A Chance Encounter (3 page)

A brief grin creased the comers of Taylor’s mouth. “Oh, yes it would.” He wanted to know more about her. She was interesting—and utterly different from any woman he had met.
The face of a child and the body of a woman,
he thought. And a guileless quality that beckoned like a light in the darkness of his heart. And then he reminded himself that women were rarely helpless. Or vulnerable. They only appeared that way. Her fine, thin brows knit with vexation at his persistence.

“If you think for a moment that you threaten me or—”

Taylor laughed deeply. It was the first time in ages. “I like your honesty, Ms. Riordan. And if we didn’t have this little matter of a newspaper story standing between us, I would like to know you better.” He recoiled within himself. What was he saying? Hadn’t he extricated himself from his marriage only one short year ago? His life was better without serious commitment to a woman. So why did he want to get to know her? Annoyed with himself, Taylor shook his head.

Katie clamped her lips shut, coloring hotly in the wake of his compliment and frank expression of interest. She felt drawn to him, whether she wanted to be or not. “I told you, we have nothing in common. Whether or not you print that story.”

Taylor shrugged. “Too bad. Well, I’m leaving now. That article and photo will appear in this evening’s
Sun,
Ms. Riordan. I strongly suggest you call me if you have anything to add.” He placed his business card in front of her. Again, Taylor felt a twinge of guilt as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with a fear he didn’t understand.

“You do what you must, Mr. Grant,” she whispered faintly.

“Well,” Barry said, sauntering up to Taylor’s desk, “what did you find on out about our gypsy lady?” He placed four photos in front of him, each showing Katie leaning over the cardiac victim.

Taylor scowled and stopped typing as he scooped up the pictures. Dammit, he shouldn’t feel guilty! Katie wore an ethereal expression, kneeling by Joe Collins, the heart attack victim.

“
Gypsy
is a good word,” Taylor muttered as he checked each photo. Katie looked very feminine, the glossy mane of hair framing her delicate features. “I made some phone calls, Barry. Among other things, I learned that the chief of police has gotten some complaints about her.”

Barry sat down on the edge of the desk, making himself comfortable. “Oh?”

“Yeah. From time to time her bookstore features speakers on astrology, numerology et cetera. Apparently some of the townspeople don’t believe in that nonsense, and three of them have lodged complaints against her.” Taylor smiled distantly. “She has no police record, though. The complaints appear to come from a few people who enjoy stirring up the dust.”

“Were you able to track the complainants down?

“All three of them.” He pointed to the notes he had taken as he talked to the complainants. “It amounts to a clash between their beliefs and Katie’s.” Why had he used her first name in such a personal way? She was just another story. A subject to be studied, investigated at arm’s length and nothing more.

“Katie’s right to freedom of speech is getting trampled by her enemies?” Barry inquired, grinning.

“That’s all.”

“So what did they have to say about her?”

Taylor rubbed his jaw, leaning back in the chair, his gaze dark with intensity. “One called her a witch. Another said she was a menace to society and ought to be locked away. The third called her a fake.”

Barry’s red eyebrows moved upward. “Fake? Did the caller go into detail?”

Taylor smiled lazily. “Apparently our Katie Riordan is a healer. You know, laying on of hands and all that? The third complainant called her a quack and a fake. Said she didn’t really heal the animals over at the veterinary hospital, like everyone said she did.”

“Dude, this is getting interesting. Why didn’t I know about this before?”

Taylor sat up. “Good question. Maybe that’s why the boss fired my predecessor. Any idiot knows enough to make a daily check of the police records to find out what complaints were lodged. It didn’t take much to find out all about Katie.”

“I’ve lived in Rio Conchos for three years and never heard her name mentioned,” Barry said disbelievingly. “And in light of her performance at the restaurant, I think that’s a crime. She really is fodder for a good feature story.”

“I think so, too. I just got off the phone with the Collins family’s physician. And you know what he told me?”

“What?”

“That heart attack Collins suffered in the restaurant should have killed him on the spot.” Grant scowled. Collins is in surgery right now. I’ll know more about his condition after he gets out.”

“That’s pretty sobering when you stop to think about it,” Barry agreed. “So the doctor’s saying Collins should have died right there on the spot and he didn’t?”

“You got it.” Taylor’s mouth moved into a thin line. “He’s alive right now because of Katie.”

“She tell you anything?”

“No. Closed up like a clam. I tried to call the restaurant owner again, but she refused to come to the phone. I’ve nothing but the negative reports on Katie. No one who might say anything positive about her wants to talk.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah,” Taylor groused, as he returned to typing the article. “I’ll have this piece finished in a few minutes. I like the photos you took. Let’s use number three,” he said.

