about a punch straight into his gut. Oh, shoot, he didnât want to remember.
âMr. Sanders?â
âWell, um...â
âAnd donât tell me you just know . Thatâs what Ma always says, but I think she says that cuz she doesnât really know.â
âWhy wouldnât your mother know? She married your father, didnât she?â
âYeah, but... But I think she did it just cuz Pa kept askinâ her. Not cuz she was in love. And thatâs what Pa thinks, too.â
âNoralee, usually when people get married they care about each other. It might not be all flutters and blushes, but itâs real all the same.â
âHow do you know, Mr. Sanders? You ever loved anybody?â
Cole shut his eyes. God yes, heâd loved somebody. And his heart had pounded and his head had gone fuzzy and all the rest. It had been the most earth-shaking thing that had ever happened to him, and he knew right down to the bottom of his boots that he would never, ever forget it.
Or her. He swallowed over a sharp rock lodged in his throat and opened his eyes.
âWell,â he said. He cleared his throat. âWell, I think that, um, you should be sure to take your pulse every morning to check your heartbeat and see if you can remember your multiplication tables to check your brain.â
âOh.â
âYou any good at math?â
âWell, yes, but...â
âOkay, figure me thisâhow many articles can you typeset in an hour?â
âDepends on how long the articles are.â
âRight. Now, aboutââ
âYou gonna answer my question, Mr. Sanders?â She poked out her lower lip and swung her heel against the stool rung.
âLook, Noralee, Iâm not going to lie to you. When you fall in love youâll feel it in every single part of you, your head, your heart, right down to your big toe. You wonât be able to miss it.â
Her brown eyes widened. âReally? Really and truly?â
âReally and truly.â
âDoes it ever go away?â
âNo, honey, it doesnât ever go away. So be careful who you fall in love with, you hear?â
He had to clear his throat again, but it didnât help. He could see Maryann in that blue gingham dress he loved, coming through the apple orchard as she always did when he worked late on the newspaper, and a sharp ache knifed into his belly.
He wondered if heâd ever be able to think of her without feeling as if heâd been hit over the head with a spiked shovel. Two spiked shovels.
Probably not. But Noralee didnât need to know that love hurt like hell and you never got over it. Noralee was only what, eleven years old? Plenty of time to get her young heart trampled to bits.
âYou fancy a sarsaparilla?â he asked.
âSure, Mr. Sanders.â
âIâll bring one from the Golden Partridge.â
He bolted for the door and the shot of whiskey waiting to ease that damn pain in his gut.
Chapter Eight
âW hat about it, Sanders?â Conway Arbuckle pounded his fist on Coleâs desk, right on top of Jessamineâs latest editorial. âYou gonna let that stuck-up Sentinel woman get away with that tripe she wrote about me?â
Cole stood up and turned his head to one side to avoid the manâs beery breath. âNothing libelous about her words, Arbuckle. Just pointed.â He exhaled. âAnd blunt.â
âBlunt! Sheâs like a poker banging into my hide. What are you gonna do about it?â
âNothing, yet. The Lark doesnât come out until Friday.â
âNothing! Either you cut that she-witch down to size or Iâll...â
Cole raised one eyebrow. âDonât threaten me, Arbuckle.â
The man snapped his mouth shut, pivoted and stomped out the door. Behind him, Noralee coughed politely.
âThat manâs still got really bad breath.â
Cole laughed. âYou donât like Arbuckle
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