Above the Fold

by Rachel Scott McDaniel

  Father leaned back, his chin so low it appeared like it was glued to the knot of his crooked tie. “Let’s not forget the commitment to you. A tender heart was broken.”

  “He didn’t care about me. I was the pawn he used to gain your favor. So he could better himself.” He’d climbed the journalism ladder, but for years Elissa had hoped he’d trip on one of the slippery rungs. “The only love he had was for himself.” She glanced at her shaking hands and curled them into fists, her fingernails biting her palms. Cole shouldn’t have any influence on her emotions. She’d spent her last tear over him and wasn’t about to peel the scab from the wound.

  “He loved you, Lissie.”

  A bitter laugh escaped. “If that’s love, then it belongs in the funny papers.”

  “We need him.” He leaned forward and slid a folder her direction, its corner catching on his sleeve.

  “What’s this?” She opened it, red numbers staring back. Large numbers. “Eight thousand dollars?”

  The crease in his brow deepened. “That’s the remainder of the amount I need to pay off.”

  “What?” The scripted letterhead announced the judgment. “‘Harper’s Trust and Loan.’ You took out a loan?” She’d known key advertisers had withdrawn their backing and sales had been down, but this?

  Father bounced a thick knuckle against his chin. “We’ve been spending more than we’ve been bringing in. Things escalated quickly.” He gathered the folder along with a few other papers and stood. “If we don’t generate more sales, then … we’ll have to sell.”

  Sell the Review.

  Her heart forgot to beat, and a shiver stole through her. “No.”

  The paper was all she had left. What she’d poured her soul into. The selling of the Review meant the death of her dreams. Why couldn’t she keep one thing she loved? Why must everything be ripped from her fingers?

  “That’s why we need Cole. As much as you hate to admit it, he’s a big-time journalist. One who’s not only been the New York Dispatch’s golden boy but also syndicated across the country. People will notice, and hopefully, sales will kick up. I already had an advertiser call and renew their contract after they saw Cole’s name on a byline.”

  “But can’t we do something else?” Desperation pierced her numbed senses. “Cancel the gala tonight.” She stood as though her heels hitting the planked floor sealed her declaration.

  He stared at her as if she’d asked him to use his own blood as ink for the press. But why pay for a lavish party when there was a threat to shut down for good?

  “The few pennies saved by cancelling the celebration wouldn’t accomplish much. We need steady inflow.”

  “But we ordered the ballroom downtown, decorators, an orchestra. What about the din—”

  Her father raised a callused palm. “The gala is on for tonight. The employees look forward to it every year.”

  Her shoulders crumbled, and she placed a hand on his desk for support. “They’d understand.” Most of them would, at least. The ones with families to feed and shelter.

  He reached over and gently squeezed her elbow, pain surrounding his pale blue eyes. “Sorry, Lissie, but I won’t do that to the staff. They work too hard. God will help. He’s never left us hungry, and I don’t think He’ll start now. We have to trust.”

  A peace settled inside. God had always been faithful when humans hadn’t.

  “I’m sorry for not talking to you first about Cole. Do you forgive me?” The marked humility in his voice and traces of regret in his eyes made refusal impossible.

  She’d never faced the pressure of running a newspaper that’d been distributed for over sixty years. There had to be a way to rescue it. She and her family had put too much of themselves into this operation to have it be sold. “Yes, all forgiven. But next time, please put Mr. Parker’s desk in the janitorial closet.”

  “You still addressing Cole by his surname?” Her father chuckled. “I bet that grates him.”

  Which was exactly why she’d continue to do so.

  “You know, since you’re spreading forgiveness around, maybe Cole should be your next candidate.”

  The awkward silence answered for her. Never.

  Her father shook his head. “Sketchy thing about resentment, the more you feed it to keep it alive, the more it devours you.” He ran a hand along his desk until his fingers landed on the Bible he kept by the lamp. “I work with words every day, but in the end, only His Word matters.” He smiled, looking younger than his fifty-eight years. “God delights in mercy.”

