Behind Enemy Bylines

Prologue

Little Rock, Arkansas

I t’s not my fault.”

Jade sighed, closing her eyes as her foster brother complained on the other line.

Although they hadn’t lived in the same home for more than nine years after she aged out of the foster system and went to the University of Central Arkansas, she still felt responsible for him.

She always had, from the moment he walked into Madeline and John Westin’s house and was introduced to her as her new foster sibling.

His wide, scared brown eyes, overgrown curly black out-of-control hair, and gaunt frame touched her fifteen-year-old heart. Logan Mitchell had held it ever since.

But that neglected, frightened child was now twelve years old, and once again he was in lots of trouble.

And as always, it wasn’t his fault. While he continued his tirade of blaming everyone else but himself for his predicament, Jade opened her eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall in her tiny office at The Arkansas Democrat-Gazette .

In a little while she had to meet Sebastian for their lunch date.

Despite her frustration with her brother, she smiled a little.

If anyone had told her when she joined the accounting department at the paper six months ago that she would be having weekly lunches with the most incredible man she’d ever met, much less date him for four months, she would have said they were crazy.

Jade didn’t date. She didn’t do much socializing either.

But that had changed since she met handsome Sebastian Hudson.

He might be a newspaper columnist, but he had the body of an athlete—not surprising since he played football in high school.

“Tight end,” he’d told her. “Bench rider too, although I did play in a couple of games my senior year. My coach felt sorry for me.”

She had no idea what a tight end was, but she had no complaints about his backside or the rest of him. And she wasn’t surprised he downplayed his role on the team. Sebastian wasn’t just good-looking and charming. He was humble, which made him even sexier.

“When can you get me out of here?” Logan whined. “These people suck.”

Her temple started to throb, and she was a little irritated that Logan had interrupted her Sebastian reverie. “Those people are trying to help you. And you wouldn’t be in youth detention if you hadn’t been caught smoking marijuana behind the school building. Henderson, right?”

“Pulaski Heights,” he muttered. “You can’t even remember where I go to school.”

She tried to ignore the guilt his words triggered, and logically she couldn’t be expected to remember all the schools he’d gone to over the past several years.

Logan had been in one foster care and child home after another since she left the Westins.

That made her feel guilty too. She could have stayed at their house as an adult, like they offered, and could have commuted to UALR instead of going to UCA and living on campus.

She could have continued to be the surrogate mother she’d been to him since day one.

If she’d given up her dream of finally living a normal life, maybe Logan wouldn’t have gone off the rails.

“It was only one joint anyway.” He sniffed. “I promise I’ll follow the rules.”

“You said that the last time—”

“I mean it now.” His voice wavered. “Please, Jade. I just wanna go home.”

Her heart broke. Logan didn’t have a home—not a real, permanent one.

Until she graduated college and got her own apartment, she didn’t either.

Not since she was nine. It’s not fair. Logan didn’t deserve to live a transient life like she did.

Like so many other kids had to. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, looking at her suddenly shaking hands. “I’ll call Mr. Brink.”

“Who’s he?”

“My lawyer.” She paused. Should she tell him? Get his hopes up when she wasn’t sure she could deliver on the promise?

“Thanks, Jade,” he said, sounding relieved. “You’re the best. I miss you.”

“Miss you too.” Her fingers grew steadier now that he sounded appeased.

“I wish I could live with you.”

“I know.” He said that every time they talked on the phone or met in person, usually once a month and on holidays.

Even though she wasn’t around all the time, she made sure to be a presence in his life.

Unfortunately she had limited influence on him.

This time he sounded so dejected she had to give him some hope.

“Mr. Brink is trying to figure out something.”

“Like what?”

“Like me adopting you.”

“Really? You’re going to adopt me?”

She grinned, his excitement fueling hers. “I’m trying to.” She heard someone yell his name in the background.

“I gotta go. Social worker time.” His tone turned crabby again.

“Do what they say, Logan, and stay out of trouble.”

“I will.”

“I mean it. I love you, and I’ll always be here for you—”

“Bye!” Logan hung up.

