Until I Found You (6 page)

Maggie appeared in the doorway. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” A petite woman in her midthirties, she wore her blond hair short and had a passion for dangly earrings. Four years ago she had started with the
Clarion
as a receptionist. Now she was indispensable. Obviously at home, she sat in her usual spot across from the desk. Kate took Leona’s swivel chair, but she felt like a child in her mother’s shoes. She and Maggie had spoken frequently while Leona was in rehab, but they’d agreed to postpone future plans until Leona’s prognosis was clearer and she could participate. Since she still couldn’t speak, Kate was forced to take the reins.

The women began to talk at the same time with Kate slightly ahead. “I’m not sure where to start—”

“Me either—”

“Leona and I can’t thank you enough, but we’re determined to try.”

“No.” Maggie held up her hand. “I love Leona. I’m just glad she’s improving.”

They talked about Leona’s recovery, her limitations, and Kate’s plan to return to Sutton in January. When the conversation lulled, Kate laced her fingers on top of the desk the way Roscoe Sutton did when he gave a performance review. “This leads to the future—”

“Yes, I—”

“Leona wants you to be editor-in-chief. It’ll be more money, of course.”

“I can’t accept.”

Kate’s stomach clenched. “You can’t?”

“No.” Maggie shook her head, but an irrepressible smile formed on her full lips. “My husband’s been promoted to regional manager. It’s great for us, but it means moving to Phoenix.”

“Oh, Maggie—”

“I know,” she said. “The timing is awful for you and Leona. Greg leaves next week, but the kids and I are staying until winter break. If you can manage, I’d like December fifteenth to be my last day.”

Losing Maggie was more than a blow. It was a death knell for the paper Leona loved. Kate leaned back in the chair, clutched the armrests, and battled waves of bone-jarring worry. The
Clarion
needed an editor, but Sutton needed Kate. And Kate needed Sutton. The creative process made her heart sing, especially when it involved someone as talented and unique as Eve Landon. Kate was already dreaming up ideas for the new campaign. She didn’t know how she’d keep all the balls in the air, but she was certain Leona would give Maggie her blessing.

With more confidence than she felt, Kate offered Maggie a gracious smile. “December fifteenth is fine, but we’re going to miss you terribly.”

“I’m so sorry about the timing—”

“We’ll be all right,” Kate assured her. “If Leona were here, she’d say congratulations.” She’d also declare that God had a plan, but Kate believed the planning was up to her. “How long have you known about the promotion?”

“Just a few days. I would have told you sooner, but it seemed
best to wait because of the accident.” Maggie blew out a breath, plainly relieved of her burden.

But the burden was now on Kate. She surveyed Leona’s office as if she had never seen it before, yet the pictures on the credenza were of her own smiling face, and a poster on the wall was something she’d given to Leona—a blowup of the Eve’s Garden ad from the first print campaign. It showed a woman in an evening gown, elegantly posed under the lacy branches of a willow tree. The delicate script read
Eve’s Garden . . .
Find the You in Beautiful
.

Maggie broke into her thoughts. “I know how much the paper means to Leona. Can you run it yourself, from Los Angeles?”

“I don’t see how.” Kate’s days at Sutton were so full she barely had time to do laundry. Selling the
Clarion
was the only option that made sense for her personally, but it would cause the biggest heartbreak for Leona. There was also the matter of providing for her grandmother’s financial future. Before Kate made any decisions at all, she needed to gather the facts. “I guess I need to crunch some numbers.”

“Eileen can show you tax returns, spreadsheets—all that stuff.”

“Good.”

“We’re in better shape than you might think,” Maggie said with a note of pride. “The website reaches people with weekend cabins, and local businesses like the hard copy for tourists. We’re a newspaper first, a tourist guide second; but the tourist guide is effective. It keeps us relevant and it sells ads.”

Kate understood completely. “I worked here during the summer when I was in college, but it’s been awhile. I need to get up to speed. Dody offered to stay with Leona when I need her, so I should be able to put in some extra time.”

“Or bring Leona with you.”

“I will, but later. She tires easily.” Kate glanced around the office, mentally making it her own . . . at least for now. “Where do we start?”

