Free Secrets in a Small Town by Kimberly Van Meter Page A

sure if she should. He liked her uncertainty. It put them on a far more even keel and that was always a good thing during negotiations of any sort.
    “So why do you want to know so much about me? I’m hardly interesting,” she said.
    “I guess I’ll find out if that’s true for myself.”
    She exhaled a long breath and shook her head as she smoothed her skirt and straightened the seat belt so it rested perfectly across her chest. “Fine. I’ll go first,” she volunteered. “What do you want to know?”
    “Any brothers or sisters?” He figured he’d start off with the easy stuff.
    “No. But before you start to think that I spent my childhood alone without playmates, rest assured, I was never alone being raised in a tight-knit community.” She didn’t hesitate when she said, “My turn. What happened to your mother?”
    He spared her a short look. “My biological mom died in a car accident when I was about two years old.”
    “That’s terrible. I’m sorry.”
    He didn’t remember her, so the pain wasn’t raw like when he lost his father. There were times, during private moments, when he wished his dad were still around for advice. Mama Jo had definitely filled the void left by his mother but there were some things he would’ve rather shared with his dad. His dad had been an ace when it came to offering counsel. He’d had a way about him that made people listen. The FBI had called him “dangerously charismatic.” Owen pulled off the highway and onto a county road that would turn into a forest service access point. “You might want to hold on, it’ll get bumpy in a minute,” he advised, slowing as the paved county road gave way to hard-packed dirt. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw her clutch the handle on the passenger side while the other hand held her notebook.
    “Where are we going exactly?” she asked as they jounced along the dirt road.
    “A piece of private property along the lake. Owner sold us twenty acres for harvesting.” Before she could interject, he added, “And yes, I have all the required clearances and permits. And no, there’s no old-growth, so take a chill pill.” He slid a sidewise glance her way. “Are you always so tightly wound?”
    “Is that your question?” she said, returning the look.
    He laughed. “Stickler for the rules, I see. Okay, no, that’s not my question, because I think I already know the answer.”
    “I’m not uptight if that’s what you’re thinking,” she retorted, but her cheeks had pinked an interesting shade.
    “We’ll see. Tell me what it’s like to grow up on a commune.”
    She sighed as if the question annoyed her. He suspected she got asked that a lot. He could commiserate. His unique childhood often sparked curiosity, too. He was just as reluctant to share. “It was like anyone’s living situation until I realized I was different. When I was little, it was bliss. I was never alone, we always had big barbecues and everyone brought something. We had a community garden where everyone got to share as long as they helped with the work. It was great. Then as I got older and started to realize that not everyone lived as we did, I started to wish we had a more traditional family structure. I mean, what kid doesn’t know what cake tastes like until they’re in the eighth grade? My parents never allowed processed sugar in the house and the only sweetener we used was natural honey raised from the bees on the farm. And then the first time I tried a hamburger I was in college.”
    “You were a vegetarian?”
    “Yeah, my entire childhood. My parents still think I am,” she added with a slightly guilty tone. “But I found I love meat and I don’t like tofu. I despise it, actually, and I have to choke it down every time I visit my parents.”
    “Why don’t you just tell them? You’re an adult. I’m sure they’d respect your choice.”
    “No, they wouldn’t. They’d lecture me on inhumane slaughtering techniques and constantly