wait,” Piper said with a private sigh.
CHAPTER THREE
PIPER SAT IMPATIENTLY OUTSIDE the classroom of Mrs. Hamby’s second-grade class, still chafing a bit at her assignment. She wasn’t the education reporter but here she was, stationed outside, getting ready to cover a small piece on the Bring Your Parent To School Day.
“Damn you, Charlie, for getting the flu,” she mumbled, adjusting the strap holding the camera on her shoulder. However, if there was ever a person she wouldn’t mind knowing was doubled over, going and blowing from both ends, Charlie was the top candidate. As enjoyable as the thought may be, she couldn’t make her future on pieces like this. She doubted Diane Sawyer ever did time covering student-of-the-month assemblies. She had a degree in journalism, for crying out loud, and yet, she’d been sent to chase after second-graders and their parents. She’d really need to talk to her editor about assignments that were a waste of her talent. They had an intern for occasions like this. She had research to do and a council member to shake up.
She’d received a delicious tip that Councilman Donnelly had been caught with another woman. Big whoop—what politician didn’t dip his wick in other pots when the occasion presented itself?—except, Donnelly was an outspoken proponent of old-fashioned values. It was enough to make her giggle with anticipation. The look on his florid face when she casually mentioned the woman’s name was going to be priceless.
That is, if she managed to wrap up this silly assignment quick enough to catch Donnelly at his favorite restaurant around lunch. “Ah, crap.”
She heard the expletive muttered behind her and she turned to find Owen Garrett striding toward her, his expression as sour as if he’d been sucking on a lemon for the past half hour.
“What are you doing here?” The question popped from her mouth before she could stop it. But she was legitimately curious. Piper knew Owen wasn’t married, nor did he have kids, so it begged the question—why was he strolling through the elementary campus?
“Serving some kind of penance, apparently,” he answered.
She ignored that. “I know you don’t have kids and you were an only child, so that precludes nephews and nieces. So why are you here?”
“So the yellow journalist has done her homework.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why? Does it bother you to be called something you’re not? I know the feeling, but in this case, I have to disagree. If I were to look up ‘yellow journalist’ in the dictionary, I wouldn’t be surprised if they used your picture under the definition.”
“I’m not a yellow journalist, nor have I ever been one. For your information, I’ve never sensationalized anything just to attract readers. My stories are just naturally interesting,” Piper retorted, refusing to let his digs get under her skin. “You still haven’t answered the question. I’m not surprised, though. You’re the king of avoiding any question that doesn’t suit your purpose to answer.”
His mouth clamped shut and she stifled the tickling urge to grin in victory. He was too easy to nettle. And she realized she very much liked to nettle him.
Oh, that didn’t bode well for her bigger plan. She straightened with a shrug. “Whatever. I don’t care why you’re here. I’m here for an assignment, not to trade insults with you.”
“That’s a shame. I was just getting started.”
She turned away from him, mentally kicking herself for not remaining on track. She had to be careful around him. He managed to get under her skin in a fairly short period of time.
“I heard you grew up on a commune,” he said conversationally to her back. When she refrained from offering a rejoinder, he added, “With a bunch of nudists.”
Heat crawled into her cheeks. It wasn’t that she was ashamed—the naked body was a beautiful thing—but the way he said it made it sound insulting. And most people found the fact that she’d grown up in an unorthodox household ripe for conversation. Frankly, she was over it.
“Well, we have something in common, then,” she quipped, turning to give him a cool look. “I heard you were raised on a racist compound. I guess you could say we were both raised in nontraditional households. Mine ran around naked and yours fantasized about genocide.”
That stunned him into silence but the lock that slid over his expression told her she’d gone too far. Damn her mouth. How was she ever going to make it to the big time if she couldn’t govern what fell from her lips? She ought to pull it back. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she raced through a number of different ways to apologize. But before she could settle on the best one—not that he would’ve accepted, judging by the stony look on his face—the door opened and Mrs. Hamby welcomed them with a warm greeting. Piper scuttled inside, eager to escape the shadowy feeling of guilt that followed.
HE SHOULD’VE KNOWN BETTER than to poke at her but when he’d seen her standing there, looking harmless as a daisy in her white sundress, her brunette bob framing her angelic face without a hair out of place, he’d dearly wanted to push her into a mud puddle. Barring any available mud, he’d settled for throwing a few verbal shots her way.
He’d hit a nerve with the nudist bit but she’d kidney punched him with a shot about his past. The ghosts of Red Meadows were alive and well in Dayton no matter what he did to try and atone for his father’s actions.
She was a damn reporter. Of course she knew about Red Meadows. That’s why he should’ve just kept his mouth shut.
It was true he didn’t have kids or nieces or nephews but his office manager, Gretchen Baker, had a daughter without a father and when she’d asked him to do this he didn’t see how he could refuse. He’d always gone out of his way to educate the public about logging but he also enjoyed doing what he could to change the town’s memory of the Garrett name.
So, it was a little self-serving coming to the classroom today and that damn journalist was bound to see right through him.
Mrs. Hamby, a short round woman with apple cheeks and puffy curls clinging to her head pointed to the tiny desk and chair, indicating that he and Piper would be sitting beside one another.
Piper took one look at that little red molded plastic chair and saw how close they’d be to one another and she opted to stand at the back of the room, citing the need to be able to move around for pictures.
He was willing to bet his eyeteeth she was lying. But that was fine with him. He didn’t want any part of him pressed against her, least of all their thighs and shoulders. He caught the eye of Gretchen’s daughter, Quinn, and winked when she brightened with a gap-toothed grin the width of Texas. This part he didn’t mind at all. Quinn was a great kid. It wasn’t her fault that her mom had terrible taste in men. Quinn’s daddy took off when she was just three years old and the newest baby daddy—because Gretchen was seven months pregnant—couldn’t seem to make up his mind whether or not he wanted to stick around.
“Class, we have very special guests today,” Mrs. Hamby said, her blue eyes twinkling. “Today, we have our mommies and daddies, uncles and aunts, or caregivers here to talk to us about what they do for a living. Remember, we must all show our guests our best manners so that they might want to visit us again sometime. And as an extra-special treat, we have a reporter from the newspaper who is going to do a wonderful story on our special day!” At that, twenty-seven kids turned toward the back where Piper was standing nibbling on her cuticle, causing her to straighten and flash a reluctant smile. Mrs. Hamby beamed at Piper, saying, “Piper Sunday was one of my very first students here when I came as a young teacher and it’s so wonderful to have her here today. She’s growing up to be a fine journalist. We might even see her go on to write for the New York Times or San Francisco Chronicle.”
Owen slid his gaze to Piper and caught hers. She seemed to blush a little but lifted her chin with a small smile for Mrs. Hamby’s benefit. He didn’t