Page 20 of Words of Love
She started to cross it off her list, then stopped. “Well, you’re not exactly my target demographic.”
“Who are you trying to write for?”
“Any publication that’s accepting submissions.” She rested her chin on her hand. “The editor ofEmpire Monthlyin New York asked me to send him a proposal. He rejected my first list of ideas, but asked me to come with more for their February edition. That’s one of my projects for my retreat.”
“Empireis doing pretty well, considering they launched less than two years ago.” Sam stretched his arms to the sides and got to his feet.
Brooke was briefly surprised that he knew aboutEmpirebefore remembering that he owned a bookstore. Of course he’d be in the know about magazines and periodicals.
He fiddled with the radio and contacted the ranger station again. Due to the suddenness of the storm and lack of preparation, the ranger announced that they had to wait for the snow to subside before they could get a snowplow up the mountain road. It could still take another two or three days…and that was a guesstimate.
“Looks like we’re spending New Year’s Eve here.” Brooke shook the remaining crackers out of the box and popped them into her mouth. “At the very least, we’ll have an interesting story to tell.”
“Have you always been a glass half-full kind of person?” Sounding vaguely annoyed, he switched off the radio and paced to the window.
“I sure have. Gramps calls me Sunny Side Up.” She nodded toward the radio. “Did you ask the ranger to contact someone to let them know you’re okay?”
He shrugged. “No need.”
“You don’t have anyone to contact?”
He shook his head and rolled his shoulders back. “I don’t have family in the area.”
Ah hah.A little piece of the Sam Donovan puzzle. That must mean he had family somewhere else. Well, of course he did. Everyone had family somewhere.
“What about…” A flush heated her cheeks. “A girlfriend?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “No girlfriend.”
In addition to being optimistic, Brooke had also always been naturally curious. Which was a great quality for a reporter, but one that had gotten her into trouble more than once.
“Mrs. Higgins said she saw you with a woman a few months ago over in Glendale.” She tapped her pen on her notepad, trying not to betray her excessive interest in this topic. “Not whistling Dixie.”
He frowned. “Whistling what?”
“I mean, she basically said you were giving off an…um, intimate vibe.”
Sam gave a short laugh and picked up a half-folded newspaper from the coffee table. “I’m surprised you didn’t write that up as a feature forThe Gazette.”
“Well, it would have been newsworthy.” Frustration nudged at her, the feeling she experienced when she sensed that an interviewee or a contact didn’t want to give her the information she sought.
She opened her mouth to press for more, when Sam grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck again. Given how uncomfortable he’d looked all contorted on the sofa that morning—actually his big body had been half sprawled on the sofa and half on the coffee-table, with one arm dangling to the floor—it was hardly a wonder he was sore.
Putting aside her curiosity to revisit later, she got to her feet. “Sit down.”
Suspicion glinted in his expression. “What for?”
“I won’t hurt you.” She walked to the sofa and patted the cushion. “Just sit.”
Still wary, he sat down. Brooke moved behind him. His delicious scent drifted to her nose—soap, woodsmoke, and some earthy, primal scent that seemed to belong to him alone. Until he’d barged into her cabin, she didn’t think she’d ever been close enough to touch him, much less smell him.
Much less experience the brief, strong pleasure of being in his arms.
She settled her hands on his shoulders. He tensed.
“Wow.” She prodded at his muscles. “You’re all knotted up like a fishing net. Are you always like this or was it the sofa?”
“I have no idea.” His voice was slightly strained.