Chapter Five
T he twins were lying .
Ricky knew it. He just didn’t know what they were lying about.
Two men, both regular inhabitants of the town shelters who were more than familiar with the shadowy corners of the town parks, had seen Josh and Judah as hanging around and “up to no good”.
Ricky let out a breath. He tried not to think about the hurt, outraged expression on Jodi’s face. She was a journalist, for God’s sake. She ought to know that hard questions were the only way to get answers. There was no point pussyfooting when it came to keeping people safe.
He thought about the cigarettes and the matches. Tried to imagine how a scenario involving a couple of feral teenagers fit in with what he already knew about the fires.
Finally, when his overstuffed brain couldn’t think of more possibilities, he stretched out on his bed and opened up Chrissie’s sketchbook.
Instantly, he was swept up in memories. The writing was scrappy, hashtags thrown up by her chaotic brain scrawled randomly across pages: #blacklivesmatter #metoo #nolockdowns #universalincome #climatechangeishere #freepoliticalprisoners.
Chrissie had cared, wildly, deeply, and indiscriminately, and she had poured out her anguish in her quick cameos of life on the streets of New York.
Neither of them had been prepared for the sheer thrill of the fast-moving crowds, the soaring buildings, the restlessness of the fabled city which never sleeps. For the glitz and grime, and the tawdry over-priced apartments and the flotsam and jetsam of those swept aside.
Chrissie had loved it all, throwing herself into the raging river.
Ricky had blinked; once, twice, and then put his head down and worked. Without being told, he had known instinctively that dreams are ephemeral, treacherous beings, constantly moving out of reach. Timetables, exams, training, more training... those things he knew and trusted.
You can take the boy out of Temple Mountain...
He knew the tatty notebook almost by heart now. The slow but steady decline as Chrissie had fallen deeper into the abyss. And Ricky wondered, not for the first time, if he should have stayed around. Maybe checked on her.
It was always going to end in tears.
Chrissie’s handwriting got worse, indecipherable scrawls which he suspected were about dealers and contacts. Her cheap knock-off cell phone had been found by the cleanup crew, but had yielded nothing beyond heavily coded, brief text messages to the same contacts.
Ricky flipped to the back page where Chrissie had tucked the thin, much-handled official papers. The New York State Adoption Services papers, the certified home study of the adoptive parents, the multi-page contract provided by the private agency Creating Families. File numbers and reference codes were the only keys to the new names of the child, who was female, and the adoptive parents.
The single preference that Chrissie had expressed was devastating in its simplicity.
I want my child to grow up in Temple Mountain. I was happy there.
Ricky clenched his jaw against the inevitable rush of pain, of furious incomprehension.
Baby Lioba Angel .
Chrissie’s name was there of course, and her barely legible signature.
Angela Christine Caitens .
“Mom wanted to call me Angel, but she was told it sounded too Spanish. But I’d rather be Chrissie anyway.”
He could still hear Chrissie’s hushed voice. They had wandered into Grace Church on Broadway, in those heady days when everything was viewed through the rose-tinted filter of romance. Once inside, the exquisite proportions of the light-filled space had taken away their breath. And the window, that masterpiece of stained glass, had dazzled them into awed silence.
Later, they had strolled down Broadway feeling like proper inhabitants of the greatest city in the world. That there was nothing that they couldn’t do.
***
J odi dressed with particular care for her Monday meeting with Chief Leroy Browning. Not because she wished to impress him, (or Ricky Sharp if he happened to wander into the office) but because sometimes a girl had to bolster her flagging self-esteem.
She was still surprised by the invitation, which had been issued with the usual grudging compliance by Sally Lett—who acted like she was granting a special favor—with the clear expectation that Ms. Ruskin had better toe the line, or else.
On balance, it hadn’t been a great weekend.
She’d babysat her nephew Isaac, whose normally easygoing temperament had been hijacked by the prior ingestion of a whole pack of candy, got her washing rained on, and forgotten to pick up the dry cleaning. To add insult to injury, Jaylee had been late picking up her son on the laughable grounds that she’d been forced to linger in a café on account of the rain.
Even these vexatious experiences hadn’t helped Jodi shake off her sense of grievance following the community meal debacle.
She swallowed a yawn, settling herself inside the Chief’s glass-fronted office to wait for the Great Man. Her lips were a glossy kick-butt red, and her unruly waves had been tamed into a sleek chignon.
Focus, she told herself sternly. She took a moment to twitch her new charcoal and blue herringbone skirt into place over her knees.
