Secrets in a Small Town. Kimberly Meter Van

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СКАЧАТЬ with Ms. Sunday? Hell yes. He tried to school his face into some semblance of calm, but he couldn’t quite manage it. “I would love to speak with Ms. Sunday,” he said.

      Nancy picked up the phone. “Ms. Sunday, you have a gentleman up front to speak with you regarding a story you wrote in this week’s edition.” She returned the phone with a smile. “She’ll be right up. Would you like to sit and wait?”

      “It’d be my pleasure.” Except he didn’t sit, he stood, arms crossed and fuming. This morning he’d nearly choked on a chunk of his granola cereal when he’d read the lead story—Logger Proceeds With Flawed Harvesting Plan—printed with big, bold type running across the page and he’d quickly and suddenly lost his appetite as he’d spewed a litany of curse words that made his German shepherd, Timber, cock his head in confusion and then walk away to flop on his bed with a sad expression. Somehow he’d known they weren’t going for a walk after breakfast. Instead Owen had raced into town to deal with lying reporters, which was a waste of a perfectly gorgeous spring day in the Santa Cruz mountains. Yet another reason to want to strangle Ms. Sunday.

      He’d only spoken on the phone with her once and she’d taken everything he’d said completely out of context. So when she’d called again, he’d ignored her calls. Well, he’d mistakenly thought if he offered no comment, perhaps she’d find a different story to chase after, but this woman seemed to have an agenda and it was to ruin him. She’d run the story without the benefit of his involvement and it made him look like an evil bastard.

      A slim brunette, wearing soft, flowing, white linen pants walked into the foyer with a professional smile on her full lips. “I’m Piper Sunday. How may I help you?” she asked pleasantly.

      “You can help me by not slandering me and my company. You have balls of steel, woman.” He nearly amended the woman part when he noticed the white bow tied neatly in her hair. When she had little to no reaction, he introduced himself. “I’m the evil bastard you seem to enjoy vilifying in the press.”

      “Perhaps you could be more specific…”

      “Owen Garrett, owner of—”

      “Big Trees Logging,” she finished with a slow smile. “And the man who has an aversion to answering phone calls.”

      “You mean, an aversion to having my words twisted,” he countered. “The one interview I gave you turned into a mess in print.”

      “That’s your opinion.”

      “No, it’s fact. And I’m about to sue this newspaper for slander if I don’t get a retraction.”

      “First, if it’s anything, it would be libel, which it’s not. Second, you’d have to have a court order to get us to do a retraction. Out of curiosity, which part of the article did you take exception to?” she asked.

      “All of it.”

      “That would be a very long correction, if I were of a mind to offer it,” she said, crossing her arms. “And I’m not. Everything I wrote is true.”

      “I say it’s not.”

      “Well, we’re at an impasse. However, I would be happy to sit down with you for an exclusive interview for your rebuttal. I’m sure our readership would love to read your side of things.”

      Owen clenched his teeth. “I’m not kidding around here.”

      She held her ground. “Neither am I.”

      He caught the round-eyed stare of the receptionist as she enjoyed a front-row seat of their little drama and remembered himself. He was playing right into Ms. Sunday’s game by appearing every inch the bullying blowhard she practically accused him of being in her articles. He dialed back his temper but it tasted like bile going down. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” he said quietly, not trusting himself to continue.

      There was the tiniest frown that betrayed her surprise when he called her bluff but she didn’t try to placate him in order to make him change his mind. When she gave him a shrug as if to say “go for it,” he swallowed a snarl and stalked from the office.

      He didn’t even care if he slammed the door. And in fact, he took perverse pleasure in the hope that the sound rattled the windows and echoed throughout the small building.

      OH, BOY, WAS HE MAD. PIPER stifled a nervous giggle. “He has a temper, doesn’t he?” she remarked to Nancy.

      “Yes, he does. And you’ve riled him pretty good. You sure you want to do that? He just might sue us, and you know how that will upset Mr. Cook.”

      At the mention of the publisher, Piper shrugged but the kernel of nervousness remained. She couldn’t lose her job. She had big plans. Besides, Owen Garrett could holler all he wanted. It wasn’t going to change the fact that she’d done her due diligence on all of her articles on Big Trees Logging. She studied her fingernail and frowned at the hangnail she saw. She nibbled at the offending skin. “It’s not my fault that I write the stories that put people on the defensive,” she said to Nancy, though the receptionist had already returned to her work, which meant she wasn’t paying much attention to her. Piper exhaled and walked to her office where she’d been doing her research on the aging computer. A spinning rainbow greeted her on the monitor as the computer wheezed through her request without much success. “Damn archaic piece of junk,” she muttered, wondering whether if she gave it a whack like they do in the movies it would miraculously start working. Instead of bitch-slapping her hard drive like she wanted to, she sighed and shut it down so it could reboot.

      “Who wants your head this time?” a voice asked behind her. “It must suck to write the stories people love to hate.”

      She rolled her eyes before turning to face the owner of the annoyingly snarky tone. “Yes, and it must be tiring to have to be the one to write the stories nobody reads.”

      Charlie Yertz, the bane of Piper’s existence, pulled a nasty face but didn’t disappear as she’d hoped. Instead, he tilted his head and regarded her shrewdly, saying, “I think you have an agenda with that Big Trees guy.”

      She affected a bored expression. “An agenda? Pray tell.”

      “I don’t know yet but I’ll figure it out.”

      “You’ve been reading too many conspiracy-theory blogs,” she said, dismissing him and turning her attention to her slowly booting computer. But it was hard to seem absorbed with nothing showing on the screen, so she busied herself with tidying her space. When Charlie remained, she glared. “Can I help you?”

      “You’re ambitious,” he stated as if that were a revelation, which it wasn’t. Everyone knew Piper had big dreams of landing a Pulitzer someday.

      “Charlie, who knew you had such hard-core investigative skills. Now, go on, shoo. I have work to do.”

      “So smug. You didn’t let me finish. You’ve been going after Owen Garrett like a dog with a bone. I can understand one story on the logging hunk. But three? Care to share?”

      Charlie thought she had the hots for Owen. If it weren’t so ludicrous, she’d be offended. He was not her type. She preferred her men cultivated, civilized and sophisticated, not rough, big and completely disinterested in protecting the environment. Oh, lord, if she were ever to bring home someone like СКАЧАТЬ