Thinking to get it over with, planning to turn the reporter down, he had answered the email. But when Charlie had replied offering an exclusive, Hugh figured if he did it this one time it would keep the others from hounding him. Keep everyone else off his back. After those initial emails, all of his correspondence with Charlie had been via email as well.
Chapter Two
As far as Hugh was concerned the clock should have run out on his “Fifteen minutes of fame” a long time ago. He was hoping today’s interview with the big-city reporter guy would be the end of it.
That’s why he and his fiancé Jenny were sitting in a corner booth of a Sandpoint restaurant waiting for the reporter to show up. Charlie had to drive up from Boise, about an eight-hour drive, but Sandpoint was only a twenty-minute drive from the ranch for Hugh and Jenny.
Hugh figured Charlie had to have stayed in a hotel overnight to make their 9 a.m. breakfast meeting.
The restaurant overlooked Lake Pend Oreille. “Pon-do-ray,” the locals pronounce it. They’re possessive about the name, and sensitive to tourists showing up calling it “Pen-doh-ree-al.”
As restaurants go, it was OK – better than a breakfast joint, but not one you’d take someone to impress on a first date. Something in between.
Hugh and Jenny people-watched while waiting for the reporter from Boise to arrive at the restaurant.
As a truck driver for the past fifteen years, Hugh’s main form of entertainment has been watching others in restaurants, rest areas and at truck stops. He was in the truck twenty-four/seven for months at a time, only visiting his parents a couple of times a year. He had no permanent residence. Until he had met Jenny, it was also a lone and lonely existence.
This period of non-driving, non-activity was the longest he’d been off the road, and it was only because he’d needed extra time to recuperate.
“How about him?” Hugh asked Jenny as a youngish, single guy entered the restaurant carrying a briefcase. They were playing a game, trying to guess which new restaurant customer would be the reporter.
“I don’t know. Not what I think of as a reporter type,” Jenny answered. “Too clean cut, hair combed. Stylish clothes.”
The guy walked straight over to a young woman sitting alone at a table, kissed her, then sat down.
“Nope, definitely not him,” Jenny said.
Next, an older, heavyset guy entered. Partly balding, with the remaining fringe of hair slicked back. Rumpled gray suit. He was wheezing and out of breath from only walking in from the parking lot. Opening the heavy glass door and crossing the threshold looked like it took a lot out of him. Hugh and Jenny saw he had extinguished a cigarette in the receptacle outside the door.
“Hey fifties, you lost your reporter,” Hugh said.
“Nah. Close, but not him.”
Jenny was right. The guy launched himself onto a counter stool, his girth apparently prevented him from sitting comfortably in a booth.
Next through the door, right when 9 a.m. was straight up making a perfect backward L on the big wall clock, was a tall, attractive brunette. She looked about Hugh’s age, maybe a year or two younger than his thirty-six years. In even moderately tall high heels, she’d be pushing close to Hugh’s height. That’s saying a lot. Hugh is six-two.
But that’s where the comparison would have to end. Hugh scaled out at about two-twenty on a good day. Maybe a tad more these days since he’s been doing nothing but lying around his parents’ home for several weeks, and eating his mom’s cooking. The only way this gal could weigh that much was if she took on a whole lot of extra freight.
She was worth looking at, but she wouldn’t be Charlie the reporter.
“Maybe he’s already here, but hasn’t seen us yet,” Hugh said. He and Jenny scanned again the singles sitting at the counter, at tables or at booths by themselves.
In his peripheral vision, he noticed the dark-haired woman making a beeline straight for them. In a few long strides, she was standing at their table holding out her hand and announcing, “Charlie Shields. Idaho Times. You’re Hugh Mann if I’m guessing right.”
Momentarily stunned, Hugh took a few seconds to remember to rise and take her hand. He found himself looking directly into her eyes. Not over the top of her head, as he would have been with most women. Her handshake was firm, dry and confident.
“Charlie?” Hugh said.
“Yes. Were you expecting somebody else?”
“No. No. You’re fine. So, you’re Charlie. Happy to meet you.”
“Same,” Charlie said.
“I’m sorry,” Hugh said. “It’s a surprise. All along we’ve been thinking Charlie the reporter would be a man.”
“Do you have a problem that I’m not?”
“What?”
“A man.”
“No. Just surprised,” Hugh hoped this would be the end of this awkward part of their conversation together.
Jenny cleared her throat loud enough to get everyone’s attention. Even diners in the next booth noticed.
“And you are … Hugh’s daughter?” Charlie asked. It was less of a question looking for an answer as it was a gesture to put Jenny at ease after Hugh’s failure to introduce her.
“Oh, sorry again. Charlie, I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Jenny.”
Charlie reached across the table and took Jenny’s hand. “Pleased,” she said.
Jenny nodded.
The two of them couldn’t have been more different. Jenny would have to stretch to top five-seven, and she’d barely tip one hundred five on the scales. Charlie had long, slightly wavy brunette hair in the latest fashionable style with highlights running through. That kind of job doesn’t come from a do-it-yourself kit off the middle shelf of a grocery store. It’s an expensive trip to the salon. In contrast,