True, the oyster satin silk blouse had been a brave purchase, given the high risk of inky fingers, occasional pastry crumbs, and the regular and steady consumption of coffee which her job required. (Not to forget external threats such as Bubbles the boodle, of course.) But there was no question that the divine color and drape was drop-dead, bury-me-in-this gorgeous.
And honestly, the sensual drape of silk on bare skin made Jodi feel like...well, like purring...and who could put a dollar-figure on that ?
“Ms. Ruskin!”
She jumped. The Chief’s voice was pitched to carry over a town hall full of irate voters or a busy fire station, not a medium-sized though beautifully furnished office.
“My apologies for holding you up, those old folks at Temple Mountain Retirement Village all wanted to have their say. I kept explaining to them that the county makes laws about where folks can smoke, and we just carry them out. Got quite heated.”
He chuckled at his own joke.
Jodi maintained her professional smile as Ricky appeared. He threw her a wide, appreciative grin. She nodded coolly.
The blouse was so, so worth it.
“And don’t you look a picture?” the Chief said admiringly, running his gaze over Jodi, whose expression turned a tad icy. “And might I say what a truly fine job you are doing young woman, keepin’ the editor’s seat hot?”
Typical good-old-boy bullshit .
Her inner purr dropped a notch to the deep menacing growl a mama lion gives just before it takes off someone’s head.
Ricky winced.
Jodi inspected the perfect gloss of her midnight blue nails, as though wondering whether to risk chipping them. Her fingers began drumming a tattoo on her knee.
Ricky began to look faintly anxious.
The Chief beamed, completely unaware of the potential threat.
“I’ve asked you here so as to give our local media first crack at some breaking news.” He paused, clearly waiting for Jodi’s gasp of surprise and/or admiration.
“Gee,” she said obediently, ignoring the glint of amusement in Ricky’s eye.
“Yes ma’am,” repeated the Chief heartily. He turned to his new assistant like a proud uncle. “Young Ricky here has come up with a plan to make our beautiful town a safer community.”
He paused again.
“Mmmmm.” Jodi murmured encouragingly. She resisted the impulse to check her phone. She had an editorial meeting in thirty minutes and then a financial strategy meeting with the newspaper’s owners and business advisers. The proofreading needed to be done by tomorrow night, and Dougie had inadvertently failed to include several of the regular local advertisers. Some serious redesign of pages and a long night lay ahead.
Food and sleep were optional at this point.
“Maybe we should tell Jodi straight up, Leroy,” Ricky suggested. “Just in case there’s been a leak, and she gets scooped by one of the nationals.”
Chief Browning threw his assistant a sharp glance, clearly suspecting irony, before plowing ahead.
“Here’s the plan. Focus on Families, we are calling it. The fire department, in the person of Ricky Sharp, will visit every childcare center, preschool and parents’ group to inform them of the latest fire safety standards. And to remind them that smoking is banned and nobody at the county gives a hoot if folks think it’s a violation of their constitutional rights of freedom of association or privacy and to be a goddamn fool. Ricky will do a safety and compliance check and hand out stickers, fridge magnets, posters.”
Leroy paused, like he had saved the best till last. “And, he’ll demonstrate the use of fire extinguishers and let some of the folks have a go.”
Jodi nodded solemnly. She frowned at a speck on her blouse, brushing it with one glossy fingernail. Only a thread, thank heavens.
Yessir, keeping the editor’s seat hot was pretty exciting .
Her brain reluctantly moved into gear. Could she squeeze something into the next edition, which was (as previously noted) packed tight?
Page three, with a hero pic of the hunky firefighter with a cute kid? Add some of those fridge magnets?
It was the stuff of a Pulitzer Prize.
Page one, under the fold, if the kid ticked more than two minority boxes? Though it was a fair bet that Cindy Flinders would only turn one hundred years once, and a live centenarian was heaps better than a dead one in terms of news value. And surely anyone who had lived that long deserved a decent space in the local newspaper.
But time was tight...Jodi weighed her options. Perhaps an online teaser, promising a later feature, and she could change her editorial from the rise in graffiti to the shocking number of fires caused by faulty wiring...
The Chief leaned forward. “Here’s the hook. That’s what you reporters call it, isn’t it? Anyways, the hook is that we will be handing out two brand new domestic fire extinguishers to two lucky families. It’s a giveaway!”
“Great. Nice.” Jodi tried to hurry things along. “So, any leads on the firebug?”