Unhappily Barry stood and picked up the photo. ‘Too bad we don’t have the time to investigate this in depth. I have a feeling a whole lot is being left unsaid. How about the vet hospital? Any luck?”

“Nope. The vet’s out on an emergency call at a horse farm and the secretary doesn’t know a thing.’”

“Great, just great.”

Yeah, Taylor thought with disgust, just great. He was baffled by Katie’s behavior. Why hadn’t she defended herself? It appeared that publicity wasn’t her motive after all. Three complaints had already been lodged against her, and she’d made no attempt to pump them up into headlines. One corner of his mouth twitched in annoyance. He found himself wanting to protect her, dammit. From herself, if necessary. Once this story came out, the people who disapproved of Katie Riordan would have new ammunition. But she had already won the first battle—by saving a man’s life. And his reportage of that fact would cause still more gossip, making life even harder for her. And he would be responsible. Taylor cursed himself for believing that moving to a smaller city would make news reporting any less painful. Hammering mercilessly on the keyboard of the computer, out of frustration and disgust, he rapped out the last couple of sentences and finished the article.

Taylor had barely reached his desk the next morning, a cup of coffee in hand, when, the phone began to ring. In the first hour, there were ten calls from residents of Rio Conchos—about Katie Riordan. Editor in chief Dean Gerus emerged, beaming, from his office just as Taylor was hanging up after the final call.

“We’re in the money, Taylor. Several West Coast dailies are going to carry your story along with the photo.” He rubbed his hands together with unabashed enthusiasm, his face wreathed in a smile. “This is great. I hire you, and inside of a week, our newspaper gets a national name.” He slapped Taylor on the back. “Hell of a story. You did a good job.”

Taylor frowned, finishing off his cold coffee. He got up to pour another cup. Syndication of his story meant a nice chunk of money for the newspaper, and Taylor’s byline in several area papers. He felt no elation as he wondered what the notoriety would do to Katie Riordan, who had tried so hard to safeguard her privacy. He stood near the coffee machine, pondering the whole sordid mess. He hadn’t slept well last night; his thoughts—and, whether he wanted to admit it or not, his heart—were centered on Katie. Those huge lapis lazuli eyes were meltingly warm; life danced in their dark depths. He wondered what it would be like to hear Katie laugh. Well, chances were he wouldn’t get that opportunity now.

The door to the small, cramped newspaper office flew open, hitting the wall with a loud thwack and getting everyone’s undivided attention. Taylor raised his head and turned toward the noise. Katie Riordan, a copy of the
Rio Conchos Sun
in her hand, burst through the door like a tornado. Taylor’s breath caught in his chest as he drank in her fiery beauty. The mass of raven-colored hair was caught up in a red ribbon so that it didn’t hide the beauty of her flushed face. Today she was dressed in the style of the late eighteen hundreds. The off-white muslin dress did everything for her petite figure, the lace at her throat and cuffs accenting her haunting femininity. And those eyes. Taylor shook his head as if to cast off her magical spell. But just as soon as Katie’s narrowed gaze caught and locked with his, she turned from a Victorian maiden into a wild-eyed tigress.

“You!” she cried, swinging the paper angrily over her head as she approached him. “You—you miserable excuse for a human being!” She halted inches from him, waving the newspaper under his nose. “How dare you!” she sputtered, her voice strained and quavering. “How could you write such garbage?”

“Calm down, Ms. Riordan,” Taylor growled.

“Calm down! How would you feel if some idiot reporter wrote such lies about you? I’m not a sorceress. Or a fake, as you’ve reported!”

Taylor’s mouth drew into a grim line. “Look, I asked for your side of it, but you refused to discuss the incident. What do you expect?”

Katie uttered a very unladylike expletive. For the first time in her life she wanted to strike someone. Grant’s maddening calm only added fuel to the fires of rage. “I told you my side of it!”

“Well, you didn’t elaborate sufficiently, shall we say?”

Tears filled her eyes, making them seem even more luminous. Angrily, she dashed them away. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. “You’re the most insensitive person I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet! Do you have any idea what kind of phone calls I’ve been getting?” She raised the paper over her head. “Crank calls! Threatening calls!” She drew herself up, anguish mirrored in her haunted expression. “I’ve tried never to hurt anyone or anything, Mr. Grant. I haven’t always succeeded, but I’ve always tried to do what was right. Joe Collins is alive today, isn’t he? But instead of reporting on that side of it—the positive side—you print this outrageous nonsense just to sell newspapers and increase internet hits on your website. Well, you may be a big-time reporter with a national reputation, but you’ve lost your humanity somewhere along the way!” She threw the paper down at his feet. “I hope you feel horrible about this. But I doubt if you have even one shred of remorse. I wonder if you’re able to feel anything! Welcome to Rio Conchos, Mr. Grant. I hope you enjoy your stay here while you go about destroying people’s lives!”