  So what was he saying? She should be merciful to Cole? Conviction skated on the slippery edge of her resolve. Offering forgiveness to Cole would mean opening up to him again, a dangerous feat. Her heart balked at the thought.

  “Almost eleven, kiddo. Aren’t you expected at your other work?”

  She wrapped her fingers around the doorknob, uncertainty marking her movements. “Yes, but I don’t think I’ll be needed much longer.” Though she’d embrace any reason to leave the newsroom and Cole’s presence. She pressed a kiss to her father’s weathered cheek. “See you tonight.”

  Elissa wasn’t sure how much of her other work could be accomplished before having to leave to prepare for the gala, but one thing secured her resolve—she’d not be the one who broke a promise. Drawing in a calming breath, she set off to Mrs. Parker’s.

  CHAPTER 5

  A muffled thwack resounded from the backyard of Cole’s mother’s apartment complex, triggering his alertness. Was the intruder trying to break in again? He hurdled the picket fence, sprinting toward the noise. Several hall rugs were draped over the clothesline, and stocking-clad legs were visible below the tremoring foyer runner. His pulse slowed. Nothing out of place.

  He wasn’t keen on the idea of Mom being outside in the cold, especially when the low, gray skies threatened snow. He’d put the classified for a housekeeper in tomorrow’s afternoon edition. No more stalling.

  Cole unbuttoned his coat and tugged his tie knot, thankful he’d turned his article in early so he could help with whatever needed doing before the gala tonight.

  Soft humming floated on the brisk air. Definitely not Helen Parker. Curiosity forced his feet into motion toward the mystery rug assaulter. A flash of blonde hair froze his steps.

  Elissa.

  Why was she here? And wielding an old broomstick like Max Carey at Forbes Field? A smile overtook his mouth. This was a picture he wanted branded into his memory. This image spoke of a girl he’d once known before sophistication had gobbled her up. Attired in a faded dress, petite Elissa swung away while humming “You Call Everyone Sweetheart.”

  Cole inched toward her, drawn by her carefree movements and glowing complexion.

  She took another shot at the rug, expelling a veil of dust.

  He closed in. “I’ve only called you that.”

  She shrieked and turned, the broom handle whacking him in the side of the head, his hat falling to the ground. He doubled over, eyes stinging and vision blurring.

  “Oh, goodness.” Slender fingers clutched his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

  He sucked air through his teeth. “Nope. Just admiring the dead grass.” And as soon as his ears stopped ringing, he’d lift his head.

  “Let me see how bad it is.” Her breath feathered against his temple, and the gentle pads of her fingertips stroked his hair. “You’re not bleeding, but there’s a raised, tender area. Right here.” She skimmed the spot above his ear.

  He pushed his palm against his eyes, hoping the pressure would alleviate the throbbing ache.

  “I’m sorry, Cole. You frightened me.”

  He’d be beaten senseless any hour of the week to earn the compassion saturating her voice. The soft lull drew him to full height, his composure stabilizing with each passing second. Her radiant complexion, the natural pout of her lips, the pencil-thin brows that raised and dipped with her words swelled his interest. Yet what held his breath captive in his chest were her eyes, a deeper hu
e of blue lingering behind unshed tears. “Elissa. I’m okay.” For the most part.

  A heavy exhale lowered her shoulders. “I thought … you were at the office.” If her bottom lip quivered anymore, he’d be obliged to soothe it with his.

  Should he mention she’d referred to him by his given name? Better not. If he didn’t draw attention to it, maybe she’d continue. After five days of enduring her stiff addresses, his fortitude could stand a break. He snatched his hat from the ground, brushed it clean, and carefully placed it on his head with a crooked smile, mindful of his injury. “You didn’t have to.”

  “To what?” She talked to his collar.

  “I wanted someone to assist my mother, but I didn’t expect it to be you.”

  Her chin snapped up, her features tightening. “You think because you told me your mother needed help, I bowed to your request and scurried over here?”

  He slacked his hip against the clothesline post and folded his arms. “Hey, if you want the job, I’d like to conduct a proper interview. How about dinner tomorrow?”

