Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
A my hefted down one of the giant books that bound six months of newspapers together. She’d been delighted to find this treasure of Two Hearts history stacked on shelves in the back. The books had been under decades of dust that she’d had to clean off, but they were still in good shape.
When she set the book on the counter over cabinets that ran around the perimeter of the small room, a poof of dust billowed up. Coughing, Amy stepped back and waved her hand in front of her face. Maybe she hadn’t cleaned as well as she’d thought.
She flipped through the first newspaper in the bunch and searched for an article with a wedding and a photo she thought would scan well and be usable. However, January 1935’s issues didn’t produce anything suitable, so she kept flipping.
About the same time she turned to February’s section, a sound from outside caught her attention. It hadn’t sounded like a car but rather a human.
Amy turned toward the front of her office. A thud sent her heart rate through the roof. The sound and person were inside her newspaper office. A second later, the floor in the old building creaked.
Had she locked the front door when she’d come in? She was so used to leaving it open during the day that she probably hadn’t.
Another creak.
She tiptoed to the light switch and flipped it off, hoping to stay hidden. Amy gulped. She might need a weapon—something to arm herself against this unwelcome intruder.
She felt around on the counter for a pair of scissors or a letter opener but found nothing helpful, at least nothing big enough that she could grab and stab or swing. Suddenly, her hand touched upon a fish, the largemouth bass the previous owner—Phil—had thought enough of to taxidermy and preserve.
Phil had installed it on the wall with a brass plaque under it that gave the weight and the date it had been caught in the lake at the edge of town. Amy had thought less of the fish than he had, so she’d taken it down and put it in the back. Right now, she liked it a little more.
She grabbed the fish by the tail and hefted it above her head, ready to strike, when a shadowy figure came around the corner. “Don’t move, or you’ll be sorry!” she yelled with far more force than her jelly-like insides summoned.
The figure yelped and lifted his arm to block the attack as the bass made contact.
“Wait! I’m not here to hurt you. Greg sent me.”
His words interrupted a second swing of the fish.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “And you’d better speak quickly.” She scooted along the wall to the light switch and flipped it on.
A man with dark, wavy hair held up a hand to block the light. When he dropped it, she saw clear blue eyes behind wire-framed glasses. His broad shoulders filled out his flannel shirt to perfection. She knew she’d never seen him before.
“Greg had to take another call, so I said I’d come over here to check the report of unusual activity.” He glared at her and rubbed his arm. She had hit him with a fair amount of force.
Amy held her weapon firmly and stared at him. “I know all the deputies. You aren’t one of them.”
Slowly smacking the fish against her hand as a warning, she watched him, waiting for his reply. She did her best to appear fearless, even though her knees were ready to buckle.
“I’m one of Greg’s friends from the Chicago Police Department.”
Amy dropped the fish on the counter and stepped away. She’d just hit a cop? What was the fine for assault with a fish?
He spoke before she could apologize. “I assume you’re the business owner. I’m going to need to have you prove it, though.”
How did she prove that? Her driver’s license didn’t say Owner of the Two Hearts Times . She could call someone and have them come in to verify her identity, but then the unfortunate situation with the fish would probably come up. She’d like to avoid that. Forever, if possible. Then she remembered her website. “I’ve got you covered on that! Follow me.”
She spun around to her laptop, flipped it open, and brought up the newspaper website with her photo. “Here I am.”
Scott leaned over to look. “I’m pleased to meet you . . . Amelia.” He straightened.
“People call me Amy. I just put Amelia, which is my real name, on there because it sounds more . . . businesslike.” She realized she was babbling, so she extended her hand to shake his.
“Scott Miller.”
When they touched, a warm zing traveled through her.
He held on for a moment longer than she thought he should have before he released her hand and smiled down at her. Down, because he must be at least six foot two to her five foot four.
“Scott, you said?”
He nodded, a curl falling onto his forehead. “I’d better get going.”
“Wait!” The darkness outside appeared more ominous now. Maybe she should have at least locked the door. “Why did you come to my newspaper office in the first place?”
“Someone spotted a light on inside your building and reported it.”
Annoyance at the intrusion into her personal life warred with happiness that somebody was looking out for her. She decided to let happiness win.
She still had to write the article, so she’d better get going, or her brother would realize she was missing and send out the cavalry. “I’ll be out of here in about an hour.”
“I’ll leave you to your work. Remember to lock up after me.” Scott stared at her for a moment longer, acting as if he wanted to say something.
She followed him to the door. As it closed, he glanced back, his blue eyes twinkling, as he added, “Nice slippers.”
Amy flipped the bolt as soon as the door had shut behind him. Bunny slippers and assault by bass. Her evening couldn’t get more embarrassing.
Scott seemed like a nice guy and certainly wasn’t hard to look at. Something about the laughter in his eyes when he teased her made her wish she could get to know him better. But he wasn’t staying, and she definitely was. Nice or not, Scott Miller was off-limits.
She hoped to get through his visit to Two Hearts without running into him again. With almost every moment of her life going into this newspaper, she had little time for socializing, anyway. She’d thought owning a paper would generate enough income to cover her expenses, but Amy was coming to realize that a small-town newspaper didn’t bring in much money. That was a concern for another day. Right now, she had the next edition to get out.