by Marta Perry
Would that bond be enough to hold them together if Brett Bodine ended up convicted of extorting bribes? That was an ugly thought, and he didn’t have a clue as to the answer.
“Your crew is getting away from you,” Amanda pointed out, nodding to the group Win had been jogging with. “You two can save your macho teasing for another time.”
Win laughed. “And I’ve got just the time. Miz Callie called, and she’s fixing to cook up a ton of steamed shrimp and some pecan pie tomorrow night. She said to pass it along to you if I saw you. You, too, Ross. She’ll give you a call herself, but don’t you disappoint her, now.”
He waved, breaking into a run toward his group, who jogged in place waiting for him, yelling out a few gratuitous insults as they did.
“Sounds like some good eating,” Adam said. “You’re coming, aren’t you, Ross?”
He should make some excuse. He shouldn’t socialize with people who were going to be slammed if the story broke the way he thought it was going to. But Amanda was looking at him with obvious pleasure at the prospect, and he discovered he loved seeing that look in her eyes.
He shouldn’t, but he was going to, and he’d just have to deal with the consequences.
“Sounds good,” he said. “I’ll be there if I can.”
Adam gave a quick nod. “Okay. So, what do you want to see first?”
“You know perfectly well where you want to start,” Amanda said. “Go ahead, show us the cutters and patrol boats.”
“Well, since you insist.”
Ross followed the two of them, letting the easy banter between the cousins flow over him.
When they reached the docks, Adam stopped at a businesslike white-and-orange boat with an enclosed cabin. “Here she is. My patrol boat—home away from home.”
“Your first love,” Amanda teased.
“Maybe that, too.”
Amanda turned at a hail from farther along the dock, obviously seeing someone she knew, and scurried off to talk to two young men in Coast Guard blue.
“Is there anyplace in Charleston where Amanda doesn’t have friends?”
“Nope. That’s our Amanda.” Adam’s open face filled with affection as he watched his cousin. “She’s always been everyone’s friend and confidante. There are times when I wish she wasn’t quite so trusting.”
Ross stiffened. Was that aimed at him? “That’s a good quality, isn’t it?”
Now the look Adam turned on him was distinctly serious. “I wouldn’t change her if I could. But she does lead with her heart. I wouldn’t want her to get hurt.”
“Is that a warning?” His jaw tightened. Adam couldn’t know there was anything more than a professional relationship between them.
“Well, now, I wouldn’t say that. I guess the days are long past when the Bodine boys would threaten to land hard on anyone who messed with one of them. Just consider it a bit of friendly advice. Bodines stick together, no matter what.”
Amanda rejoined them, giving him no opportunity to say more, but his mind spun with the implications of Adam’s words. Was that just cousinly protectiveness? Or did Adam know something about the investigation?
How could he? But Ross couldn’t shake the suspicion that something more was going on than met the eye.
Amanda marched toward Ross’s office that afternoon, seething. She’d come back to the newsroom from a late lunch satisfied that Ross had been shown the best of Coast Guard. That surely he must feel the same patriotic pride that she did after spending time with the people of Coast Guard Base Charleston.
Jim Redfern had been waiting for her, his normally dour face wearing even deeper grooves than usual. C.J. wasn’t there, because she’d learned that Ross planned to use her and her grandmother as examples in the slumlord story. She’d walked out.
Crusading spirit carrying her along, Amanda rapped sharply on the door frame of Ross’s office and walked in without waiting for an invitation.
Ross, telephone to his ear, lifted level brows at her impetuous entrance and held up one hand, palm out, to stop her. The gesture just added fuel to the flame.
She stalked across the office, frowning at the large-scale map of Charleston that filled most of one wall. Ross faced it while sitting at his desk, while behind him stretched a whiteboard, a corkboard and a flow chart showing what everyone on the staff was working on. That was it. There wasn’t a single personal item on the walls.
Or on the desk. Ross was, as far as his office was concerned, a man without personal connections at all.
