by Emma Miller
Evie could have sworn her heart dropped four inches and settled at an angle. Did he know what she’d been so many years ago? She opened her mouth to defend herself, to say how she’d only been trying to pay the bills, to get through journalism school. They’d said it would be easy. Just take some pictures. Follow the famous people and maybe expose a few liars in the process. But she didn’t say anything. There was no excuse for what she’d done.
“The Daily is the paper that runs the gossip. When I bought The Chronicle back from the bank, it was bankrupt and worthless. I wanted it to be something better, a paper that people could trust. And when I die, I don’t want to have to explain to God why I printed what I did.” Any more than she already would be. She felt her eyes burn and angrily blinked back tears. She couldn’t make up for ruining lives, exposing sins, but she was going to keep going anyway. The only other option would be to give up. And Evie wasn’t a quitter.
The chill breeze ruffled his dark blond hair, the orange glow from the streetlight casting his features into half shadow. Finally he nodded. “I see a lot of suffering on a daily basis. We need to reach the people that are falling through the cracks.”
Evie looked up at him, taking a deep breath. “I agree.” She hadn’t had to defend herself for a long time, and she felt off-kilter. Or maybe it was that steady gaze that let nothing past him.
“I can write up something tomorrow morning and bring it to you by noon. The booster shots are our best hope, especially for pregnant women, but nobody knows about it. When do you think we can run it?”
Evie did a quick mental calculation and came up with a time frame that included skipping lunch and staying hours after most of the crew had gone home. “It could run the day after tomorrow, but let’s put it in the Sunday edition. It’s the biggest. Everybody gets the Sunday paper.”
He nodded, a flicker of hope passing over his face. “Thank you. This means a lot to me.”
“What got you interested in diseases?”
Emotions flitted behind his eyes faster than she could capture them. Confusion, surprise. “My best friend died in the fourth grade from chicken pox.”
Shock made her silent for a moment. “I didn’t know it could be deadly. I thought everybody got chicken pox. Parents even try to expose their kids, to get it over with.”
His face was tight with pain. “You’re right.” He paused, gaze locked on hers. “I had it. Patrick’s mom brought him over to my house so he’d catch it and be done before Christmas break was over.”
Evie felt her mouth drop open. Gavin had given his best friend a disease that killed him...at Christmas? “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too. I’m still sorry.” His voice had a hard edge to it. “And that’s why I work at the CDC.”
Evie wanted to reach out and hold him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault. But there wasn’t anything she could say that would make that kind of grief disappear.
He seemed to want to say something more but thought better of it. He nodded toward the parking lot. “I think it’s going to snow again. We’d better get you home.”
She walked toward her light blue Volkswagen Beetle and unlocked the door. He made a noise behind her that sounded suspiciously like a snort.
“What? You don’t like my car?” She was used to people poking fun at the powder-blue classic. She searched around on the floorboards for the ice scraper. There was a light film on the windshield, and she didn’t want to wait for it to defrost. Which would be about three hours with her outdated heating system.
“It’s great. I just figured you drove something nicer.”
She stood up, scraper in hand, and shot him a look. “Nicer?”
“Maybe I mean safer.”
“True, no airbags.”
“You can get those installed.” His lips quirked up in a smile, he held out one hand and she passed him the small plastic wedge.
“And what do you drive, Mr. CDC?”
“A Saab. I highly recommend them.” He made short work of the ice on the windows and brushed off the extra snow, handing back the scraper.
“Well, Edna and I are committed to each other. It’s till-engine-failure-do-us-part.”
He was grinning now, hands deep in his pockets, staring down at her. “Your car is named Edna.”
“That’s what she says.” Evie angled into the seat, dropped the scraper back on the floor and buckled up. “Thank you for the escort. And the window service.”
He didn’t answer, just raised a hand as she shut the door. As she pulled out of the lot, he was still standing there, looking amused.
The heater was going full blast and it was still twenty degrees in the Beetle, but Evie didn’t feel the cold. She turned toward The Chronicle offices, struggling to get her head back in the game. They had a big story shaping up and she needed to be ready to make decisions. But her mind kept returning to the man she had just left. He took a terrible tragedy and turned it into a life mission to help others. Handsome, yes. Educated, yes. Smart and purpose-driven, yes and yes. But all of those things added up to a man who wouldn’t want a woman with her sort of past. It was the kind of past that never went away, no matter how many community service articles she ran.
Chapter Four
“Did you get the message about the O’Brian’s car dealership ad? He says it’s faded and the type is hard to read.” Jolie plopped into the chair across from Evie’s enormous, battered oak desk and huffed out a breath. “Obviously somebody told him that. He was fine with the full color copy I showed him last week.”
Evie massaged her right temple and tried to smile. It was turning into the worst Friday on record. The newsroom was in chaos because the lawyers had nixed a major feature they’d planned. All they cared about was whether the paper would get sued. She would fire them, except that’s what she’d hired them to do, so she was stuck with following their advice.
