Secrets in a Small Town (7 page)

She huffed a silent breath and counted to ten. He was trying to get her to back out, to get her to relinquish their deal without losing face. Well, he didn’t know who he was dealing with. Piper had once won a staring contest even when a bug had landed on her nose. She wasn’t one to give up, no matter the obstacle. She liked to consider it one of her more impressive traits that would surely lead to success later down the road.

Her mom liked to tell her she might need therapy to overcome some of her “obsessive tendencies.”

“What about Gretchen?” she asked. “What if she needs you? Shouldn’t you be close by?”

“Already called the doc early this morning. No visitors who aren’t family until she’s out of ICU. Besides, I need to keep busy,” he answered. “And the job doesn’t run itself. Gretchen wouldn’t want me crying at my desk, wringing my hands. She’d tell me to get my ass out there and make the money that helps pay her salary. That’s just the kind of woman she is.”

“Sounds like she’s…quite the woman.”

“She is.”

Piper heard the pride in his voice and she felt a tiny pinch of jealousy. It wasn’t that she didn’t have a great support system—her parents were her biggest fans—but for a small, infinitesimal moment she wanted to hear him say something about her with that tone. And that wasn’t going to happen. Not now, not ever, because even though he talked a good game about making nice, after she wrote the piece on his father and the Red Meadows incident, he likely wouldn’t want to speak to her again.

She worried her bottom lip, unsure why that bothered her. You had to break a few eggs to make an omelet, she reminded herself. To get to the top, you had to step on a few heads. She was sure there were plenty of clichés she could lean on to support her belief but even as she repeated them in her head like a mantra, it only served to intensify the lonely feeling filling her chest.

Focus. She needed
F.O.C.U.S.
Piper cleared her throat and brought out her notepad. “I can take notes while we drive,” she announced brightly. “Like background stuff.”

“Background? What do you mean?” he asked, wary.

“Well, like a bio. Stuff you’d put in a eulogy.”

“That’s morbid.”

“True, but it serves an excellent purpose. It’s like the highlight reel of your life. A synopsis, if you will.”

“What’s on your highlight reel?” he asked, throwing it back to her.

She waved away his question with an airy chuckle. “That’s easy and stuff you already know. Raised on a hippie nudist commune by two anthropology professors. Boring. End of story.”

“In that one sentence alone I have a million questions.”

She smiled. “Ah, too bad you’re not the one doing the writing. Now, back to you.”

“All right. Ask your questions.”

“Start with your childhood,” she suggested casually, though her palms had begun to shake with her excitement. It was one thing to read about something but to have someone who went through it personally is completely different.

Owen focused on the road, his mouth losing the sensual softness she’d been trying really hard to ignore and she knew he was struggling with what to share and what to leave out. She could either use the direct approach and flat-out bring up the Red Meadows incident or she could take the circuitous route. She opted for the latter. He needed loosening up.

“How about we start with Big Trees Logging. How did you end up the owner?”

He visibly relaxed once she pulled the focus from his childhood to his livelihood. “That’s easy. An opportunity came up to purchase the company from the previous owner, who had made some bad investments and was nearing bankruptcy. I had a background in forestry and I’d always known I wanted to return to Dayton at some point.”

“You were raised by your aunt, right?” she supplied, hoping to impress him that she knew some of the obscure details. But he surprised her when he shook his head.

“My aunt gave me over to the state, said I was too much of a handful for a single woman who’d never raised kids. A woman named Mary Jo Bell, or as we call her, Mama Jo, raised me. She’s my true family. Along with my two brothers, Christian and Thomas. They’re all still back east in West Virginia.”

She digested this unexpected piece of information. He’d lost his father and then his only other family had abandoned him to the state foster care system. How awful. She imagined Owen, a sad, grief-stricken boy thrust among strangers. A low, melancholy ache thrummed an odd tune in her chest, something she didn’t recognize or know how to process. “So you love this foster family?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah. I miss them a lot.”

“So why do you stay in California?”

He crooked a grin. “My brothers ask that question all the time. I stay because I like it here.”

An internal sensor went off and she instinctively knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful. He stayed for more than the scenery. She wondered what it was and made a note to dig a little deeper later. “Must be hard, though,” she surmised, holding her breath even as she tried to remain nonchalant. “Being without your family, I mean.”

“Yeah. It doesn’t get any easier. But a man’s gotta make a living and that’s what I do here.”

“Plus, I imagine it’s nice to return to your hometown…” she fished for more information, hoping he’d latch on to the bait.

But he didn’t. He simply shrugged and then offered a noncommittal nod. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

Nice. What a perfectly
blah
word. And totally discordant with the vibe she was getting. Interesting.

“Married?” she threw out there to catch his reaction, and she wasn’t disappointed.

“Not me,” he answered without hesitation. In fact, he answered like a man who gave that particular hangman’s noose a very wide berth.

“Afraid of commitment?” she guessed, dissecting his reaction with a clinical eye. Why else would someone like him be chronically unattached? Judging by the hungry looks he’d received by the mommies in Mrs. Hamby’s class that day, he probably had to beat women off with a stick. “So you’re more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am and don’t-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-way-out kind of man?”