Chief Browning’s face turned solemn. “Always on the job, eh, Ms. Ruskin?” His eyebrows morphed into a single, discontented monobrow. “That was some article you wrote last week by the way, with the photo of Ricky here looking into that trash bin. Where did you get all that stuff about pyromaniacs?”
“There’s a lot of interesting information online, Chief,” said Jodi airily. “My job is to keep people informed.”
“It’s not your job to make wild guesses!” The Chief’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He forced a smile. “Now, this next bit is off the record, young lady. You know what that means I hope?”
Jodi gritted her teeth.
Welcome to Temple Mountain, she told herself. Home of the original and unreconstructed male chauvinist.
Where were Susan B. Anthony and Ruth Bader Ginsberg when a girl needed them?
“Ricky here has identified some possible suspects,” continued Leroy. He shook his head. “It’s a sorry tale.”
Jodi turned her cool gaze to Ricky, who had the decency to look a little uncomfortable.
“Early days,” he muttered. “Following up a few leads.”
“Clues. Wow.” The slow burn of anger from Friday night’s debacle flickered to life. Her voice was icy with disdain.
“I guess that’s why we needed to bring in a big shot from New York, so he could provide such penetrating insight. Can we expect a thrilling takedown in the main street? I do hope you’ll be wearing one of those big firemen’s hats for the photo.”
The Chief’s brow wrinkled in confusion.
His phone flashed with an incoming text. He grunted and stood up, brushing a hand across his immaculate hair.
“Any images will be coordinated through the media unit. And they won’t include temporary staff looking into trash cans. You can expect a photo of the Chief of the Temple Mountain Fire Department this afternoon.”
He threw her what was supposed to be a benign smile but looked to Jodi more like a snarl. “So, I gotta hurry you folks along. Got an important meeting coming up. Wheels of industry. My time isn’t my own.”
Jodi found herself expertly ejected from the room, followed by Ricky. The Chief exited and they were left standing alongside Ricky’s somewhat chaotic desk.
“Important meeting my foot,” muttered Ricky. “He’s having lunch with the mayor at the golf club.”
He straightened a pile of brochures about how to pick up dog poop.
“Here’s a real tip. Leroy is planning a tilt at the mayor’s job when the old boy retires at the end of the year.”
“Thanks, Deep Throat.” Jodi smirked. “So is every other town council wannabe in Temple Mountain.”
His eyes remained firmly fixed on hers. Jodi felt her unreliable heart speed up. She flicked away an imaginary spot on her blouse.
Cool, calm, and collected, she reminded herself. Don’t be fooled—again—by that earnest expression.
“Have you got time for lunch?” Ricky leaned against his desk, looking every inch the relaxed firefighter trying out for the next fundraising calendar. His eyes lingered briefly on the silk blouse and soft herringbone skirt. “By the way, you look...perfect.”
Jodi felt her cheeks go pink. She spent a few seconds trying to figure out if she should be flattered or offended, but his warm smile was too distracting.
“We need to discuss details for your big scoop,” he said gravely. “I expect you’ll want to trail me around the preschool taking photos of adorable children and grateful parents.”
Since that exact image had occurred to Jodi, she immediately dismissed it. And she had prior commitments. Cindy Flinders wasn’t getting any younger.
“I’d rather take Alma to judo lessons and watch while she learns to shout indecipherable threats and break innocent pieces of two ply into kindling,” she said tartly.
“Pity.” Ricky’s eyes were teasing. “So if I told you that my first presentation is to the parents’ group at the rectory, you wouldn’t be interested?”
She stiffened. On cue, her phone began to chime. She bit off a mild curse. A text appeared from Sally Lett promising a fabulous photo of the Chief with a fire extinguisher ( oh the excitement! ) by late afternoon. Hoping (aka expecting) for due prominence in the newspaper. Above the fold, naturally.
Jodi really, truly, needed to be on her way. But as Ricky had guessed, there was no way she was about to let him loose on the Beecham family without her. Not after Friday night.
“Can’t do lunch,” she said frostily. And then, against every professional and personal instinct, she made the universal hand sign for “call me”.
His laughter followed her all the way to the elevator.
***
I n theory, the cyclical nature of a local newspaper allows the editor a brief restorative pause before plunging into the next issue.
And the latest Monitor was indeed a meaty issue, and one which had required all hands on deck to make deadline.
The Chief, of course, was on the front page, above the fold, but Cindy, looking full of pep, had the entirety of page three to herself, which (as anyone would agree) was pretty decent exposure. Her beaming children, grandchildren and great grandchildren also made an appearance in the remaining space left by the funeral home advertisements on the bottom third of the page.