The reminder of what he’d shown her of himself cooled her anger slightly. Just in time, as he hung up the phone, dropped the pen with which he’d been making notes, and turned his frown on her.
“What?”
“I understand from Jim that you plan to use C.J. and her grandmother as examples in the story about Hardy.” She tried for cool and collected. They were two professionals discussing a problem—that was all.
The small muscles around his mouth compressed. “That’s right.”
“You can’t do that,” she said flatly, her air of detachment fizzling away as quickly as it had come. “I told you how they felt about it.”
He shoved his chair back, putting a little more distance between them. “This is about reporting a story, Amanda. Not about catering to somebody’s feelings.”
“It’s not a question of catering to someone’s feelings, as you so nicely put it.” She’d find it so much easier to argue with him if she weren’t so aware of his every movement—of the way his long fingers tightened around the chair arm, of the narrowing of his eyes at her defiance. She grasped after the detachment she’d lost. “All I’m saying is that surely we can run the story without hurting the individual.”
He made an impatient, chopping motion with his right hand. “A dry recital of facts won’t interest the reader or sell papers. We need the human element.”
“Even if it hurts the very people you’re trying to help?”
“Newspapers are in the business of reporting the news, not helping people, as I’ve told you repeatedly. The story serves the greater good.”
He blew out an exasperated breath, as if he tired of having the same argument with her, reminding her of that moment when he’d said that if she wanted to help people, she should go into social work.
He couldn’t really be that hardened, could he? Her heart twisted. This would be so much easier if she didn’t know what was behind the cynical attitude. If she didn’t care so much that he get what he longed for.
A memory flashed into her mind. Miz Callie, comforting her in the midst of some teenage crisis of the heart.
I love him, she’d wailed. Miz Callie’s reply had contained a world of wisdom. Then you’ll want him to have his heart’s desire, child. That’s what loving is, even when it hurts.
His taut posture eased a little, as if her silence meant the battle was won.
“What about C.J.?” If she couldn’t fight him for herself, she could for someone else.
“What about her?”
“She found out. She’s left.”
Something flickered in his eyes at that. He hadn’t known, and it mattered to him. She leaned toward him, hands on the edge of his desk, pressing the point home.
“This isn’t just some faceless person you’re throwing under the bus for the sake of a story. This is C.J. This internship was supposed to help her, not make her life more difficult. Surely there’s a way to write a story with an impact that doesn’t hurt her.”
For a moment the silence stretched between them, his gaze fixed on her face. Then…
“You write it,” he said abruptly.
“What?” She stepped back, not sure what he meant.
“You work with Jim. You do the human interest aspect of the story. Get it from C.J. or get it from someone else, but get it.”
It was a challenge. Did he think she couldn’t rise to it? If so, he’d be disappointed.
She tried not to let satisfaction tinge her smi
le or her voice.
“Thank you, Ross. I won’t disappoint you.”
To her surprise, his lips twitched slightly. “You madden, annoy, bemuse and surprise me, Amanda. But you never disappoint.”
Before she could respond, he’d turned back to his computer, giving her a chance to get out of his office, hoping he hadn’t noticed the stunned look on her face at his words.
Chapter Ten
Tradition had it that Charleston’s Market had been on the same spot for a couple of centuries. Amanda didn’t find that hard to believe as she stepped into the welcome shade under the roof that stretched along the aptly named Market Street almost to the old Customs House. Under its shelter, folks sold just about everything imaginable, with the emphasis on goods that would attract the tourists that flooded the historic district.
Amanda made her way along the crowded aisle, nodding to a few of the sweetgrass basket weavers she’d interviewed over the past couple of months for the story that might never see the light of day. And speaking of stories that might fail, she was here to find a way of convincing C.J. and her grandmother to cooperate.
If they didn’t get on board with the story, she’d have to find someone else who would, and the clock was ticking. She couldn’t kid herself that Ross would hold the article for her.