  She shoved her hands on her hips, her eyes slits of ice. “I’ve never met a more infuriating man.”

  His grin stretched wider. “I didn’t think you needed the money, but I’ll pay you for what—” He held up a hand, and she batted it down. “Stop, Elissa. Every laborer is worthy of wages.” Laughter rolled in his chest as he reached for his money.

  “So you’re going to pay me for five years’ worth?”

  His fingers fumbled his billfold. “Five?” Her words staggered into his heart and regained footing. “You’ve been coming here the entire time I was gone?”

  “Yes.” She stooped and picked the broom handle off the ground, chewing her bottom lip. Was she embarrassed he knew her secret or fuming at the reminder of his absence? Or both?

  A biting breeze curled lazy snowflakes around them, but warmth flooded Cole. Even when he’d hurt her, abandoned her, she had looked after his mother. Could she be more endearing? But distrust glazed her eyes thicker than the ice patches on the sidewalk.

  “I had no idea.” He traced a seam on the rug hanging beside him. If he didn’t keep his fingers busy, they’d most likely reach for her. And she wasn’t open to that. Might never be. “Mom never said a word.”

  She shrugged. “I asked her not to.” Her hand was shaking. Or was she shivering?

  Shouldn’t he have noticed the way she rubbed her hands over the thin fabric of her soiled dress? Or the quick spurts of breath tugging her shoulders forward? Fine gentleman he was. “Where’s your coat?” He asked even while shrugging off his own.

  “Inside. I didn’t want to get it dirty.”

  “So you’d rather get ill? Smart.” He wrapped the wool coat around her slender shoulders, surprised she accepted the gesture.

  A small smirk tipped her lips, but not enough to satisfy him in his pursuit of an all-out, nose-crinkling grin.

  “I was only going to be out here for a couple minutes. But you distracted me.”

  “Now we’re even.” He latched his gaze on hers. “You’ve distracted me since the moment I saw you at the courthouse.”

  Her soft expression turned rigid. Swirling around, she pulled a smaller runner off the line and hung it over her arm. Golden tendrils of hair escaped from her scarf, falling across her jaw, reminding him of earlier days when her locks had been short, and he had coursed his hands through them. He’d favored that style on her. His Spark.

  “I meant what I said right before you nailed me with the broomstick.”

  “Didn’t catch it.” With her free arm, she reached for another rug, but Cole stepped in front of her, catching her hand.

  She jerked her fingers from his, disgust flooding her eyes as if she’d touched a snake.

  “I said, I only called you that.” The weight of the runner on her arm pulled the jacket collar off her shoulder. He adjusted it for her, catching the way her frame stiffened beneath his fingertips. “You were humming ‘You Call Everyone Sweetheart.’ Truth is, the only woman I ever called sweetheart … was you.”

  Elissa blinked, willing herself to harden against the words squeezing her chest. Yes, he’d called her sweetheart. Her ears almost tingled from the memory of the soothing timbre of his voice when he’d spoken it after their first kiss.

  A snowflake landed on her cheek, the chilled prick shoving her back to reality. “You don’t expect me to believe that.”

  Of course, he’d had sweethearts. What about the rumors of him and that silent-film glamour girl? She bit the inside of her cheek. How many times had she come close to knocking the cozy picture of him and Kathleen Stigert off his mother’s wall with the feather duster? The woman had fame, fortune, and more curves than the Monongahela. Not to mention, a natural poise that poked Elissa’s jealousy.

  He exhaled, the vapor from his breath as hazy as the emotion in his eyes. Was he frustrated? Hurt? And why did she care?

  “It’s the truth, whether you believe it or not. I’ve never forgotten—”

  “Don’t.” She tossed the rug back on the line with the others and jerked out of his finely cut overcoat. The earthy scent of vetiver and sandalwood charged the snow-ridden air. What did he do, wash his coat in his expensive—no doubt, foreign—cologne? “Spare me one of your signature speeches.” She shoved the jacket into his hands. “I’ve scratched below the gilded surface of your words and found them cheap and flimsy. Spoken by a man with more ego than integrity.”

