This Just In... (Harlequin Superromance) Read online

  She tilted her head to look at him. Her long dark ponytail spilled across the bright white of her shirt. Noah wondered if the strands would feel as smooth as her skin looked. Probably. He told himself he wasn’t really interested, that he was merely indulging in idle speculation.

  “What can I do to convince you it’s a good idea?”

  Nothing. There was no convincing to be done here. This was a simple question and response, and his response would be the same every time: no. “I really need to run.” Noah held out his hand for the pastries. He had a staff meeting at the dealership and they’d be eagerly awaiting his arrival and the sweets.

  “Then let’s set a time and you can be on your way.”

  “Not today.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “Look, I’m not planning to write some hard-hitting exposé. Just a couple of softball pieces on the mayoral candidates.”

  Noah would have liked to believe her. “Is that what you told Kyle and Marissa?”

  She jerked back. “Ouch.”

  Perhaps, but it was a fair question. He waited for her response.

  Her ponytail swished as she shook her head. “That was different.”

  “Different how?”

  “It just was.” He thought he glimpsed regret on Sabrina’s face, but then it was gone and she was back to watching him with those big green eyes. “Look, this is my first assignment for the paper. If you say no, Trish won’t give me another one. I’ll have to go back to pushing caffeine on the masses.”

  He glanced at the shop behind them. No one had worked up the nerve to follow them outside, but Noah knew it would only be a matter of time. Small towns. Where people thought they had a right to know everyone else’s business.

  “Please.” Sabrina’s voice drew him back. “It’s important.”

  Noah looked at the downward tilt to her eyes. She really did think it was important. Either that or she was a hell of an actress. He inhaled another lungful of cold air. Her point that it might look bad for him if only Pete’s interview ran was valid. But wouldn’t it be worse if she wrote a less than flattering portrayal of him?

  Yes. Unequivocally and undeniably.

  She appeared to think his silence meant he was considering her offer. Her face brightened. “I promise not to tell any of your deep dark secrets.”

  Which only reminded him again of how she’d already done that to his family. Fool him once, shame on her. Fool him twice...

  “I don’t have any deep dark secrets.” There were no secret babies, no hidden marriages, no arrests or youthful indiscretions. Just that his birth mother had died when he was an infant. That he and his father had moved to Wheaton when he was four and his dad had married Ellen. That when his dad had died a year later in a freak car accident, Ellen, with a brand-new baby to care for, had adopted Noah. Which everyone in town already knew.

  “Really? Doesn’t every politician need a deep dark secret or two?”

  “Not this one.” He kept his voice steady. Even as a teenager when most kids were out too late, stealing from their parents’ liquor cabinets or just testing boundaries, Noah had been a model son. He got good grades, worked hard to earn a hockey scholarship to a Michigan university and never stayed out past his curfew. And he hadn’t been that way only for his mother. He’d seen it as his chance to show the whole town that although he hadn’t been born within town limits, he was one of them.

  “Okay, but if you did—” Sabrina’s eyes caught his and held “—I wouldn’t write about it. I wouldn’t write anything that could be considered inappropriate.”

  He’d like to believe her, like to give her the benefit of the doubt, but he couldn’t. Not when there was so much at stake. An article that she might look at as something to entertain the readers could derail his political career. And then who would he be?

  Noah placed a hand on her arm, the one still holding his pastries hostage and tugged until they were between them. “I’ll think about it,” he told her as he plucked the box from her grip.

  She let the box go without a fight, but when he turned to leave, she caught his forearm. Her fingers felt warm through the material of his dress shirt. “Will you?”

  Her face was open and seemingly sincere. But Noah knew how easy it was to fake emotions for the camera or, in this case, the potential interviewee. “Yes.” He let her hand remain on his arm a moment longer then nodded. “Have a nice day, Sabrina.”

  “You, too, Mr. Mayor.”

