A Dream To Share. Irene Hannon
in satisfaction.
He’d also established a routine. Starting on Tuesday, he’d arrived between seven and seven-thirty each day—which was far less difficult than he’d expected, since he went to bed at ten o’clock every night for lack of anything else to do. He kept his nose to the grindstone throughout the day, clocking out with everyone else—except Abby—at five o’clock.
The evenings had been a little more difficult to fill. He’d asked Marge about a local gym, but since there wasn’t one she’d offered to let him use her late uncle’s NordicTrack in the basement. That ate up an hour. Then he went to Gus’s, the local diner—a place he’d quickly nicknamed Grease’s—for dinner. Marge had taken pity on him after a couple of days and offered to fix his evening meal, but her tofu stew and lentil salad wasn’t a whole lot more palatable than the fried menu at Gus’s. There was a Middle Eastern place, too, but he wasn’t a great fan of that type of cuisine. The dining room in the Oak Hill Inn sounded promising—with a Cordon Bleu chef, no less—but it was only open Thursday through Saturday.
After dinner, he’d been at loose ends. His wanderings had taken him by the Gazette office on a couple of occasions, and in both instances a light had been burning. Abby had still been there. But he was beginning to think that maybe her long hours weren’t so much a reflection of the fact that she was a workaholic as that there wasn’t anything else to do in town.
Once back at the B and B for the night, he’d fallen into the habit of catching a little CNN, then reading books from the inn’s library. He was already halfway through a two-year-old bestseller that he’d always wanted to read but never managed to squeeze into his busy social schedule. He couldn’t wait to get back to Chicago for the weekend.
That was why he’d stayed late today at the newspaper. In order to catch a flight that got him home at a reasonable hour, he needed to leave the Gazette by two o’clock tomorrow for the two-hour drive back to St. Louis. He’d worked through lunch and was now wrapping up at—he consulted his watch again—seven-fifteen.
It wasn’t that he was trying to impress anyone with his conscientiousness. After all, the rest of the staff had left two hours ago. He and Abby were the sole occupants of the office. And he didn’t care what she thought. Putting in a full week just seemed like the right thing to do. Even if he’d never worried about that back in Chicago.
Previously, he’d returned the financial files to Joe for safekeeping. But with the accountant long gone, he’d have to give them to Abby, he realized. And he didn’t think she’d be pleased about that intrusion, not after doing her best to avoid him all week.
For a man who was used to women hovering around him, Abby’s lack of interest was a new experience. Not that he cared, of course. She wasn’t his type.
Exiting the conference room that had become his temporary home, he headed toward Abby’s office, his steps soundless on the worn carpeting. As he approached, he could see from her profile that she was focused on her computer screen. She’d pulled her hair back with some kind of scrunchy elastic thing and, to his surprise, she was wearing glasses.
When he drew closer he noted the slight frown of concentration on her brow as she keyed in words. The remains of a snack-pack of peanut-butter crackers and a half-empty mug of tea, the limp bag beside it sitting in a brown stain on a paper towel, lay on the desk. As he watched, she turned slightly to sift through the chaotic jumble of papers next to her monitor. She retrieved one, scanned it, then lay it aside and went back to typing, reminding Mark of a studious schoolgirl.
It took a discreet tap on her door to catch her attention, and she jumped, gasping as one hand fluttered to her chest. “I didn’t realize anyone was still here.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I stayed late because I have to leave a little early tomorrow to catch my flight to Chicago. Joe’s gone, and I figured you’d want to lock up these financial reports.” He shifted the files in his arms.
“Oh. Yes, thanks. You can leave them here. I’ll put them away when I finish.”
She didn’t ask how things were going, he noted. In all likelihood, she didn’t want to know. He stepped closer and laid the files on her desk. “Dinner?” He nodded to the wrapper on her desk.
“Snack. I’ll eat when I get home.”
“When will that be?” Now why had he asked her that? Her schedule was none of his concern. Nor were her eating habits.
A flicker of surprise sparked in her green eyes. “I’m not sure. We’re losing one of our reporters, and I’m picking up some of the slack.”
For some reason, her comment made him feel guilty. As if it was his presence causing her to work harder than usual and playing havoc with her eating habits. And it wasn’t as if she could afford to lose weight. She was already a bit too thin, in his opinion.
“Well, be sure to eat whenever you get home.”
“I don’t skip meals,” she responded in a careful, measured tone, and he was struck by some emotion in her eyes that he couldn’t quite identify. “I’m very conscientious about that. Have a nice evening.”
With that, she turned back to the computer.
Feeling dismissed, Mark exited. But instead of being irritated by her curt send-off, he was troubled by that look in her eyes. It had almost been resignation. Or weariness. As if she was constantly being reminded to eat. Was there someone in her life who was on her case about her weight? A husband, perhaps?
That thought jolted him. She used her maiden name, but many married women did. Just because she wasn’t his type didn’t mean she wasn’t someone else’s, he mused as he collected his briefcase and headed toward the exit. Maybe he’d make a few discreet inquiries. Motivated by nothing more than idle curiosity, he assured himself.
But that didn’t ring quite true. If he didn’t care whether she was married, how could he explain the shock he’d experienced when the possibility had occurred to him?
Mark didn’t know the answer to that question.
And he wasn’t sure he wanted to find it.
Abby typed the last word on the hate-crimes editorial and hit Save. Then she turned her attention to an article about the new, contentious zoning regulation. But it was too late to start such a complicated piece, she decided. Mark’s unexpected visit to her office had reminded her it was well past quitting time. He’d been right; she needed to go home and eat. The feature could wait until tomorrow.
Gathering up the files he’d deposited on her desk, she tucked them in her bottom drawer and locked it. She’d been a bit abrupt with him, but his mere presence unnerved her, she reflected, reminding her that forces beyond her control were at work. Besides, he unnerved her in other ways, as well.
In fairness, however, this situation wasn’t Mark’s fault. He was making a concerted effort to do his job without upsetting the newsroom routine. Plus, instead of slacking off, as she’d expected, he’d been putting in the same hours as everyone else. Joe had had favorable things to say about his financial savvy. Even Molly, who’d looked upon his visit with almost as much trepidation as Abby, had commented that Mark seemed like a pleasant enough fellow.
True, he hadn’t done his homework prior to his arrival. But he’d made up for it since. As she’d passed the break room a couple of days ago she’d overheard him complimenting Steve on a story he’d written a few weeks before—meaning he’d read the back issues she’d given him.
None of which made her feel any better about the whole situation. Her opinion of Mark wasn’t what counted. The only thing that mattered was Mark’s opinion of the Gazette. Her fate—and the fate of the newspaper—rested in his hands.
Under different circumstances Abby supposed she might care a little more about what he thought of her personally. Even if she wasn’t quite sure of his work ethic or his values, she wasn’t immune to his dark good looks. It was always flattering to be noticed by a handsome man. But that was nothing