Dougie Moon had followed up on the trash can arson story with a background piece on Temple Mountain buildings which had been lost to fire over the last century, complete with a few quotes from old-timers and a timeline composed of nifty graphics. An excellent two-page spread, thought Jodi, gazing at the pleasing mix of type, images, and white space.
Naturally, some sacrifices had had to be made to accommodate the late changes. The gardening column was missing a less-than-riveting photo of the regular columnist digging compost into his vegetable patch before bedding it down for winter, the recipe for windfall apple cake had been truncated (carefully), and the last two letters to arrive (both suspiciously alike in their complaints about the heinous no-smoking ban in aged care residences) were dropped.
But now that the newspaper was online (mostly) and in print, the relentless pressure to constantly update the news was never far from the Acting Editor’s mind. The breathing space between issues felt more like pausing between a set of lunges at the gym than the deep meditative breath that her yoga teacher encouraged.
But this was the job, Jodi told herself robustly. She slipped on her best jeans, a stone-washed boyfriend style which she wasn’t yet ready to admit were completely the wrong cut for someone with womanly curves, and added a crisp white shirt under a crimson wool jacket long enough to hide the baggy jeans.
She was giving up her treasured post-publication free weekday to accompany Ricky to the first of his meetings with the mothers’ groups because she was a professional. Didn’t mean she couldn’t channel some casual chic.
Jodi hummed the tune to “Uptown Girl” as she braided her hair and then stuffed The Monitor ’s second-best camera and her notebook in her shopping tote.
A couple of snaps of hunky firefighter meets adorable babies and beaming moms, and she would be done. And her physical presence would head off any unfortunate interactions between Silas and Ricky. The twins, if for some reason not at school, could be kept well out of range of any inquisitive questions.
Confident that she was prepared for any potential pitfalls, Jodi strode down the wide street, enjoying the crisp air on her face. Another drop of snow had been and gone, lingering only in the shadiest corners. The ground itself was cooling beneath her sturdy boots, and Thanksgiving and then Christmas beckoned. Another year was slipping by.
Jodi breathed in the pine-scented air. Thirty minutes to write a few paragraphs and upload the story, and then she was free. Free to do laundry, catch up on social media, maybe a session at the beauty salon. So long as Gramps didn’t call, needing an errand downtown, or Jaylee didn’t suddenly require a babysitter for some “urgent” engagement.
Her free day did not require Ricky Sharp’s presence to make it worthwhile.
Just as Jodi reached the front door of the rectory, she heard the low rumble of heavy tires on crumbling bitumen edges.
Ricky pulled up in a gleaming town council utility truck. He leaped out, waved hello and began unloading cardboard boxes.
Jodi tamped down a delicious frisson of joy. She mustered up a smile that she hoped conveyed purely professional pleasure at his arrival.
Ricky looked relaxed. A long way from the intense, almost wounded man she remembered from those awful moments outside the hall.
Even the ghastly brown jacket, stretching across his broad shoulders, and the fish logo, looked good on him. The military brush cut was now a distant memory, and he brushed tousled dark waves away from his forehead as he worked.
“Good morning.” Jodie’s tone was level. He nodded, and she felt his eyes briefly take in her outfit. “This is my morning off,” she said defensively.
“Then I owe you,” he said gravely. His gaze locked onto her face and Jodi reluctantly met his eyes. “And you owe me too—”
Jodi opened her mouth but closed it again. She settled for a raised eyebrow.
Ricky dumped the boxes on the hall stand where they teetered dangerously on a pile of real estate junk mail. Shrieks and laughter came from the family room and kitchen area, along with the smell of coffee.
“My public awaits.” His warm smile belied the serious expression in his eyes.
Yes, he was still there, thought Jodi. The man she had glimpsed, with the burns on his hands and the scars on his heart.
Ricky glanced inside the crowded room. He spoke quickly. “But as I was saying, you owe me the chance to explain why I was talking to the twins on Friday night. And you were quite right, I shouldn’t have spoken to them alone like that. I apologized to Silas, and we agreed that any further conversation would take place with him present.”
Jodi felt some of the stiffness in her shoulders ease. “Fine. Good,” she said shortly.
At that moment, little Jaime came flying around the corner, and Ricky scooped her up with one arm before she tumbled down the front steps. “Whoa, little one!”
Jaime paused. She looked solemnly into the eyes of her rescuer before wriggling furiously to get down. He bent down and steered her back into the house with a pat on her diapered bottom.
