do you want, Hope?”
Even his voice was distant.
“To interview you,” she said, unsure how to reverse what she’d carelessly done. She could feel the opportunity to tell his story slipping through her fingers. It frustrated her.
His gaze swept across her. The contempt that grazed her made her want to walk away, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
“I’m not giving interviews.”
Even before Gage had shown up in Sweetheart, the reporters had begun crawling out of the woodwork. Several national news teams had taken up residence at the local B and B and their satellite-equipped trucks were permanently parked on every corner of the town square.
The propaganda videos released by the insurgents had made Gage Harper an overnight media sensation. The camera loved every dirty, bloody, defiant inch of his beautifully distant face. The same cuttingly intense expression filling his golden eyes had captured a nation.
And then he and his men had been rescued. Not since Jessica Lynch had there been such a media storm surrounding the capture and rescue of a U.S. soldier.
Just about every citizen of Sweetheart had been stopped and questioned about Gage—his childhood, his parents, his sister. They’d even interviewed elementary school kids who hadn’t been born when Gage left and never met the guy. But in the absence of a real story, they were trying to fill in with whatever they could get their grubby hands on.
Didn’t he realize that saying nothing could be worse? People filled in the blanks, anyway, with whatever they were given—whether it was fact or fiction.
The influx of reporters had become a nuisance and the town council had even called an emergency session to discuss how to deal with them. They’d hoped when Gage came home and spoke that would be the end of it. But Gage refused to talk to anyone.
Hope had thought she—and the Sweetheart Sentinel—would be the exception to Gage’s no-comment policy. Apparently not.
“But this is for us, Gage. Everyone wants to hear the story from you.”
“Well, then I guess everyone’s going to be disappointed. Something the citizens of Sweetheart should be used to where I’m concerned. I’ve been disappointing them for years.”
“That’s not true.”
Gage raised a single eyebrow. It was all he needed to call her a liar, although she would have argued that terrorized would have been a better word than disappointed. Pranks like rolling the wedding gazebo, putting potato flakes in the flower beds lining Main Street so they puffed up with the morning dew and numbering three goats 1, 2 and 4 before releasing them into the high school had earned Gage a reputation.
But that was before he became a war hero.
“I’m not talking to you or anyone else, Hope.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything he just shook his head. And began walking backward, away from her.
Hope could tell that he was determined. A lot had changed, but she’d seen that expression on his face enough times to recognize it. Every time she’d tried to talk him out of some hare-brained scheme.
However, she could be just as stubborn as he was. She wasn’t going to let anything stand between her and her escape hatch out of this town.
Not even Gage Harper. Maybe especially not Gage Harper.
2
THE TOWN WAS CRAZY. That was all there was to it. All around him chaos reigned. Although, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise since he’d grown up in Sweetheart, where Valentine’s Day was sacred, and folks started celebrating a week in advance. Twelve years away had managed to blunt Gage’s memories.
He now recalled why he never visited at this time of year.
A group of men, most of them town-council members, were yelling at each other from the top of several ladders. “No, yours needs to go down on the right, Hank.”
“I said up, Billy! You got cotton stuck in your ears again?”
Gage had mixed emotions when it came to the red banners with the white-and-pink cupids being hung on all the lampposts down Main. As a child, he’d thought the cupids looked like big blobs of cotton candy. His daddy, the mayor, had not been amused when at six he announced his opinion at the dinner table with the entire council present … and started a heated discussion about the need to update town decorations.
On the other hand, he’d used the excitement surrounding this week to snag more than one kiss beneath those banners. And why did that thought bring up an image of Hope Rawlings? She’d definitely never been one of those girls. Not that he hadn’t wanted her to be….
“Gage, great to have you home,” Billy Carstairs yelled as he passed between two of the men. “Boy, what happened to your face? That’s not from … what happened, is it?”
As Billy looked down at him from ten feet in the air, his grip on the lamppost slipped. The banner he was holding swung precariously and Billy wobbled. The sight of him grasping the post, his cheek pressed so tightly against the metal that he vaguely resembled a smushed bulldog, might have been amusing if Gage hadn’t been worried he was about to have to catch the man—all two hundred and fifty pounds of him.
“No, sir,” he answered, sighing in relief when Billy regained his balance.
All around him people turned, not to watch the averted disaster, but to look at him. It was a sensation Gage just couldn’t get used to. His neck permanently crawled from being watched. He was only a few weeks removed from an environment where that feeling usually heralded a burst of flying bullets. He’d learned to listen to those internal warnings that told him danger was coming so that he could prepare.
In Sweetheart danger tended to involve overprotective daddies with shotguns, women with wedding bells and babies on the brain and a potential shortage of beer on Saturdays during college football season. Now that could start a nasty riot.
Just one more thing he’d had to adjust to upon returning stateside.
Everyone he passed smiled and greeted him by name. Half the people he didn’t even think he knew. Pride shone out of every pair of eyes. A far cry from the frowns that had followed in his wake during his teenage years.
The men probably hoped he’d stop to chat. Maybe offer a hand so they could casually ask him the question everyone wanted to know. What happened? Every single one of them wanted details. Or thought they did. What they really wanted was some romanticized view of what he’d been through. The drama. The rescue. The Hollywood version where everyone survived and no one had permanent scars. They didn’t want the truth.
Which was fine with him since he wasn’t willing to give anyone that. Although he had to admit this pedestal they’d set him up on chafed. It was lonely up here with nothing but his guilt for company.
He had no idea where he was going, but he’d needed out of the house before his mama made that disappointed, exasperated sound in the back of her throat one more time. She’d taken one
