involved.”
“Hardy lives down near Beaufort,” Ross said, ignoring her as if she hadn’t spoken. “I can go down and talk to him.”
“Take Amanda with you.” Cyrus squeezed her shoulders. “I want her involved.”
Oh, no. That was what her heart was protesting. It was what Ross’s expression said, as well.
“I don’t think—” he began.
Cyrus cut that off with a wave of his hand. “It was her idea, after all.”
“But if we interview him…” Neither man listened to her.
“Very well.” Ross’s voice was icy. “We’ll go tomorrow.”
Great. Ross didn’t want this. She didn’t want this. But they were both going to have to deal with it.
Chapter Eight
A manda felt as if she’d been arguing with Ross all the way from Charleston to Beaufort. That wasn’t quite true, of course. Most of the way she’d actually been arguing with herself.
How did I get into such a mess, Father? I thought this was going to help C.J., and instead it could cause her all kinds of heartache. I meant well.
That was a feeble excuse. How much of the world’s trouble had been caused by people who were well-meaning? Too much, probably, and now she’d contributed her little bit.
Please, help me see what’s best to do. Help me show Ross that we can’t pursue the story if it’s going to hurt more than it helps.
Was that the right thing to pray for? She slid a sideways glance toward Ross, his face impassive behind his sunglasses as he concentrated on driving across the bridge from Beaufort to Lady’s Island. Her chances of diverting him from a course he’d decided upon seemed slight, at the least.
She tried to still her doubts, staring out at the expanse of water, sky and islands. Beautiful, as always, but the dark clouds that hung on the horizon seemed to echo her mood.
I’ll do my best to listen, Lord. Please show me the right thing to do for C.J. and her grandmother. And for Daddy.
Her heart clenched into a tight, cold ball at the thought. Daddy. What was going on with him? What was Ross’s interest in him? Neither of them was likely to tell her, but she couldn’t just do nothing.
Guide me, Father. She came back, in the end, to the simplest words. Guide me.
Ross turned his head to look at her. She caught the movement in the periphery of her vision and tried to unclench the hands she’d had clasped in her lap.
“Is something wrong?” He sounded reluctant to ask the question, as if he wouldn’t like the answer. Which he wouldn’t.
“Just the same thing we’ve been talking about for the past hour or so. I don’t want C.J. and her grandmother to get hurt for the sake of a story.”
Ross blew out an exasperated breath. “Maybe you should have been a social worker instead of a reporter. Our job is to get the story, that’s all.”
“No matter who gets hurt?”
His jaw clenched so hard that a tiny muscle twitched under the skin. “I’m not hurting anyone. The cheating landlord is the bad guy, remember?”
“I know. I agree.” Why couldn’t he understand this? “But if C.J. and her grandmother get kicked out of their building because of what we did, I’m not sure they’re going to agree.”
“May I remind you that you’re the one who brought me the story?”
“That was before I’d talked to C.J.’s grandmother and realized what was at stake.” She shouldn’t have gone to him without more information.
“I don’t want to see them get hurt,” he said. “They ought to have an attorney represent them in this, but I don’t suppose that’s occurred to them.”
“I’ve already taken care of that.”
He lowered his sunglasses so that he could look over them at her face. “ You took care of it?” He didn’t sound as if he approved of that, either. “If it comes out that an employee of the Bugle is paying an attorney for the tenants, it will look as if we’re manipulating the story.”
“That’s ridiculous. Anyway, I’m not paying anyone. My cousin’s fiancé is an
“Hardy lives down near Beaufort,” Ross said, ignoring her as if she hadn’t spoken. “I can go down and talk to him.”
“Take Amanda with you.” Cyrus squeezed her shoulders. “I want her involved.”
Oh, no. That was what her heart was protesting. It was what Ross’s expression said, as well.
“I don’t think—” he began.
Cyrus cut that off with a wave of his hand. “It was her idea, after all.”
“But if we interview him…” Neither man listened to her.
“Very well.” Ross’s voice was icy. “We’ll go tomorrow.”
Great. Ross didn’t want this. She didn’t want this. But they were both going to have to deal with it.
Chapter Eight
A manda felt as if she’d been arguing with Ross all the way from Charleston to Beaufort. That wasn’t quite true, of course. Most of the way she’d actually been arguing with herself.
How did I get into such a mess, Father? I thought this was going to help C.J., and instead it could cause her all kinds of heartache. I meant well.
That was a feeble excuse. How much of the world’s trouble had been caused by people who were well-meaning? Too much, probably, and now she’d contributed her little bit.
Please, help me see what’s best to do. Help me show Ross that we can’t pursue the story if it’s going to hurt more than it helps.
Was that the right thing to pray for? She slid a sideways glance toward Ross, his face impassive behind his sunglasses as he concentrated on driving across the bridge from Beaufort to Lady’s Island. Her chances of diverting him from a course he’d decided upon seemed slight, at the least.
She tried to still her doubts, staring out at the expanse of water, sky and islands. Beautiful, as always, but the dark clouds that hung on the horizon seemed to echo her mood.
I’ll do my best to listen, Lord. Please show me the right thing to do for C.J. and her grandmother. And for Daddy.
Her heart clenched into a tight, cold ball at the thought. Daddy. What was going on with him? What was Ross’s interest in him? Neither of them was likely to tell her, but she couldn’t just do nothing.
Guide me, Father. She came back, in the end, to the simplest words. Guide me.
Ross turned his head to look at her. She caught the movement in the periphery of her vision and tried to unclench the hands she’d had clasped in her lap.
“Is something wrong?” He sounded reluctant to ask the question, as if he wouldn’t like the answer. Which he wouldn’t.
“Just the same thing we’ve been talking about for the past hour or so. I don’t want C.J. and her grandmother to get hurt for the sake of a story.”
Ross blew out an exasperated breath. “Maybe you should have been a social worker instead of a reporter. Our job is to get the story, that’s all.”
“No matter who gets hurt?”
His jaw clenched so hard that a tiny muscle twitched under the skin. “I’m not hurting anyone. The cheating landlord is the bad guy, remember?”
“I know. I agree.” Why couldn’t he understand this? “But if C.J. and her grandmother get kicked out of their building because of what we did, I’m not sure they’re going to agree.”
“May I remind you that you’re the one who brought me the story?”
“That was before I’d talked to C.J.’s grandmother and realized what was at stake.” She shouldn’t have gone to him without more information.
“I don’t want to see them get hurt,” he said. “They ought to have an attorney represent them in this, but I don’t suppose that’s occurred to them.”
“I’ve already taken care of that.”
He lowered his sunglasses so that he could look over them at her face. “ You took care of it?” He didn’t sound as if he approved of that, either. “If it comes out that an employee of the Bugle is paying an attorney for the tenants, it will look as if we’re manipulating the story.”
“That’s ridiculous. Anyway, I’m not paying anyone. My cousin’s fiancé is an
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