Jade put the phone in the cradle and sat back in her chair, worried she’d said too much. Now that she’d told him, she’d have to make sure Mr. Brink did everything possible to make the adoption happen. That would cost money—more than she had. But Logan was worth it.

She looked at the clock again and her stomach churned. Talking to Logan was easy compared to what she had to do next, and she had ten minutes to figure out what she was going to say to Sebastian.

A printed contract from Preston Ustace was on her desk, ready for her signature.

She looked through the media company’s offer one more time, then picked up her pen.

The ballpoint hovered over the signature line.

Once she signed this, her world would change, and she suddenly felt weary.

She was tired of change. Her entire life had been one upheaval and disappointment after another, with a few victories along the way—making it through foster care almost unscathed, graduating from college in three years, finding an accounting job right away, then moving on to The Democrat-Gazette . .. and meeting Sebastian.

Her chest squeezed. But she knew what she had to do.

With a surprisingly steady hand, she quickly signed the contract, sealed it in a brown envelope, and put it to the side of her tidy and organized desktop to mail on the way home.

There. A done deal. She was doing the right thing—for her career and, most importantly, for Logan.

This wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to put her happiness on the back burner. She doubted it would be the last.

* * *

SEB’S VIEW

BY SEBASTIAN HUDSON

In the immortal words of Snoopy, it was a dark and stormy night.

But storms didn’t deter fans of the Quisenberry Golden Rockers and the Sterling Spring Chickens as they watched the two senior teams vie for the coveted We Ain’t Too Old for This bowling trophy at the Little Rock Professor Bowl.

The sassy and steadfast septuagenarians battled through three close games, with the Spring Chickens emerging victorious.

“We’ll get ’em next year,” Horace Quisenberry, the Rockers’ team captain, said, shaking off the loss as he spooned a stack of sauerkraut on his foot-long hot dog. “This is all in good fun, and we raised over two hundred dollars for the senior center.”

Mr. Q.’s wife of fifty years, Pearl June, wasn’t as magnanimous. “Those Chickens cheat,” she muttered, her frosty pink lips pursed in a scowl while her good-natured husband strode off. “We should have won the second game

Briiiiiiing!

Sebastian jumped at the jingling sound coming from the sleek black telephone perched on the edge of his desk.

His fingers froze over his manual Smith Corona typewriter as he switched his thoughts from the Professor Bowl to his office.

He shoved aside the ever-present stack of papers in front of him, found the phone, and picked up the receiver. “Hudson here.”

“How are things in the big city?”

Seb smiled at Buford Wilson’s gravelly voice. “Still hustling and bustling.”

“That’s why I like it here in Clementine. No hustle or bustle.”

Leaning back in his creaky antique chair, Seb grinned. “It’s good to hear from you, Buford. It’s been a while.”

“Far too long.” A pause.

His grin faltered. “Everything okay? Glenda doing all right?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. Everything’s fine. I just needed to ask you something.”

Seb glanced at the paper in the typewriter.

His column was due by end of day, but he could spare time for his old mentor.

Besides, it was his own fault he’d procrastinated so long on it.

Not something he normally did, but the muse had struck during the weekend, and he’d spent both Saturday and Sunday working on his novel instead of the writing that paid his bills. “Sure,” he said to Buford. “What’s up?”

“My retirement.”

Seb sat up. “Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised. I’m shocked. You said you’d retire when you were dead. Wait. You’re not—”

“No, no. I’ll be alive and kicking as long as the good Lord wants me to. It’s just... I’m tired, Sebastian.” His voice turned gruff. “And with my nephew, Bo, happy with his farm and having no interest in the newspaper business, I realized I need a succession plan. I want you to be a part of it.”

That was the last thing he’d expected to hear.

“I want to sell The Clementine Times to you. Before you say anything, just listen to my offer. I talked it over with Glenda and Bo, and they agree with me—you should be the one to carry the paper into the future. But I know how important your work for The Democrat-Gazette is, and I don’t want to pull you away from that. ”