Most of all, he wanted time. Time to figure out why he wanted more time. Time to find out if this fascination he had with her was transitory, or whether he'd be cursed with it for the rest of his life. Time to come to the conclusion that he and Perrie Kincaid weren't meant to fall in love and get married.
The door behind him opened and he turned to find Perrie watching him. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she still looked angry. "How long are you going to sit out here?"
He held up the story. "You left this at the lodge."
She took it from him and rolled it up. "I'm not moving to the lodge."
"I didn't expect you would." He paused. "It's a wonderful story, Kincaid. As I was reading it, I could see it all over again. You have an incredible talent. Why do you waste it writing about criminals?"
She walked to the porch rail and looked out at a stand of spruce. "What I do is important," she said evenly. "It makes a difference. This is a silly story about wolves. It doesn't make a difference to anyone."
"It makes a difference to me, Perrie. It makes me feel something inside. When I read it, it moved me."
Perrie turned and stared at him blankly, as if she didn't understand what he was trying to say, then shook her head. "It's nothing," she said firmly, folding the papers up and shoving them in the back pocket of her jeans. She took a deep breath and pushed away from the porch railing. "Where's Burdy?"
"He's probably in his cabin."
"I need some breakfast. I want to go into Muleshoe."
Joe stood up and moved toward her. "I could take you," he offered. When she backed away, he stopped and held up his hand.
"I'd rather go with Burdy," she said.
"Listen, I know you're angry. And I'm sorry. I should have asked you to stay in the lodge. It's much more comfortable and-"
"It doesn't make a difference," Perrie replied in a cool voice. "I wouldn't have stayed there anyway. The cabin is just fine."
"No, it's not. It's-"
"What do you want from me?" she snapped. "Do you need absolution for being a jerk? Do you think complimenting my writing is going to smooth everything out?"
"I thought that-"
"I don't belong here," she said in a weary voice. "I belong back in Seattle. And you're the one who's keeping me here."
"I know how important your work is to you, but I made a promise to Milt and I'm going to keep it."
"A promise to make me miserable?"
"A promise to keep you safe."
"But why you?"
Joe had never told another soul what Milt Freeman had done for him. But now it was time to tell Perrie.
Maybe then she'd understand why it was so important for her to stay in Muleshoe.
"Right after I got out of law school, I worked for the public defender's office in Seattle. I was so full of myself, thinking I'd stand up for the rights of the common man and make the world a better place. But that wasn't the way it turned out. Mostly, I represented criminals. But I did my job very well.
"One day, I had the pleasure of representing a young punk named Tony Riordan. He was your basic wise-guy wannabe who'd been running a small extortion business shaking down some of Seattle's immigrant shopkeepers. I represented him, I lost the case, and he went to jail for six months."
Perrie's jaw dropped. "You knew Tony Riordan?"
"Intimately. After the trial, Mr. Riordan took it upon himself to send a few of his associates to my house to express his displeasure at the verdict. But before I got home that day, a reporter named Milt Freeman called me and warned me. He'd heard from one of his sources that Tony wanted a little payback."
"So Milt saved your life?"
"Or at least my pretty profile," Joe said with a laugh. "The point is, Tony Riordan was dangerous back then and he had nothing to lose. He's got a lot more to lose now, Perrie, and you're the one who's threatening to take it away."
"I can take care of myself," Perrie said stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Joe cursed softly. "Is it so hard to believe that someone cares about you?" Her mouth tensed into a thin line and Joe knew that he'd finally driven his point home. "Milt cares about you. And I care about you."
A cynical smile curled her lips and her chin tipped up defiantly. "I guess you'll do anything to keep me here, won't you." She started down the front steps. "I've got to find Burdy."
"Come on, Perrie," he chided, following after her. "You can't stay mad at me forever."
She turned, grinning at him as she swaggered backward. "Just watch me, Brennan."
"Why can't you think of this as a learning experience?" he called. "I bet you'll never walk into your bathroom again without appreciating the beauty of indoor plumbing. Or turn up the heat without remembering the wood you hauled to feed the stove in the cabin."
"Keep talking, Brennan. Sooner or later you might just convince yourself that you're doing a good thing by keeping me here."
He stopped and watched her walk toward Burdy's, admiring the quick sway of her hips, the focused energy of her stride. Chuckling to himself, he started back toward the lodge.