“You know the basics.” Fortunately the software was the same version from Kate’s college years. She knew it well, though the
Clarion
was past due for an upgrade. The paper still ran on the same print schedule, and she recognized most of the advertisers. Maggie, Eileen, and Art worked full time, but the journalism staff was comprised of free-lancers, including Nick. When Maggie finished with the background info, they talked about the coming issue. “We’re in good shape. Page one is the repair to San Miguel Highway. Nick’s covering it.”

“Good.” Just thinking about the road made Kate dizzy.

“He’s also handling the Snow Park hearing. Do you know about that?”

If Kate was going to fill in for Leona, she needed to catch up on local issues. “No. What is it?”

“It’s basically restrooms and a parking lot for the city slickers who drive up for the day when it snows. It’s a big story, so we’re giving it all of page three.”

They talked awhile longer, going over each page until Maggie asked if Kate had any questions.

“Just one.” But the concern was huge. It involved the entire look of the paper, Leona’s feelings, and a piece of nostalgia. “The
Clarion
banner has a proud history, but that Heidelberg font is—”

“Awful!” Maggie finished.

Kate groaned with her. “I don’t think Leona will mind if I change it.”

“Not at all,” Maggie said lightly. “In fact, I think she’s been waiting for you to offer. You know how it works. A new look signals new leadership.”

Yes, but Kate wasn’t about to take over the paper. She belonged in Los Angeles as plainly as Leona belonged in Meadows. Balancing their needs wouldn’t be easy, but she would do her best. Without a God like the one that guided Leona, Kate’s best was all she had.

N
ick scanned the graffiti
inside the men’s restroom at the Meadows Community Park but didn’t snap a picture. Graffiti scared away tourists, and he didn’t want to give glory to Colton Smith, the fifteen-year-old boy being lectured by both his mother and the deputy sheriff outside the brown stucco building. A two-inch blurb would keep the town informed without exaggerating what seemed to be an isolated incident.

From what Nick had gleaned, Colton’s mother found paint cans behind Coyote Joe’s Café, where she worked as a waitress. When she noticed matching paint on her son’s hands, she had exacted a confession from him, spoken to Deputy Harrison, and hauled Colton to the park to take responsibility.

The three of them had been surveying the damage when Nick spotted the patrol car and stopped. But there was no real news here. Nick didn’t know Colton well, just enough to say hello around town, but he understood the teenager in his own marrow. Men and boys craved adventure, even danger. That’s why
California for Real Men
continued to sell well.

Nick hoped his memoir would have the same appeal,
because it was aimed at the same audience—couch potatoes enjoying vicarious thrills, men trapped in cubicles, even teenage troublemakers like Colton. Maybe he’d hear from his agent today. He hoped so, because the wait was driving him crazy.

But first things first. With his notepad untouched in his pocket, he approached Colton, Colton’s mom—her name was Mindy—and Deputy Harrison. “I’m done here,” Nick said.

Mindy knew Nick from Coyote Joe’s. Instead of giving him the perky smile that usually came with a cup of coffee, she pleaded with her big hazel eyes. “Is Colton’s name going to be in the paper?”

“No.”

“Good.” She blew a breath that lifted her wispy bangs, but Colton continued to smirk.

The gangly teenager was close to Nick in height but as thin as a post. Straight dark hair covered his ears as a protest against haircuts, but what most caught Nick’s attention was the anger simmering in the boy’s eyes. Rebellion oozed from every pore, at least the ones not plugged with acne.

Harrison crossed his arms and planted his feet a little wider. “So, Colton. Who’s going to clean this mess up?”

The teenager gave a
“Hmm
” and then rubbed his chin. “How about the tooth fairy?”

“Colton!” Mindy squared off with him, but the fact she had to look up to her son stole some of her authority. “Be polite. You’re in trouble here.”

Ignoring her, Colton focused on Nick. “How about a picture? I’ll pose with the paint cans.”

The teenager wasn’t the only person who liked a good fight. So did Nick, especially for a good cause, and Colton was definitely a good cause. Nick shoved his hands in his pockets. “So you want to be in the paper?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Clean up the mess and we’ll talk about it. Until then, forget it.”

When Colton replied with a snort, Deputy Harrison crossed his thick arms over his chest. “The way I see it, Colton, you have a choice. I can arrest you for vandalism, or you can repaint the bathroom.”

A glimmer of something—maybe fear—softened the hard lines around Colton’s mouth. Confusion seemed to mix with the rebellion, as if he were wondering how he’d gotten into this mess.

