Nora Roberts Land (8 page)

“Yep,” she replied as he left, her gaze drawn to the headlines on her grandfather’s desk like a cat to catnip.

Grandpa Hale leaned back against his desk. “Now that your dad’s gone, I want to be honest with you. I’m going to do everything in my power to make you want to stay and take over.”

His intense gaze had her shuffling her feet. “I don’t think I’m going to stay, Grandpa.”

His bushy eyebrow winged up. “I know, but perhaps we can start with why you came back.”

She looked over his shoulder at a picture of him shaking hands with Harvey Milk in San Francisco three days before the politician’s death. Her goosebumps intensified. Her grandpa had done so much with his life. He’d interviewed every important American political actor in his storied career. People questioned her about him in hushed tones in New York City. Sometimes she forgot his achievements. To her, he was just her grandpa. But right now he was looking at her like an interview subject. It made her squirm.

“
Meredith.
”

“Ah…what? You know why.”

“Bullshit. This timing is too coincidental. You decide to come home when Sommerville announced he’s exploring a bid for the Senate. Are you sure you weren’t running away?”

“Ah…” She couldn’t tell him about her article. Her cheeks reddened at the mere thought.

“He’s a self-important prick, and he was never the right man for you. I know your heart got broken, but it’ll mend. Trust an old geezer who lost his sweetheart of fifty-plus years.” He glanced down at the picture of Grandma Hale he kept on his desk, brushing his finger along the frame. “It’s like relationships. You have to work at it.”

“Are you saying you have to work to get over a broken heart?” Of all the things she’d read on the topic, his simple words made sense.

“And it takes time too. We’ll help you all we can now that you’re back, but we can’t fully support you until we know why you’re here.”

She fingered the button on her blouse. God, she hated evasion.

“You’re only making this more interesting to an old newspaperman.” He reached over and tipped her chin up. “You know I’ll find out if I put my mind to it. Did Sommerville threaten you? I always wondered if his cheating might be the kind that could ruin a man’s reputation—especially if that man has political aspirations.” He cracked his knuckles. “He didn’t fight you much on a settlement. Do you have something on him?”

Meredith licked her lips and walked to the other side of his office, trying to control her panic. If he caught even a whiff of what she knew, he’d print it without hesitation. It would look bad if it appeared in her family paper. She couldn’t allow that. If anyone was going to divulge the secret, it was her…and she’d only do it if Rick-the-Dick pushed her into a corner.

To distract him, she picked up
The Daily Herald
, which was lying on the top rack of his antique newspaper holder. “You read this?”

He snorted. “My granddaughter writes in it. Of course I do.”

She fingered
The Standard
and held it up. “And this?” Rick-the-Dick would be flattered.

He studied her through his rimless bifocals. “I always read the enemy. It’s the—”

“Third rule of journalism. I know all your rules. You’re a good teacher.”

“Don’t think you can distract me.” He sat back down in his chair, rubbing his hip. “You’re tight-lipped. Fine. I’m going to find out if there’s more. I’m damn good at digging.”

Her lungs seized. Yes, he was. She didn’t need this.

He rocked back and forth, the squeak competing for volume with the news programs on the TV and radio.

“Aren’t you ever going to fix that squeaky chair?”

“No, it’s a comfort. Reminds me of my age. Like this chair, I’m still working.” He picked up a file. “If you change your mind about telling me, you know where to find me. You don’t have to deal with Rick-the-Dick alone.”

Her mouth dropped open. “How—”

“You Hale women. You think I don’t know what you call him?”

She cleared her throat. “I’ve finished my research on the campus drug trade. There’s not much to go on.”

He handed her a file. “Well, take a look at this one. Like I told you, more and more college kids are ending up in the ER puking their guts out. A few of my friends’ grandkids have been involved. Jill swears it’s alcohol poisoning, but…” He popped in another red hot and crunched. “My gut says there’s more.”

She flipped through his notes, not even bothering to ask how he’d received the tox screens. “Doesn’t look like the hospital found anything but marijuana and alcohol.”

“Neither of those things usually make kids sick enough to puke like that. Something’s not right.” He pointed to her. “You need to convince Jill to ask some questions.”

“No way.”

He huffed.

“Anything else?”

His mouth twisted. “No. Have your ideas for the editorial on my desk tomorrow.”

