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Molly gave him a chilly look. “We report the news, Mr. Patterson. It doesn’t matter whether it’s good news or bad news, we just tell the story.”

“Now, Molly,” Fred Cobell said, patting the table in front of her, “don’t get your reporter instincts in a twist. Nobody’s asking for any favors here.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she told him.

The mayor looked at Sam. “However,” he said, “you know as well as I do that a local news outlet can seriously influence how citizens feel about a certain project.”

“No doubt,” Sam agreed.

“And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope that the Sentinel would help the people of Payne see how important this project is to our community.”

Sam didn’t like Fred Cobell. He’d decided that the first day he’d met the man. Cobell had a clammy handshake. In fifteen years of business, Sam had never met a trustworthy man with a clammy handshake.

And subsequent meetings and conversations had confirmed his first impression of Cobell as a small-town politician with big-city aspirations and an over-developed love of wealth and power.

Now, Sam met Cobell’s probing gaze with a cool look. “I have every intention of keeping the community informed about the benefits,” he assured Cobell. From the corner of his eye, Sam detected Molly’s sharp frown. “The Sentinel has always been committed to serving this community.”

Cobell searched Sam’s expression for long seconds, then nodded, apparently reassured. “I’m glad to hear that, Sam. I’m sure you’ll find that maintaining a good relationship with our office will make your job in Payne a little easier.”

Sam gritted his teeth against the urge to tell Cobell he had a seriously overinflated impression of his own importance if he thought his influence and opinion even registered on Sam’s radar. “I’m going to do the job Carl asked me here to do,” he stated flatly. “The Sentinel needs some restructuring, but I’m sure we can maintain its credibility in this community.”

The mayor nodded. “Sure, sure. Payne has always relied on the Sentinel for important community news. I’m sure your cooperation with us is going to enhance that reputation.”

Sam shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“I’m sure we will,” Cobell assured him. He looked at the other two men in the room. “I’m certainly glad we had this meeting.”

“Me, too,” Patterson agreed. He pulled on his collar. “I think this is going to be good for all of us.”

Cobell returned his gaze to Sam. “I’m sure Jean can answer any other questions you might have. I’ll make my staff available to the Sentinel for any information you might need.”

Sam recognized the dismissal. He glanced at Molly. Her color had heightened slightly, and her eyes glistened. She pressed her lips tightly together. Sam sensed that her annoyance at Cobell’s condescension was surpassed only by her annoyance with him for playing the unfolding story so close to his chest.

He couldn’t blame her, either. He’d been tough on her for the past few weeks, and undoubtedly deserved the blistering lecture he’d get when they left the mayor’s office.

He rose to leave. “I’m sure you will, Fred. Thanks.” He gestured at Molly. “Now, if we’re through, Molly and I have lunch plans.”

Cobell looked quickly from Sam to Molly and back again, his gaze speculative. “I see,” he said carefully. He grinned broadly at Sam. “I see.”

Sam squashed his irritation while he and Molly said their goodbyes and made their way through the mayor’s outer office. As he punched the down button in the elevator he uttered a dark curse that succinctly summed up his opinion of Fred Cobell, a word which questioned the mayor’s lack of paternal heritage. Molly shot him a quick look. “I’m surprised.”

“You’ve never heard me swear before?” he asked flatly, still trying to shake his lingering foul mood.

“Funny, Sam,” she said. “What I meant was, I was a little surprised to hear you calling him names in the elevator when you seemed awfully ready to give him what he wanted by the time he wrapped up the meeting.”

“Then you don’t know me very well,” he said as the elevator glided to a stop at the ground floor. He pinned her with a sharp look. “We’ll discuss this in the car,” he stated. “I don’t want to be overheard.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Molly drummed her fingers on the table of Stingy Eddy’s diner and admitted a reluctant, but growing admiration for Sam Reed. At least, she thought wryly, since she’d admitted to herself that she found him incredibly attractive, she could take comfort in the fact that she had exceptionally good taste. He’d played Fred Cobell, she’d realized during the meeting, but the extent of Sam’s insight into the matter still surprised her as he’d explained his suspicions about the development project in the short ride to the restaurant. “How long have you known this?” she pressed him now.

Sam shrugged. “Something smelled bad right from the beginning.” He took a long sip of water and settled down in the banquette. His lazy grace, Molly noted, made him seem at home in any setting—from the mayor’s office to the greasy spoon. “I think Cobell is one of those small town politicians who lets power and money go to his head.”

“He’s been mayor for fifteen years,” Molly said. “I don’t think he started out wanting to be a career politician—”

“But he changed his mind.”

She shrugged. “What does the retired mayor of a small town do except marshal a few parades now and then?” She mentally reviewed the reports she’d scanned during the meeting. “I find it hard to believe that Cobell would actually do anything illegal, though.”

“Not in a place like Payne?”

She frowned at him. He had a way of talking about her small community that made her bristle. It had been one of the first things she’d noticed when he arrived at the Sentinel. Sure, Payne might not have the cosmopolitan atmosphere of Boston, but the town had a special quality that Molly found both charming and comforting. “Look, Sam, small towns may not be your personal cup of tea, but they provide a certain security for their citizens. Payne is a community. It’s still the kind of community where you don’t have to lock your doors and look over your shoulder when you walk down the street at night. Some people like that.”

“Just an observation, Molly. Not a criticism.”

She exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Do you know that every time you talk about the community you sound condescending?”

He looked surprised. “I do?”

She nodded. “Yes. You seem to think we’re beneath your standards—”

“I do not.”

She gave him a pointed look. “Now who’s interrupting?”

Sam frowned. “I do not think the people of Payne are beneath my standards.”

“You sound like you do.”

His face was a mask of concentration and, unless she missed her guess, genuine concern, as he thought about her statement. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

“It’s the way you talk about us, about our lives.” She paused as she weighed the wisdom of her next statement. “As if you think we’re trivial.”

He frowned. “You’re serious?”

“Maybe we’re not the kind of town that makes national news, but we’re good, solid people. We deserve more than your contempt.”

He nodded, visibly thoughtful. “I agree. I never meant to communicate contempt.”

She shrugged. “Maybe not, but it would help if you actually involved yourself in what goes on around here.”

“How so?”

Molly took a deep breath, ignoring the voice in her head that said she’d clearly lost her mind. “What are your plans for the weekend?” she asked, knowing full well that Sam left town every Friday afternoon. Most of the Sentinel staff knew he lived in a residential hotel outside Payne and that he commuted home to Boston on weekends. The fact that he’d made no pretense of the strictly temporary nature of his stay had chafed.

“I have some plans on the coast.”

She could well imagine. The Reed clan’s connection to the Massachusetts coastline was legendary. Sam’s brother owned a large home in Rockport, and his sister had indulged in several infamous, high-profile retreats in trendy Martha’s Vineyard. “The duck races are Saturday,” she reminded him.

His lips twitched. “How could I forget?”