Hattie appeared, her strained expression disappearing as Jaime cannoned into her legs. “You little monkey.” Hattie scooped the child up. “I found her!” she called over her shoulder.
Joshua appeared, his pale, blunt features soft with relief. He took the little girl, who nuzzled his neck and gurgled with laughter.
“Hey buddy,” said Ricky mildly. Josh’s face instantly transformed into the dumb insolence which Jodi knew he did so well. “No school today?”
Ricky’s tone was still conversational, but Josh was having none of it. He stalked away, the little girl clinging to his shoulder. Jaime waved a chubby fist.
Hattie huffed out a breath. “Oh dear.” She threw an apologetic look at Ricky. “It’s okay, he’s not cutting school. Josh and Judah have an agreement with the principal that they attend face-to-face classes most afternoons, and Silas and I homeschool them for the rest of the time. They’ve had a bit of trouble fitting into the routine, you might say.”
Jodi’s heart sank like a holed dinghy. She glanced at Ricky, who met her gaze steadily.
See , he seemed to say. I told you that those boys were prime suspects, and I was right .
***
A parents’ group, Ricky soon realized, was a friendly if distracted audience. Though surprisingly on task, and apparently able to take in technical information while retrieving children from climbing on chairs and even up the curtain, breaking up fights over toys and helping find the missing pieces of peg board puzzles.
In fact there were more questions than Ricky had expected, some quite detailed and others beyond his scope, and he found himself promising to come back for a follow-up session.
When he finally had time to mingle, he made a beeline straight for Hattie.
Her wide, grateful smile embraced him.
“Thank you so much Ricky.”
She looked around at the adults folding away fire safety pamphlets and talking about where to buy a fire blanket and if anyone knew an electrician who would give a group discount for tagging home appliances.
“You really got these folks thinking about keeping their homes safe. A wonderful idea, especially since parents of young children don’t get much time on the internet or for public information meets.”
He nodded. “I hope I didn’t frighten them, but it’s hard to comprehend how quickly fire spreads. Most fatalities are from smoke inhalation.” He kept his voice light, but Hattie seemed to be able to read his mind.
“Bless you for what you do.” She gripped his hand with cool fingers. “I know that you must see terrible things, so much pain and death. And you bear it so that others don’t have to.”
Ricky froze. Her soft words cut straight through him and he understood why the diminutive preacher drew people to her like moths to a lamp. She understood pain and loss. Understood the burdens that others carried.
The image of Chrissie’s body, curled up like a sleeping child, flashed into his mind. A millisecond later the image was gone, leaving only a lingering sadness, and Ricky felt a surprising lightness—as though some of the weight he bore had evaporated in the warmth of Hattie’s understanding.
She released his hand with a squeeze.
“I love this house. But now I wonder if it’s a firetrap.” Hattie stared around the large, shabby space with its paint-blistered windowsills and uneven floorboards as though wondering if they could even get the windows open in an emergency.
“Silas and I will have an emergency plan in place before the weekend, I promise.”
She fixed her large dark eyes on his face. He breathed in the comforting scents of mashed banana and soap and fried onions. The noise in the room rose and fell, a cacophony of squeals, laughter, and conversation which was surprisingly soothing.
“Silas said that you were talking to the twins, asking them about the fires. I know that they are a bit...feral, but I don’t believe they would endanger or hurt someone deliberately.” A faint tremor crossed her face, as though reliving some long-buried memory. “I have seen evil, Ricky. And there’s no evil in those boys.”
Ricky suddenly hated his job. How many times had he heard those same words from distressed and outraged relatives?
Not my boy/brother/cousin!
Because firebugs generally were male, often young and unhappy, and sometimes plain vengeful.
“But you don’t really know, do you?” he asked gently. He saw the tears well up. She shook her head silently.
Ricky reached out a hand and laid it on her slender arm. “I promise you that I will not upset the twins unnecessarily, and that I won’t do a thing without hard evidence.”
She nodded, took a deep breath. Her smile was shaky but full of trust. If possible, Ricky’s heart sank even further.
Jaime appeared, a small impatient figure tugging at Hattie’s legs. Hattie bent down with a smile and hoisted the small child up.
“Who’s my beautiful baby?” she murmured. Jaime closed her eyes and snuggled against her foster mother’s neck. “I still feel a tug in my heart when this little one up and demands a hug, or when we hear her laugh. When she first came to us, she was the saddest little girl I have ever seen.”
Ricky forced himself not to imagine the hell of losing both parents.