  “It’s Noah.” He didn’t know why he said it. If she wanted to call him by his title, as so many in town did, he shouldn’t care. Didn’t care. He attempted to cover his verbal hiccup. “Most people call me Noah.”

  “I’m not most people.”

  She was standing only a couple of inches from him. The breeze caught her hair, tugged the strands toward him. They whispered across his cheek, just as soft as they looked. Noah exhaled slowly. “I’ve noticed.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  NOAH CLIMBED OUT of his car in the driveway that led to the attractive blue house with its white front door and beds of flowers lining the pathway up to the porch. The house wasn’t his.

  “Uncle Noah!” His only niece, Daisy, raced out the front door and into his arms. He switched the bag he was holding to his other arm and scooped her up, then swung her around until she shrieked.

  He’d needed some family time after this morning’s run-in with Sabrina. Not that anything bad had happened or would happen, but it had unsettled him. He carried Daisy up the stairs and back into the house.

  “Mommy, Mommy. Uncle Noah’s here.” Daisy wriggled to be let down.

  Noah sent her off with a pat and made his way to the kitchen where he could smell whatever Marissa was cooking for dinner. The scent made his mouth water and reminded him that other than the half scone he’d managed at the morning meeting, he’d had nothing but coffee today.

  “Uncle Noah’s here,” Daisy said again before darting out the kitchen door and into the backyard. The door slammed shut behind her.

  Marissa sighed and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Noah.” She came forward to give him a peck on the cheek. “To what do we owe the surprise?”

  “Just thought I’d drop in.” His stomach grumbled, giving him away.

  She laughed and pulled down another plate. “Put this on the table.”

  He did, feeling guilty now that he’d barged in on them. He spent a lot of time at Kyle and Marissa’s house, but sometimes he worried that he was an intrusion on their life. “I brought dessert.” He offered the cardboard box containing cupcakes that he’d bought at the bakery before heading over.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” But she looked pleased and accepted the gift. “Kyle’s out back with the kids.”

  Noah could hear them all in the backyard. Five-year-old Daisy screeching at the top of her lungs and eight-year-old Paul trying to talk over her. He glanced out and saw Scotty, who’d just turned two, running with them, his little legs pumping to keep up. Kyle stood at the edge of the patio keeping an eye on his brood while the baby, Timmy, slept on his shoulder.

  Noah opened the back door and stepped out. Daisy spotted him and let loose another loud cry of happiness before hurtling toward him, hell-bent on hugging him or taking him out at the knees. He picked her up before she could do any real damage. He rarely had trouble with the old knee injury he’d sustained in college hockey, but a determined five-year-old moving at full speed wasn’t a risk he wanted to take.

  Kyle grinned when he saw him. “Heard you were here.”

  “I wonder who from.” Noah jiggled Daisy until she laughed and then plopped her back down on the grass and moved to stand beside his brother. They were almost the same height and coloring and looked more alike than most siblings.

  They watched as the kids tore around the grass. Paul dribblin
g a soccer ball, sending a gentle pass Daisy’s way. She missed the ball, but cheerfully ran after it, Scotty trailing behind her.

  “I talked to Sabrina Ryan today.” Noah broached the subject casually. Though his brother worked at the dealership and Noah could have pulled him aside at any time during the day, it hadn’t felt appropriate. This was a personal matter and should be treated as such. “She wants to interview me.”

  “Really?” Kyle turned an interested face toward him. No sign of any discontent or distrust, but then Kyle was like that, friendly and forgiving, like an overgrown puppy. “What for?”

  “She’s interviewing the candidates for mayor.”

  “Nice.” Kyle clapped him on the shoulder. “When?”

  “I didn’t say yes.” Noah ran a hand through his hair and looked to his brother’s face for clues, but found only idle curiosity. “What happened when she interviewed you?”

  Although Noah had read the article, they’d never discussed the details. Noah hadn’t wanted to press and Kyle hadn’t seem interested in analyzing it.

