Shameless

“You sure are,” Wally persisted. “Isn’t she?” This time he turned to the petite redhead who sat at what had once been Annie’s desk. She wore an oversize white T-shirt that swallowed her small frame and a pair of blue-jean overalls.

“I, um, I guess so.”

“It’s okay to speak your mind,” Wally said. “She won’t bite you.”

“I definitely bite,” Deb told the timid Paige.

“Rumor has it she definitely has biting potential,” Dolores informed them. “But since said biter signs my paycheck, I’m keeping my opinion to myself.”

“Good girl,” Deb told her.

“She likes everybody to think she bites,” Wally went on, “but she doesn’t.”

“I bite, dammit.” Deb took another sip, slammed her mug down on her desk and glared at Wally. “And don’t you go telling anybody otherwise.”

“I don’t have to tell anyone anything. You already did it yourself when you led the fundraiser for those foster kids over at the church. And when you organized that bake sale to help Mr. and Mrs. Cootie pay funeral expenses for their uncle. Stuff like that speaks for itself. You’re definitely a nonbiter.”

“I’m the editor of the town newspaper. I like to stay in the thick of things. My reasons are purely self-motivated.”

“And we’re expecting a blizzard to blow through central Texas tomorrow. She’s like one of those Eskimo pies,” he told Paige. “Hard shell, soft filling.”

Deb glared. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“That depends.”

She pasted on her most intimidating frown. “On whether or not I’m firing you for insubordination?”

“On whether or not you really meant it when you said I could take over Annie’s duties.”

“Of course I meant it. You get Annie’s job. Paige gets your job. Dolores gets to dish dirt part-time.”

“Okay—” he rubbed his hands together “—if I’m now officially a full-fledged reporter, photographer—”

“—part-time printing press mechanic,” Deb cut in. At his frown, she added, “You know that old press better than anyone.”

“I hate that old press,” he grumbled, “but I’m willing to continue sweating blood over it if you’ll let me handle the This Is Your Neighbor interview this week.”

“That’s my column.”

“I know. I’ll just be filling in for you the way Annie used to.”

“She only did it twice when I happened to be overbooked. I’m not overbooked. I’ve already got the interview set up for tomorrow. Mary Jo’s going to do it poolside so she can show off the lifetime supply of western swimsuits she won when they crowned her Rodeo Queen. Do you know they actually sent her a thong bikini made out of rawhide leather? It’s got a fringe and a great big tassle right over the…” Her words faded as she noticed the gleam in Wally’s eyes. “I doubt she’ll wear the thong during the interview.”

He sighed. “A guy can hope.”

“Actually, based on how easy it was for Milton Kelch’s boy to get her to the Inspiration Inn last Saturday night, I think it wouldn’t take much for her to wear the thong,” Dolores said, her old grey eyes twinkling, “or nothing at all.”

Deb let Wally sweat for a full minute as she sipped more coffee. “I’ll tell you what,” she finally said. “If you can finish reinking the press before you leave, you can have the interview.”

“Hot damn!” He winked at Paige. “I told you, an Eskimo pie.”

When the young woman looked at her, Deb meant to give her best frown. She had a reputation to maintain, but the look in the frail-looking redhead’s eyes struck a deep chord. Uncertainty. Loneliness. Fear.

Once upon a time six years ago, Deb had known all three.

She smiled, Paige’s expression eased, and a quiet settled over the office, disrupted only by the steady click of computer keys and the chug of the window unit pumping ice-cold air through the large room.

It proved to be an unusually calm Friday, more so because Deb found herself eyeing the phone on several occasions, a strange sense of expectancy in the pit of her stomach.

“Something’s definitely wrong,” Wally said when he accidentally handed Deb his herbal tea by mistake, and she drank it. “Let me guess, Jasmine couldn’t work you in at the beauty parlor and you’re having a bad-hair day.”

“It’s not my hair.”

“You used the last of your favorite tube of Vamping Red lipstick.”

“I’ve got half a tube in my purse.”

“Your cat ran away.”

“Camille is probably curled up on my sofa as we speak.” She sighed and fixed her gaze on her computer.

“The Texas Awards. You’re nervous we’re not going to be nominated for Best Weekly.”

“It’s not that.”

“I told you, it’s a done deal.”

“I could care less. Just get back to work, would you?”

Wally shrugged and headed back to the printing press, Paige practically disappeared in the pile of advertising copy on her desk, Dolores left for a supper meeting with her head gossip source—the beautician over at the beauty parlor—and Deb did her best to edit her latest piece on the need for a better nursing home facility in Inspiration.

Hours later, after everyone had left, Deb stabbed the button on her computer, flicked off her desk lamp and called it a night.

For the hundredth time, she glanced at the phone. As if she could compel the blasted thing to ring. A glance at her watch and she accepted the inevitable. He wasn’t going to call.

It seemed as if Jimmy Mission wasn’t all that excited about their deal. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she’d said yes. At the very least, a few details spelling out the terms of the agreement, such as when and where.

What she hadn’t expected was this…waiting. Deb wasn’t good at waiting, or wondering or worrying.

Maybe he was just busy. Jimmy was notorious for his commitment to the Mission Ranch. He lived and breathed the place, much the way she lived and breathed the paper.

Or maybe he’d changed his mind. Why give up four thousand dollars when he could have any woman in town for free?

Or maybe he’d been stomped to a bloody pulp by an angry bull—

Her thoughts collided to a stop when she exited the building and saw the young woman sitting on the curb near a worn ‘57 Impala, tears streaming down her face.

“Paige?”