Jaime was safe now. Enfolded in the arms of this loving family. His own child should be this lucky.
“She adores the twins, and the feeling is mutual.” Hattie’s smile was tremulous. Her next words hit Ricky like a gut punch.
“It’s the power of the wounded healer. Never forget that, Ricky.”
Ricky blinked. He looked away for a brief second, struggling for composure. Was he that transparent? Somehow he didn’t see himself doing any healing any time soon.
He cleared his throat. “Do you get a lot of support from the county services—to help with the kids I mean?”
Hattie peered over Jaime’s curly brown mop. “Yes, they’re very good. Really responsive, and the staff are dedicated to the children.”
Ricky forced himself to push a little harder. “What about parent groups? Like this?”
He gestured around the room. Jodi was crawling under the coffee table in search of a piece of Duplo. The baggy jeans clung to her hips, revealing a patch of smooth white skin on her lower back.
Hattie was nodding. Jaime opened her eyes and immediately reached out her chubby arms towards Ricky. He took the weight of her small, compact body, felt her sticky hands around his neck, and inhaled the sweet baby smell of shampoo and cereal.
Without thinking, he kissed the top of the child’s head, felt the softness of her hair. Her hum of contentment vibrated against his chest, and he fought the urge to tighten his grip.
Hattie was talking. “There’s a group for foster parents and also adoptive parents. The county tries to get people together as much as possible, and most folks are keen. Nothing easy about taking a child into a family. Rewarding and fulfilling of course, but it can be tough.”
An urge to tell all, to download his desperate longing, ripped through Ricky, swiftly followed by the cold chill of reality. Hattie would listen of course, her brown eyes bright with empathy. But there was no way in God’s heaven that she would let him anywhere near the foster and adoptive parents if she knew the truth.
“I could come along,” he blurted before he lost his nerve. “Do a presentation, meet the kids so they would feel comfortable with a new authority figure. I expect that’s a problem for some of them.”
Before Hattie could respond, there was a surge of parents towards the front door and a general gathering-up of children and belongings.
Hattie reached over and took Jaime, whose eyelids were fluttering.
“You need your nap, sweetheart,” she whispered.
“No.”
Both adults smiled.
“I’ll think about that, Ricky, talk to the others. But excuse me now, and thanks again...”
Ricky found himself almost alone in the family room. It looked like a bomb had hit. Jodi stood by the door, tucking her camera into her bag.
Her expression was definitely less frosty—or at least he hoped so.
Ricky gathered up the remains of his pamphlets and rescued a trampled poster from the floor. A couple of stickers covered in yogurt and a banana-smeared coloring page of a fire truck went in the bin.
“That was pretty decent,” Jodi said. She followed him down the hall behind the departing parents and children. “In fact, I would go so far as to say it was an excellent idea.”
Ricky shrugged modestly. Yes, it had been one of his better inspirations, and fun to boot.
The dull morning had brightened into a brilliant day. The kind of day to imagine the bulbs hibernating beneath the cold earth, patiently waiting for the long months of cold to pass. A day full of promise.
Ricky slipped his arm through Jodi’s.
“Trying to avoid falls,” he explained gravely. “We at the Temple Mountain Fire Department are all about health and safety.”
She stiffened at his touch, then relaxed. She lifted her face to the pale sun like the first daffodil of the season, drawing in a contented breath.
The tightness in Ricky’s heart eased a fraction. He fought the desire to slip his arm around her waist and draw her close. To release the black clip securing her braid and watch the honey-colored waves fall around her shoulders.
“You were right, before,” she said quietly.
“Ummm?” Ricky hoped she wasn’t a mind reader. He frowned slightly. He was right? About what?
She laughed at his uneasy expression.
“About owing me lunch—at the very least—since I gave up my precious free time.” She jiggled the camera strap. “I do hope that you are a man of your word, Ricky Sharp. Because whether you like it or not, I hold your future and your reputation in my hands.”
Ricky felt his smile slipping away. His stomach tightened.
“Here’s the deal, bud,” she said briskly, zipping up her red jacket. “Lunch at Bean & Co, or I’ll publish that sneaky shot of you picking up little Troy and then realizing that his diaper was overflowing.”
Ricky felt a rush of giddy relief, followed by a surge of desire that sent out all sorts of physical signals—the appropriateness of which he didn’t care to dwell on just then.
“Blackmailing a town council officer?” he said lightly.
“Yup.”
Most people would agree that, in the circumstances, Ricky really had no choice but to follow his attractive blackmailer down the path.