Secrets in a Small Town

Heat crawled into her cheeks. It wasn’t that she was ashamed—the naked body was a beautiful thing—but the way he said it made it sound insulting. And most people found the fact that she’d grown up in an unorthodox household ripe for conversation. Frankly, she was over it.

“Well, we have something in common, then,” she quipped, turning to give him a cool look. “I heard you were raised on a racist compound. I guess you could say we were both raised in nontraditional households. Mine ran around naked and yours fantasized about genocide.”

That stunned him into silence but the lock that slid over his expression told her she’d gone too far. Damn her mouth. How was she ever going to make it to the big time if she couldn’t govern what fell from her lips? She ought to pull it back. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she raced through a number of different ways to apologize. But before she could settle on the best one—not that he would’ve accepted, judging by the stony look on his face—the door opened and Mrs. Hamby welcomed them with a warm greeting. Piper scuttled inside, eager to escape the shadowy feeling of guilt that followed.

HE SHOULD’VE KNOWN BETTER than to poke at her but when he’d seen her standing there, looking harmless as a daisy in her white sundress, her brunette bob framing her angelic face without a hair out of place, he’d dearly wanted to push her into a mud puddle. Barring any available mud, he’d settled for throwing a few verbal shots her way.

He’d hit a nerve with the nudist bit but she’d kidney punched him with a shot about his past. The ghosts of Red Meadows were alive and well in Dayton no matter what he did to try and atone for his father’s actions.

She was a damn reporter. Of course she knew about Red Meadows. That’s why he should’ve just kept his mouth shut.

It was true he didn’t have kids or nieces or nephews but his office manager, Gretchen Baker, had a daughter without a father and when she’d asked him to do this he didn’t see how he could refuse. He’d always gone out of his way to educate the public about logging but he also enjoyed doing what he could to change the town’s memory of the Garrett name.

So, it was a little self-serving coming to the classroom today and that damn journalist was bound to see right through him.

Mrs. Hamby, a short round woman with apple cheeks and puffy curls clinging to her head pointed to the tiny desk and chair, indicating that he and Piper would be sitting beside one another.

Piper took one look at that little red molded plastic chair and saw how close they’d be to one another and she opted to stand at the back of the room, citing the need to be able to move around for pictures.

He was willing to bet his eyeteeth she was lying. But that was fine with him. He didn’t want any part of him pressed against her, least of all their thighs and shoulders. He caught the eye of Gretchen’s daughter, Quinn, and winked when she brightened with a gap-toothed grin the width of Texas. This part he didn’t mind at all. Quinn was a great kid. It wasn’t her fault that her mom had terrible taste in men. Quinn’s daddy took off when she was just three years old and the newest baby daddy—because Gretchen was seven months pregnant—couldn’t seem to make up his mind whether or not he wanted to stick around.

“Class, we have very special guests today,” Mrs. Hamby said, her blue eyes twinkling. “Today, we have our mommies and daddies, uncles and aunts, or caregivers here to talk to us about what they do for a living. Remember, we must all show our guests our best manners so that they might want to visit us again sometime. And as an extra-special treat, we have a reporter from the newspaper who is going to do a wonderful story on our special day!” At that, twenty-seven kids turned toward the back where Piper was standing nibbling on her cuticle, causing her to straighten and flash a reluctant smile. Mrs. Hamby beamed at Piper, saying, “Piper Sunday was one of my very first students here when I came as a young teacher and it’s so wonderful to have her here today. She’s growing up to be a fine journalist. We might even see her go on to write for the New York Times or San Francisco Chronicle.”

Owen slid his gaze to Piper and caught hers. She seemed to blush a little but lifted her chin with a small smile for Mrs. Hamby’s benefit. He didn’t know anything about what it took to get to a big metro area paper but he suspected it didn’t involve biased reporting or Bring Your Parent To School events. So, in his opinion, she had a snowball’s chance in hell of making it anywhere other than little ol’ Dayton. She’d be writing about the dangers of riptides for tourists and preschool recitals for the rest of her life. Heh. That actually lightened his mood a bit. Just to throw her off, he sent her a blinding smile.

And it worked. She nearly dropped her writing pad.

Perhaps this day was salvageable.

PIPER SCRIBBLED A FEW NOTES and snapped a few pictures but she was on autopilot. Another part of her brain was processing that smile. From a purely objective place, she could see a certain rugged handsomeness to the man. When he wasn’t scowling hard enough to bring on a thundercloud, Owen Garrett wasn’t so hard on the eyes. She wondered what relationship he had with the cute kid who’d introduced him. She’d said Owen was her mom’s boss and friend. Hmm…translated, that meant boyfriend.

He was sleeping with his office manager. What a jerk. Her mouth tightened as a wave of indignant—something—washed over her. She shouldn’t be surprised. A man like Owen Garrett probably had to kick women out of his bed on a regular basis. He made a good living raping the land of its resources—okay, rape was probably a harsh word, but given her pique, she wasn’t in the mood to be politically correct—and he was unattached, which meant no ex-wife hanging around or siphoning from his paycheck. In other words, he was Dayton-delicious as her girlfriends would say.

It was a good thing she had higher standards. A girl could easily lose her focus around all that muscle and brawn. Speaking of, was it really necessary to wear that tight, artfully faded T-shirt that clung to his broad chest like a lover draped across all that hard skin? There were children around, for crying out loud. She pursed her lips and pretended to scribble some additional notes, when in fact, she was just tired of looking at him, which was a problem only she seemed to have as a quick glance revealed plenty of mommies caressing him with their eyes.

Eww.

