There's Something About Christmas

She shook her head and slid the plate across the table.

Oliver took it, slipped out of the booth and headed outside to where Oscar waited. As soon as he left the café, Emma plucked her cell phone from her bag and pushed the button that speed-dialed the newspaper office. A moment later, she connected with Phoebe.

“This is Phoebe,” her friend answered in her usual cheerful fashion.

“When did Oliver Hamilton ask you about me?” Emma demanded.

“Emma?”

“You know exactly who this is.”

“I take it the muscle relaxant has worn off?”

So it was true. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because,” Phoebe murmured, “it was a short conversation. Two minutes, if that.”

“You knew he was coming in to talk to Walt.”

“Yes,” Phoebe admitted. “All right, I’ll tell you. I was afraid that if I mentioned I’d talked to Oliver, you’d have all these questions about how I knew and I didn’t want to get into that.”

“How did you know?” Emma asked. It could only be one thing—Phoebe was seeing Walt. Why she wanted to keep that a secret, Emma wasn’t sure.

When Phoebe answered, it was in a whisper. “Walt and I are dating.”

“You are?” Even though she’d already guessed, Emma was shocked. “Why didn’t you tell me?” As soon as she asked the question, she knew. “Walt doesn’t want anyone at the office to find out.” It explained a lot.

“He doesn’t think it’s good policy. I hated not telling anyone, especially you, but I…couldn’t.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Three months.”

Emma was stunned into silence. She couldn’t believe that her best friend had managed to keep this from her for three months. Obviously, Phoebe wasn’t as timid around Walt as she’d seemed.

“You can’t let him know that you know,” Phoebe said anxiously.

“Fine.” Emma blew out her breath. “But when I get back, I want you to tell me everything, understand?”

Phoebe laughed softly. “I’ll make a full confession.”

“Good. Now, what do you know about Oliver Hamilton?”

“Just that…he likes you. He specifically asked for an opportunity so the two of you could fly together.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Oliver had done that because he knew she was frightened to death to get into his little plane. The man was a sadist, and between them, her employer and her best friend had willingly handed her over.

“He told Walt you’d done a wonderful job of selling him on advertising and he wanted to give the newspaper his business because of you.”

“Did you tell Walt that if I didn’t get an assignment soon, I’d quit?”

“I couldn’t let my best friend quit,” Phoebe said—although Emma noted that she hadn’t really answered the question. “Not if I could prevent it. Then Oliver showed up and, well, it was meant to be.”

The truth was out. She’d gotten this assignment thanks to her friend. Walt hadn’t thought she was ready; he was just trying to keep Phoebe happy.

“I can’t understand why you don’t like Oliver,” Phoebe said.

Emma pinched her lips tightly together. “Oliver Hamilton is accustomed to women swooning over him.”

“He’s not like that,” Phoebe protested.

Emma knew otherwise.

“You’re not upset with me, are you?”

Emma considered the question. “I guess not.”

“If our situations were reversed, you’d have done the same thing for me,” Phoebe said. “Now tell me what’s going on in Yakima.”

Emma looked out the window and noticed that Oliver had walked across the street, presumably to get an updated weather report. “At the moment we’re stuck.”

“Together?” Phoebe asked with an inappropriate amount of amusement.

It figured she’d see this unfortunate situation in a humorous light. “For now, and trust me, I’m not happy about it.”

“You should be. Oliver and Walt get along really well. He’s a cool guy.”

The problem was he knew it. Emma didn’t bother to comment. She chatted with Phoebe a few minutes longer before ending the phone call.

The waitress refreshed Emma’s coffee and took the money she’d left on the table. While she waited for her change, she read over her notes from the interview with Earleen Williams. But it wasn’t the older woman who dominated her thoughts, it was her own mother.

Pamela Collins had wanted the very best for her, Emma knew. What she could never understand was why her mother had stayed in the marriage as long as she had. From as early as Emma could remember, she’d known her father was having affairs, betraying his wife and family. To this day, her father didn’t get it. Her mother had been so forgiving; Emma wasn’t. And she was too smart to be taken in by a man who had all her father’s worst traits—and all his appeal.

She couldn’t imagine what her mother would think of Oliver. No, she could imagine exactly. Her mother would think he was wonderful and treat him like a king, the same way she’d done with Emma’s father whenever he’d seen fit to bless them with his presence.

The café door opened and Oliver returned, his leather jacket splotched with damp. He walked across the room, sliding into the booth. He handed her a sheet of paper.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“The weather report. You aren’t going to like it.”

Emma’s heart sank. “How long are we trapped here?”

He hesitated as if weighing how much of the truth he should tell her. “Overnight.”