So she’d do this because she had to, and she’d show Ross in the process that it wasn’t necessary to sacrifice someone for the sake of a story.
He should know that. He’d been the one sacrificed himself. Somehow that had only made him more determined to get back on top. Her heart twisted a little at the thought.
Please, Lord… She stopped, not even sure how to pray in this situation. I want what’s best for Ross. And for C.J. and her grandmother. Please show me what that is. Amen.
She stepped into a band of sunlight where the roofs didn’t quite meet, and then back into the shadows again. There, right in front of her, was another sweetgrass basket stand. C.J.’s grandmother sat weaving, her gaze moving over the people who passed by. When she came to Amanda, she made no sign of recognition at all.
C.J., manning the counter, hadn’t mastered that impassive stare. Her brows lowered, her mouth tightened. If she’d had something in her hands, she just might have thrown it.
“C.J.—”
“Forget it. I got nothin’ to say to you.”
Amanda hesitated, her throat tight. “I think you have a lot that you’d like to say to me. You’re angry.”
“You just bet I’m angry.” C.J.’s hands gripped the rough edge of the wooden counter on which the baskets were displayed. “You acted like you were my friend. But you just wanted to use me for a stupid article in the paper.” Her lips twisted. “Your big chance to write somethin’ besides dog shows, wasn’t it?”
That hit too close to home. Hadn’t that been in her mind the evening she’d gone to C.J.’s apartment?
“I wanted to write something more important. You know that. But not at the cost of hurting you.” She pressed her fingers against the counter, willing C.J. to listen. To understand. “I only mentioned the situation to Mr. Lockhart because I thought the paper might help you.”
“Fat lotta help that’s going to be, when he prints our names and the landlord comes down on us for telling you. How’s it help us when we’re out on the street? Like my grandma says, none of the neighbors are fool enough to stick their necks out and talk to you.”
“It’s not just a question of you and your neighbors,” Amanda said. The grandmother was listening, even if she made no sign of it. This argument was for her, as well as C.J. “We looked into Mr. Hardy’s business dealings. He owns a number of buildings in your area, and he handles them all in the same way. There are a lot of people besides you and your grandmother hurting because of that man, and he gets away with it because everyone’s afraid to complain.”
C.J. looked taken aback at that, but then she shook her head. “Well, go get some of them to be in your story, and leave us alone.”
“I could.” Maybe, if I had the time. “But you’re the one my attorney friend offered to help. And I want to do the story about you, because I believed you’re a fighter. Maybe I was wrong.”
“Don’t you say that.” C.J.’s grandmother rose, dropping the half-made basket onto her worktable. She held her head as proudly as if it bore a crown. “This grandchild of mine sure enough is a fighter.”
“Leave it be, Gran.” C.J. took her arm, urging her back to her seat. “We’re better off not having anything to do with her. You were right.”
Mrs. Carrey shook her off. “Why?” she demanded.
“Why you giving in so easy on this? You were all het up about it before I talked you out of it.”
“For you.” C.J. put her arm gently around the older woman. “You took care of me all these years. Now’s my turn to take care of you.”
The woman reached up slowly, laying a worn, wrinkled hand on C.J.’s smooth cheek. She shook her head, tears gleaming suddenly in her eyes. Without looking at Amanda, she spoke.
“Miz Bodine, your grandmamma is a strong woman, I know.”
Amanda thought of Miz Callie, determined to brave the disapproval of her entire community in order to right a decades-old wrong. Tears filled her eyes. “Yes, ma’am, she is a strong woman.”
The woman nodded slowly. She patted C.J.’s cheek. “That’s what I want this grandchild of mine to think about me.”
“Gran, I do,” C.J. protested. “You’re the bravest woman I ever knew. I just think you shouldn’t have to fight anymore.”