“I’ll call him. Maybe he got ahold of a bad copy. Maybe it was passed around too much. What I saw looked great.”
She hated bad news, but Evie couldn’t shoot the messenger. Especially since Jolie was the best computer graphic designer she’d ever hired. No one else wanted to take a chance on a nineteen-year-old college dropout with hot pink highlights, but something about Jolie reminded Evie of herself at that age. Not the nibbled nails or the crazy punk-inspired clothes, for sure. It was more her obvious desire to prove to the world that she was more than just a girl. And the bucketfuls of attitude might be a little familiar, too.
“It was great, don’t you doubt it.” She shrugged and crossed one slim leg over the other, wiggling a foot until her polka-dot ballet flat hung by her toes. “Hey, why doesn’t your dad want to place an ad? I was looking at a Colorado Supplements brochure and the graphics were totally old-school. We could do a whole lot better than whoever he hired for that flyer.”
Evie dropped her gaze to her desktop and pretended to scroll through a few pages. Her father would never hire her. He thought she was just goofing around, playing at running a paper while Jack was the one who did the real work. But anybody who really knew the guy understood that Jack had about as much of an aptitude for business as the proverbial fish on a bicycle. “Yeah, I should ask him about that.”
“Of course, maybe it’s better to keep business and family separate?” Jolie pursed her lips and tapped a black polished nail against her chin.
She couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter. “Excellent advice. But since my dad has been grooming Jack to take over the family business since he was five, that boat has already sailed.”
“Speaking of that luscious brother of yours...” Jolie leaned forward, eyebrows raised.
“No, not on your life.” Evie shook a finger at her.
“But why not? He’s so handsome, and those eyes!”
“Because. He has a hard enough time getting to
work as it is with snowboarding season in full swing. Throw in a girlfriend and he’d be MIA most of the time.”
“Well, I work as hard as I play, so maybe I’d inspire him.” Jolie flashed a grin as she popped out of her chair and left the office.
Evie waited for the door to close before she dropped her head in her hands. Her paper needed the revenue desperately. They were walking a fine line between solvency and bankruptcy, again. Lord, I’m trying to do the right thing here. I’m not asking for wealth beyond measure. Just enough to pay the bills.
When she’d first bought the paper, she’d fought hard to get them on solid ground. But things had slowed and The Daily was getting a good cut of their advertising customers. It was human nature that people would rather read gossip than human interest stories or exposés on slave labor. But she’d been there, done that. No going back. Even if they published community hero stories all the way into foreclosure.
* * *
“Thanks for distributing these, Lana.” Gavin handed over an armful of posters on pertussis prevention.
“Anything we can do to help, you know that.” The secretary laid the posters on the desk and cocked her head. “You look exhausted.”
“No, I’m fine. Just running a little low on sleep.” The low end of empty.
“Take care of yourself. We wouldn’t want you to miss Christmas.” She gave him a look that meant business and he nodded obediently. He would rest when there was time. If he didn’t keep working, the Mission would have to cancel all public gatherings anyway. It wasn’t something he wanted to say out loud.
Gavin’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he stepped away from the desk with a wave of apology. Lana smiled, making a shooing motion with her hand.
He snapped the phone open. “Allison, everything okay?” He hated the note of anxiety in his voice. She was a grown woman, with a son she’d taken care of all by herself, but he would always be her big brother. They weren’t related by blood, but he’d given up the step word a long time ago. She was his sister, end stop.
“Everything’s fine, Gav.” He could hear her smile and felt the muscles in his neck relax. “Just wanted to let you know we’re headed into Denver tonight. We made good time through Kansas. Nothing there to see but corn.”
Gavin leaned against the lobby wall and grinned. “Can’t wait to see you. Are you heading straight for my place?” Office workers wandered in and out of the double doors, staring at their smartphones or chatting with colleagues.
“No other place to go, is there?” Her tone was light, but the words held a lot of sadness.
Gavin knew what she meant. She’d been on her own for so long. Moving back to Denver was a big step, and hopefully it was one in the right direction. As long as Sean’s father didn’t make trouble, they would probably do just fine.
“I think it will be a whole new start for you both.”
“You’re right.” She paused, as if choosing her words. “Because I’m tired of hiding.”
Gavin straightened up. “What does that mean?”
“I’m just...ready to be honest about who I am and what happened.”
He felt his eyes widen.
“But let’s talk about it when I get there.”
Gavin took a breath, calming his thoughts. Allison didn’t need to explain everything, especially while driving. “Right. Be careful. See you real soon, sisty ugler.”
“Watch it. There’s still time for me to turn this rig around.” There was the brief sound of her laughing and she disconnected. Gavin snapped the phone closed. He’d wanted her to move here for years, right after he’d found out about Sean. But she’d been determined to make her own way. Maybe she was stubborn. Maybe it was shame. Whatever it was, he was glad she’d finally given in. His sister needed family around her, and his godson needed his uncle.
