Secrets in a Small Town Read online

  “You were a vegetarian?”

  “Yeah, my entire childhood. My parents still think I am,” she added with a slightly guilty tone. “But I found I love meat and I don’t like tofu. I despise it, actually, and I have to choke it down every time I visit my parents.”

  “Why don’t you just tell them? You’re an adult. I’m sure they’d respect your choice.”

  “No, they wouldn’t. They’d lecture me on inhumane slaughtering techniques and constantly remind me that I’m eating something that once had a face. You have no idea how that can kill your appetite.”

  He couldn’t imagine going without meat in his life. “That’s rough,” he acknowledged with a chuckle. “But I’m guessing there are worse secrets to have.”

  “Not in my family,” she muttered darkly, before returning the focus to him. “Nice try with the whole deflection technique. Kid gloves are coming off, Owen Garrett. It’s time for the hard questions.”

  Owen pulled off the road and grinned. “Then I’m lucky that we’re here. You can wait in the truck or come with me, but you have to wear this if you step outside.” He grabbed a spare hard hat from his backseat and handed it to her. She eyed it with dismay, probably imagining the havoc it would wreak on her hair, but when she sensed he wasn’t going to relent on the topic, she placed it gingerly on her head. He smiled good-naturedly. “Excellent. Let’s go. I’ll show you what we’re doing.”

  SNEAKY MAN, SHE THOUGHT, tripping after him, her heels sinking in the soft, springy grass floor as they trudged up the mountain toward the sound of saws buzzing and men shouting above the din. She’d ended up sharing more than him and the whole point had been to get him to talk. She’d have to be more on her game. He wasn’t easily managed. She couldn’t just smile prettily and get him to gush all his secrets. She didn’t know why she thought it would be that easy. He wanted something for his information, as evidenced by his bargain. Within minutes, sweat trickled between the valley of her breasts and she was breathing heavily. “How much farther?” she asked, wobbling on her heels. “I didn’t exactly wear the right hiking attire, as you can see.”

  “Not far,” he assured her, holding out his hand as she nearly toppled over. She hesitated, but it seemed like good sense if she didn’t want to fall on her tush for the sake of her pride. She accepted his hand and swallowed a gasp as a wild, arcing thrill chased her nerve endings and ignited her senses in a totally unfortunate way. She swallowed and avoided his gaze, afraid she might see that he knew she’d had some kind of reaction to his touch. She needn’t have worried, though, he seemed focused on the climb and not on the fact that they were holding hands.

  They reached the top of the ridge and Owen pointed, saying, “There’s my crew. Right on schedule.” He noted her heavy breathing and he lifted a brow at her. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” she wheezed, holding her side. Traversing the uneven terrain was far more of a workout than the mountain-hike simulation on her treadmill, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Owen. “Like I said, I wasn’t prepared to go hiking today. I would’ve been more properly dressed if I’d known.” With that, she sent him a dark glower, clearly communicating that she knew he’d done this on purpose to put her off but he accepted her answer and, to her surprise, he started to explain what was going on. “You see over there, the timber fallers went through a few months ago and cut the trees that were marked by the forester; the skidder readies the timber for the helicopter, which is coming later this afternoon out of Oregon. That’s some precision work. If you’ve never seen heli-logging, you’re missing out. Did you know back in the day they used to haul the wood out using something called a steam donkey? I have an old black-and-white picture of one back at the office I could show you. Logging’s come a long way since the days of clear cutting.”

  “Which was outlawed in the Santa Cruz mountains in ’72,” she murmured, coaxing a begrudging smile from Owen with her knowledge. She knew what he was doing, trying to feed her positive PR on the logging industry. What he didn’t seem to realize was that she already knew how logging had changed and contrary to what he believed, she wasn’t the enemy. Besides, she had her eye on a bigger story than logging practices in the Santa Cruz mountains. “That’s all well and good but I’m not really here to talk about the logging industry,” she said.

  “You’re not?” He frowned in surprise. “What are you here to talk about, then?”

  She drew a deep breath, nervous excitement starting to build as she readied the speech she’d rehearsed earlier for this very moment. “Well, it seems—” she began, until his sudden motion halted her momentum.

  “Hold on a sec,” he said briefly, before grabbing the walkie-talkie she hadn’t noticed hanging on his belt loop. “Yeah, I’m here on site, up on the ridge,” he said to whoever was on the other end, likely his foreman. She couldn’t very well interrupt him, so she simply listened unabashedly as he gave orders and direction, answering questions and putting out proverbial fires and a smidge of respect blossomed for the man. He knew his job the way a master craftsman instinctively knew how to create magic with his tools. In her head, she heard her parents’ voices, ringing with distaste when his name or company was mentioned, and she couldn’t help the frown.

  “So how do you know so much about logging?” she asked when he’d ended his conversation, lured by curiosity that had nothing to do with the story she was working on and had everything to do with the growing kernel of unprofessional interest she felt.