  “Nothing as exciting as you think.” Kyle shifted Timmy to his other arm. “She called and asked if I’d be willing to talk to her. She said she was trying to make an impression on her boss at the paper. Something about trying to get promoted from intern to a paid position. Apparently, my failure to return to training camp was of interest. So she came out and I told her that I wasn’t going back to camp, but was staying in Wheaton with Marissa.” He patted his infant son’s back.

  “Did she know about you two before she got here?”

  “Ah, no.” Kyle winced and looked away. “We should have told her before she arrived. It’s not like Sabrina and I were still together. We’d broken up months earlier, but I don’t know. It felt weird. Telling my ex that I was marrying her best friend.”

  Noah thought it was weirder that Kyle hadn’t foreseen how things might turn out, but that was all in the past. And despite the fact that Sabrina had blasted his family publicly, Noah felt a pang of sympathy for what must have felt like a betrayal. It was no excuse for splashing their personal business all over the Vancouver Tribune, but it helped Noah understand why she might have done it. “Do you think she’s still mad at you?”

  “Sabrina?” Kyle frowned as though the thought had never crossed his mind. “I don’t think so.” He looked up. “You should do the interview.”

  “I’m thinking about it.” But every time he started to lean one way, a new thought crept in, made him reconsider.

  Marissa cleared her throat behind them. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Sabrina didn’t need to throw us under the bus to do her job.” Her blue eyes were frosty. “I’m not saying she’ll do the same to you, Noah, but you should keep it in mind.”

  He was, which was why he’d yet to commit.

  Marissa looked tired as she waved the kids in. “I just want you to really think about it before you agree. I don’t know what she told you about her reasons for the article, but I can assure you, she’s got an angle.”

  “Marissa.” Kyle looked pained. “It was a long time ago.”

  She nodded and looked at Noah. “Just be careful around her. Now, can you two handle the kids and their hand-washing?” She took Timmy from Kyle and walked back inside.

  Noah was left with his thoughts and a dirty niece and a couple of dirty nephews to wash up.

  * * *

  SABRINA PULLED INTO her parents’ driveway smelling of coffee grounds, sugar and the milky tea Mrs. Thompson had spilled on her table and then on Sabrina when she’d arrived with a cloth to wipe up the mess.

  The spill had been an obvious ploy to ask Sabrina what she thought of their town’s venerable mayor. Apparently, everyone thought their little meeting outside had some romantic overtones and no one had believed her when she’d told them it was a business discussion. Finally, just to shut Mrs. Thompson up, Sabrina had told her that the mayor had a nice butt. Which she’d noticed when he’d bent over to put the coffee in his car.

  Only she’d forgotten how quickly a statement like that would spread and she’d spent the rest of the day fielding questions about what other parts of Noah’s body met her approval. Mrs. Thompson had been texting away before Sabrina had even finished wiping up the spill. No doubt the entire town had heard about her appreciation for Mr. Mayor’s butt by now.

  And yes, there was her mother coming out the front door with her hands on her hips. “Did you tell Linda Thompson that the mayor has a nice rear?” She asked as soon as Sabrina hopped out of the SUV she’d borrowed from her parents while she was here.

  Sabrina found it worked best to deal with these kinds of things directly and succinctly. Some of her former interviewees would have done well to practice that. “Have you taken a good look at it?” She locked the door behind her and tossed the keys into her purse. “Spectacular.”

  “Really, Sabrina.”

  “Yes, really.” Her feet hurt, her clothes stank, and the last thing she wanted was to have a long and involved discussion about Mr. Mayor’s finer features with her mother. Her heels clacked against the cement driveway, drowning out the sounds of nature. The whine of mosquitoes, bird calls, the rustle of wind through the trees. Sabrina missed the sounds of the urban jungle. Honking cabs, the whoosh of the electric bus, the constant chatter of people on their phones.

  Her mother sighed and followed her into the house. “How was the rest of your day?”