  She ducked under the clothesline and walked as fast as her frozen limbs would carry her. Forget the rugs. She’d come back later for them. If at all. Mrs. Parker would understand. The woman had her son back, and—

  Her shoes were no match for the icy walk. With her feet sliding forward, the rest of her stumbled backward into … his arms.

  “I got you.” His breath pulsed in her ear.

  She slid her eyes shut, collecting herself, ignoring the broad chest pressed to her back. Trying to ignore. With masculine delicacy, he set her onto her feet. The cold air burned her lungs. “Thank you.” Polite, calm, and perhaps the greatest bit of acting she’d ever performed because her insides hummed with chaos, embarrassment, and a terrible thing called attraction.

  He nodded, a tenderness dabbing his brown irises. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” She adjusted her sleeve and pulled together whatever was left of her composure. “I should be leaving now if I’m to look respectable for the gala tonight.” One glance beyond Cole revealed he’d left his jacket on the muddy, white-dotted ground. A prick of guilt stitched through her. He must’ve rushed after her as soon as she’d set her feet in motion. “Please relay to your mother I’ve left.”

  “May I see you home?”

  Her back molars ached from clenching her jaw, but she’d yank out her bicuspids before she’d let Cole see her teeth chattering. When she felt confident her lips weren’t frozen together, she answered. “No. I’ll take a shortcut through Wadsworth Avenue.”

  A deep groove set between his brows, and he dipped his head. “That’s not a shortcut. It’s the back way. Take the cable car, and you’ll get home sooner.”

  Which she knew. But confessing would mean she’d have to admit she traveled the back streets to avoid anyone seeing her filthy and dressed shabbily. She studied the cracks in the mortar behind Cole’s head. It was bad enough for him to see her this way. While he’d never call her that name she’d once been taunted with, he knew the pain involved with “Shadyside Slob.” She cringed at the thought.

  “What I want to know is how you do that.”

  She slid her gaze to him. “Do what?”

  “That.” He made a circular motion around her face. “You hold your head perfectly still. Don’t you ever get a crick in your neck?”

  She threw propriety aside for a costly second and rolled her eyes. “I need to leave.”

  “Wait.” His massive palm cupped her shoulder, his expression turning serious. “What about tonight? Can I escort you to the gala?” W
armth seeped from his touch, his tone, threatening to melt her defenses.

  She shrugged, but his hand remained bonded to her. “Adam is taking me.”

  He brushed snow from her collar, a wry smile forming. “Do you call everyone sweetheart?”

  “Cole, I ought to slap you.” Her fingers itched with readiness, but she bunched them at her sides. “If you think you can march back into my life after being silent for years, you’re delusional. Nothing you say or do will change my opinion of you.”

  All smugness fled, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not the same man who left you at Union Station.”

  Her lungs iced over, her breaths shallow. That wretched day. “No, you’re worse. Because then you trampled my heart, and now that it’s whole again, you return and hassle me. Do you want to destroy it? Is that your intention?” Her breath puffed between them. “There’s one thing you haven’t considered. This time, I won’t let you do it.” She spun on the balls of her feet, conscious of the icy ruts in the walkway. He called her name twice, and for once, it was nice being the one who walked away.

  Frost etched a web of crystal lace on Elissa’s bedroom window. She ran her thumb along the inside of the glass, taking in the slight chill with a sigh. At least the rest of her was warm now. After her extended moments outside with Cole, she’d feared her marrow had frozen in her bones. She released a breath, fogging the pane before her. Cole’s face when she’d confessed her service to his mother feathered her thoughts. His eyes had widened and then flooded with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher—something between shock and admiration. And why had her breath flitted in her chest at his appraisal? Traitorous.

  “You’re wearing that tonight, dear?” Elissa’s mother stood in the bedroom doorway, a grin brightening her face.

  Elissa pasted on a smile. “No, my dressing gown isn’t what I’d call formal. But you, Mother, look stunning.”