LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER TWO

      THE next day was Saturday, which wasn’t Laura’s favorite day to work. But this assignment was special: the announcement of the Citizen of the Year in Rawhide, Colorado. The name of the small city’s honored citizen would be announced at the annual potluck picnic in the park, to which the entire community was invited.

      That meant old and young alike, so Laura and Zach set off for the park shortly after eleven o’clock. Parking in a field designated for that purpose, Laura hauled out her contribution to the festivities—her famous apple pie. She also carried a tote bag containing a reporter’s notebook and a camera. Zach skipped along happily at her side.

      The day was balmy and bright, one of those Rocky Mountain highs songwriters immortalized and locals cherished. Well-known because of her association with the newspaper, Laura responded to waves and greetings from almost everyone they passed.

      This was one of the things she loved about living here—the friendliness of the people and the neighborliness of the town. Everyone had welcomed her when she’d arrived three years ago to take the job of life-styles editor of the Review. She’d been a widow with a three-year-old child, both of them strangers from the big city of Chicago, and both somewhat fragile emotionally.

      But the citizens of Rawhide had taken the newcomers to their collective hearts—with a few notable exceptions, one of whom suddenly loomed before her as she rounded the last vehicles parked at the edge of the grassy parkland.

      Matthew Reynolds: wouldn’t you just know. And beside him was his best buddy, Dylan Cole.

      Matt tipped his cap and Dylan tipped his cowboy hat. Both grinned broadly, their attention focused on the pie she carried.

      Zach tugged at Matt’s hand, his little face beaming. “Hi, Mr. Reynolds. Hi, it’s me, Zach!”

      Matt grinned down at the boy. “It sure is.” He nudged Dylan with his elbow. “You know my helper Zach, don’t you, buddy?”

      “Yep.” Dylan offered a hand to the boy. “How you doin’, partner?”

      Zach put his little hand in that of the big man grinning at him. “Okay,” he said shyly.

      Matt patted the boy on the head. “Any chance your mama is carrying one of her famous apple pies for this potluck?”

      Zach nodded his head vigorously. “Uh-huh. And she’s got another one just like it at home!”

      Matt looked shocked. His gaze swung from the boy to the mother. “You holding out on me, Laura?”

      She smiled sweetly. “And not for the first time, either.” She nudged Zach forward. “Come on, honey, I need to put this pie down and then we’ll see if any of your friends are here.”

      “Okay.” The boy gave Matt a last wistful glance before turning away.

      That’s what came from having Matt bumbling around with her remodeling project, she thought self-righteously, following the boy weaving his way through the crowd. Thank heaven, the job would be finished soon—she devoutly hoped—and then surely Zach would get over this bad case of hero worship.

      Please let him get over it!

      Matt watched her walk away, wondering how a man was supposed to deal with a woman like that. Hell, she even ironed her jeans, put creases in the damned things! And with those nicely fitting jeans she wore a white silk shirt that clung in all the right places. Denim and silk: a helluva sexy combo for an Ice Queen like Laura Gilliam.

      Dylan chuckled softly. “Just what did that mean?” he inquired, jutting his chin after Laura.

      “What did what mean?” As if Matt didn’t know.

      “When you ask if she’s holdin’ out on you, she says it’s not the first time. Something goin’ on I don’t know about?”

      “Hell, no.” Matt took off in the same direction she’d disappeared. “What say we go liberate us a couple of cold ones.”

      “Best idea you’ve had all day.”

      Tubs overflowing with cans and bottles of beer and ice stood beneath the shade of cottonwood trees. Off to one side, long trestle tables with paper coverings groaned beneath the weight of food provided by the townspeople. Matt himself had made a contribution: a tub of fried chicken from a fast-food store.

      Fishing out his preferred brand of beer, he ignored Dylan’s running commentary about one thing or another and instead watched Laura talking to Marilyn Rogers, the mayor. Marilyn cocked her silver head attentively, apparently enthralled by whatever the lovely Mrs. Gilliam might be saying.

      And she was lovely. Matt had thought so the moment he saw her, a new employee at his grandfather’s newspaper. But he knew she was a widow, and out of respect for her loss he’d waited a year before he asked her out—a whole year. It hadn’t been easy, either, because he’d been intrigued by her from the first.

      On their one and only date, they’d gone to the popular local saloon called the Painted Pony, had dinner and even danced a little. He’d found her quiet, almost shy, which didn’t jibe with any of the newspaper people he’d ever known. But then, he’d decided she was probably just intimidated because he was her boss’s grandson.

      He was also owner of his own successful construction company and proud of the town where he’d been born and raised. He worked hard for the Rawhide Chamber of Commerce and the local Kids’ Club and every other civic issue that came along, and had donated the labor to erect the bandstand in the park. In short, he was very involved in community life.

      She wasn’t, outside of her work. And despite her beauty, he hadn’t exactly seen guys knocking down her door to get friendly. Most of the eligible men in town were probably put off by her aloof manner, but not Matt.

      Something told him that with a little effort, she could relax enough to be a whole lot of fun—and he was more than willing to help her. That’s why, when he took her home, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

      It was a nice kiss—a real nice kiss. For a moment, she’d felt compliant and warm in his arms.

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