Читать книгу Shameless - Kimberly Raye, Kimberly Raye - Страница 10

HE’D WALKED AWAY.

That all-important fact replayed in Deb’s head later that day as she sat at her desk at the In Touch, the three-room newspaper office located right above Pancake World.

But he hadn’t walked. He’d sauntered, swayed, in that long-legged, sexy-as-hell gait that made an entire bridal shop full of women—most of them Laverne’s single cousins and nieces and even her great aunt who’d just happened to stop by—drop their jaws and visibly salivate.

And not just on account of his looks. Sure, Jimmy had it all put together right, but it was the entire package that made him the hottest catch in four counties. He was the green-eyed, blond-haired, handsome white knight every girl dreamed of. The charming, honest, loyal son-in-law mamas prayed for. The successful, salt-of-the-earth rancher every daddy wanted to see hitched to his little girl.

It was strictly Darwin’s theory at work. Society looked to the strongest, most appealing for procreating. While the dreaded P word was the last thing Deb had in mind, she wasn’t immune to Jimmy’s appeal.

In fact, his appeal had had her this close to wrapping her arms around him and begging for more of what he’d started with his warm hands and purposeful fingers.

By walking away, he’d dashed that impulse.

“Why are you frowning?” Wally, Deb’s devoted copyboy, had glanced up from his computer and was eyeing her.

“I’m not frowning.” She busied herself taking a sip of black coffee from the latest acquisition of her collection of designer Bitch mugs: I’ve Got The Itch To Bitch.

“You’re definitely frowning. Isn’t she frowning?” he asked the seventy-something woman who sat at a nearby table.

Dolores Guiness had eyes and ears as big as Texas, which was exactly why Deb had hired her on for a few hours a day to write the About Town section, aka the gossip column for the In Touch. The old woman made it her business to know everything about everyone.

She eyed Deb over a pair of black-rimmed bifocals as if she were a coyote sizing up a good rib eye. “Why are you frowning, dear? You can tell old Dolores.”

“I’m not frowning.”

“You sure are,” Wally persisted. “Isn’t she?” This time he turned to the petite redhead who sat at what had once been Annie’s desk. She wore an oversize white T-shirt that swallowed her small frame and a pair of blue-jean overalls.

“I, um, I guess so.”

“It’s okay to speak your mind,” Wally said. “She won’t bite you.”

“I definitely bite,” Deb told the timid Paige.

“Rumor has it she definitely has biting potential,” Dolores informed them. “But since said biter signs my paycheck, I’m keeping my opinion to myself.”

“Good girl,” Deb told her.

“She likes everybody to think she bites,” Wally went on, “but she doesn’t.”

“I bite, dammit.” Deb took another sip, slammed her mug down on her desk and glared at Wally. “And don’t you go telling anybody otherwise.”

“I don’t have to tell anyone anything. You already did it yourself when you led the fundraiser for those foster kids over at the church. And when you organized that bake sale to help Mr. and Mrs. Cootie pay funeral expenses for their uncle. Stuff like that speaks for itself. You’re definitely a nonbiter.”

“I’m the editor of the town newspaper. I like to stay in the thick of things. My reasons are purely self-motivated.”

“And we’re expecting a blizzard to blow through central Texas tomorrow. She’s like one of those Eskimo pies,” he told Paige. “Hard shell, soft filling.”

Deb glared. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“That depends.”

She pasted on her most intimidating frown. “On whether or not I’m firing you for insubordination?”

“On whether or not you really meant it when you said I could take over Annie’s duties.”

“Of course I meant it. You get Annie’s job. Paige gets your job. Dolores gets to dish dirt part-time.”

“Okay—” he rubbed his hands together “—if I’m now officially a full-fledged reporter, photographer—”

“—part-time printing press mechanic,” Deb cut in. At his frown, she added, “You know that old press better than anyone.”

“I hate that old press,” he grumbled, “but I’m willing to continue sweating blood over it if you’ll let me handle the This Is Your Neighbor interview this week.”

“That’s my column.”

“I know. I’ll just be filling in for you the way Annie used to.”

“She only did it twice when I happened to be overbooked. I’m not overbooked. I’ve already got the interview set up for tomorrow. Mary Jo’s going to do it poolside so she can show off the lifetime supply of western swimsuits she won when they crowned her Rodeo Queen. Do you know they actually sent her a thong bikini made out of rawhide leather? It’s got a fringe and a great big tassle right over the…” Her words faded as she noticed the gleam in Wally’s eyes. “I doubt she’ll wear the thong during the interview.”

He sighed. “A guy can hope.”

“Actually, based on how easy it was for Milton Kelch’s boy to get her to the Inspiration Inn last Saturday night, I think it wouldn’t take much for her to wear the thong,” Dolores said, her old grey eyes twinkling, “or nothing at all.”

Deb let Wally sweat for a full minute as she sipped more coffee. “I’ll tell you what,” she finally said. “If you can finish reinking the press before you leave, you can have the interview.”

“Hot damn!” He winked at Paige. “I told you, an Eskimo pie.”

When the young woman looked at her, Deb meant to give her best frown. She had a reputation to maintain, but the look in the frail-looking redhead’s eyes struck a deep chord. Uncertainty. Loneliness. Fear.

Once upon a time six years ago, Deb had known all three.

She smiled, Paige’s expression eased, and a quiet settled over the office, disrupted only by the steady click of computer keys and the chug of the window unit pumping ice-cold air through the large room.

