Although...South Carolina
was
a powder keg itching to blow—with men like Stokes lighting the fuse. The political whisperings of the last ten years were chaotic to say the least. Maybe there would be a few attractive stories. As crazy as it seemed, getting the
Sentinel
on its feet might be an adventure. It was only a trifling newspaper, of course, but he had the capital needed to update the equipment. A rotary press, quality newsprint and lead type had been a necessity. Really, as much as he wished the job had gone to someone else, he
believed
in bringing the press to smaller towns.
Towns just like Edgemont.
Adam laughed and shook his head. He was trapped. Trapped by one simple, yet quite irrefutable, fact.
He believed in the power of the press
.
Trapped by that
and
a set of dazzling blue eyes.
Yes
, he thought,
let’s be honest, shall we
?
Okay, honestly, Charlie Whitney was a good writer. He had been shocked to see articles on higher education for women, features detailing the agricultural movement and one particularly scathing commentary concerning newspapers underwritten by a party and used as a hired mouthpiece. That piece had been very impressive, which was regrettable, considering it was exactly the kind they would not be able to publish again.
He halted to pull his soaked shirt from his skin and cursed the heat. Resuming his steps, he popped his fingers against his hand.
Two people. Three including himself.
Even for a weekly, that was cutting it close. He would need to use contributing editors on a freelance basis. He had already contacted a few reliable correspondents in Richmond. The next month would be predictable: long nights, writing, proofreading, typesetting, editing.
Like a cool draft that catches you by surprise on a summer night, the tremor of anticipation that darted through him shocked him to his core. Was he looking forward to this?
Why on God’s green earth would he be anticipating such hard work and modest compensation?
He grimaced. When had the amount of money, or recognition, begun to matter? A few years ago he would have felt a great sense of responsibility and determination to get this paper going.
How long had it been since he had experienced real skin-and-bones’ journalism?
A long time.
Forever.
Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he needed the opportunity to remember why he had gotten into this business in the first place. It sure as hell hadn’t been to become a wealthy, manipulative, selfish bastard.
He dropped his head and began to walk faster, a faint sense of hope settling about him like the dust on his boots. He crossed the narrow street and entered the building boasting Livery in red letters along the top and side.
Heat from an enormous forge immediately engulfed him. A man, his ample middle covered with a leather apron, stepped forward and grasped Adam’s hand as if they were old acquaintances. “Name’s John Thomason, but folks call me Big John. I run the town’s only livery, and I rent the best rigs, too.” He laughed, his eyes dancing. “Truth be known, I rent the only rigs, but they’re the best.”
Adam smiled and returned the handshake. “Trust me, if I hadn’t heard you were good, my horse would not be bedding down here. The name’s Adam Chase.”
Big John’s eyebrows rose. “Adam Chase, the new editor.
And
the owner of the finest piece of horseflesh I’ve seen in many a year. Come on, he’s in the back.” They walked into a spacious barn uniting the smell of hay and horse dung.
Big John spread his hands wide. “A beautiful barn, isn’t it? We built her in two days, the menfolk and me. Animals don’t get frightened here because there’s space, and if there’s anything an animal understands, it’s space. Freedom.” It was a philosophy Adam was sure Big John had repeated at least a thousand times.
“Taber will be fine here.”
Big John nodded, the jowls beneath his neck shaking. “Oh, yes. I take good care of my boarders. I’ve got two sons who help out. Between us we make the horses real happy.”
Adam hid a smile. Big John spoke as if the horses commented on the experience upon leaving. “This is an impressive barn. Looks sturdy. And roomy.”
A loud whinny pierced the air. Adam strode to the stall where the sound had come from. A magnificent horse, tawny gold in color, standing two hands higher than any other horse in the barn, occupied the enclosure. The horse was restless, nudging the stall door with his nose and snorting. Adam stroked his long arched neck. “Taber, old boy, how was your trip?” Taber stamped a hoof in answer and Adam grinned. “We’ll see what it’s like to race hell-bent through fields again. No crowded streets for a little while.”
He gave the horse one last touch behind a raised ear and turned to find Big John gone.
The man probably thinks I’m crazy, talking to a horse. Taber is my only friend in town, though
. Shouldering lonesome feelings aside, Adam paused as a giggle reverberated through the stable. Big John’s resounding baritone soon followed.
“Mr. Thomason, I know you’ll be able to help me with this tiny problem. Daddy
knew
the Fourth of July picnic was coming up and to send the rig to be repaired right before the event. Can you imagine? Did he expect Mama to walk to the party? In her dress?”
“What about you, Miss Dane? What about you having to walk there in all your finery?”
Adam hid a grin. Big John leaned in close to the young woman, who barely reached his elbow and was probably younger than both his sons.
She looked to be in her late teens, twenty maybe. Blond hair stacked on her head in an arrangement Adam was sure had taken hours to complete. Full lips and a pert nose set off an ethereal face. Her attire was impeccable, a style of dress common to Richmond and Washington but not Edgemont. She dressed to display her best features: ample bust and shapely hips. She reminded Adam of the women he escorted around Richmond. Women like Marilyn. Women who liked his looks, or his money, or his talent in bed—he didn’t know or care which.
When he wanted intelligent conversation, he went to dinner with a colleague.
Right now, though, this could be just what the doctor ordered.
Taking a step forward, he cleared his throat.
The young woman’s head turned, and her eyes widened. She was even lovelier than her profile suggested. “Why, Mr. Thomason, this gentleman hasn’t come to rent the rig I’ll be needing for the picnic, has he?”
Unaccustomed to introductions, Big John stumbled. “This is the new editor...uh—”
Adam grasped her hand. “Adam Chase, at your service.” He lifted his eyebrows as he brushed his lips across her gloved knuckles.
