With Family In Mind (Saddle Falls Book 1) (8 page)

“True, Jake, but it wasn’t me who saved that little girl’s life. It was the truth. Merely the truth. And I didn’t use the information I obtained to sensationalize the story. I wrote about it to help that child, to find out what was going on with her, what was making her sick.” Rebecca sighed wearily. Even now the memory saddened her. “She was a helpless child who suffered immeasurable because of an emotionally ill mother.” Leaning back in her seat, Rebecca looked at him. “Now do you understand what I mean about the truth, Jake, and why I do what I do?”

He scowled, his brows drawing together. He’d been bushwhacked, he realized. Coolly and cleanly. So why didn’t he feel any animosity? Only a grudging sense of respect? “Yeah, but—”

“No buts about it, Jake.” She shrugged, and the motion emphasized the curve of her breasts, making his mouth go dry. He almost groaned.

“So what happened to the kid?” he asked. “And the mother?”

“The girl was removed from the mother’s care almost immediately. She was placed in a very loving foster home, and later adopted by the couple who’d taken her in.” Rebecca thought for a moment. “She’s a teenager now, a healthy, happy, normal teenager with no medical problems whatsoever.”

“That’s terrific,” Jake muttered. “And the mother?”

Rebecca shrugged again. “Last I heard, she was in a state-run mental health facility. Apparently she had a complete breakdown. Charges were brought against her for child endangerment as well as attempted murder, and that’s when she had the breakdown. She was found unfit to stand trial. She’ll probably spend the rest of her life in that facility.”

“Well, at least the child is doing well.”

“Jake.” His name sounded like a caress on her lips. “I told you this story because I wanted to give you a little glimpse into why I do what I do and how important it is.” Hesitating, Rebecca licked her dry lips, aware that he was watching her intently. “It’s important to me that you know I will be honorable and ethical in my dealings with you and your family, and in the way I present the Ryan family story.” She leaned toward him, anxious to make her point. “I have no intention of invading your privacy, nor will I do anything to sensationalize any part of your family history. I will do nothing to hurt you—any of you,” she added emphatically, almost sighing when suspicion clouded his eyes again. “You have my word on that.
You have my word, Jake,
” she repeated. “But I need a couple of things from you, as well.”

“What?” he asked, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. His inner warning system was clanging again, almost drowning out his thoughts. Her words.

“Your help,” she responded softly, realizing she was going out on a limb professionally. And for some inexplicable reason, it felt personal, as well.

“I already told Tommy I’d help you.”

“Yeah, and if the help you’re offering is as enthusiastic as all you’ve offered to date, I might as well go whistle ‘Dixie’.” Heat echoed in her words, darkened her cheeks. She knew very well he had no intention of helping her, or making this easier for her. He was merely going to pay her lip service, and she couldn’t accept that. Wouldn’t accept that.

“I’m that transparent, huh?” he asked mildly, making her smile.

“Like glass.” She paused. “Jake, I want to do this story right. I want to tell the whole story of the Ryan family, and I want Tommy to be pleased with the results. I can’t do that alone. Oh, I could, but it will take that much longer if I have to do everything myself, and learn all my facts through research. Your help will give the story a personal feel, give it the heart and soul it needs to be truly special.”

Determination shone in her eyes, and pride—a fierce pride, something he knew a little bit about. He decided to let this subject simmer in his mind for a minute. “Okay, you want my help. But you said there were a
couple
of things you wanted—needed from me. What’s the second?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze and hold it, aware that something strange and darkly exciting seemed to pass between them, connecting them on a level that seemed entirely too personal, too intimate. It made her uncomfortable, and off balance once again.

Ignoring it, Rebecca concentrated on the job at hand, as she always did in a professional situation. And that’s all this was, she told herself firmly, a professional situation. Nothing more. She could never allow it to be anything more. Especially not with Jake Ryan.