  “I used to be a timber faller. I’ve logged forests all over the United States. I also knew I wouldn’t be able to fall trees for the rest of my life. Eventually, my body was going to give out, so I learned everything I could from the ground up.”

  Smart and in ridiculously good shape, she noted to herself. So why was he still single? Let’s face it, in a small town, pickings could be frightfully slim and when there was a bachelor like Owen Garrett on the market, there was likely to be plenty of hungry single women chasing after him. Yet, she hadn’t managed to unearth any old girlfriends she could question. Whoever he had dated in the past certainly wasn’t around Dayton, because by all accounts, the man was married to his job with little time for anything else.

  Owen returned his walkie-talkie to his belt loop and gestured for her to follow. “Where are we going now?” she asked, only just now able to breathe normally.

  “Somewhere that’s out of the fall zone and a little quieter.”

  That sounded promising, she thought, eagerly following after him. They emerged into a clearing with a tributary creek, swollen from the snow runoff, that fed its icy water to the lake. White two-eyed violets dotted the field with delicate starry false Solomon’s seal peeking among the lush overgrowth.

  “I found this spot while surveying the property for harvest last year,” he said by way of explanation. “Nice, huh?”

  It took her breath away. She smiled. “Very.”

  “Will this work for our little interview session?”

  Oh, yes. On impulse, she slid her camera from her shoulder and snapped a few pictures. “I think this will do,” she said, kicking off her heels with a groan as her protesting toes felt immediate relief from being freed. She settled on the soft meadow grass and tucked her feet demurely underneath her skirt before lifting the uncomfortable hard hat from her head and placing it beside her. She grinned at him and patted the ground beside her as she readied her notepad. “Shall we?”

  OWEN TOOK THE SPOT OFFERED and then questioned his good judgment for bringing her along to his private spot. The drowsing warmth of the sun made him want to stretch out and catch a few Z’s seeing as he didn’t sleep worth a damn last night but he remained upright and instead grabbed a blade of grass to chew. “So what do you want to know?” he asked, noting for the first time the tiny freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose like fairy footprints. Well, he already knew she was cute, but he wanted to grumble to himself for noticing that small detail. No sense in belaboring the point. He glanced
at his watch. “Better hurry. We only have an hour or so before I have to get back to town to pick up Quinn and check on Gretchen.”

  At the mention of Gretchen, Piper’s expression sobered and she seemed to move quickly into reporter mode. Pen poised and ready, she moistened her lips before beginning, and the small inconsequential movement dried the spit in his mouth and caused him to ask, “Are you married or something? I mean, do you have a guy waiting for you somewhere?” She startled at his sudden change in direction from business to personal and he could tell it had rattled her, probably more than she would’ve been comfortable with him knowing. That was okay, he was more ridiculously drawn to the chocolate sheen of her hair than appropriately on guard from her questioning and that made him uncomfortable. However, he sensed a chink in her armor and he wasn’t above taking advantage of the unexpected benefit.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug, enjoying throwing a curveball her way just to see how she handled it.

  “You’re the kind of woman who always has someone on the hook.”

  She stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Come on now…you’re certainly not blind. I’m not going to pretend to be, either.” Hell, he was playing a dangerous game. His groin tightened as if to prove the point but he liked getting her all riled up. He figured, turnabout was fair play after all the sleepless nights she’d given him with her coverage in the past few weeks. The way he saw it, payback was coming. He just hadn’t imagined that she’d offer up the opportunity so easily.

  “I…” She stopped, consternation in the purse of her lush, totally kissable lips, and he almost let her off the hook, but she answered staunchly, “Do not have time for romantic attachments right now.” She slewed her gaze his way. “I’m sure that’s something you can understand, given the all-consuming nature of your profession.”

  “True. But I make time to go out now and then,” he lied through his teeth. The last time he’d been on a true date, the presidential administration had been different. The truth, in this matter, was inconsequential and it didn’t bother him one iota that he was purposefully goading her into sharing personal information about herself.

  “If you’re doing this to catch me off guard, it won’t work. I’m a professional, not some easily flattered intern. Good try, though,” she retorted, though Owen caught a subtle softness to her voice that belied the harshness of her words.

  He chuckled. “You give me too much credit. Fine, have it your way, then. One more question, though…”

  “I think we should get back on topic,” she disagreed, her wary gaze contradicting the tentative touch of her tongue against her lips as she tried to regain control of the conversation. Wasn’t she aware of how seductive that one little gesture was? Perhaps. Perhaps not. He didn’t know her well enough to know if she were doing it for effect or innocently. Either way, it fired his blood in the worst way.

  “Where’s the harm in answering one question? You seem to know everything there is to know about me….”

  “Not everything,” she admitted with a small shrug. “I wouldn’t be sitting here with you if I knew everything I wanted to know.” When he conceded her point, she seemed to give a little. “All right. One question and then we’re back on topic, if you please,” she grudgingly said, raising her index finger to add in warning, “Just one.”