Having been in a few messes of his own, Nick could relate. Hoping Harrison would be kind, he threw out an idea. “If Colton agrees to paint the bathroom, can he pick the color?”

The deputy’s mouth lifted with the hint of a smile, but he wisely tamped it down. “He can paint it pink for all I care.”

Nick and Harrison both turned to Colton, his chin jutting as if daring them to change their minds. “Any color?”

“Any color but black,” the deputy replied. “We have safety concerns with lighting.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.” A mischievous gleam lit up Colton’s dark eyes, leaving the adults to wonder what atrocious color he’d choose.

Mindy gave Nick a half smile, her shoulders sagging with relief as she turned to the deputy. “We’ll be here Friday. That’s my next day off.”

Nick made a mental note to stop by the park and maybe lend a hand. He could imagine what color Colton would pick—hot pink or egg yolk yellow, maybe purple—but who cared what color the men’s room was? Nick was stifling a grin when his phone signaled a message. Hoping to hear from his agent, he stole a glance and saw a text from Kate.
Pls call ofc. Prblm w snow park story
.

He didn’t expect Kate to be at the Clarion, and the Snow
Park story had legs, as journalists said. With pictures, it would fill page three. If the story fell through, they’d have a massive hole to fill. After telling Colton he’d show up on Friday, Nick headed for the newspaper office, where Leona’s Subaru was parked under a pine. As he climbed out of the truck, the office door swung wide, and Maggie came out with her purse in hand.

“What’s up?” he called to her.

Her mouth split into a mile-wide grin. “Greg got the promotion.”

“Excellent!” Nick was friends with her husband and knew what the job meant to him. “So you’re moving to Phoenix.”

“I’m going to miss this place,” she said wistfully. “But December fifteenth is my last day. I just told Kate, and tonight I’ll visit Leona.”

“It’ll be rough for them.” With Leona out of commission, the
Clarion
desperately needed an editor-in-chief, someone who knew the business, Meadows, and the quirks of the software program. Then there was the personality angle. The paper depended on advertising, which depended on good community relations.

Maggie jiggled her keys. “I have a meeting at school, but I’ll be back in an hour.”

“What about the Snow Park?”

“Kate will fill you in.” Maggie glanced at the window to Leona’s office, where Kate was seated at the desk with the phone to her ear. “I feel just terrible about the timing. I hope you can give her some extra help. She’s going to need it.”

“Of course.” Working with Kate would test his pledge to the max, but what else could he do?

Maggie departed with a wave, leaving Nick to walk alone into the office. Typically he called a greeting and made himself at home. Today he felt like a guest—or maybe he
wanted
to be a guest, which struck him as cowardly. Soft footsteps tapped in the hall. Kate must have heard the door chime, and without Eileen it was up to her to greet customers. When she saw Nick, her face lit up. “That was fast.”

“I got the text.” Keep it businesslike, he told himself
.
“And I just ran into Maggie. That had to be a surprise.”

“A bad one.” Kate shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe the news. “I was counting on Maggie to keep the paper going while Leona recovers. She’s doing well, considering it’s only been six weeks since the stroke. The question is where she’ll be six months from now. We just don’t know. . . .” She paused to take a deep breath. “The business is only part of the problem. Leona could stay in her house with a roommate, but what if she has another stroke? She could need assisted living. All I know is that it’s expensive. I’m on leave from my regular job, but that’s complicated, too.”

Before the stroke Leona had bragged about Kate all the time. Nick knew she worked for Sutton Advertising, had a connection to Eve Landon, and loved her job. “So you’re in limbo.”

“Yes.”

So was Nick. Until he heard from his agent, he’d be twisting in the wind. “When do you go back to Los Angeles?”

“January. What a mess—”

His ringtone cut her off. He stole a glance, saw his agent’s name, and swallowed hard. “Sorry. I have to take this.”

“Take your time,” she said. “I’ll be in Leona’s office.”

As she walked down the hall, Nick retreated to the conference room off the lobby and answered the call from Ted Hawser, a topnotch New York agent. “Hey, Ted,” he said a little too cheerfully. “What’s the good word?”

“Do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

“I read the manuscript last night. It’s not what I expected . . .” A long pause echoed over dead air.

The dodge could mean only one thing. “You hated it.”