Mrs. Carrey looked over C.J.’s shoulder to meet Amanda’s gaze. “This child’s something special, you know that? She’s the only one of the family who has the brains and the gumption to make something of herself, and here I was, telling her to be afraid. Not to fight. I’m ashamed of myself.”
“But Gran…”
“No buts.” She gave C.J. a smile so full of love that it took Amanda’s breath away. “We aren’t quitters. We’re fighters. We’ll show that t’ief something.” She shot a glance at Amanda. “You know what t’ief means?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.” She couldn’t help the grin that spread over her face. The Gullah expression she’d applied to Mr. Hardy was only too appropriate. A thief.
“Well, that’s what he is, and I guess your story is gonna show that to the world.” She shoved the counter to make room for Amanda to squeeze through. “You come back here and let’s get started.”
Amanda rinsed dinner plates that evening while Miz Callie cut generous slices of pecan pie for dessert. Miz Callie’s shrimp feast had been a small party by Bodine family standards. She’d invited only Hugh, Win, Adam and Georgia, along with Georgia’s fiancé, Matt, and his little girl. And Ross.
Amanda stacked the plates and turned to her grandmother. “So, Miz Callie, you want to tell me why you invited Ross to this particular little group?”
“Well, now, I just thought it’d be a bit easier to get acquainted without the whole kit and caboodle of Bodines here tonight. So I invited the ones I thought he’d enjoy getting together with.”
Amanda leaned against the counter, surveying her grandmother. Something about that innocent blue-eyed gaze made her suspicious. “Are you sure that’s all?”
Miz Callie’s lips twitched. “Well, I did notice a little bit of tension between him and your daddy, so I thought we’d do without your folks tonight. I always thought Brett would take on at the idea of his baby girls getting serious about anybody.”
Her cheeks warmed. “We’re not…I mean I don’t think…”
Might as well give up on that sentence. She didn’t think her romantic attachment, or lack of one, had anything to do with Daddy’s attitude, but maybe it was better not to trouble Miz Callie with that.
Her grandmother gave her a probing stare. “Is that what has you so distracted tonight, child?”
Distracted? Who, her? She’d fully expected Ross to make some excuse to get out of this dinner tonight, given
how exasperating he seemed to find her lately. But there he was, sitting next to her through dinner, his arm brushing hers each time he moved, sending her senses shivering.
“I’m not distracted. Well, I guess I’m a little worried.”
“About what?” Miz Callie paused in the act of putting pie on a tray, apparently ready to keep everyone waiting for their dessert to hear what troubled her.
“I’m just…” She tried to frame her worries in a coherent way. Her concerns about C.J. and her grandmother, her worries about the unaccountable animosity between Daddy and Ross…maybe they all amounted to the same kind of fear.
“I’m worried about whether I’m doing the right thing in a couple of situations,” she said finally. That pretty much covered it.
“Have you prayed about this?” That would always be Miz Callie’s first response to trouble.
“Yes. But probably not enough.”
Miz Callie smiled. “You know perfectly well, Manda, that you rush right into doing things because they’re good, and that’s a beautiful quality. But maybe you need to take time to find out if they’re the good things God has in mind for you.”
That was a complicated and sobering thought. Caring about Ross was good, but was it good for her? She didn’t know.
“Sometimes it’s hard to know what God’s plan is, even when I’m trying to pay attention.”
“I know what you mean.” Miz Callie patted her cheek, and she flashed back to C.J.’s grandmother doing the same thing to her. “I find the more I’m trying to steep myself in prayer and God’s word, the easier it is to see what’s right. Just wait and trust.”
“I’ll try.” She blinked back tears. “Thank you, Miz Callie. You’re a wise woman.” If she and C.J. turned out half as well as their grandmothers, they’d be doing fine.
“Go on with you.” Miz Callie waved away the compliment. “You take that coffee in before they think we’ve forgotten them.”
But when she got into the dining room with the coffee service, no one seemed to be missing her. Instead, they were grouped around Ross, looking at some papers on the table in front of him.