His brows drew down as he thought of her words. She was ready to be honest. How honest? To everyone? To the media? The idea of another bout of newspaper scandal made him ill. He never wanted her to go through something like that again.
But now wasn’t the time to worry about it. He strode out into the bright winter sunlight and headed for his car. God willing, they would get the whooping cough cases under control and he could really focus on welcoming her to Denver.
Of course, getting the epidemic under control involved a certain collaboration with a certain newspaper editor. Evie Thorne’s beautiful face passed through his mind. If he could just ignore those flashes of humor, that quick wit, those bright blue eyes, then he wouldn’t mind so much that he had to deal with a journalist. He had an unsettling feeling that his calm, predictable life was veering into completely unknown territory.
* * *
Yanking the cord that released the long window shades, Evie pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes and gritted her teeth. Her office had a heart-stopping view of Wolf Mountain, but the bright winter sunlight was making her head throb. Sometimes she wanted to be someone else, anyone else. Getting a call from another advertiser who’d rather pay The Daily than The Chronicle had her feeling like she should just pack her bags and head out of town.
A soft knock on her door brought her head up with a start. Gavin Sawyer stood in her office doorway, a concerned expression on his face, brows drawn together. His suit was nicely pressed, as if he was just starting his day, instead of heading into the afternoon. He had a badge clipped to his shirt pocket. Warm brown eyes and softly wavy hair made him seem casual despite the business wear. It was as if he always walked into The Chronicle on a Friday morning. Her mind stuttered to a stop.
“Are you all right?” His low voice brought her back to reality. Delusions weren’t usually concerned with your welfare.
She nodded, struggling to smile confidently.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead, but I have the main issues we need in the article, along with the most recent statistics from this week.” He took a few steps into her office, set the folder on her desk and looked out the large glass window to his right. “Nice view. Sure beats looking at posters on diphtheria.”
“Probably anything would be better than that. Does your lab have windows? Or are you a basement dweller?”
His lips tilted up a bit, as if she’d said something charming. “I don’t usually work in the lab. I have degrees in microbiology and epidemiology, but I get to spend my days in the fresh air. Mostly.”
“Until something awful comes along, like whooping cough.”
“Right.” He sighed. “It would be nice if we spent all our time trying to get kids to drink water and not soda, but it doesn’t always work that way.”
“Do you have an idea which languages need to be on the inserts?” She gestured to the chair across the desk.
“There’s a federal handout in there with brief guidelines in fifteen languages.” He settled into it, stretching out his long legs. He looked tired, a small frown between his brows. “Did you hear Calista and Grant had a little boy?”
“Sure did. I got a call from Jack, who heard it from Lana, who heard it from Jose, who got a visit from a deliriously happy Marisol.” News traveled fast in the Mission community. Plus, it seemed the entire group had been holding their breath until that baby was born.
“I peeked in at the hospital. Grant seemed to be back to normal. Proud as can be and mentally sound. We had a good laugh about him not being able to walk across the lobby that night.”
He looked around, still taking in the small office. Evie was painfully aware of the teetering piles of papers and the jumbled books haphazardly tossed onto shelves. She felt the heat rush to her cheeks. His office was probably neat as a pin.
“They say a messy desk is a sign of a tidy mind.”
“Do they?” Evie glanced around, wondering if the perpetual mess had anything to do with her mental state, or if it had everything to do with her orga
nizational skill. “One of my employees says I use the EAS filing system. Every Available Surface.”
He grinned, tiny lines appearing around his eyes. “I would never survive in this office. How do you find anything?”
“Strangely, it doesn’t seem to be a problem.”
“So, if I moved something, right now, you could probably tell?”
Evie bit her lip, staring at the piles of papers and Post-its scattered like colorful snowflakes. “Depends on what it is.”
He stood up, leaned over her desk and wiggled his fingers. “Let’s try it.”
She fought to keep from laughing. They were going to play a game with her messy desk? Something about that grin made her want to play along. “Fine, I’ll close my eyes. Try to be very quiet.” She was almost surprised at her own flirting, but then that smile made her forget a lot of things.
She scrunched her eyes closed and put a hand over them for good measure. As if someone had thrown a switch, all her other senses went on high alert. She could hear the rustle of his shirt against his suit jacket, his slow breathing. The scent of his aftershave was deep and woodsy. She could hear, no feel him, moving very close to her. There was a tiny sound and then he said, “Done.”
She peeked between her fingers and frowned. Maybe she didn’t know where everything was. Maybe not even half of it. And then she saw the change and triumph surged through her. “You moved my pen.”
The look of shock on his face made her laugh out loud. His eyes had gone wide. “Well, I guess that proves it. Messy doesn’t mean disorganized. But how did you know?”
“I’m left-handed. I keep my pens on this side.” She waved with her left hand.
“I hadn’t noticed that.” He cocked his head, appraising her.
“Why would you?” Evie felt her face flush under his gaze.
Gavin ran a hand down his tie and cleared his throat. “So, how much space can you spare for tomorrow’s article?”