Stephanie Doyle - The Way Back

But after coming to the realization no other local morning programs were looking to hire a slightly overweight, aging host, she’d had to scramble for a new plan. Openings in her field of journalism were few and far between, so it seemed like a reasonable idea to try the other end of writing and look at openings in publishing.

Apparently publishing houses were often looking for junior editors. When they told Gabby what her starting salary would be, she understood why.

Still it was a job and a new start.

Plus there were advantages. Gabby loved to read. She could bury her head in books without anyone caring there were wrinkles around her eyes, or what clothing size she was currently wearing. She could earn enough money to keep her from having to move in with her mother—which, at her age, would be the most pathetic thing evah. Most importantly this job would give her time. Time she desperately needed to figure out what she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

And now, a handful of hours into this new career, Melissa was offering her the chance to meet Jamison Hunter.

Jamison Hunter, the epitome of all good things men could be. Proof that not all men were asses. The crush of her life, the man she’d idolized above all others…until he smashed every one of those romantic dreams with a single horrible press conference. He’d broken not only the nation’s heart, but hers, too.

Jamison Hunter.

Huh.

Funny where life took you sometimes.

She was nodding before she let herself think maybe this wasn’t the best idea given her particular mental state right now. Facing the man who had set her expectations about what a man should be, only to then confirm the worst of what she knew a man could be, would definitely be treading some rocky emotional ground.

Her mouth opened. The words came out. “I’ll do my best.”

Before she could reconsider Mary Jane leaned toward her and whispered, “Trust me. Take a box of tissues with you.”

* * *

“WOOF!”

Jamie Hunter watched his ancient dog Shep slowly stretch and push himself into a standing position alerting him that company was coming. Shep sighed and creaked, but finally he was on all fours.

A second later the doorbell rang.

“Poor, Shep, you are definitely feeling your age, my man. There was a day you would have given me a five-minute heads-up.” Jamie patted the loyal German Sheppard’s head as he rose from his recliner—not as quickly as he once did, either.

Dropping his book on a table and removing the glasses he needed to read—as ridiculous as it was, he was slightly self-conscious about wearing them—the two aging warriors made their way down the hall to confront the intruder. After eight o’clock on a Tuesday night, it was a good bet almost every one of the eight hundred and twenty-two inhabitants of this island town were bunkered for the night.

Unless there was trouble. Jamie picked up his step.

“Yeah?” he said, opening the door half expecting it to be the sheriff asking for help with something.

The female face on the other side of the door was a complete surprise.

“Jamison Hunter?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. He took in the business suit, the low-heeled pumps, the hand thrust out in welcome. “Are you a reporter?”

It wasn’t possible. He was old news. Yesterday’s story. A forgotten has-been with a sad legacy no one wanted to remember because he depressed them. Unless someone had found out about— No. He wouldn’t even allow himself to think it.

He noticed she was huffing slightly from the forty steps it had taken her to reach his house from the road. If she was a reporter, she definitely wasn’t a beat reporter. Too soft.

“No, I’m Gabriella Haines. I’m from McKay Publishing.”

He ignored the hand completely. “Oh crap, not you people again. When are you going to figure it out? I’m not writing the damn book.”

She blinked twice. Okay, maybe he didn’t have to be quite so harsh. It wasn’t this woman’s fault the company was so persistent. Not her fault at all. But he knew if he maintained his hard attitude, she would leave faster. He knew this from experience.

“Come inside. I’ll write out the check. Again.” He opened the door wider.

She didn’t move immediately. Probably wondering if either he or Shep bit.

Shep had never bitten anyone in his life.

“Inside, lady. That suit you’re wearing isn’t warm enough for this weather. No doubt you’re freezing.”

She nodded and stepped inside. As soon as he closed the door behind her she began to rub her hands over her arms. “It was sixty-five degrees when I left New York.”

“And this is an island off the coast of Maine.” If she’d checked the local forecast, she would have figured out to dress more appropriately. He walked toward the rear of the house to his office where he kept his checkbook. When McKay had refused to accept the advance the first time he’d offered to return it, he had put the money in a separate account he never touched. That way he would always have it at the ready whenever they came asking for it. He’d figured after a year or two they would come politely begging for the cash. He definitely hadn’t anticipated their persistence.

“You should tell your boss I’m making a tidy sum off the interest,” he said over his shoulder. “And I’ve got no qualms about spending that interest, either. It paid for a new deck last year. I’m almost sorry to have all that extra cash come to an end.”

Jamie glanced up and saw she hadn’t followed him. No doubt she’d stopped by the fireplace to warm up. He wrote out the check then tore it from the book and headed to the living room. As expected, he found her in front of the fireplace, her eyes raised to the skylights in the high, wood-beam ceiling.

Skylights so he could see the stars on a clear night.

With her jaw open and her arms crossed over herself, she looked more like a lost little girl than the grown woman she obviously was. Despite whatever protective instincts her appearance might spark within him, Jamie had no intention of being swayed. He didn’t rescue lost little girls anymore and he certainly didn’t rescue grown women.

“You know there’s no ferry service back to the mainland tonight?”

She looked at him. “I know. I started driving early today, but there was an accident on the Tappan Zee Bridge and then I hit rush hour out of Boston. I saw it was the last ferry run, but I didn’t want to stop. I felt if I stopped, I would…”

Jamie found himself wanting to hear the rest, wanting to know what she feared would happen if she stopped. She was dressed professionally with long dark hair loose around her shoulders. She appeared to have it all together, but somehow with the way her hair seemed to swirl around her—as though the brutal wind on the island had done a number on it—you knew there was nothing but chaos inside.

“They usually send the newbies to hassle me,” he said. This woman was no newbie—in her thirties, if he had to guess.

Her lips curled. “Believe it or not, I am the newbie. At least at this job.”

It made a little more sense. No wonder she wanted to keep going even though it was late. She had something to prove, lost ground to make up. He was sure of it.

Not that he cared, he quickly told himself. He was not about to get caught up in whatever her story was.

“Well, there is a B and B on the island. They’ll have plenty of space this time of year. Follow the road into town, it’s the biggest house. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I have a room waiting for me.”

He held out the check. “Go on, take it.”

She glanced at the check with a similar expression to the one he imagined he’d given her hand when she offered it at the door. Like he’d rather touch a dead fish.