“If you find out anything, you call me, you hear,” Grace commanded. “Don’t be waiting till morning to let me know.”
“I’ll call,” Sarah promised, then noticed Grace looking out the window again. Her expression had brightened considerably.
“Now that’s real interesting,” Grace said. “Just look across the street, why don’t you?”
Sarah followed the direction of her gaze. There, wearing yet another pair of snug, faded jeans and a tight black T-shirt, was her mystery man, Travis McDonald himself…and he was walking right into that empty storefront as if he owned the place.
Chapter Three
A hum of excitement stirred inside Travis as he walked into the space that would soon be Serenity’s own country music radio station. To be honest, the task of fixing up the space and creating a studio that would overlook the town square was a little daunting. Right now the whole place reeked of stale tobacco, and the yellowed linoleum floor was scarred with burns from idiots who’d just ground out their cigarettes wherever they stood.
The only thing in the place worth saving was the old red Coca-Cola cooler. It might not serve much of a function in a radio station, but he liked the thought of having an antique like that around. He could keep it filled with soft drinks—bottled the old-fashioned way if he could find them—for the guests he envisioned putting on the air during a morning show he’d decided to call Carolina Daybreak. It would be a mix of music and local news and talk, the first place people would turn to—aside from Wharton’s—to find out what was going on in Serenity.
Now all he needed, aside from a significant amount of elbow grease, was the right person to sit in here and chat with residents and business folks or with anyone important who might be passing through town. He glanced across the square and spotted the person he had in mind standing in the doorway at Wharton’s, staring right back at him. He waved, and the woman he’d now identified as Mrs. Sarah Price, single mother of two, ducked out of his line of sight like a scared little rabbit.
Yep, the minute he’d verbally closed the deal for the radio station, he’d decided to woo her away from waiting tables and turn her into a small-town celebrity. For days he’d watched her talking to the regulars in Wharton’s in a natural way that kept them laughing and made them open up. He had a hunch she could get people to spill secrets faster than a skilled detective…and make ’em enjoy doing it. She’d bring the friendly atmosphere of Wharton’s right into the studio.
Of course, the fact that she couldn’t seem to string two sentences together around him half the time gave him pause, but he was convinced that was an aberration. An intriguing one, in fact. For now, though, any thoughts of pursuing her for anything beyond her ability to charm potential listeners had to be put on hold. He had enough to do just getting this station on the air.
As soon as the paperwork was done and he’d finalized his plans and won the necessary approvals from the Federal Communications Commission for going on the air, he intended to sit Sarah down and have a serious conversation with her about how he could change her life.
Hopefully she wouldn’t get so nervous she’d dump a pot of scalding hot coffee all over him.
For now, though, he had a lot of work to do. He walked over to Main Street to the hardware store and filled a cart with cleaning supplies. He figured he’d come back again for paint, lumber, wallboard and flooring once the whole place had been emptied out and scrubbed down and he knew what he had to work with. Maybe Jeanette would want to help him pick the colors. He liked the way her home felt—cozy and inviting—and he wanted his radio station to feel the same way. Maybe with a little less of that flowery fabric, though. He had no idea how Tom lived with that. He’d probably been blinded to it by love.
When Travis set all his supplies on the counter, the man behind it looked over the purchases. “You must be the guy who bought the old newsstand,” he concluded.
Travis grinned at his assumption. “I did. Isn’t anyplace else in town that filthy?”
“Not much that I know of,” the man said. “I’m Ronnie Sullivan, by the way. My wife, Dana Sue, owns Sullivan’s, the best restaurant in the entire state.”
Amused by the heartfelt recommendation, Travis asked, “You wouldn’t be just a little biased, would you?”
Ronnie pointed to a framed review on the wall that said the same thing. “General consensus,” he said proudly. “You haven’t been there?”
“I’ve pretty much been eating at my cousin’s and at Wharton’s,” Travis admitted.
“So, you have family in town?” Ronnie said, as he rang up Travis’s purchases.
“My cousin’s the town manager, Tom McDonald. I’m Travis McDonald.”
“Of course,” Ronnie said at once. “Tom mentioned he had company. Glad to meet you, and welcome to downtown.” He put the heavier items into a carton and bagged the rest. “So, what is it you plan to sell?”
The question was asked in such a cautious tone, Travis had to fight a grin. He’d heard all the speculation at Wharton’s. The best, by far, had been Grace’s opinion that it was going to be something lurid and inappropriate. He hated disillusioning her just yet. She seemed to enjoy working herself into a frenzy.
“I’m not quite ready to make an announcement,” he told Ronnie. “I figure there’s some advantage to building anticipation.”
“Interesting strategy,” Ronnie said with a thoughtful expression. “Are you sure you want to let people get carried away with their speculation? Next thing you know, there could be protests on the town green.”
Travis did chuckle at that. “You’ve heard about the sex toys, too?”
“Indeed, I have,” Ronnie admitted, looking intrigued. “Are they wrong?”
“Very,” Travis assured him. “But let them enjoy themselves a little longer.”
“Trust me, you really don’t want to let Grace work up a full head of steam over this. Anything you announce after that will pale by comparison.”
“I’m not worried. I think this will stir up some excitement.”
“But not trouble?” Ronnie persisted.
“I can’t imagine how. Tom would never let me get away with doing anything that would hurt this town. He considers its success to be his own personal mission.”
“Good point,” Ronnie said, looking reassured. “Let me know if you need any help fixing the place up. I know several guys who do good work—painting, minor construction, handyman jobs—for a reasonable price.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You need any help carrying all that back over there? I can close up for a minute and give you a hand.”
“No need,” Travis said, picking up the heavy box and two bags. “When it comes time for the paint and whatever else I need, I’ll be back.”
“Sure thing,” Ronnie told him. “And don’t forget to stop by Sullivan’s one of these