“I don’t hate anything,” Ted said mildly. “This is business. Sorry, Nick. But I can’t sell the story the way you’re telling it.”

Disappointment clunked to the pit of his stomach. Ted was a first-class agent with excellent instincts. If he didn’t like the manuscript, it signaled a real problem. With his neck bent and head down, Nick paced the length of the room.

“I appreciate your honesty. So . . . why can’t you sell it?”

“This isn’t what your readers expect.”

“It’s different.”
So
am I.

“Yeah.” A chortle came over the phone. “Frankly, Nick, it got me thinking.”

“That’s good—”

“No, it’s not. You turned your back on your original audience. This book isn’t just different. It’s in-your-face different.
CFRM
has a trendy, ribald kind of humor. The pickup lines in Chapter Fifteen are hilarious. Today’s readers relate to that sort of thing. This . . . memoir, or whatever it is . . . is different.”

“That’s right.”

“It’s a little
too
different. I’m not the right agent for this kind of material. You’d be better off with someone who knows the religious market.”

But Nick didn’t want to focus on the religious market. He wanted to reach frustrated couch potatoes and troubled teens like Colton Smith. Had he failed to tell the story in a compelling way, or was the book just not right for Ted? It was a tough question, one he couldn’t answer.

“Where do we go from here?”

“That’s up to you,” Ted replied. “Take a few days to think it over. If you decide to run with the new stuff, I’ll pass your name on to Erica Reynolds.”

Nick recognized the name of a respected agent. “I’ll let you know.”

He clicked off the phone, turned to a window facing a vacant field and rested his head against the glass. Rejections were part of the business and he dealt with them, but this book was different. He’d written it in two short months, working day and night because he believed with every fiber in his being that if even one man was helped by his experience, the book was worth the effort.

With Ted’s rejection, what did Nick do next? Maybe he’d self-publish it. Or maybe not. Maybe the book was a bad idea. Maybe God wanted him to sell everything and be a missionary in China, except Nick understood the risk-taking facet of his personality all too well. He’d be running away from God, not to Him.

“Nick?” Kate’s voice wafted from the doorway.

Turning, he threw back his shoulders and saw her leaning against the doorframe, her arms lightly crossed and concern etched on her face. “I had to get something from the counter. I couldn’t help but overhear. It sounded like bad news.”

He tossed off a shrug. “It was my agent. He didn’t like the new book.”

“That’s hard,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s just business.”

“Yes, but it’s also personal.” She let her arms drop to her sides. “When I do a presentation for a client, I put my heart and soul into it. If they hate my work, it hurts. When they love it, it’s the best feeling in the world. For that moment, life makes sense and I have a purpose.”

Their eyes locked and held, leaving Nick to absorb the fact she understood so clearly how he felt. He didn’t want that closeness, not with his pledge in place; but he couldn’t look away or dismiss her with a casual remark. Not many
people understood the creative side of his personality, but Kate seemed to get it.

“That’s it exactly.”

“Is this book like your first one? The adventure stuff?”

“Indirectly.” Becoming a Christian was the most daring thing Nick had ever done. The decision cost him friends, his professional standing, and as of this morning, his agent. He didn’t want to talk about it with the rejection still stinging, but Kate’s interest encouraged him. “It’s about the past year—what happened after the first book.”

“Some of the guys at Sutton read the first one. It was a bestseller, wasn’t it?”

“Pretty much.”

“It must have changed your life.”

“Big time,” he admitted. “But it’s in the past.”

“What will you do now?”

He started to say he didn’t know, but the indecision made him sound weak. Only wimps gave up after one rejection, so Nick made an on-the-spot plan. He’d query agents ten at a time until he found the right person to represent the story—someone who believed in it as much as he did. “I’ll look for a new agent and see what happens.”

“So you’re in limbo like me.” She gave him a cheeky smile. “How would you like to buy a newspaper?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

Nick had surprised himself as much he surprised Kate, but the idea appealed to him. “Maybe. I’ll have to think it over, but it’s a possibility.”

“I’m stunned.”

So was Nick. He had some financial leeway, but he couldn’t coast along forever. Besides, he needed something to do
.
Work gave a man’s life meaning, a purpose. Running the
Clarion
would cut back on his travel
,
but maybe it was time for a change. Thinking like an editor, he recalled Kate’s text message. “We should get down to business. What’s up with the Snow Park?”