She performed perfectly, feigning embarrassment and jerking her hand back. “Mr. Chase, how forward.”
“Miss...” Adam looked to Big John.
Big John flushed an even deeper shade of red. “Mr. Adam Chase, this is Miss Lila Dane.”
Adam pulled his gaze back to her. “Miss Dane, I am no stranger to southern customs, being a southerner myself. I just tend to ignore the...formalities.”
She smoothed a hand down the bodice of her dress. “Mr. Chase, I’ve a bit of time this afternoon.” She held out her arm, her eyes dancing. “Would you care to walk me to the mercantile?”
Adam paused, debating the intelligence of squiring this willful young woman anywhere. The bold recklessness of her suggestion stunned him. But, hell, he knew her kind—it was all he knew. If he couldn’t control
this
situation, he was losing his touch.
“Big John, it was a pleasure meeting you. I’ll be back to ride this afternoon. Just leave the brushes in his stall. I can rub him down,” Adam said and took the arm Lila Dane so graciously offered.
They strolled along the boardwalk as Lila pointed out landmarks of interest. The flirtatious spark in her gaze made him wonder how much she already knew about him.
What did it signify? He was enjoying the promenade for his own selfish reasons. The exchange was primitive and simple. Pleasant. It didn’t leave him feeling as if he’d been kicked in the gut.
No electricity. No midnight blue eyes. No pert little behind clothed in a pair of not-too-tight-but-tight-enough britches. No petite, feisty, dark-haired—
“Charlotte!”
The shout pulled Adam from his reverie. Frozen, he watched an eager young man advance upon Charlie Whitney, who had apparently just exited the post office.
“Oh, must they cause a ruckus right here on the street. Why don’t they just get married and put everyone out of their misery. Lord knows.” Lila sighed.
Adam swung his head around. “
Pardon me
?”
“Charlotte and Tom.” She glanced at him with a frown. “Oh, you haven’t met her yet?” This seemed to conflict with previous information. “She’s my cousin. My
spinster
cousin. The man is Tom Walker. He works for my father at the bank. They’ve been buzzing around each other for two years. Or more appropriately he has been buzzing around
her
. Anyway” -she waved a hand in dismissal— “it’s high time Charlotte got married. My mother said it would do wonders for her disposition. If anyone needs calming down...” Lila’s tirade trailed off.
“Mr. Chase?” She tugged on his arm.
Adam pulled his arm from her grasp and stepped back. “Sorry. Sorry. Just surprised. The Charlie Whitney I met was not the marrying kind, or so I thought.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, angry with himself for thinking anything.
Lila tilted her head just so. “Yes, you would have met Charlotte because of that filthy newspaper. Please don’t call her
Charlie
. Her parents must have been mad to ever call her that. What husband wants his wife to have a man’s name?” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Disgraceful.”
“Yes, disgraceful.”
Charlie obviously reserved her dazzling smiles for Tom Walker. And, once again, she looked fetching as hell without trying. Simple day dresses seemed to be her style—when she was not wearing britches, that is. Her hair was wound in a careless knot, wisps dark as coal snaking loose to brush her cheeks. She laughed, and Adam felt an insane urge to separate them with his fists.
For God’s sake, was he
crazy
?
He snatched his hand from his pocket and secured his arm more resolutely through Lila’s. The best-looking woman in town was on his arm and three-quarters of the way to resting in the palm of his hand.
He only wished holding Lila Dane’s interest filled him with anything but the typical emptiness.
* * *
From the corner of her eye, Charlie saw the handsome couple enter Mr. Whitefield’s mercantile. Anger flashed through her like a rainstorm on a sunny afternoon.
Lila
.
It would have to be Lila.
“What are you dreaming about in the middle of the street?”
Charlie presented what she hoped was a congenial expression. “Are you on your way to work?”
Tom captured her arm and pulled her along with him. “Yes, and I’m late as it is, but I need to speak with you.”
Charlie’s steps slowed. Lately, when Tom wanted to speak with her, the subject made her uneasy. “Yes?” As she tilted her head, she was surprised to see he was only a few inches taller than she. Her mind drifted; the night before she’d had to stand on her tiptoes to look into Adam Chase’s eyes.
She searched Tom’s, struggling to find a resemblance. A hint of barely concealed intensity, a shimmer of recklessness.
Lovely eyes, yes: green, warm and sanguine. If she were searching for the perfect word to describe them, in comparison to Adam Chase’s?
Lackluster.
She wondered if the only emotions inhabiting them related to bank notices and drafts.
Misreading her interest, Tom squeezed her arm and smiled. “I was just wondering if you had plans for the Fourth of July picnic?”
Charlie fought a hard battle to keep a smile on her face. “Why, Tom, actually I hadn’t given it much thought.” Which was not entirely true. Mrs. Mindlebright’s newly minted debutantes and the biggest failure in the history of the school didn’t typically mix well.
“Charlotte?”
“Um...just thinking. I mean, I have a lot of work around the house. Running through a list of chores in my mind.” She closed her mouth with a snap. Babbling had never become her.
Tom released an utterly maddening, masculine smile. “I would be glad to help, with the yard work or to chop wood. No one expects you to keep that place up single-handedly.”
“Thank you. I certainly know there’s help if I need it.” The kind she should be running from. Trouble...in a fascinating, brown-eyed package. Her fence was repaired but at what cost?
“How about the dance? Would you like to go?”
Ah, Tom had that eager about him, the one she found so hard to deny. And, she had
promised
her father she would make a new life. “Yes, that would be lovely,” she said and smiled, though her shoulders slumped a little.
Tom took that as a sign of her weariness. “Go home and get some rest. You look exhausted. I’ll come by tomorrow, and we’ll discuss the dance.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and bounded onto the boardwalk. She heard him whistling as the bank door closed behind him.