It proved to be an unusually calm Friday, more so because Deb found herself eyeing the phone on several occasions, a strange sense of expectancy in the pit of her stomach.

“Something’s definitely wrong,” Wally said when he accidentally handed Deb his herbal tea by mistake, and she drank it. “Let me guess, Jasmine couldn’t work you in at the beauty parlor and you’re having a bad-hair day.”

“It’s not my hair.”

“You used the last of your favorite tube of Vamping Red lipstick.”

“I’ve got half a tube in my purse.”

“Your cat ran away.”

“Camille is probably curled up on my sofa as we speak.” She sighed and fixed her gaze on her computer.

“The Texas Awards. You’re nervous we’re not going to be nominated for Best Weekly.”

“It’s not that.”

“I told you, it’s a done deal.”

“I could care less. Just get back to work, would you?”

Wally shrugged and headed back to the printing press, Paige practically disappeared in the pile of advertising copy on her desk, Dolores left for a supper meeting with her head gossip source—the beautician over at the beauty parlor—and Deb did her best to edit her latest piece on the need for a better nursing home facility in Inspiration.

Hours later, after everyone had left, Deb stabbed the button on her computer, flicked off her desk lamp and called it a night.

For the hundredth time, she glanced at the phone. As if she could compel the blasted thing to ring. A glance at her watch and she accepted the inevitable. He wasn’t going to call.

It seemed as if Jimmy Mission wasn’t all that excited about their deal. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she’d said yes. At the very least, a few details spelling out the terms of the agreement, such as when and where.

What she hadn’t expected was this…waiting. Deb wasn’t good at waiting, or wondering or worrying.

Maybe he was just busy. Jimmy was notorious for his commitment to the Mission Ranch. He lived and breathed the place, much the way she lived and breathed the paper.

Or maybe he’d changed his mind. Why give up four thousand dollars when he could have any woman in town for free?

Or maybe he’d been stomped to a bloody pulp by an angry bull—

Her thoughts collided to a stop when she exited the building and saw the young woman sitting on the curb near a worn ‘57 Impala, tears streaming down her face.

“Paige?”

The young woman’s head jerked up and fear flashed in her eyes as she wiped frantically at her face. “Um, hi. I—I was just…” The words faded in a frantic shake of her head. “What difference does it make?” She met Deb’s gaze. “You might as well know, I’m a loser. My life sucks, my car used to suck only now it’s dead, and I’ll completely understand if you want to fire me.”

“Fire you?”

She sighed. “Like my last boss. He said, leave your problems at home, Miss Cassidy. I tried, but my problem—my ex-husband, Woodrow—kept showing up at my work, and when Woodrow was upset, he didn’t care who heard him. I tried to do everything right. I’d leave his breakfast for him, his clothes laid out, but I didn’t cook good enough or iron good enough or do anything good enough.” Her shoulders shook with a deep sob. “It’s no wonder he left, and it’s no wonder this stupid thing died.” She kicked the tire. “I can’t change the oil and I never learned a thing about fan belts, and I don’t know how to fill the radiator with water, and I’ll totally understand if you tell me to take a hike. I mean, here I am, sitting in front of the office carrying on and such…. It’s shameful.”

Deb dug a tissue out of her purse, leaned down and gave the young woman a smile. “Honey, there’s no such thing.”

Paige took the tissue and cast hopeful eyes on Deb. “You mean, I’m not fired?”

“Do you like working for me?”

“Very much. I loved working on the paper back in high school, which is why I applied in the first place. I love to write and while I’m not actually writing a book or anything—”

“—this is the next best thing,” Deb finished for her. Paige nodded and Deb gave her a wink. “You’re not fired. That is, unless you don’t stop crying right now. Then it’s adios.”

Paige sniffled and wiped frantically at her eyes. “I’m embarrassing you.”

“Me? Girlfriend, you are new to town.” She indicated the tissue. “Dry up. You’re much too pretty to be sitting around moping over some man. Come on. I’ll give you a lift home. Tomorrow, we’ll have Wally take a look at your Impala.”

“That’s awful nice, but I couldn’t put you out. I live clear on the other side of Mulligan’s Creek.”

“It’s no trouble at all.”

“You’re really nice, Miss Strickland.”

The words sent warmth spurting through Deb. She frowned before the feeling could get the best of her. “It’s Deb, and don’t mistake kindness for purely self-motivated reasons. I’ve got a newspaper to run. You’re my employee and it’s my duty to look out for your welfare.”

“Whatever you say, Miss—um, Deb.”

They climbed into Deb’s fire-engine red Miata and pulled out onto the main strip through town. “So where is Mr. Wonderful now?”

Silence ticked by for several long seconds, as if Paige were trying to work up her courage. “Jail,” she finally declared. “He’s doing one to two for a dozen counts of check fraud.”

“Good. Let’s hope they give him some sensitivity training while he’s there. That, or a great big horny roommate named Bubba.” That drew a smile out of the young woman and Deb patted her hand. “Forget about him. Forget everything he did and everything he said. From what I’ve seen, you’re good at quite a few things. You’re a great copy editor, your writing skills are wonderful and you’re good at organizing things.”

“You think?”

“I’ve seen firsthand. Not only that, but you’re pretty, too. If this Woodrow wasn’t smart enough to realize what a big catch you were, then good riddance. There are plenty of cow patties in the pasture.”

“I keep telling myself that.”