Free Secrets in a Small Town by Kimberly Van Meter

this unexpected piece of information. He’d lost his father and then his only other family had abandoned him to the state foster care system. How awful. She imagined Owen, a sad, grief-stricken boy thrust among strangers. A low, melancholy ache thrummed an odd tune in her chest, something she didn’t recognize or know how to process. “So you love this foster family?” she asked.
    “Oh, yeah. I miss them a lot.”
    “So why do you stay in California?”
    He crooked a grin. “My brothers ask that question all the time. I stay because I like it here.”
    An internal sensor went off and she instinctively knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful. He stayed for more than the scenery. She wondered what it was and made a note to dig a little deeper later. “Must be hard, though,” she surmised, holding her breath even as she tried to remain nonchalant. “Being without your family, I mean.”
    “Yeah. It doesn’t get any easier. But a man’s gotta make a living and that’s what I do here.”
    “Plus, I imagine it’s nice to return to your hometown…” she fished for more information, hoping he’d latch on to the bait.
    But he didn’t. He simply shrugged and then offered a noncommittal nod. “Yeah, it’s nice.”
    Nice. What a perfectly blah word. And totally discordant with the vibe she was getting. Interesting.
    “Married?” she threw out there to catch his reaction, and she wasn’t disappointed.
    “Not me,” he answered without hesitation. In fact, he answered like a man who gave that particular hangman’s noose a very wide berth.
    “Afraid of commitment?” she guessed, dissecting his reaction with a clinical eye. Why else would someone like him be chronically unattached? Judging by the hungry looks he’d received by the mommies in Mrs. Hamby’s class that day, he probably had to beat women off with a stick. “So you’re more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am and don’t-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-way-out kind of man?”
    He scowled. “I don’t really want to talk about my personal life,” he said, which told her she’d hit a nerve. Interesting. She made a note of it as he continued. “I’ll answer whatever questions you like about the logging industry and any current jobs, but as far as my dating history…I’d rather keep that private. I doubt your readers want to know about that crap anyway.”
    “I beg to differ,” she disagreed, omitting the part where she was most interested in the information. “It makes you more of a person.”
    “More of a person?” he repeated. “What does that mean?”
    “Oh, well, you know, it humanizes you. Instead of just the big, bad logger, you’re the man who shops at the local market and loves to eat Chinese food. I did a story on the mayor once and you know what people remembered the most? The fact that he loves musical theater and used to dream of being on Broadway before his life took a different turn. See? Who knew the mayor could sing? Now, his voters know.”
    “Yeah, well, I’d prefer my personal business—particularly my dating habits—to remain private,” he said, unwilling to budge on that score. She blew out a short breath and scratched out some notes. A pregnant pause rested between them as Piper tried to think of ways to get him to open up. An idea came to her and she snapped her notebook shut with an easy, inviting smile. “Okay, so tell me off the record, then.”





CHAPTER EIGHT
    O FF THE RECORD? H E shot her a wary look. “Do reporters ever actually do anything off the record? Or is that just something you say to get people to trust you?”
    She shrugged. “I can’t say what other reporters do. I can only say what I do. If I say it’s off the record, I mean it.”
    “How about this…for every question I answer, you answer one in kind.”
    She frowned as if she didn’t think that was a fair exchange but he was curious about what made Piper Sunday tick. She agreed with a slow nod but he could tell she wasn’t quite