Grimly, he set his coffee down, his anger at war with his guilt. Before he could say a word, Katie had whirled from the office, the door swinging widely in the wake of her exit. Cursing, he followed her out and saw her heading toward the small parking lot. He caught up with her just as she reached a beat-up, black Volkswagen Beetle.

“Katie—wait, dammit!” He grabbed her arm and gently pulled her to a stop.

“Let me go!” she cried, jerking out of his grasp.

Taylor’s heart wrenched in his chest as he saw the tears rolling down her flushed cheeks. “Look,” he began haltingly, “I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, yes you did! Big-time reporter moves to a small town to make a name for himself at other people’s expense. Well, you’ve done it, Mr. Grant. Now live with it while I try to deal with all the crank calls!”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. But dammit, you left me no alternative when you wouldn’t cooperate!” She flattened herself against the Volkswagen as he came within inches of her. Her heart was pounding furiously in her breast, but in spite of her rage, she was wildly aware of him as a man. She saw the anguish in his gray eyes as he groped for words to appease her. Angrily, she brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Cooperate? Aren’t I entitled to my privacy? What remains of it,” she added bitterly.

He gave her a wary look. “I’ve received ten phone calls in the past hour. About half have been in support of you,” he admitted, his voice strained. “For your information, I tried to interview people who knew you, Ms. Riordan, but they all refused to comment.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “As well they should. My private life belongs to me—not to you and not to that damn newspaper you sell your soul to for a living.”

Grant felt his anger stirring. “Let me tell you something, lady. I’ve learned what life is like in the dank streets of some of New York’s toughest neighborhoods. Your flaky attitude wouldn’t allow you to survive in the real world for five minutes! So don’t judge me and don’t criticize my ethics.”

Her nostrils flared and she pursed her full lips. “I don’t judge anyone. Your actions speak for themselves!”

“The blame for this article rests on your shoulders, not mine,” he said ominously.

She was trembling visibly. “I don’t want to argue any further,” she said, backing down a little. “I’d just like to know what to do about these anonymous phone calls, Mr. Grant. I’ve lived here for five years and gotten along fairly well with everyone. Now I have one caller threatening to set fire to my bookstore and another threatening to throw a Molotov cocktail through the window. Thanks to you.”

Taylor’s anger faded as the cold reality of what she was saying hit him. There was no way he wanted to see her hurt. She was too special—and too naive. And something about her brought out the protectiveness in him. Cursing softly, Taylor held up both hands in a gesture of peace.

“Look, I’m sorry about the calls. I certainly didn’t want that to happen.” The look she gave him said she didn’t believe him, but he went on anyway. “Let me talk to the police. We’ll get your phone tapped so that any future calls can be traced.”

Stubbornly she crossed her arms, her eyes blazing with deep blue fire. “I’m surprised you would offer. If someone bombed my bookstore, that would make the front page, too—probably under your byline! And isn’t that what you’re really after? No, thanks, I’ll take care of this in my own way. You’ve done enough damage.” Her features were still taut with anger. “It’s your job to destroy people, isn’t it?”

Taylor reared back as if he had been struck. Dumbfounded, he watched her slide into her car and drive off. Mary Ann had asked almost the same question: Do you always destroy everything? Anguished, he bowed his head, trying to think clearly amid the seething emotions Katie had unleashed.

“
Damn you, Taylor!
” Mary Ann had screamed. “
You’ve destroyed our marriage! You’ve turned your life upside down for your damn career! And now look at you.
” She sobbed.
Y’ou’re ready to break. Why couldn’t you have compromised? Why did you have to destroy everything? Why?
”

Taylor dragged in a deep, steadying breath, vaguely aware that he had been gasping. Slowly he walked back to the newsroom. It had been a year since the divorce. A year of living alone and burying himself deeper into his job. His eyes darkened with pain as he admitted to himself that he had indeed destroyed his marriage. What was it within him that drove him over the brink time after time? Why couldn’t he ever be moderate in his actions? And now he had done it all over again. But the outcome was the same. Somebody had ended up irrevocably wounded. In this case, Katie Riordan. Guilt surged through Taylor. Damn his journalistic standards. Why couldn’t he have tempered the article? He had, as usual, gone for the jugular. And who was bleeding because of his uncompromising stance? Katie. Sweet, harmless Katie whose honesty was a breath of fresh air to his darkened soul.

