Printer In Petticoats. Lynna Banning

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      “Cold out this morning,” Cole said amiably.

      “Very.” Jess fiddled with her napkin, refolded it into a square, then shook it out and folded it again. “Very well, how do you spell larcenous?”

      “Hell, I don’t know. Got your attention, though, didn’t it?”

      She bit her lip. “It most certainly did. Are you always so underhanded?”

      “Nope. Hardly ever, in fact.”

      “Only with me, is that it?”

      Cole leaned across the table toward her and lowered his voice. “Jessamine, if you don’t stop worrying your teeth into your lips like that, so help me I’m going to kiss you right here in front of everybody.”

      Her eyes rounded into two green moons. “I. Beg. Your. Pardon?”

      “You heard me. Stop biting your lips.”

      She turned the color of strawberry jam. “What business is it of yours what I do with my lips?”

      “None at all. But I’m only human, and I’m male, so stop it.”

      She tossed her napkin onto the table and started up, but he snaked out his hand and closed his fingers around her wrist.

      “Sit.” He gave a little tug and her knees gave way.

      “Now,” he said in a businesslike tone. “We’re gonna have a council of war, Miss Lassiter, so listen up.”

      She opened her mouth, then closed it with a little click, and he proceeded.

      “Some things are fair in journalistic jockeying, and some things are hitting below the belt. What you wrote about Conway Arbuckle is below the belt.”

      “What things?”

      He dragged her newspaper from inside his jacket pocket, spread it flat on the table and tapped his forefinger on her editorial. “That he’s larcenous. And that he’s a cheat. You shouldn’t sling mud around with accusations like that unless you can back them up with facts.”

      “What if I can back them up?”

      “I’m betting that you can’t.”

      “How would you know?”

      “Jessamine, you keep this up and Arbuckle will sue you for everything you’ve got.”

      Her face turned whiter than the tablecloth. She studied the teapot, her spoon, the squashed napkin that lay on the table between them. At last she looked up at him, and his heart flopped into his belly.

      Tears welled in her eyes. Big shiny tears that made him want to lick them off her cheeks.

      “When Miles...” She bit her trembling lip and Cole stifled a groan.

      “My brother was always the brainy one,” she said on a shaky breath. “We came from a long line of newspaper publishers, our great-grandfather in England, and our grandfather and father in Boston. Papa taught Miles everything, and I...well, I just tagged along because I was a girl. When Papa died we came out West to start over on our own, and then...then Miles was killed and I—I am doing my best to carry on the family tradition. “

      “And you’re doing fine, Jessamine. But you might, uh, ask Sheriff Jericho Silver what his law books say about defamation of character. And libel.”

      The color drained from her face. “L-libel? Miles never talked about libel.”

      “That’s probably what got your brother killed. Jessamine, exactly how much do you know about editing a newspaper?”

      She drew herself up so stiff he thought she’d pop the buttons off her red gingham shirtwaist. “I know enough,” she said in a tight voice.

      “Not hardly.” He tried to gentle his voice, but he was irritated. Damn fool woman. No doubt she’d stepped up to fill her brother’s shoes and take on the newspaper, and he had to admire her for that, but wanting and succeeding were two different things. Doing it badly could get her killed.

      “There are rules,” he said. “Good journalists don’t go off half-cocked, and good journalists don’t sling accusations around without hard facts to back them up.”

      “Oh.” She sounded contrite, but her eyes were blazing. “Exactly why are you helping me, Cole? After all, we are competitors.”

      “You’re darn right, we are competitors. But look at it this way, Jess. We may be on opposite sides of the fence, but actually we’re helping each other. My subscriptions have nearly doubled. I’d wager your subscriptions are up, too. But if your newspaper goes under, there goes reader interest in the competition between my Lark and your Sentinel.”

      She gripped the handle of her teacup so tight he thought it might snap off. “I’ve sunk every last penny I have in the Sentinel,” she said in a shaky voice. “I cannot afford to fight a lawsuit.”

      “Then don’t. Get yourself a set of law books and start studying what’s libelous and what’s just legitimate criticism.”

      She opened her mouth to reply, but Rita interrupted. “Eggs and bacon, right?” She plopped down two loaded platters and stepped back. “You two aren’t gonna fight over breakfast, now, are you?”

      “Not this morning,” Cole said with a smile.

      “I guess not,” Jessamine said in a small voice. “Not when I’m this hungry.”

      Cole crunched up a strip of crispy bacon. “Hunger makes us good bedfellows.”

      She flushed scarlet and he suddenly realized how that might have sounded, but it was too late. Then with extreme care she upended her teacup and poured the hot liquid over his knuckles.

      While he mopped at his hand and swore, she calmly picked up her fork. “Bedfellows?” she said, her tone icy. “That remark is positively indecently suggestive. I should sue you.”

      Cole bit back a laugh. “Yeah, well, it just slipped out. But maybe you should think about it.”

      “Think about what?”

      Bedfellows, he almost blurted. “Libel,” he said instead.

      She pushed away from the table and stalked out, her behind twitching enticingly.

      * * *

      At the choir rehearsal that evening, Cole appeared with a bandage wrapped around his hand and an odd gleam in his blue eyes. Jess smothered a stab of regret over her impulsive act at breakfast and concentrated on not biting her lips.

      The director clapped her hands for attention, and the singers rose to begin their vocal warm-ups.

      “You’re dangerous, you know that?” he whispered when he and Jessamine stood side by side.

      “And you,” she murmured, “are insulting.”

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