Free Hooked by Stef Ann Holm Page B

today was what Minnie Abbott, who wrote the fashion column in The Chronicle, called a turban. This one was braided straw with a rosette and two wings—both flying toward the left, leaving the right side appearing cockeyed. Appearing . . . more alluring than it should to him.
    Gage forced himself to disregard the fact that he’d asked Meg to join him under false pretexts. There was no room in a journalist’s life for guilt. Nerve. He had a lot of it. He produced stories that disturbed the accepted view of things. Many people were angry at him at any given day.
    Someone had to expose the seamier side of life, and he did the job well. Reporters weren’t necessarily objective truth-seekers. Gage certainly wasn’t. He had definite opinions as to what was right and what was wrong. Without that ability to make sharp judgments, he would never be able to suspect that the official story was inaccurate.
    In this case: Wayne Brooks winning a thousand dollar purse away from Ollie Stratton of Alder when Stratton had clearly been better qualified at fly-fishing.
    This story had all the necessary elements. From L. Farley, Gage had found out where the young man lived. Worse yet, Stratton cared for an aged mother. A heart-tugger. Before Gage went to Alder, he had to learn all he could about Wayne. And Meg was his best source.
    â€œMiss Brooks, you must tell me all about yourself,” Gage suggested, steering them toward a small dock.
    â€œI’m completing a term at Mrs. Wolcott’s Finishing School,” she said. “I’ve learned a lot of things, mostly how to be a lady.” With an arch of her brows, she hastily added, “Not that I wasn’t one before.”
    â€œI can’t imagine you not being a genteel lady, Miss Brooks.”
    â€œThank you.”
    She straightened and rested the parasol against her shoulder. “Tell me about you, Mr. Wilberforce. Where are you from?”
    Without thought he said, “Battlefield, North Dakota.” A far cry from San Francisco . “Do you like small towns, Miss Brooks?”
    â€œDo you?” she returned.
    â€œIt all depends on the town.” Gage couldn’t let up. “Have you lived here all your life?”
    â€œUh-huh.” She cringed. “I mean,” then in a refined voice, “yes.”
    â€œYour family?”
    â€œSince my parents married. They used to live in Des Moines. That’s where my Grandma Nettie’s from.”
    â€œAny brothers or sisters?”
    â€œOne. A brother. Wayne. I mentioned him before. He’s at the university. Cornell,” she said with a fair amount of pride.
    â€œAttending Cornell is ambitious.”
    â€œYes, well, Wayne can have his good points and ambition is one of them.”
    Ambition enough to rig a contest? Gage wondered. It took brains and a lot of dough to be admitted to the prestigious New York State campus. One thousand dollars in prize money could see a person go far.
    â€œWhat kind of ambition does he have, Miss Brooks?”
    She frowned. “He doesn’t write to me very much. He’s very busy on campus. You know how it is. There’s so much going on at any given day.”
    Gage sensed she didn’t really know what her brother wanted out of Cornell.
    â€œDo you have plans to go to college, Miss Brooks?”
    â€œMe? Why, nobody’s ever asked me that before.”
    â€œIs it something you’ve thought about?” This didn’t mean squat to his line of questioning. Gage was purely curious. More than he ought to be.
    â€œNot really. The requirements for a hotel proprietressdon’t include a college education. I had a mind to manage a small establishment, much like my father’s, but things didn’t work out.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œMy father wouldn’t hire me.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œHe said I lacked experience.”
    â€œHow could you get experience unless he hired