He scowled. “I don’t really want to talk about my personal life,” he said, which told her she’d hit a nerve.
Interesting.
She made a note of it as he continued. “I’ll answer whatever questions you like about the logging industry and any current jobs, but as far as my dating history…I’d rather keep that private. I doubt your readers want to know about that crap anyway.”

“I beg to differ,” she disagreed, omitting the part where
she
was most interested in the information. “It makes you more of a person.”

“More of a person?” he repeated. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, well, you know, it humanizes you. Instead of just the big, bad logger, you’re the man who shops at the local market and loves to eat Chinese food. I did a story on the mayor once and you know what people remembered the most? The fact that he loves musical theater and used to dream of being on Broadway before his life took a different turn. See? Who knew the mayor could sing? Now, his voters know.”

“Yeah, well, I’d prefer my personal business—particularly my dating habits—to remain private,” he said, unwilling to budge on that score. She blew out a short breath and scratched out some notes. A pregnant pause rested between them as Piper tried to think of ways to get him to open up. An idea came to her and she snapped her notebook shut with an easy, inviting smile. “Okay, so tell me off the record, then.”

“How about this…for every question I answer, you answer one in kind.”

She frowned as if she didn’t think that was a fair exchange but he was curious about what made Piper Sunday tick. She agreed with a slow nod but he could tell she wasn’t quite sure if she should. He liked her uncertainty. It put them on a far more even keel and that was always a good thing during negotiations of any sort.

“So why do you want to know so much about me? I’m hardly interesting,” she said.

“I guess I’ll find out if that’s true for myself.”

She exhaled a long breath and shook her head as she smoothed her skirt and straightened the seat belt so it rested perfectly across her chest. “Fine. I’ll go first,” she volunteered. “What do you want to know?”

“Any brothers or sisters?” He figured he’d start off with the easy stuff.

“No. But before you start to think that I spent my childhood alone without playmates, rest assured, I was never alone being raised in a tight-knit community.” She didn’t hesitate when she said, “My turn. What happened to your mother?”

He spared her a short look. “My biological mom died in a car accident when I was about two years old.”

“That’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t remember her, so the pain wasn’t raw like when he lost his father. There were times, during private moments, when he wished his dad were still around for advice. Mama Jo had definitely filled the void left by his mother but there were some things he would’ve rather shared with his dad. His dad had been an ace when it came to offering counsel. He’d had a way about him that made people listen. The FBI had called him “dangerously charismatic.” Owen pulled off the highway and onto a county road that would turn into a forest service access point. “You might want to hold on, it’ll get bumpy in a minute,” he advised, slowing as the paved county road gave way to hard-packed dirt. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw her clutch the handle on the passenger side while the other hand held her notebook.

“Where are we going exactly?” she asked as they jounced along the dirt road.

“A piece of private property along the lake. Owner sold us twenty acres for harvesting.” Before she could interject, he added, “And yes, I have all the required clearances and permits. And no, there’s no old-growth, so take a chill pill.” He slid a sidewise glance her way. “Are you always so tightly wound?”

“Is that your question?” she said, returning the look.

He laughed. “Stickler for the rules, I see. Okay, no, that’s not my question, because I think I already know the answer.”

“I’m not uptight if that’s what you’re thinking,” she retorted, but her cheeks had pinked an interesting shade.

“We’ll see. Tell me what it’s like to grow up on a commune.”

She sighed as if the question annoyed her. He suspected she got asked that a lot. He could commiserate. His unique childhood often sparked curiosity, too. He was just as reluctant to share. “It was like anyone’s living situation until I realized I was different. When I was little, it was bliss. I was never alone, we always had big barbecues and everyone brought something. We had a community garden where everyone got to share as long as they helped with the work. It was great. Then as I got older and started to realize that not everyone lived as we did, I started to wish we had a more traditional family structure. I mean, what kid doesn’t know what cake tastes like until they’re in the eighth grade? My parents never allowed processed sugar in the house and the only sweetener we used was natural honey raised from the bees on the farm. And then the first time I tried a hamburger I was in college.”

“You were a vegetarian?”

“Yeah, my entire childhood. My parents still think I am,” she added with a slightly guilty tone. “But I found I love meat and I don’t like tofu. I despise it, actually, and I have to choke it down every time I visit my parents.”

“Why don’t you just tell them? You’re an adult. I’m sure they’d respect your choice.”

“No, they wouldn’t. They’d lecture me on inhumane slaughtering techniques and constantly remind me that I’m eating something that once had a face. You have no idea how that can kill your appetite.”

He couldn’t imagine going without meat in his life. “That’s rough,” he acknowledged with a chuckle. “But I’m guessing there are worse secrets to have.”

“Not in my family,” she muttered darkly, before returning the focus to him. “Nice try with the whole deflection technique. Kid gloves are coming off, Owen Garrett. It’s time for the hard questions.”

Owen pulled off the road and grinned. “Then I’m lucky that we’re here. You can wait in the truck or come with me, but you have to wear this if you step outside.” He grabbed a spare hard hat from his backseat and handed it to her. She eyed it with dismay, probably imagining the havoc it would wreak on her hair, but when she sensed he wasn’t going to relent on the topic, she placed it gingerly on her head. He smiled good-naturedly. “Excellent. Let’s go. I’ll show you what we’re doing.”