Heart Of The Matter. Marta Perry
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inconvenient moments. For an instant he wavered.
Then his resolve hardened. He’d tried being the Boy Scout before, living by his grandmother’s ideals, and look where it had gotten him. Clinging to the remnants of his career with his fingernails.
If Cyrus Mayhew hadn’t been willing to give him a chance, the only newspaper job he’d have landed was delivering them. In Alaska.
So he’d do what he had to. He frowned. The called-in story tip had been annoyingly vague, as they so often were, but it had promised a scandal, fat and juicy, involving the Coast Guard base and kickbacks paid by local companies for contracts. A big story—the kind of story that, properly handled, could get him back on top again.
And Amanda Bodine, with her Coast Guard family, was just what he needed.
He stalked up to her desk, noting that just the sight of him was enough to send the mail room kid fleeing. Amanda had a bit more self-control, but she clearly didn’t welcome his visit, either.
“Ms. Bodine.” The balloons were gone from her desk. “Have you set up an initial meeting for me yet?”
“I…um, yes.” A faint hint of pink stained her cheeks. “I spoke with my father. He’d be pleased to talk with you.”
“Good.” He’d done a little digging himself. Talking to Brett Bodine would be starting at the top. He was one of the head honchos at the local Coast Guard base. “When can we meet?”
Her flush deepened, and he watched, fascinated. When was the last time he’d met a woman who could blush?
“Actually, I’m on my way to a family get-together when I leave work. My daddy suggested you come along and have some supper with us. You can talk to him, and my cousins will be there…” Her voice petered out.
“I assume this is a birthday party for you.” He lifted an eyebrow, remembering the birthday balloons and flowers. Clearly Amanda had some admirers.
“And my sister, Annabel. We’re twins. Since our birthday is in the summer, we’ve always had a picnic at the beach.” She clamped her mouth shut suddenly, maybe remembering who she was telling.
“It sounds charming.”
Her eyes narrowed, as if she suspected sarcasm. “I explained to him that this was business, not social. If you’d rather meet at his office, I can tell him that.”
The idea of taking him to a family gathering clearly made her uncomfortable, but it appealed to him. Get people in a casual setting where they felt safe, and they’d often let slip more than they would in a formal interview.
“No, this sounds good,” he said briskly. “Give me directions, and I’ll be there.”
“It’s at my grandmother’s beach house over on Sullivan’s Island.” She kept dismay out of her voice, but her mouth had tensed and her hands tightened on the edge of her desk.
“Directions,” he said again.
Soft lips pressed together for an instant. “I’ll be coming back into the city afterward anyway, if you want to ride over with me instead of trying to find it on your own.”
Her brand of Southern courtesy compelled the offer, he supposed, but he was quick to take advantage. A few moments alone in the car with her would give him a chance to get background on the people he’d be meeting.
“Fine,” he said promptly. “Are you ready?”
Again the tension showed in her face, but she managed to smile. “Just let me close a few files.” She flicked a glance at his shirt and tie. “But you’ll want to wear something more casual at the beach.”
“I keep a change of clothes in my office.” He turned, eager to get on with it. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot in fifteen minutes.”
He strode toward his office, nodding at the few staffers who ventured to say good-night to him. Most just hurried past, heads down, as if eager to escape his notice. It didn’t work. He noticed, just as he’d noticed Amanda’s reluctance.
She was both too polite and too worried about her job to argue with him. Even if she had, he’d have been perfectly capable of overrunning her objections.
Amanda didn’t want him on her home ground, but that was too bad. Because the Bodines were going to help him get back to his native turf, and no other considerations would stand in his way.
Amanda had been treated to a sample of Ross’s interview style on the trip over to the island, and she didn’t much care for being on the receiving end. She pulled on shorts and T-shirt in the small room under the eaves that the girl cousins always shared at the beach house.
She glanced in the mirror, frowning at the transformation from city professional to island girl. Somehow she felt safer clad in her professional armor.
She pressed her fingertips against the dressing table that still wore the pink-and-white-checked skirt her grandmother had put on it years ago. Not that Miz Callie was a pink and frilly kind of person, but she’d wanted the girl cousins to feel that this room was theirs.
Dealing with Ross in the office was hard enough. Amanda still rankled over his quick dismissal of her ability to write the articles on the Coast Guard. Who was better equipped to write it—someone who’d lived with it her whole life or an outsider who didn’t have a clue?
She wrinkled her nose at the image in the mirror. Ross had the answer to that, and he was the boss. He’d decided that her family was his way into the story, and if his aggressive, almost abrasive questioning in the car had been a sample of his style, they were in for some rough waters.
She headed for the stairs, the comparison lightening her mood. Daddy was used to rough waters. He could handle the likes of Ross with one hand tied behind his back.
And speaking of handling him, she’d left her boss alone with her grandmother. Goodness only knows what they were making of each other.
She usually skipped down the stairs at the beach house because of the sheer joy of being there. Now she hurried for fear of what Miz Callie might be saying. Catching Ross’s gaze on her, she slowed to a more sedate pace as she reached the living room.
He was sitting in the shabby, over-stuffed chair near the wall of windows that faced the beach and the ocean. Her heart clutched. That had been Granddad’s special seat after his first stroke had stolen away most of his mobility. He’d never tired of looking out at the sea.
“Is my grandmother takin’ good care of you?” The tall glass of sweet tea at his elbow looked untouched.
“She is. She had to run back to the kitchen to deal with something.” As if becoming aware of the glass, he lifted it and touched it to his lips.
She couldn’t help but grin. “Obviously you aren’t used to iced tea that’s sweet enough to make your back teeth ache. Come on. We’ll find the others. Someone will have brought a cooler of soda.”
He put the sweet tea down quickly and stood, his gaze sweeping over her. She usually felt he didn’t see her at all. This gaze was far more personal. Too much so.
Her chin lifted. “Something wrong?” She edged the words with ice.
“No.” He made an instinctive move back. “You just look different. From the office, that is.”
“We’re not in the office,” she pointed out. If she could make him feel a tad uncomfortable, so much the better. She needed to keep a professional distance between them, no matter where they were.
“We’re not,” he agreed. His fingers brushed her bare arm, and the unexpected familiarity of the gesture set her nerve endings tingling.
He nodded toward the kitchen. “We were going in search of a soda,” he reminded her.
“Right, yes.” She took a breath. She would not let the man dismantle her confidence in herself. “This