She picked at her button again, wanting to close the loop on his earlier speculation. “Please leave me in peace, Grandpa.”

His eyes lifted from the page. “If I believed you were in peace, Mermaid, I would. But you’re not. And since you won’t tell me why, I’m going to have to dig.” He picked up a file. “You’re my granddaughter, and if that prick is bothering you, I won’t tolerate it. Now, get out of here and let an old man do some work. Kitty has a desk for you.”

Meredith left with feet of clay. Her hope of keeping things a secret had soured. Arthur Hale had teased the truth out of mendacious politicians. She didn’t stand a chance. Damn. She didn’t want to protect Rick, but the information she had on him would keep him from bothering her.

Would her grandpa care? Hell no. The public had a right to know.

She was dead meat.

Chapter 9

Y
ou girls have a good time,” their mom called out as Jill and Meredith walked away from the house. “See you in the morning before we take off.”

“Okay.” They both waved at her, and she hustled inside.

“Man, I’m stuffed.” Jill rubbed her belly. “Mom really is glad to have you back. Otherwise, why would she cook a spread like that right before they leave for three months?”

Meredith unlocked her Audi, marveling at the return of her appetite. It was like the switch to her taste buds and stomach had been flicked. She was actually craving food for the first time in forever. And she didn’t feel too badly about it—yet.

“I’ve gotta start swimming again, or I’ll be fatter than Aunt Harriet.”

Jill snapped her seat belt on. “Right, like you’d ever have a weight problem. Fingernails feeling a bit heavy? Muffin-top cuticles?” She snorted. “You’re skinnier than I’ve ever seen you.”

“You can credit the divorce diet. And working out like crazy. Kept me sane.”

“Well, those days are a thing of the past. We’re going to go home, get dolled up, and head out to Hairy’s tonight. Make sure you wear your best La Perla. I have a plan.”

An hour later, Meredith followed Jill into Hairy’s Pub. The owner had famously misspelled the name on the small business permit. Poor Harry O’Brien had too much Irish pride to admit he’d been drunk, so he called the name ironic. Since he was super hairy, most people agreed.

Harry had given into the new non-smoking ordinance, but he hadn’t changed much else. A hardcore Irish band played on the speakers, reminding her of the theme song to
The Departed.
Stains and scuff marks dotted the hardwood floors. Wooden booths ran in rows, while the bar angled in an L shape.

A neon-colored rainbow with a pot of gold at the end flashed in time with a naughty leprechaun. Vintage Guinness beer signs and mirrors lined the wall along with placards of funny Irish sayings like
As you slide down the banister of life, may the splinters never point in the wrong direction
—ouch.

“It’s packed,” Jill yelled over the music. “I figured we could try some informal speed dating.”

Meredith unwound her white scarf so the V-neck of her navy top was visible. “What?”

“This is a legal-only zone. Harry hates students. He’ll call the cops over a fake ID, and everyone on campus knows it.”

Jill sidled up to the bar and pulled Meredith through a throng of women. The TVs in the corner were playing old football games and ESPN’s current programming. Meredith clutched her purse, channeling Divorcée Woman. She could do this. It only took confidence and courage, right?

Right.

“Hey, Mike,” Jill called to the bartender.

Meredith remembered him—he had the reputation for being a total ladies’ man. So not Duncan Swift from
High Noon
, more’s the pity.

“My sister, Meredith, is back in town. We need your best pull. Murphy’s.”

He flashed her a wicked grin and reached for two glasses. “Let me know if you need a tour, sis.”

“I will,” she responded, not meaning it. She had no interest in a ladies’ man. Been there, done that.

The bartender handed Jill the full glasses with a wink. She set Meredith’s beer down while taking a sip from her own. “Okay, let’s migrate to the corner. I can scan better from there and run you through your options.”

Options? Meredith’s lungs collapsed beneath her emerald green and black lace bustier. She couldn’t draw a full breath. “I don’t know…about this. I’m not big on the bar scene.”

“Breathe.”

“Trying.” No panic attack. No. She took a drink of her beer and wiggled her nose. If she drank, she’d have to breathe, right?

“It’ll be great. Trust me.” Jill said, turning Meredith toward the room. “Ah, we’ve already got some attention. Good. You’re new meat in town. This is going to be easy.” She secured their purses on the hooks under the sideboard. “So, the tall one with the big shoulders in the corner is a fire fighter. Robbie Blaine. Think Gulliver Curry in
Chasing Fire
without the whole forest fire thing. He’s single. Hot. Knows how to use his hose.”

