Kira Sinclair - The Risk-Taker

SHE FUMED, SILENTLY, UNABLE to move away from the wall even after he’d gone. Her body shook with a combination of anger and relief.

“Was that Gage Harper I just saw leaving?”

Her dad walked into her office and plopped down into the chair Gage had just occupied.

His silver-brown hair was disheveled, as if he’d either just rolled out of bed or spent the past several hours tugging at the thinning strands. Hope wanted to think that it was the latter, but she was afraid it was the former.

Her dad had been spending less and less time at the paper in the past few years, making her life even crazier than it already was. They were a small operation, so on a good day she was CEO, bookkeeper, referee, marketing, content and traffic cop all rolled into one. Usually at once. It was amazing she didn’t get brained by one of the balls she constantly juggled.

Which didn’t sit well with her. She’d tried to talk to him about his lack of interest but he just changed the subject or ignored her.

She’d come home right after college, almost seven years ago, to take care of him and the paper while he recovered from cancer treatment. The surgery and the months of chemo and recovery as he regained his strength had been difficult on them both, but he had been in remission for years now.

The problem was that while his energy had returned, his interest in the Sentinel hadn’t. She’d gently suggested he look for a buyer. But he’d gotten angry, telling her not to be silly, that it had been in their family for over a hundred years.

What was she supposed to do? Let her family’s heritage crumble around her from neglect? She was stuck. The only way out involved getting a job that removed her from the equation completely and forced his hand.

“Yes,” she growled, glaring at her dad.

He did a double take, finally looking at her for the first time since he’d walked into the room.

“Well, there’s no reason to be snippy. I just asked a simple question.”

He was right. The person she was really angry with had already fled the scene. Taking out her frustrations on her dad wouldn’t help. Especially since they already had enough unresolved issues.

Taking a deep breath, Hope offered, “I’m sorry,” and tried to put a smile with the words.

She must have been at least partially successful, because her dad smiled back. “No problem, pumpkin. I know you’re under a lot of stress.”

Okay, now the anger was pointed squarely at him. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Do you know what would lessen that stress?”

“A night out?”

“No!” Hope stalked across her small office and propped her hip against the desk so she could stare straight into her dad’s eyes and pin him to the spot. “You being here! That’s what would help my stress level. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want to run the paper?”

His eyebrows dropped over narrowed eyes. “I don’t remember asking you to.”

“You didn’t have to. Who do you think the staff come to when they have a problem or question and you’re not here?”

“So don’t answer them, Hope. They know how to reach me when I’m off site. Don’t pin your own relentless need to pick up every burden you walk past on me. Tell them no.”

Hope growled low in her throat.

“Anyway, that’s not why I came in here.”

Needing some space, Hope slipped around her desk and sank into the waiting comfort of her chair. She wasn’t up for having this argument—again—today. Not after her encounter with Gage. Nothing she said ever changed the outcome, anyway.

“I was cleaning out the safety deposit box and found this.” Her dad held out a burgundy velvet box. “Thought you might want to wear it to the cocktail party tomorrow night.”

Slowly, Hope reached across the desk for it. Before she’d even touched it she knew the nap on the box would be soft and worn. It had been … years since she’d seen it.

The hinges creaked as she lifted the lid. Nestled against the dark red satin lining was a beautiful necklace-and-earring set. The large ruby teardrop pendant hung from a delicate gold chain. The links gleamed with age and care. The earrings were smaller ruby teardrops with diamond chips at the top. Both pieces were heirlooms and had been given to her mother by her father’s grandmother when her parents had gotten married.

The last memory Hope had of the set was when she’d been eight—no, maybe nine—and watched as her parents prepared for the Cupid’s Couples charity party. She’d wanted desperately to go, but they’d told her she was too young.

Later that month her mom had died in a car crash.

The familiar pain lanced through her. It had been over twenty years. She wondered when the loss would stop sneaking up on her.

“I thought you’d sold these,” she breathed softly.

“Why would I do that?” her dad asked, incredulously.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ve just never mentioned them so I assumed you didn’t have them anymore.”

“Your mom liked me to keep it in the safety deposit box when she wasn’t wearing it. I decided to leave it there until you got older and I could give it to you. Your mom wanted you to have it on your wedding day.”

Her wedding day? Even the mention of it gave her heart palpitations. “Whoa, I’m not even dating anyone.”

Her dad gave her a tiny frown. “I know. But I wanted to see you wear them and thought this was the perfect occasion. I know you’re going to the party. Maybe they’ll be a good luck charm and you’ll catch some nice man’s eye.”

“Dad, I do not need a man.”

Her dad was buying in to the town propaganda just a little too much for her peace of mind. Sure, Sweetheart embraced the hearts-and-flowers thing with gusto. The image pulled in tourists from nearby Charleston and Hilton Head and had provided them a sustaining source of income when the textile mill outside of town shut down more than twenty years ago.

The town was the perfect setting already, providing a charming, small-town romantic escape for couples and honeymooners. The Cupid’s Couples events had been going on for over fifty years.

But this was reality and her life in particular they were talking about. Marriage wasn’t part of her plan, at least not until her journalism career was back on track, which wasn’t going to happen as long as she was stuck at the Sentinel .

“You’re putting your name in for Cupid’s Couples at least, right?”

Hope sighed. She could lie to her dad… “I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Why ever not, Hope? Your mom would be disappointed in you.”

She sucked in another breath against the surprise. How could she argue with him? She had no idea if her mom would be disappointed or not. She’d been too young when she died to really know her. She’d only seen her through the eyes of a child, not an adult aware of more than just her own selfish desires.

They were talking an awful lot about her mom today. Hope couldn’t remember the last time her dad had mentioned her … Probably not since his own illness and recovery.

That entire experience had been difficult for her—the prospect of losing her only remaining parent. Even now the thought sent panic skittering just beneath her skin. Wanting to change the subject, Hope returned to something that had been bothering her since he’d said it. “Why were you cleaning out the safety deposit box?”

He glanced away from her, suddenly finding something incredibly interesting on the wall behind her head. “No reason, really. It was a chore I’ve been putting off for a while. It’s so easy to forget what’s in there.”

Leaning across the desk, Hope grasped her dad’s hand. His startled eyes shot to hers.