Miserably, Katie set the phone in its cradle—for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Maud put a cup of herb tea in front of her and gave her a motherly pat on the shoulder.

“Come on, Katie girl, drink up. It’s chamomile. Good for the nerves. Let me take the next few calls. You just go upstairs to your apartment and call it a day,” she soothed.

Katie took the mug and sipped at its golden contents. “I’ll be okay, Maud. Really, I will. It’s just so upsetting. All these horrible calls.”

Maud’s brown eyes narrowed ferociously. “Well, if that Grant fella hadn’t painted you as some sort of—of—”

“Sorceress,’” she muttered grimly. “I suppose I should be grateful that he didn’t say ‘witch.’”

“Humph! Might as well have, for all these silly calls! Witch, indeed! Since when is healing and helping sick animals and people a sin or a crime! What’s this world coming to?” Maud moved slowly from behind the desk to pick up a stack of books that needed to be shelved.

Katie’s blue eyes grew warm as she watched Maud. What would she do without her? When both her parents had died in an airplane crash, a large part of Katie died with them. And yet, the cosmos—in all its infinite wisdom—had provided Maud as her new mother only days after their deaths. Warmth flowed through Katie, and she relaxed momentarily, dwelling on the love Maud gave so freely to everyone. She glanced at her watch. It was only noon. Katie wished it were closing time….

“Look at this,” Maud exclaimed. She shut the door to the bookstore and held out a copy of one of the largest newspapers on the West Coast.

Despair washed over Katie as she saw her photograph on page three, along with Taylor Grant’s story. Groaning, she shut her eyes.

Maud watched her worriedly. “Does that mean more phone calls than what we’ve been receiving already?”

“I’m afraid so,” Katie said, tossing the paper on the desk. It was eight o’clock, time to close the bookstore. The last of the curiosity seekers had left. She turned, rummaging through several drawers to find the key. “Why don’t you go home, Maud? It’s been a very long day.”

“And a busy one. I guess all that publicity wasn’t entirely negative. We’ve had record sales today. That should help with the mortgage payment you were so worried about.”

“Always a silver lining, right?” she mused, getting up to give Maud a quick hug. “Go on home, Maudie. You’ve put in too many hours today, and you’re looking tired.”

“Humph! At eighty-four I can still work a twelve-hour day without flagging.” She waggled her finger in Katie’s grim face. “You close this store up right now. And then you get yourself a nice hot bath and just relax. And no stayin’ late to balance the books.”

Katie smiled as she walked Maud to the front door. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you at noon tomorrow. Good night.”

Maud’s round face drew into a beatific smile as Katie leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Good night,” she said.

The April evening was turning cooler and Katie decided to leave the door open and welcome the fragrant smell of spring flowers. Her brow wrinkled in a worried frown as she approached the desk and picked up the accounting book and the box of unpaid bills. The fresh country air was far preferable to the lifeless chill of air-conditioning. And right now she’d rather be taking a long walk in the hills that surrounded the quaint town, simply allowing nature to lift her depression.

“Why the hell did you leave the door open? Didn’t you say you’ve been receiving threatening calls?”

Katie whirled around, the cigar box flying out of her hands and scattering the mass of unpaid bills on the floor at her feet. Taylor Grant’s huge figure blocked out the overhead light and brought a startled cry from her lips. Her heart pounded wildly at the base of her throat, and automatically her hand went to her breast.

“You scared me to death!”

Grant’s scowl deepened. “You have no business leaving a door unlocked when it’s dark outside—let alone wide open.”

She took several deep breaths. And then, to her annoyance, registered all the bills on the floor. Dropping to her knees, she began to collect them. Grant crouched, too, and helped her with the task.

“What do you want? Haven’t you done enough damage in one day, Mr. Grant?”

“I came to talk to you.”

Her heart thumped in response to the velvet tones of his voice. Katie looked up from her position on her hands and knees and stared directly into his face only a few feet away. Her anger dissolved as she perceived the exhaustion in his gray eyes. Wetting her lips, she sat back, slender hands resting on her thighs. “I suppose I owe you an apology, too.” She gestured gracefully. “In fact, I tried to call you. I said something I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry, Mr. Grant. But the sheer volume of people calling and visiting the Unicorn has been overwhelming. I couldn’t get away.” She smiled. “I couldn’t even get an outside line on the phone. And I hate cell phones.”

Grant grunted, eyeing the bills as he continued to collect them. “I tried to call you a couple times, too.”

Her expression softened. “You did?”