“I need your trust, Jake.” The words hung in the air between them for a long, silent moment, echoing softly. Rebecca forced herself to hold his gaze, knowing this was a battle of will and pride. She couldn’t blink, couldn’t back down; this was too important to her on too many levels. But she could feel her pulse roaring in her ears, from his nearness and from her own nervousness. “Without trust, Jake, you won’t be able to give me the help I need. I know that and understand it. I’ve been a reporter way too long not to understand what it takes to do a story properly. Especially one of this magnitude.”

Taking his time, Jake merely watched her, wishing he could read her better. On one hand, she seemed genuinely sincere, genuinely on the level. But his inner warning system was telling him something altogether different.

It confused the hell out of him.

“Why is this story so important to you?” He glanced out the window for a moment, watched as a
weary young mother struggled with an armload of packages and a toddler as she made her way from her parked car toward the rear entrance of the hotel. He turned back to Rebecca, his gaze curious, questioning. “What’s so vital about telling this particular tale?”

She was almost certain her heart stilled. His question struck at the core of her, and for a moment she almost panicked. But she was an expert at hiding her emotions, never revealing her true inner feelings. Age-old habits took over and she forced all sentiment from her mind, her heart.

“It’s important,” she said, speaking slowly, choosing her words carefully, as if each was a step in an explosive minefield, “because every story is important to me, Jake. I never accept an assignment unless I think I can do a good job, and tell the story right.” Negligently, she moved her shoulders. “This story is important to your grandfather. Mr. Barker made that very clear to me. This is a major coup for his newspaper. When someone as prominent as your grandfather agrees to publish his family history, to put the context of the town’s founding and growth into print from a historical perspective, I think it’s a very important story indeed.” She smiled at him. “The Ryan family is one of the most prominent families in the state, Jake. Surely you have to know how important their role in chronicling the history of this town is. Why wouldn’t a story of this magnitude be important to me? I’m honored that I’ve been asked to do it.” Blowing out a breath, Rebecca hoped her story sounded plausible. Hoped she’d given it enough importance, but not so much he’d grow more suspicious.

Every word she’d told him was the absolute truth. It just wasn’t the
whole
truth. And for that, she felt a niggling guilt. She was not a deceptive person—it went against all that she believed in—but she had to remember she was doing what she was doing for personal reasons that had nothing to do with the Ryans, at least not in a way that would hurt them. She truly had no intention of doing that.

She didn’t intend to make public whatever she learned about her mother’s involvement in Jesse Ryan’s disappearance. It was not something she considered writing about. There was no point. Her mother was gone now, so it made no difference in the woman’s life. But it would make such a difference in Rebecca’s. And yes, perhaps in the Ryans’. She would eventually share with them all that she learned, if only to give them an opportunity to have some closure about the past, and about Jesse’s disappearance. Perhaps by learning the truth of her mother’s involvement, she might even learn the truth about what had really happened to Jesse so many years ago. And in that way she might also be able to help them.

In reality, she was searching for the truth. Nothing more. Nothing less.

But she knew if she told the Ryans the truth of who she was, what she intended to do and why, they’d cut off all access and information and block her at every pass.

And personally, she couldn’t run the risk of that happening.

This was far too important to her and her future.

So, hoping she’d made her case properly, Rebecca
swallowed the guilt that rose like bile, and waited— waited for Jake to digest what she’d told him and respond.

Cocking his head and stretching his cramped legs, he sighed. His movements were casual, hiding the tension that was coiling through him.

“You’re going to do this story with or without my help, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a nod. “It will be much easier with your help, but I’ll manage without it.”

“I figured that,” he grumbled, weighing his options. If he didn’t help her, he worried about where she’d start digging, what she’d learn, and more importantly, what she’d do with the information she discovered.

He had nothing to hide—none of them did. He just didn’t want the past dragged up and sensationalized again, drawing out every kook and freak who thought they’d capitalize on the Ryan family misfortune, drawing out reporters who were perhaps not so concerned about hurting them all.

On the other hand, if he helped her, it would allow him to keep an eye on her, to watch what she was doing, learn what she was learning, and what she planned to do with the information. It would allow him some sort of control over the situation.

And her.

