“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” she said quietly.
“It will help compensate for having to live out here for a while.”
Cynicism again. She shouldn’t have been surprised. “What do you mean?”
Rick turned back to her and rested his hands palms down on his desk. “You may as well know, I’m here a maximum of twelve months and that’s it. My grandfather issued me an ultimatum I have a lot of incentive to keep.”
Becky frowned lightly, but held his steady gaze. “What ultimatum?”
“Turn this magazine around in twelve months and he’ll leave me alone to go back to traveling and living my life as I see fit.”
“And then what happens to the magazine?”
Rick shrugged and pushed himself off from the desk. “Not my concern.”
“Will your grandfather still own it?”
“I don’t know. You could buy it if you wanted.” His casual words held a lash of mockery.
“I’ve got my own plans,” she said softly.
“And what would those be?”
Try to ease away from the relentless deadlines of magazine work. Write a book that would make her current editor sit up and take notice. Offer her the temporary stability of a multibook contract.
But Rick Ethier was the last person she was going to dump her “treacly” dreams on.
“I’ve got a few things on the go.” She drew in a slow breath and looked up at him again. He was watching her, his head canted to one side, his mouth softer now that it no longer was twisted into a cynical smile.
And in spite of her negative feelings toward him, she felt a nebulous connection spark between them, then lengthen into a gentle warmth.
She was the first to look away, confusion fighting her initial antagonism. What was wrong with her? So he was good-looking. So he possessed a certain charm that it seemed even she wasn’t immune to.
He was her boss. And the man who had a hand in delaying her dream.
Rick cleared his throat and shuffled some file folders on his desk. “I understand from Nelson that you have been working on setting up an appointment with the Premier of Alberta?”
“I don’t have a firm commitment, but I’m in communication with his secretary.”
“Congratulations. That’s quite a coup. I’ve been trying to get an interview with him since he was voted in with such an overwhelming majority.”
“Jake’s pretty private.”
“I’ll say. He guards his private life like a Doberman. I’ve tried a few times to get an interview for Colson’s magazine, but I’ve always been turned away with a polite but firm no.”
Becky knew this about Jake. In fact, he had said the only reason he would consider an interview with her was because he knew it wouldn’t turn into a gossipfest. Before he had become premier of Alberta and after, she and Jake Groot had been members of a province-wide committee devoted to preservation of native grasslands. They had gotten to know each other on a social as well as committee level and Becky had used that leverage to snag this formal interview.
“I’d like to help you with that article.”
The cold finger she had felt before became an icy fist. “Actually, I always work on my own,” she said quietly but firmly.
“When is the interview?” he asked, ignoring her comment.
“Not for a few months.”
“Keep me in the loop, then.”
He’s your boss, Becky reminded herself when she looked up at him. “Okay, I’ll do that,” she said quietly. More than that she wasn’t going to promise. Jake would not be pleased if she dragged along a whole phalanx of people.
She gathered up her papers and Rick laid his hand on hers. She flinched as if she’d been burned.
“Sorry, I believe that’s mine.” He pointed to the small burgundy engagement calendar in her hands.
“I don’t think so,” Becky said, shifting the papers that were threatening to spill out of her arms. “It has my initials on it. R.E.”
Rick held up a similar calendar and frowned down at it. “This one has the same initials.”
Becky flipped hers open to a page with a butterfly sticker in one corner and a reminder to pick up butter scribbled in purple pen on a stained and dog-eared page.
“This is mine,” she muttered, closing it and slipping it between her papers and her chest.
“I’m sorry,” Rick said, tapping the folder he held against his other hand. “I’m guessing Becky is short for Rebecca.”
Good-looking and smart, Becky thought with a touch of her own cynicism. “You’ve got that right,” she said, flashing him a quick smile.
And as she left his office, she blew out a sigh. One day down. Only three hundred and sixty four to go.
“You knew Rick Ethier was going to be taking over from Nelson, so why are you so angry?” Sam Ellison asked, crouching down beside another sapling.
“I guess the reality was harder than the idea.” Becky dug her hands into the sun-warmed dirt of the new apple orchard. An early-evening breeze fanned away the warmth of the sun, and she could already feel the peace of the orchard easing away the tension of the day. “I mean I just found out before I went to camp. That hardly gave me time to get used to the idea.”
“You’ll get used to it. Hand me the budding knife please.”
She pulled the small, but deadly sharp blade out of the toolbox her father carried with him and watched while he painstakingly cut a T shape in the bark of the young sapling. “I got the impression from Colson that he’s quite proud of his grandson,” Sam continued. “Rick’s travel articles are quite insightful.”
“As are his nasty book reviews.” Becky couldn’t keep the disdainful tone out of her voice, netting her a light frown from her father. “I still don’t understand why such a prestigious magazine chose my book to review.”
“That was a year ago, Becky.”
“And since then, the publisher has been pretty hesitant about buying another book.”
“Your editor is behind you.”
“He’s been great, but if he can’t sell it to the marketing people who seem to have a copy of that nasty review branded on their brain tissues, I’m just spinning my wheels.” She leaned forward, yanking an isolated stalk of grass from the newly cultivated dirt. “I don’t know if Rick even realized it’s my book he slammed—a casualty of his cutting words. I’m left bleeding on the sidelines while he moves on, blithely unaware of what he had done.” With a dramatic flourish she raised her face to the sky and pressed her hand to her chest.
“When you’re finished declaiming, you can hand me that whip please. The Alberta Red.”
“See, not even my own father appreciates my pain.” With a grin Becky plucked a tree branch out of the bucket of water. She carefully sliced the bud off it herself, taking a large piece of bark with it. Turning it over she plucked the pith away from the backside of the slice and handed it to her father.
“Change isn’t always a bad thing, Becky. Life is always about adapting.” He inserted the slice in the