  “Fine.” Sabrina unzipped her boots and dropped them in a tangle by the front door, grateful to feel the blood rushing back into her toes. She wriggled them a few times to speed the process. All she wanted to do was get clean in a nice, hot bath.

  Her mother had other ideas. “Anything interesting happen?”

  Besides the fact that it was now a known fact she’d checked out the town’s mayor? “Not really.” Sabrina rolled her neck, letting the ache ease from her shoulders. She was used to sitting in front of a computer all day; standing on her feet, reaching and pulling on the coffee machines worked a whole different set of muscles and she felt the burn. She knew her mother had missed her and just wanted to bond, but she just wasn’t up for it. Not smelling like old tea and dried sugar. “Can we talk later? I need to change.”

  “Of course, sweetheart.” Her mother stepped forward to give her a quick hug, but stopped short, her nose wrinkling. “What is that smell?”

  “Mrs. Thompson’s tea.” She headed up the stairs, already untucking her shirt. The blood was rushing back into her feet now and the throb worsened with each step. She winced. Apparently, heels weren’t meant to be worn for standing eight hours straight.

  Sabrina stripped off her dirty clothes and dropped them in the hamper of her old bedroom. Nothing had changed since she’d left nine years earlier. The same white wainscoting and camel-colored walls. The same white bedspread and bright blue accent chair. The same green topiary on the oak nightstand. She’d even found her old red cowboy boots in the closet.

  Of course she’d tried them on. Just to see if they still fit. They did. That was the great thing about shoes. Almost a decade later and they still fit the same way. Her old prom dress? Not so much.

  Clad in only her underwear, she pulled her ratty old terry-cloth robe out of the closet. Her chic black silk one with gold embroidery hung beside it, but Sabrina was chilled. Summer temperatures had yet to arrive in Wheaton and her coastal blood was no longer used to the cooler days and nights. She wrapped the old robe tightly around her. It still fit, too. Though nothing else in town did.

  Sabrina sank down to the end of her bed and fished her cell phone out of her purse. Time for her weekly call to the Vancouver newspaper. Though she had little hope that this time would be different, that her editor would tell her everything was fixed and that she was to haul her ass back to the city immediately, she called anyway.

  Really, the
whole thing was ridiculous. She’d written a short article on Jackson James, son of a wealthy developer. She hadn’t wanted to. Although she did interview local celebrities, she didn’t think Jackson qualified, but Jackson’s father was an advertiser—a big advertiser—and her editor had insisted.

  Only Big Daddy hadn’t liked it when her article painted his son in a less than golden light. Please, his son was a wannabe playboy with rocks between his ears and Big Daddy’s insistence otherwise was an embarrassment. The whole thing should have just blown over, like other articles she’d written, showcasing her subject in an unflattering light, interest died down quickly and everyone got on with their lives. Except that wasn’t good enough for Big Daddy.

  He believed that she’d sullied the family’s good name with innuendos and half truths and he wanted her to pay with her job. Since the paper wanted to keep him happy, a compromise was reached. His dollars were in and she was out.

  Sabrina pushed the disappointment away. Just a few more months and either the paper would see the light or Big Daddy would finally ease up. They had to.

  The phone rang a couple of times before her editor’s voice mail picked up. She left a message. The same message she always did. Just checking in. Let me know when things change. Call my cell phone.

  Her stomach hurt. The first couple of months after her firing, her editor had been quick to take her calls. But lately, she was lucky to get a return phone call. And when she did, the information was always the same. A terse response that there was nothing new to report. She was beginning to worry there never would be.

  She pulled her robe around her more tightly. If she didn’t get her job back, then what? Stay here? Shilling coffee and covering small-town politics for the rest of her life? Her parents would be thrilled, but she would not. She was meant for more than this.

  She’d only been away for fourteen days and already she craved the late-night clubs, restaurants on every corner, and constant change and movement. People in the city tried new things, new looks, new music.