“Apparently a man isn’t truly settled down and stable without a wife. I meet the rest of the criteria. I’m of age. Can my grandmother overrule the marriage clause?”
Tucker shook his head. “She couldn’t change that even if she wanted to. This thing is iron clad. It’s marriage or nothing.” He paused. “Although—”
“What?”
“There’s no stipulation about divorce nullifying access once it’s granted. Feel like a trip to Vegas?” Tucker grinned.
Myles snorted. “Some lunatic woman from a casino? Yeah, I can just imagine how my family would react if I brought someone like that home. I’m already the black sheep of the family. I’d just as soon not be completely disowned.”
“Well, then, that leaves you with needing to find the money, either via other investors or fund-raising. I suggest you go talk to Norah about that. Hail Marys are kind of her specialty.”
“No.” Bringing in the city planner meant the whole thing likely became public knowledge. Myles didn’t so much care what the good citizens of Wishful thought about the financial situation of the paper, but he’d be damned if he’d give his father the satisfaction of knowing he’d been right. Warrick Stewart would delight in having the ammunition to take pot shots at Myles on every occasion.
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ve got forty-three days to figure it out.” He took the contracts back from Tucker and shoved them into his bag. “Thanks for meeting with me on a Saturday to go over this. I’m sure you had better things to do.”
“Yeah the commute downstairs was a real bitch,” Tucker joked. “You wanna come up for a beer? Watch the game? The Rebs are taking on Duke in about half an hour.”
“Nah, my bracket’s already busted.” He wasn’t in the mood for March Madness just now, even if his alma mater was doing well in the tournament.
“Offer stands if you change your mind.”
Setting out from Tucker’s office, Myles headed across the town green. He loved his adopted hometown. He loved living in a place where almost everyone knew his face, his name. Where he got a life story along with a cup of coffee. And where people still valued other people, putting them above the bottom line. He’d needed that change after years of anonymous living in cities across the country, slowly watching the evolution of journalism into the toy of corporate giants who’d forgotten that true journalism held people as its beating heart. No way was he about to give that up.
Myles hadn’t realized he was heading for the fountain until he stopped in front of it. The heart of town, the huge marble fountain dated almost all the way back to the Civil War. Fed from nearby Hope Springs, it allegedly had the power to grant wishes. Norah’s entire rural tourism campaign centered around the legend. Every light pole on Main Street flew the same banner: Welcome to Wishful, Where Hope Springs Eternal.
More apt to be cynical than not, Myles had to admit, the idea was appealing. Who couldn’t use a little more hope in their lives? God knew he needed some just now.
Digging in his pocket, he pulled out a quarter.
Dear Universe, I wish for a way to save the newspaper.
With a flick of his thumb, he launched the coin into the air. It flipped, end over end, flashing faintly in the moonlight before it struck the surface of the water with a soft plunk.
Well, that’s it then.
The phone in his pocket buzzed with an incoming text.
He pulled it out, grinning when he saw it was Piper. She was about the only thing that could make him smile right now.
Save me.
Myles thumbed a reply. Where are you?
Piper: The Spring House for my cousin’s wedding reception. They’re Baptist, so no booze to numb the pain of boredom.
Myles: That’s tragic.
Piper: So are these bridesmaid dresses. Bile isn’t exactly a flattering color.
Myles: You’re kidding.
Piper: Wish I was. Shit. I’ve been made. Gotta go answer the call of duty. But after tonight, I’m free. See you soon!
Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he changed directions and headed for his car. He might not know how to save the paper yet, but he could certainly save this damsel in distress.
~*~