And, naturally, he didn’t seem to notice the effect he had on the estrogen in the room. Why were some good-looking men oblivious to their charm? She drew a deep breath, glad it was nearly over. The next time Charlie couldn’t make it to work, she was going to insist their editor see a doctor’s note.

And unless he had Ebola, Charlie better have his skinny ass at his post.

Finally finished, she tried slipping from the room, eager to return to the office to write the silly story so she could get back to real journalism, but she was waylaid by an unexpected cute factor.

As the adults said their goodbyes and filed from the room, the little girl launched herself at Owen with the unabashed enthusiasm of the very young. He didn’t miss a beat and hefted her slight weight without blinking. She buried her face into his neck and he reciprocated with a tight hug. Before Piper put much thought into her actions, she snapped a quick picture of the scene.

“Thank you for coming, Owen,” she heard the little girl whisper, and he murmured something back that Piper didn’t quite catch.

Oh, dear. She didn’t want to see that. She ought to delete the picture right now before her editor saw it. She already knew from her gut that it was a great shot. He was under her skin again. Without even trying. She snared a look by a single mom who was eyeing Owen as if she wanted to give him a tongue bath. She was tempted to tell her “Go for it, honey, he’s all yours” but her mouth wouldn’t open. A little fact she refused to examine too closely. Instead, Piper edged past the two and nearly ran from the room.

CHAPTER FOUR

OWEN RETURNED TO THE OFFICE where Big Trees Logging administration did the magic of keeping the business afloat and immediately Gretchen was full of questions. “How’d it go?” she asked.

“It went great. Thanks for asking me to go,” he said, moving to the stack of mail he hadn’t had the chance to sort through just yet.

“I was going to ask Danny, but Quinn wanted you,” she said, almost apologetically.

At the mention of her newest boyfriend, the guy who knocked her up and then decided he needed space to think things through, made Owen want to scowl and say something rude but he held the urge in check. Gretchen had a soft heart and would likely get hurt feelings if he said what he felt right at the moment about the guy who’d bailed on her and their unborn child. “Yeah, not a problem,” he assured her, moving to his office. He paused as a sudden thought came to him. “Oh, and I’ve reconsidered my earlier request to send all calls from Piper Sunday to voice mail. Send any and all calls straight to me.”

Gretchen’s mouth pinched as she rubbed her distended belly. “Why for? So she can print more lies about you and Big Trees Logging? You ought to sue her and the paper for slander.”

“You mean, libel.” He grinned at Gretchen’s protectiveness. “I wish my lawyer agreed. Unfortunately, it’s more trouble than it’s worth. I just want to put the whole thing behind me. We’re better than that anyway.”

“Of course we are,” she agreed, nodding vigorously. “But still…seems wrong that she’s going to get away with being so mean.”

“She’s just doing her job, I suppose.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Gretchen said with a glower but finally sighed as she relented. “You got it. All calls from Piper Sunday will go straight to you.”

“Thanks, Gretchen.” He was midway to his desk when he remembered something else and poked his head out to call to Gretchen again. “Hey, anytime you need something for Quinn…it’s no imposition. Just ask. You got it?”

Gretchen’s eyes warmed and he half expected tears to follow as her pregnancy had been doing a number on the waterworks. Once he found her crying over the coffeepot when she’d run out of filters. But to his relief, her eyes remained dry, but appreciative.

“I wish more people saw what a good man you are,” she said, surprising him. “You act all gruff, but you’re really a sweet guy.”

Uncomfortable with the praise but knowing it came from an honest place, he simply cocked a grin her way and said, “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my rep as a badass.”

Gretchen winked with a broad smile. He returned the grin until he realized he had a missed call from Mama Jo. He frowned and quickly punched in the retrieval code.

The beloved voice of his foster mother sounded in his ear as she left a short message, wondering if he might be able to come visit soon, perhaps before the heat of summer got too bad. Since it was only spring, he smiled at the request even if a twinge of guilt followed. He hadn’t been home in a long time. He tried to go once a year but he’d been swamped as of late and the time seemed to get away from him.

Piper Sunday didn’t know everything about him. She knew only the surface stuff. Everyone knew that his father was killed in an FBI raid at the compound at Red Meadows. They also knew that his father was the head of the Aryan Coalition, a racist group with ties to bad things.

After it’d all gone down, he’d been sent to live with his only living relative, his aunt Danica on his mother’s side in West Virginia. But he’d proven to be too much of a handful for his aunt and she’d relinquished custody of the boy she’d never truly known anyway to the state. And he’d landed in the care of Mama Jo, a petite black woman with more heart and wisdom than anyone he’d ever met.

It’s also where he’d met his two foster brothers, Thomas Bristol and Christian Holt. He missed them all so much it was like a fire in his gut but he had a job to do here and he wasn’t about to walk away because it was easier.

Thomas and Christian had thought he was nuts to return to the town where his name was associated with something so dark and shameful. But he’d needed to give people something positive to associate the Garrett name with and he figured the best way to do that would be to become a productive member of the community.

To his dying day, he’d never forget Mama Jo’s advice to him as he broke the news that he was headed west.

“They got trees right here in West Virginia,” she’d said when he’d told her he was going to go into commercial forestry in California.

There’d been no sense in dancing around the truth— Mama Jo would see right through it anyway. She’d always had an uncanny sense about those things. It’d made it rough getting anything past her, which was probably why she’d managed to take three universally screwed-up kids and turn them into something useful to society.

“I have to go,” he’d said quietly.

“I know you do,” she’d said with a sigh. “I just wish you didn’t feel the need to prove yourself to a bunch of people who don’t matter anyway. All the people who know your heart are right here.”