Winnie Griggs (4 page)

She studied him as if not quite believing him. But he didn’t relax his expression, and she finally nodded.

“Good. I’ll stop by your place at six o’clock, and we can walk to the hotel together if that’s agreeable.” Even though he’d concocted the idea on the spur of the moment to see that she had a meal this evening, he was fully prepared to take advantage of the opportunity to practice his reporting skills. This wouldn’t be a very challenging interview subject, but at least it would give him something interesting to write about.

Then he gave her a severe look. “And please, leave your dog at home.”

Chapter Four

“S
o let’s start with where you’re from. Originally, I mean.”

Daisy shifted, uncomfortable with Mr. Fulton’s scrutiny and with having to talk about her background. She sat across from him in the hotel dining room, trying to decide if there was some polite way for her to get out of this. After all, she’d come to Turnabout to make a fresh start, not dredge up the past.

Still, he’d been kind to her, and this was the first thing he’d actually asked from her in return. Determined to focus on his kindness, she sat up straighter and smiled. “If you’re asking where I was born, it was in a little community called Bluewillow, Texas. I didn’t live there long, though.”

He scribbled a few strokes, then glanced up again. “Well, then, where did you grow up?”

“We traveled around a lot—Father was a peddler, even then. Most of the time, our wagon was our home. Then, when I was about four, my mother’s health began to go downhill, and traveling became difficult for her. So the two of us went to live with her mother while she tried to recuperate.”

“And where was that?”

“New Orleans.” Daisy brushed at the tablecloth, smoothing away a wrinkle. That wasn’t a part of her life she wanted to elaborate on. “Do you think the folks around here are really going to want to read about this stuff?”

His smile had a cynical twist to it. “I find that people everywhere have an infinite curiosity about the lives of others.” He poised his pencil over his pad again. “How much time did you spend in New Orleans?”

“Eight years.” Eight of the most smothering, uncomfortable years of her life. “Then I went back to traveling with my father.”

“Only you? What about your mother?”

Daisy nudged the lamp on the table about a quarter inch, not quite meeting his gaze. “She passed on when I was eight.”

“I’m sorry.”

There seemed to be genuine sympathy in his voice.

“Thank you,” she said. “Mother was a good person, you know, the kind who always tries to see the best in everyone. She was real pretty, too. Want to see?” Without waiting for his answer, she lifted the locket from beneath her bodice, then slipped the chain over her head. Opening the catch, she smiled at the picture, then handed it to Everett.

He studied the picture for a moment, his expression unreadable, then handed it back to her. “You’re right. She was quite lovely.”

Daisy carefully slipped the locket back over her head, feeling slightly disappointed at his lack of reaction. “What about you? I mean, I know you don’t have a locket, but do you have any kind of pictures or likenesses of your family?”

“No. Now let’s get back to the interview.”

She smothered a groan. If only the meal would come so they could end his string of uncomfortable questions.

“If I’m doing the calculations properly,” he continued, “it sounds as if you spent another four years with your grandmother after your mother passed on.”

“That’s right. Father thought it best to wait until I was older to resume traveling with him.” She tried not to dwell on that.

“Understandable.”

That pronouncement stung. It
hadn’t
been understandable to the grieving child she’d been. To her, it had felt like a second abandonment.

But Everett was already moving on to his next question. “Once you resumed traveling with your father, did you enjoy it?”

Daisy relaxed. This was a topic she was happy to talk about. “Very much. It gave me a chance to meet lots of wonderful people and to see places I’d never have seen otherwise. There are so many interesting folk out there, and they all have their own story to tell.”

“Stories? Now you sound like a reporter.”

She grinned. “Not at all. I’d be too fascinated listening to what they had to say, I’d forget to write anything down.”

His smile warmed for just a moment, then he seemed to come to himself, and he resumed his cynically amused expression. “If you enjoyed all that traveling, why did you decide to settle down?”

“Because I’m not twelve anymore.” She leaned forward. “Because I want friends and a family of my own and to be part of a close-knit community.”

“So why here?”