  “Why no time for dating? You look a little young to be married to your work.” Speaking of…how old was she? He knew he was older, but he’d never been a good judge of those things. These days, a guy had to check driver’s licenses before committing to a date with a woman for fear of breaking the law with some precocious teen who looked more womanly than was prudent around hot-blooded men. He eyed Piper, trying to guess her age in spite of his terrible skills in that department, then gave up and asked plainly, “How old are you?”

  She offered a small, playful smile. “Afraid you’re here with an underaged girl pretending to be an adult?” she asked sweetly, seeming to enjoy that she’d zeroed in on his thoughts exactly.

  “Maybe,” he allowed gruffly. “So?”

  “Do I look like a teenager?”

  He did a quick perusal, trying not to let his gaze feast on her pert breasts, which he was fairly certain would fit perfectly in his palm and his mouth, and looked away. “No,” he said, adding tightly, “heaven help me if you are.”

  She laughed, the sound tripping down his spine and pooling in his groin as she assured him she was not a teenager. “I’m ten years younger than you but no kid. Rest easy. You look about ready to pass out.”

  He released a shaky breath but smiled. She’d turned the tables on him so quickly, he hadn’t seen it coming. He straightened and tossed the grass he’d chewed to shreds. “You never answered my question…why don’t you date?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. I don’t see the point. Or, well, it’s just that I’m very driven and I have goals that may collide with personal attachments.”

  “What kind of goals?” he asked.

  She met his stare without an ounce of jocularity as she said, “The Pulitzer.”

  “Lofty,” he murmured. “And a boyfriend might prevent you from attaining it?”

  “One might,” she allowed. “When you’re in a relationship, your head gets muddied with emotion. I’ve seen too many women give up their dreams for the sake of a relationship and I don’t want the complication. Or the drama. Like I said, I’m focused.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “Right. So back to the interview. Tell me how—”

  “So, if you don’t casually date, as you put it, and you don’t date seriously…how do you…get any…quality time with anyone?” he asked, amused by the sudden blush staining her cheeks as his meaning sunk in. He found her reaction interesting, given her background.

  He half-expected her to tell him to mind his own business, which she probably should’ve anyway. Hell, he’d pretty much told her the very same thing in the truck on the way over here but she surprised him with an answer. “I don’t—I haven’t— What I mean to say is— Well, I don’t worry about those things because I don’t know what I’m missing. And I prefer it that way. Keeps me focused.”

  His jaw went slack. Had she just admitted she was a virgin?

  His stunned silence caused her to add defensively, “I’m proud of my virginity. It sets me apart from those around me and I’m glad. I don’t have to worry about an unwanted pregnancy, STDs or emotional baggage.” She became flustered as if just realizing she was sharing more than she’d intended and she huffed a short breath, determination in the set of her jaw. “We’ve wasted too much time talking about unprofessional things. Let’s return to the topic at hand, please,” she instructed in a strident tone that may have been bitchy if not for the high patches of pink riding her cheeks that transformed her from cute to radiant beauty in an instant.

  Untouched. The word and its meaning floated through his mind and he startled at how much it turned his crank. He’d never been that guy, crowing and beating his chest at the idea of breaking in a virgin, but when he looked at Piper the idea gave him an odd, almost frightening sensation in his chest.

  “Owen?”

  Her questioning tone brought him back to the moment and he gestured for her to continue. “I’m just waiting on you,” he bluffed, hoping she didn’t see right through him.

  “Here’s the thing, originally I’d thought I would try to win you over into my confidence but I’ve since learned that you aren’t the kind of man who can be easily cajoled into giving out anything you’re not prepared to give, so I’m going to be straight with you.”

  Warm, lusty feelings evaporating, Owen regarded her shrewdly, awaiting her true intention. His initial gut instinct had been right. “I’m listening,” he said by way of encouragement.

  She hesitated a fraction but plunged forward, admitting, “I’m doing research into the Red Meadows incident and I would love to hear your side
of things.”

  He pulled away, feeling as if she’d punched him upside the head. Why couldn’t people just let it go? What was with the fascination with his own personal tragedy? He climbed to his feet. “Check the newspaper archive. I’m sure you can find plenty of information there.”

  She followed, not bothering to put her shoes back on. “I’ve read all the newspaper clippings. I’ve read everything in the local paper and even in the regional newspapers but I need to hear it from you, someone who lived through it.”

  “I was just a kid,” he answered flatly. “My memory is hardly reliable. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “I hope you’re wrong about that,” she said. “You weren’t too small to remember the details, Owen. My guess is you remember everything quite well, which is why you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Nice theory, even if it’s wrong.”

  He’d hoped that was the end of it, but she wasn’t ready to give up. Her tenacity might’ve been impressive if it weren’t being directed at him. He tried to start walking, signaling the end to their idyllic pit stop but she swung around in front of him, her hand on his chest. “Wait,” she pleaded, her gaze searching his. “I think I have something you’re going to want to know.”

  “Oh? And what could that be?” he asked. She held his stare, not backing down an inch. “Come on, out with it,” he demanded, ready to be finished with the interview.