Read Online Home to Hart's Crossing by Robin Lee Hatcher - Free Book Online

course, she should have been using that time to look for a new job, but employment hadn’t seemed such a pressing concern lately.
    As if knowing her thoughts, Bill asked, “How’s the job hunt going?”
    Angie shrugged.
    “Care to see my office?” He tipped his head toward the door to the newspaper.
    “Sure.” She smiled, pleased by the invitation. “I’d love to.”
    He moved toward the door, opened it, and motioned her through. “Beauty before age.”
    What was it about Bill Palmer that made her so prone to blushing? Angie looked at the floor instead of him as she stepped inside.
    The front office of the Mountain View Press was a cluttered hodgepodge of desks, bookcases, file cabinets, and heaven only knew what else that was hidden beneath stacks of papers and files. It smelled of dust, ink, and old newsprint.
    Ambrosia.
    “I know where everything is, too,” Bill declared with a chuckle. “There’s a method in my chaos.”
    Angie laughed with him. “Of course there is.”
    “Here. Let me clear off a chair for you.”
    In short order, Angie was seated on the opposite side of Bill’s desk. She expected him to turn on his computer or check his voice mail. He did neither. Instead, he locked his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair.
    “So,” he said, “besides taking care of your mom and looking for work, what are you doing with yourself? This is the first time I’ve seen you in town since your mom came home.”
    “I’m only here because of Miss Hart. She and the Thimbleberry bunch ran me out of the house. They think I’ve been too cooped up and need some sun and exercise.”
    “Ah.”
    She glanced around the newspaper office again. “They were right.”
    “Care to take a drive with me into the country?”
    Thump-thump. She wondered if he heard her pulse jump. Thump-thump.
    “I’m working on an article about Kris Hickman. Remember her?”
    “ Crazy Kris?”
    Bill gave her an amused look. “Yeah. That’s what they called her in high school.”
    Embarrassed by her outburst—it wasn’t the kindest of nicknames—Angie decided against asking what sort of story he might want to write about Kris. After all, the Mountain View Press was a family-friendly weekly newspaper, and there wasn’t anything family-friendly about Kris Hickman. At least not the girl Angie remembered. Kris had been a wild-living, rough-talking teenager who drank, smoked, and popped pills. A year older than Angie, Kris had dropped out in her junior year and ridden off to parts unknown on the back of her boyfriend’s Harley.
    Angie remembered the worry that had caused the parents in Hart’s Crossing, afraid their own children might be unduly influenced.
    Once again, Bill seemed to read her mind. “It’s a freelance piece for a magazine, and this is just the sort of story they love.”
    “What sort is that?”
    “Come on and see for yourself. We’ll only be gone a couple of hours or so, and I promise you’ll find the time it takes worthwhile.” He leaned forward, and there was a hint of a challenge in his brown eyes. “Maybe you’ll want to write the story yourself.”
    Thump-thump. “Okay.” Thump-thump.
    * * *
    Bill had to admit that he loved the pink-peach color that infused Angie’s cheeks as she looked at him. Maybe it was male pride rearing its ugly head, but he suspected Angie hadn’t blushed much in recent years. He rather liked the idea that he was the one who’d made her do it.
    “I should call Mom and let her know where I’m going. I wouldn’t want her to worry.”
    “Good idea.” Bill pointed toward the desk on the opposite wall. “You can use that phone while I gather my notes and recorder.”
    He watched her rise from the chair, turn, and walk across the room. She looked cute in that baseball cap, T-shirt, and Levis. He’d take that outfit hands down over some pinstriped business suit.
    Man, he had it bad. He’d fallen in love with her. There was no denying it .
    * * *
    Francine hung