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Cussing under his breath, Aiden stood up and walked toward Steward’s office.
He’d only sent in his article late the previous night. Never before had he written something so personal, so close to his heart. He’d needed time to decide whether he was actually brave enough to send the musings of his very soul into the world for all to read.
In the end, though, it had been an easy decision to press the send button. Steward had taken his sweet time to call him in, though.
“Sit down,” Steward said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk.
Aiden gingerly sat down. Steward looked grave. Was he going to be fired?
Steward cleared his throat. “Good work, O’Sullivan. Good work. Your article will be on the front page tomorrow morning. Don’t be surprised if a television network picks up the story—everyone is looking for something other than riots and school shootings to report about.”
Dazed, Aiden left Steward’s office minutes later.
His phone rang. It was James Webster, the reporter from Sacramento.
Aiden answered the phone. “Any luck?”
James sighed. “Nope. The lady won’t give me the time of day, her sister won’t talk to me, and I’m scared of the brother after I heard what happened to you. I’d rather stay as far away from him as possible.”
Aiden grimaced. Did everyone know Mitch had punched him?
“I don’t blame her,” James continued. “I should’ve done my homework before I ran the article. But my boss received an anonymous tip. I hadn’t written anything sleezy enough for them in a while, so I… anyway, you know the rest.”
“Have you’ve tried talking to her sister?”
“I have. She’s also ignoring my calls and texts. Now that I’m with a more reputable newspaper, I want to get the story right. In our job, you don’t easily get another chance to change your reputation. I was hoping you’d maybe managed to persuade the sister or brother to talk to me?”
Aiden barked out a laugh. “There’s a better chance of getting them to talk the town gossip than getting them to talk to me.”
“The town gossip? You mean Carol Bingley? I’ve heard of her. You know, that may not be a bad idea… thank you.”
“No, wait!” Aiden called out, but James had already ended the call.
Cussing a blue streak, Aiden phoned his aunt.
*
“Oh, I likethis one.” Vivian smiled as she stepped back to look up at the balcony of the double-story house. She and Annie had just returned from Bozeman after their shopping trip when the realtor called to say he could show her a few houses.
The three houses she’d seen so far simply hadn’t felt right. They were nice houses, very neat houses, but they were in the newer part of town, not close to Annie’s place, and none of them was what she was looking for. She’d never been one to let her emotions or feelings decide what she did, but she simply couldn’t ignore the pesky little voice telling her those houses weren’t meant for her.
She’d been driving back to Annie’s place when the agent phoned her again to say he had another house, a tad rundown in the older part of town, he could show her. The moment she’d stopped in front of the house, she’d known this was the one.
It was much more that a tad rundown. But staring up at the house, she didn’t see the overgrown garden, the loose-hanging shutters, the broken windows, the lack of gutters, the paint peeling, the sagging porch. What she saw were shining windows, flowers cheerily hanging from baskets, welcoming patients and family and friends.
A smiling German shepherd was waiting for her on the porch, his tail wagging, and a little boy with his daddy’s Irish blue eyes was laughing and waving… Oh, my, where did that come from? Slightly rattled, she inhaled deeply.
Aiden was in Portland; she’d probably never see him again. She rubbed her chest where a vague ache had settled. Surely she hadn’t fallen for him?
She’d never been the kind of girl who’d dreamed of weddings and babies; she’d been too busy focusing on her career.
In the past, she’d had a vague idea she’d find someone someday who would love her, quirks and all, and then they’d get married. It had never been more than a passing thought, however.
Ever since the Irishman had kissed her though, she was seeing imaginary dogs and little boys.Get a grip, seriously.It was lust, pure and simple.
There didn’t have to be a husband or kids for her to be happy. Maybe the German shepherd, though. However, in this house, she could grow old, play with Annie and Mitch’s kids, and tell her nieces and nephews all about the cold winter she’d kissed a handsome stranger.
The realtor was frowning. “Are you sure? It would need a lot of work. And money. There are more houses I can show you in the newer part of town…”