“I’ll agree to help you, truly help you, on one condition.”

Her eyes narrowed and he felt the tension radiating from her. “And what’s that?”

“That you let me read every word you write before you publish it.”

She couldn’t hide her shock. “You want editorial control—is that what you’re saying?”

“You got it.” Comfortable with the compromise, he decided that if she refused his request, it would be proof that she was up to no good and that she was lying to him and to his grandfather. And he might as well know about it right now.

On the other hand, if she wasn’t lying, if she was on the level, then she should have no hesitancy in agreeing to his request. “You want my help, you gotta give something in return.” He shrugged. “It’s as simple as that.”

“And what if you don’t like something I’ve written?” She never, ever gave editorial control to anyone outside the business. Never let anyone read her material before it was published, except for her editor, of course. Giving anyone else that kind of control over her work felt like little more than censorship, something that, as a writer, she instinctively balked at.

“If I don’t like something you’ve written, then it comes out.” His voice was firm, final. “This is my family we’re talking about, Rebecca. I’m not about to jeopardize them in any way, shape or form.”

“Jake, you’re not being reasonable,” she said, rushing on as a frown crossed his face. “What if we agree that if you don’t like something I’ve written, or you’re concerned about the impact on the family, then we’ll discuss it?”

“Rebecca—”

“No, Jake, hear me out. I’ll agree to let you read
everything before I publish it. It goes against everything I believe in as a reporter, but if that’s what I have to do to get your help, I’ll do it. But be reasonable, please.” The pleading in her voice touched him, and he didn’t want to be touched by her, not now, not on this. “If you object to something, then I’ll either rework it, rewrite it, come at it from a different angle or, as a last resort, take it out. Can you agree to that? It is fair, Jake,” she insisted. “Sometimes in telling a story a writer has to include things—things the subject might not want made public. I understand that, and I’m willing to compromise in an effort to protect you and your family. All I’m asking is for you to compromise a little, as well.”

Thoughtfully, Jake blew out a breath. “But if after we discuss and do whatever the hell else you want— if all else fails, then I have the final say and it comes out. Will you agree to that?”

She hesitated only a moment, trusting in his inherent compassion and fairness. “Yes. I can agree to that,” she said, letting out a relieved breath she hadn’t known she was holding. With a smile, she held out her hand. “Well, Jake, do we have a deal?”

His gaze shifted from her beautiful face to the hand she’d extended toward him. It was small, delicate, with long, slim fingers and nails polished in a sweet shade of pink. His gaze shifted to her face again.

There was hope in those gorgeous haunted eyes, yes—but something else now, something he couldn’t quite identify. He only knew it made his heart ache in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

And that, he decided, was a dangerous sign. A very
dangerous sign. He took her hand in his, intending to shake it, but found himself holding it protectively instead.

“It’s a deal,” he said softly, lifting her hand to his mouth for the briefest kiss, making a shudder race through her. “Just make sure you don’t disappoint me, Rebecca,” he whispered, drawing her hand back to his lips again for another sweet kiss.

With a trembling sigh, Rebecca closed her eyes and momentarily savored the feel of him. It had been so long since anyone had touched her on a physical or emotional level, and Jake had, deeply.

It both frightened and aroused her.

Fear was something she’d learned to handle as a child. She’d had no choice; it was her constant companion, like her shadow.

But arousal, desire—those were feelings she’d never allowed herself, never been privy to before, and she had no clue how to handle them, or more importantly, how to stop them.

And she knew she had to stop them, especially with Jake. She could not allow her own emotions to get involved. She couldn’t allow feelings, desires, to color her professional objectivity. She knew better.

But watching him, looking at him and feeling his touch—so gentle, so warm, so protective—she realized once again how very much she’d missed, been robbed of.

And it made her ache inside.

But she couldn’t allow this to continue. With deliberate care, she mustered up all the professionalism she could. Withdrawing her hand from his—with deep re
gret—she smoothed back her hair, simply to have something to do so she wouldn’t reach out and touch him the way he’d so freely, easily touched her.