get started?”
“Yes. On the interview. I’m a little pressed for time.”
Pressed for time? On Saturday? “Gee, that’s too bad. I thought you might enjoy a tour of the dairy barn first.”
“The dairy barn?” His expression suggested he couldn’t imagine setting foot in such a place.
“Yes.” Sally indicated behind her, which was dumb, of course. He couldn’t possibly see the dairy operation and her parents’ house through the trees. No matter—he didn’t bother to look anyway.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I just have a few questions for you. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours. Is there someplace we could sit?” His gaze went to the patio table, then back to her.
Sally couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “A couple of hours? But you have to stay longer than that! I’ve planned all sorts of things for us.”
A frown etched the smooth, symmetrical lines of Jack Gold’s face. Sally recognized the look from her three years away at university in Vancouver. It said, I’m an important person. Don’t even dream of wasting my time.
“Really?” His frown deepened. “What sort of things?”
“Ahem,” Trish cut in. “I’d love to stick around, but duty calls.” A smile frozen on her lips, she said how nice it had been to meet Jack and how wonderful it was that he’d come here all the way from Vancouver to get this important story. Turning to leave, she locked eyes with Sally and mouthed the words I told you so.
As Trish’s SUV vanished in the dust, Jack went to the rail and looked out over the valley. “Beautiful place. Is it always this hot?”
“Not always. And see, that’s part of…”
“So, you said something about plans?”
Sally flinched. She wasn’t used to conversation without eye contact, she wasn’t used to being interrupted and she wasn’t used to being addressed in such a curt manner. “Would you excuse me for just a minute?”
Cracker Jack Gold deigned to glance over his shoulder. “Sure.”
Despite her growing frustration with his attitude, Sally’s gaze was glued to his cute backside as she picked up her cellphone and requested a thermos of lemonade from the dairy kitchen. Her guest looked as though he could use a cold drink. Actually, he looked as though he could use a hot one, to thaw him out.
They sat down together, and she marveled as he pulled a pen and a coil-bound steno pad from inside his snug-fitting jacket. How did he have room in there for such things? He clicked the pen into action and treated her to another frigid smile.
“I thought for sure you’d want to see the barn,” she said. “There’s the dairy bar, too. I thought we might go there at some point. I’ve got some photos to show you. Um, if you’re interested, that is. And then, Tilly—she’s our cook—is making dinner for us tonight. We’re having Peach Paradise for dessert.”
Jack hesitated and Sally figured she’d scored a hit with something in there. But he said, “To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure that seeing the barn will help the story, and I’ve already seen the dairy bar. As for dinner, I’ve got a long drive back to Vancouver.”
“Oh.” Disappointment settled in the pit of her stomach like a stone in mud. Trish was right. Her story wasn’t important to this jerk. So why had he come all this way?
His pen was poised, apparently ready to scribble. “What’s your position with Darville Dairy?”
What? He was kidding, right? “Do you mean to tell me that you don’t know what I do here?”
The question seemed to catch him off guard. “Ah, no. Not really.”
That was odd. The news release she’d issued had given her full name and job title. Surely he’d read it. “I’m in charge of marketing and communications.”
Head down, Jerk, er Jack, scribbled away. “Mmm. Sounds like a big job.” He managed to sound polite and patronizing all at once.
“It is a big job. Darville Dairy is the biggest producer of dairy products in central British Columbia.”
Surprised, Jack stopped writing and looked up sharply. “Really? I thought it was just a local operation.”
The release also had contained a brief profile of the company and its Web site address. Hotshot investigative reporter Cracker Jack Gold had all of this information right at his fingertips. Annoyed, Sally asked a fair question. “Tell me something. Did you do any research for this assignment?”
“Research?”
“Yes, you know. Background research? About me, about my family’s business?”
He stiffened. “Actually, I thought an interview would suffice.”
“Is that so? Well then, you must think I have nothing but time.” Now he looked guilty. Good!
“I don’t think that at all.”
“Because if you had gone to the trouble of doing a little research, you wouldn’t be wasting our two precious hours on preliminary questions.”
The faintest of smiles flitted across his pouty, pretty-boy mouth, and Sally felt a slow burn coming on. Did he find this funny? Was it some sort of joke to him?
He started to respond, but she’d heard enough. “It may interest you to know, Jack Gold, that there’s more to this story than just ice cream. For your information, this town really took off a few years ago. People moved here for the first time in decades. Lots of companies came here. The Gap and Starbucks and…and…others, too. The point is, Peachtown started to change….”
Those GQ lips parted again, and Sally snapped. “I’ll thank you not to speak!”
He pretended to zipper his mouth shut.
“Then the drought came and all our orchards dried up, and our farmers started hauling in water by the truckload, and the tourists stopped coming because it’s too darned hot, and the chain stores high-tailed it right out of here, and now Peach Paradise may just be the only thing that will save our town!” Sally drew a deep breath and collapsed against the back of her chair. Whew, that felt good!
For the first time, Mister Hotshot Reporter actually looked interested. “Save your town?”
“Yes, save our town.” Sally leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “Jack Gold, you’re a poor excuse for a Gobey winner.”
A monstrous grin lit up his whole gorgeous face, eyes and all. “You know about that?”
Wow, what an ego!
“Of course I know about it. I did my homework.” Sally went into her cottage and fetched the file she’d been building for over a month. On return, she spread it open on the patio table, plopped down and began to read aloud from the first document. “Jack Langley Gold, nickname Cracker Jack. Senior business reporter, Vancouver Satellite. Thirty-four years old. Honors graduate of the University of British Columbia’s Journalism and MBA programs. Twice nominated for the Gobey Award…”
He arched his brows and tapped the table top. “Three times, actually.”
“Whatever. Father a general in the Canadian army. Mother an antiques dealer. Born in Vancouver, but lived all over Canada and in Paris, France, for a year while father stationed there on special assignment.” She glared at him over the document. “Shall I go on?”
“By all means.”
She set the paper aside and picked up the clipping from the June 3rd issue of the Satellite. “Satellite’s golden boy brings home the Gobey…”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough!” Laughing, Jack leaned forward and peered at the file. “What else have you got in