Page 17 of Yours, Always

“You should be happy she didn’t call the police,” Gabe stated. “Pru dropped off tile samples late one night last summer while I was working, and Old Crenny called the cops reporting a prowler.”

Greyson laughed. “I remember hearing about that. To be fair, anything after six p.m. is considered to be the middle of the night to Old Lady Crenshaw.”

Prudence swatted him on the shoulder. “That’s not funny! You try explaining to the cops that you’re just dropping off tile samples at eleven p.m., to an empty house. The fact that I’d opened the door with a key was the only reason I wasn’t arrested.”

Greyson gestured to a table. “Let’s sit, I’m ready for a drink.” He led Prudence away while Gabe went behind the bar.

“Whiskey?” Gabe asked.

Greyson nodded his approval. “You know it.”

Prudence shuddered. “No thanks. I’d like to get through the rest of this day without falling on my face,” she said. “I’ll take another Coke, please and thank you.”

“After a red-eye flight I think I deserve it.” As Greyson pulled out the chair for Prudence, he noted that her hair was even more disheveled than it usually was. He reached over and gently pulled on a stray lock, liking the way the strand ran through his fingers. “Hey, what happened here?” he questioned.

Prudence’s reply was cut short as Annabelle came flying through the door, a cold wind swirling through the bar after her. She hurried over and slammed a newspaper onto the table. “You’ll never believe who bought the Amber Falls Bee,” she seethed, continuing before anyone could guess. “Locke Communications.”

Prudence took the paper and glanced at the article. “No shit?”

“Yes shit,” Annabelle said, pulling out a chair next to Greyson and giving him a short hug before sitting. “I’m glad you’re finally home, Grey.”

“Thanks, Annabelle.”

Gabe walked over with the drinks. “Hey, Annabelle. What’s the matter? You look pissed.”

“I am.” She grabbed Greyson’s whiskey from Gabe and downed it in one gulp while Greyson held up his hands to protest. Gabe took that as his cue to immediately go get another. She sat back in her chair, still breathing heavily from her oh-so-Annabelle entrance. Greyson and Prudence exchanged glances, knowing that once Annabelle got on a tangent, there was no stopping her. Incidentally, that’s what also made her such a good newspaper reporter.

Annabelle stabbed a finger to the newspaper on the table. “Locke Communications,” she ground out. “Not only did they buy the Bee, but they canned Matt Smith and are sending in their own editor.”

“Could that be a good thing?” Prudence asked. “Isn’t the Beein trouble financially?”

Annabelle shot Prudence a withering glance, as though she’d sprouted a second head. “Or am I missing something…” She glanced at Greyson to see if he looked enlightened. He did not.

“They. Are. Sending”—Annabelle stood and planted her hands on the table—“that bastard, Sebastian Locke.” Staring at them as though understanding should dawn at any moment.

“That bastard,” Prudence said with understanding.

“Oh, he sounds like a bastard.” Gabe returned with another whiskey, setting it in front of Greyson.

“Did they fire Matt because of the harassment rumors you were telling me about?” Prudence questioned.

“That is completely beside the point.” Annabelle sat and crossed her arms. “The point is that Sebastian Locke has never run a newspaper. In fact, this is the first one the company has ever purchased.”

Gabe picked up the paper and started reading it. “It says here that everything Sebastian Locke touches turns to gold. What’s the issue?”

Prudence and Annabelle stated in unison, “Atlanta.”

Annabelle shook her head. “I don’t know,” she conceded, picking up the second whiskey Gabe had deposited in front of Greyson and took a sip.

“Could it be because he’s a bastard?” Greyson offered helpfully with a wry smile, trying to defuse Annabelle’s anger, ignoring his second stolen whiskey.

She laughed. “This is why we keep you around, 007.”

“While you’re all here, I brought some gifts.” Greyson changed the subject and set the bag he’d brought in on the table.

“Oh Grey, I love it,” Prudence said after Greyson handed her the watch, putting it on. “You remembered.”

“I remember everything you tell me, Pru. And for you.” He handed the T-shirt to Annabelle. “It’s tradition. Plus, a little something.”