“Simple—because this is where there was a place that I owned the deed to.” She realized how flippant that sounded. “But I’m glad that was the case,” she added quickly. “Turnabout seems like a nice town with lots of friendly folk. A good place to put down roots.”

“You speak as if you plan to make Turnabout your permanent home.”

Hadn’t he heard anything she’d told him the past twenty-four hours? “I sincerely hope so.”

“You don’t think you’ll miss the traveling life?”

She understood why he’d ask that, but he’d learn eventually that she wasn’t that girl any longer. “Not at all. I’ve discovered I’m more of a homebody than I thought.” Assuming she found the right home. “The idea of setting down roots, creating a cozy homeplace, someday starting a family of my own—well, that kind of life has a whole lot of appeal to me.”

“Does that mean that after you went back on the road with your father, you found yourself missing the life you had with your grandmother?”

She gave a snort of disagreement before she could stop herself. He was so far off the mark, it was laughable. But his raised brow indicated she might have revealed a little more than she’d intended. “My grandmother’s home wasn’t exactly the warm, loving household that I’m hoping to build for myself.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

She met his gaze without blinking. “No.”

“I see.” He stared at her a moment longer, as if trying to read answers in her face. Then he moved on. “Would you like to talk about the restaurant you hope to open someday? Or would you rather wait until you’re closer to making it a reality before spreading the news of your intentions?”

Daisy was surprised but pleased that he hadn’t pressed her. “Oh, I don’t mind. I want folks to know what they have to look forward to.” She leaned forward again, trying her best to communicate her vision. “I don’t intend to make it all fancy and highfalutin. I want folks to feel comfortable and happy when they walk in. I’m going to serve hearty, homey food that fills the belly and warms the soul, because that’s what I do best. And I’m going to paint the place in bright cheery colors and have flowers on all the tables.”

“That’s fine for this time of year, but it might be hard to do during the winter.”

That was just like him to look for gray clouds in a sunny sky. To her relief, the food arrived just then, saving her from further inquisition.

At least for the moment.

* * *

Everett set his pencil and pad aside as the waitress fussed with serving their food.

The interview so far had raised as many questions about her as it had answered. The way she’d described her planned restaurant was indicative of how little business sense she had. She’d focused on feelings and cosmetics instead of a sound plan to achieve her goals.

She’d said she was looking for, among other things, a family of her own. So that indicated she was looking for a husband. Which probably meant the restaurant idea was only something to get her by until she had a man to provide for her.

She hadn’t wanted to discuss her time at her grandmother’s, yet she hadn’t been happy traveling with her father, either. What was she really looking for? Did she even know herself? And would she be able to find it in Turnabout? Or would she only face disappointment and find herself moving on once again?

As soon as their waitress departed, and before he could resume his questions, Daisy beat him to the punch.

“So is it my turn for questions?” she asked with a teasing smile.

He raised a brow, not at all certain that would be a good idea. Better to treat her question lightly. “Are you planning to write an article for the paper, too? I thought you said you weren’t good at writing things down.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not looking to give you competition, just trying to satisfy my curiosity.” Her smile broadened. “You’re not afraid to get a taste of your own medicine, are you?”

He couldn’t let that veiled challenge pass. “What do you want to know?”

“How did a particular gent like you end up here in Turnabout?”

A
particular gent?
He wasn’t sure what that meant. And more important, had she intended it as a compliment or criticism?

Better not to ask. “Before I came here, I was a reporter for a newspaper in Philadelphia. Unfortunately, the editor and I had a falling out. When I learned of an opportunity to actually own my own newspaper business here, I jumped at it.” Mainly because that was the only option open to him at the time. There was nothing to be gained by mentioning the scandal he’d been involved in, the scandal that had cost him nearly everything. And deservedly so.

“So how’d you hear about this great opportunity? I mean, I wouldn’t think most folks in Philadelphia have even heard of Turnabout.”

Everett decided being on this end of an interview wasn’t nearly the same as being on the other. “A friend of mine has some connections here—a granddaughter, as a matter of fact. He knew I was looking for something different, and he told me about it.” He raised a brow. “Anything else?” he asked in his chilliest tone.