It was getting harder and harder to stay angry at Perrie Kincaid. To tell the truth, the more he knew of her, the more he liked her. She was stubborn and opinionated and she knew her own mind. She didn't let anybody push her around. He admired that about her.
Beyond that, he thought she was just about the prettiest woman he'd ever known. He'd never really looked at her as anything but a pain in the backside, tough as nails and prickly as a hawthorn tree. But then, out of the clear blue, he had come to realize just how incredibly alluring she was.
Joe shook his head. That was one opinion he'd have to keep to himself. It wouldn't do to have everyone in the lodge and all of Muleshoe know that he was attracted to Perrie Kincaid.
Perrie slid onto a bar stool and grabbed a menu. Paddy Doyle lumbered over and wiped his hands on his apron, "Miz Kincaid. How are you this sunny morning?"
"I'm fine, Mr. Doyle. I think I'll have a lumberjack breakfast… with an extra order of bacon… cheese on the hash browns… and a double milk."
Paddy raised his eyebrow. "You sure you want all that for breakfast? You usually just have a doughnut and coffee."
"I'm in training," Perrie said.
Paddy scribbled her order on a scrap of paper, then walked it back to the kitchen. He returned a few moments later with a large glass of milk. "I heard you're entering the brides' competition," he said. "All the bachelors around town are lookin' forward to seeing how you fare. See if you're decent marriage material."
Perrie smiled. "The rules say any single woman can enter. But this single woman isn't interested in marriage. Just in the first prize."
"I also heard that you spent some time inside the Bachelor Creek Lodge this morning."
Perrie blinked in surprise. She'd visited the lodge less than an hour ago and already Muleshoe's version of Walter Cronkite was on the story. "My first and last visit."
"I wouldn't be too certain of that. A lady sets foot in the lodge and she's bound to be married." Paddy laughed. "Not one of them boys paid a cent into the bride scheme and now they're falling like tall timber. First Tanner. Now Joe. Hawk will be next."
"I'm not marrying Joe Brennan," Perrie insisted.
"I bet Joe was plenty mad when he found out you got inside the lodge. He's been dodging marriage since I met him five years ago. You know, he's dated pretty near every available woman in east Alaska."
"I know that, Mr. Doyle. Everyone knows that. Seems Joe's social life is front-page news around Muleshoe."
"Would be, if we had a newspaper." Paddy rubbed his chin. Bracing his foot on an empty beer barrel, he leaned up against the bar. "You work in the newspaper business, right?"
"When I'm not withering away in the wilds of Alaska," she said, sipping at her milk.
"I need some advice." Paddy reached back and untied his apron. "Come with me. I want to show you something."
Her curiosity piqued, she followed him through the bar to a rear door, then up a dusty narrow stairway to the second story of the building. Paddy came to another door and threw it open.
"This stuff has been up here forever," he said. "I was thinkin' about putting in a nice dance hall up here, for parties and weddings and such."
"What is this?" Perrie asked.
"This is what's left of the Muleshoe Monitor," Paddy explained. "Paper started when this was a boomtown during the gold rush days. Lasted until the thirties and then the old guy that ran it moved to Fairbanks."
"This is incredible," Perrie said, moving to stand near the line of old wood cabinets on the wall. The galleys from the final edition of the Monitor still lay on the table, covered with years and years of dust. She brushed off the masthead to get a better look. "When I was in junior high, I worked for my town newspaper. They had all the old block type left and they used it for signs and posters. I would sit and cast headlines. Local Girl Wins Pulitzer, Kincaid Awarded Nobel Peace Prize. Things like that. Now it's all done on computer."
"I want to sell this stuff," Paddy said. "What do you think it's worth?"
Perrie picked up a composing stick. "This is… probably not worth much. I'm not really sure. To someone like me, it's fascinating. When I was a kid, I dreamed about having my own paper."
"Back when Muleshoe was a boomtown, in '98, we had enough folks living here to support a paper. Nearly two thousand. And with all the money bein' made, there was plenty of news. The guy that ran the place passed on in 1951 and no one ever came back to claim his property. That press has been sittin' there ever since, collecting dust. Probably take half the men in this town to move the thing. Or I guess we could break it apart."
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