
“Well, just wonderful, dear. Are you still coming over for dinner?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”
“How are things going? Did you meet any nice girls yet?”
He silently cursed. Could the woman read his mind? Anyway, it didn’t matter if he met any nice girls, because he had important responsibilities which prevented him from settling down. He couldn’t tell his mother about his responsibilities, ever, so instead he endured her endless nagging about his single status.
“You know me, Mom, I’m married to my job.”
“Well, we’ll see about that. I’ll see you at six tonight, then.”
He felt alarm rumble through him. We’ll see about that? What did that mean? Was she going to fix him up with someone? He truly hoped not. He didn’t have the time or the patience to sit there and be polite while his mother tried to fix him up with some second cousin of one of her quilting bee buddies, or whatever she was planning on.
; With a sigh, he headed out of the house to his car. He had work to do, which would take him the rest of the day. There had been sightings out in the area he and his team were watching, and he needed to get as close as he safely could to check it out. That meant shifting into bear form, of course, but he was fine with that. It was a beautiful day for a run in the woods, a raid on a beehive, and some recon.
He glanced at his family’s big white farmhouse down the road, and at the construction crew swarming over the property, and he relaxed a little bit. As long as that crew was there, his family was safe. They’d make sure of it.
Chapter Three
Coral was about to boil over with fury. She glanced at her watch. She glanced at it again. She glanced at the clock on the wall.
They both said the same thing: it was 8:15 a.m., and she’d been stood up. Flint McCoy was actually standing her up.
And she thought she’d been so clever the day before, showing up and forcing him to agree to meet with her. Well, if she’d had any doubt how little he wanted to do with her before, he’d made it perfectly clear now.
Okay, she thought, there’s no point in sitting around here stewing with rage. She could do that at work while she typed up the “About Town” column. She gulped down the rest of her coffee, her stomach growling. She hadn’t ordered breakfast because she’d been waiting for Flint.
She tossed several dollar bills on the table to cover the cost of her 99 cent coffee and a tip, and as she did, she realized that Flint’s secretary Velma was walking towards her, holding a manila folder.
Velma pasted a smile on her face and held the folder out. “Mr. McCoy sincerely apologizes, but he was called away on an emergency. I have several professional pictures in here for you to use, and a copy of his resume, and I’ve written up a description of his plans for Sweet Stuff. And he insists on paying for your breakfast. Also, he’d like to arrange for you and your photographer to tour the site of the new factory. Would today be convenient?”
Wow. That was quite the brushoff.
Coral stood up abruptly, with as much dignity as she could muster with her stomach rumbling, and slid out of the booth. She ignored the folder.
Hard To Bear Page 2