“Do all the folks in Philadelphia talk like you do?”

Was she being deliberately impertinent or merely trying to make conversation? “My accent, you mean?” She’d probably never heard a British accent before. “Actually, I lived in England until I was twelve.”

Her hands stilled, and her eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness. You crossed the ocean when you were twelve?”

That part of his life seemed a dream now. Or should he say a nightmare? He wondered if his father had ever given him another thought once he’d sent him and his mother away.

He smiled at her reaction. “I didn’t do it alone.” Then he locked his gaze with hers. “And no, I’m not going to discuss my life before arriving in America with you, so you may as well move on.”

She gave him an arch smile, or at least her version of one. “Keeping secrets of your own, are you? I guess we all have them.” She didn’t seem unduly bothered by his words. “So, moving on to another topic, what about family?”

Best to stick to the living. “I have a sister.”

Her expression softened. “I always wished I had a sister or brother. Is she older or younger than you?”

“Much younger. And before you ask, she’s attending a boarding school in Boston.” He pointedly stabbed a chunk of potato with his fork. He’d had enough. “Now, why don’t we put aside the interrogation and eat our meal before it gets cold.”

She held his gaze for a few moments, and he could almost see her trying to decide whether or not to push forward. She finally nodded, and they both turned their focus on their food without another word.

After several minutes Everett relented, but there was no more talk of a personal nature. “Have you had that dog of yours very long?” he asked.

Her stiffness eased, and her smile returned. Apparently he’d found a question she didn’t mind answering.

“No. As a matter of fact, we’re brand-new friends. I’d only been on the road to Turnabout for a couple of hours when Kip showed up and took to following me. I checked with folks at a couple of the farms I passed, and no one laid claim to him. Which was okay with me. He was friendly, and I was happy for the company.”

He imagined a woman traveling alone would be—especially at night. He still couldn’t believe her father hadn’t taken the time to escort her back here. The man should be horse whipped.

“He’s barely left my side since,” she added as she reached for her glass.

“And you plan to keep him?”

She seemed surprised by the question. “Of course. Like I said, we’re friends now. As long as Kip wants to stick around, he’s welcome to do so.”

Everett resisted the urge to shake his head. He could understand her wanting the animal’s companionship and protection while she was on the road. But now that she was settled in and trying to establish herself, couldn’t she see he would only be a drain on her limited resources?

But he’d said his piece. If she was an overly sentimental sort, then that was her problem.

The rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough. He was even forced to grudgingly admit, at least to himself, that Daisy could be a pleasant companion when she tried to be.

Later that evening, after he’d seen Daisy to her door and she’d promised to show up about nine o’clock the following morning since it was her first day, Everett returned to his own office.

He settled at his desk where he went to work transcribing his interview notes into an article. Tomorrow was Friday, one of the two days a week the paper went out. Tuesday was the other. That meant he had a long night ahead of him. Luckily, he’d already set aside space on the second page for his interview with Miss Johnson. He just had to craft his article so that it fit the allotted space.

As he wrote the article, he thought about what he’d learned from the sketchy details she’d given him. She was an optimist and a dreamer, that much was clear. And she wasn’t afraid of hard work. She had a certain amount of courage, too, as evidenced by her striking out on her own, on foot, with nothing but what she could carry to start her new life with. But did she really have it in her to stick with a project like this and see it all the way through?

He was certain there was more to the story of the time she’d spent with her grandmother than she’d been willing to tell him. That hint of a story to uncover intrigued him.

Then there was her idea of opening a restaurant. That was reaching a bit high, especially for a female with no experience running a business. To make a go of it, she would need more than optimism and elbow grease. She would need financial reserves and business acumen, neither of which he saw much evidence of in her.

No, it would be much more practical if Miss Johnson took on a permanent job as cook for some family in town who needed her more than he did. And once he was satisfied he could vouch for her expertise, he would be willing to give her a recommendation to help her find such a position.

That should fulfill his obligation to see her settled properly.