Meredith choked while taking a sip. Beer went down the wrong pipe, hops and something bitter burning her throat. She hacked like someone with emphysema while Jill pounded her back.

Suddenly strong hands took her shoulders and raised her up. “Okay, breathe now. Slow, easy breaths,” came a deep voice from behind her.

When she could finally inhale normally, she looked at the man holding her. He had a round, serious face. Then he gave a slow smile, a dimple winking in his cheek. His glasses reflected her now red face.

“Better?”

“Yes,” she rasped.

Jill raised her eyebrow. “Thanks, Dr. Kelly.”

“My pleasure. Always happy to make sure no one dies from choking on beer.”

“I bet you give a good Heimlich,” Jill purred.

His mouth twitched. Meredith tried to step back. His hands tightened on her shoulders before dropping to his sides. “It’s a difficult procedure. Important to be well trained.” His gaze dropped to Meredith’s lips. “Or someone might get hurt.”

Whoa there, Nellie. This guy was outright flirting with her.

“Thanks,” she replied and winced. Divorcée Woman would have come up with a more seductive response.

“My pleasure. You’re new in town.” He slid even closer.

“Sort of. I grew up here.” Again, lame. She pressed her hand to her bustier, hoping for some inspiration.

He reached for a strand of her hair. “You’re a Hale. No mistaking the red hair.”

“Yes, Meredith.” Help, please.

“Dr. Matt Kelly.”

Jill bumped her with her hip, making Meredith want to hiss. She pasted on a smile as his gaze went further south. Man, the guy was totally checking her out.

“Maybe we could meet for a welcome-back-to-town coffee sometime.”

His eyes came back up to meet hers. She could see her surprised reaction on the reflection on his glasses. It was unnerving. She lifted a shoulder. Did she want to go out with this guy? He was coming on a little strong for her, but what did she know? Besides, she was supposed to go out with guys. She pressed her hands to her ribcage, feeling the bustier again. Divorcée Woman could handle him. She could show him some interesting ways to use his stethoscope.

“Sure. How about Sunday?”

He flashed an all-perfect-teeth smile. “Great.”

Matt took out a business card, making her feel like she was back in New York. Who in Dare gave a card?

“Give me a call, Meredith. We’ll set something up.” He ran a hand down her arm, ending with a small squeeze. “I’ll take you someplace where you won’t have to worry about choking. See ya around, Jill.”

When he sauntered away, she let out a long breath.

Jill shook her hips, her teal skirt twirling. “Well hello there, tiger. I don’t need to worry about you. You’re a pro.”

Her heart didn’t agree. It was pounding like an Olympic runner’s. “He made it easy.”

Jill chuckled. “That’s because he wants to get laid. It’s every guy’s dream.”

“So what kind of doctor is he?”

“OB/GYN.”

“Oh yuck.”

No way Divorcée Woman would go out with someone who spent all day putting women in stirrups. Nothing hot—or even kinky—about that. Even Nora wouldn’t go for that profession in a hero. Doctor, yes, but not a man who made his money looking up a woman’s hoo-ha.

Jill bent over laughing, and then popped back up like a puppet. “Oh, that was fun. You should see your face.” She wiped her teary eyes. “He’s an internist at the hospital.”

“I should have brought the hammer.”

“Maybe he’s your Dr. Brady Tucker from
Unfinished Business
. Okay, let’s go find you some more action. Larry Barlow just came in.”

She scanned the crowd until she saw Larry’s bulky body moving toward the bar.

Meredith smiled when he waved at her. She lifted her hand in response. Divorcée Woman would cruise the room, her eyes heavy-lidded, her mouth pouty. She threw a wiggle into her hips as she followed Jill through the crowd.

Suddenly Larry appeared by her side and pressed a hand on her shoulder. “Jill, you don’t mind if I borrow Meredith for a second, do you?” he asked.

When Jill nodded, Larry guided her away. She returned her sister’s finger-fluttering wave.

“Look, I wanted to see if you wanted to go out sometime,” he said, edging closer, making her feel a little crowded. “I’m sure it’s hard to get back out there after your divorce. I can help.”