“I liked Beverly’s proposal, but I’d rather appeal to a more exciting crowd. Younger blood, if you will. The new title for your article is ‘Poppy Creek’s Top 5 Thrilling Summer Adventures.’ While I’d like the activities to be summery—think outdoorsy—they can be available year-round or a special one-day event. But the one criterion that’s nonnegotiable is each activity must be exciting! Something to give tourists a real thrill. Great idea, right?” With his smug smile on full display, he looked rather pleased with himself as he waited for her response.
But Penny had lost the ability to speak. Suddenly, all the air evaporated from her lungs. And the temperature in the room escalated by a few hundred degrees.
He must have noticed her flushed features because he asked, “That’s not a problem, is it?”
“N-no, no problem,” she stammered, her head swimming.
“Good. Because I want this article to take up a significant portion of the guidebook. Which is also why I’ve arranged for you to have some help.”
The room started to spin in slow motion as Burns shifted his gaze to the chair beside her.
No… this can’t be happening…. Penny sucked in a horrified breath.
“Me?” Colt balked, sounding equally astonished.
“You’re the resident adventure expert,” Burns told him with a devilish grin, as though he enjoyed watching Colt squirm. “There isn’t a single hair-raising activity within a hundred miles you haven’t tackled with zeal.”
“Yeah, but—”
“So, what better person for the job? Penny, of course, will write the article. And it’ll be nice to have an outsider’s perspective. But you’ll supply the knowledge and credibility the article needs. Any objections?”
Before either of them had a chance to respond, Burns slammed his gavel. “Perfect. Moving on to the next order of business….”
But Penny could no longer hear him as wailing alarms resounded inside her head. How had so many things gone so spectacularly wrong in a matter of minutes?
Thrilling,adventure, andColtwere three words she never wanted strung together in the same sentence.
At least, not whereshewas concerned.
How on earth could she get out of this?
Chapter 5
By the time Penny had extricated herself from the meeting and made it back to her apartment, she was close to hyperventilating. Each breath came in short, rapid bursts and left her more winded than before.
It had to be a bad dream and she’d wake up any second.
Flicking on the faucet to fill the teakettle, she cupped a handful of water from the spout, lapping the cool, crisp liquid from her palm. As it soothed the back of her throat, tension slowly melted from her shoulders.
As a child, Penny often refused to drink enough water, preferring apple juice or chocolate milk. So her father hatched a plan, claiming her least favorite beverage contained magical molecules that gave little girls extra strength and smarts. Since she wanted to explore the world one day, like the children inSwiss Family RobinsonandTreasure Island, Penny guzzled up the white lieandher weight in water.
Although a small smile curled the edges of her lips at the memory, her chest ached. She missed her father every day, but especially when she needed his calming words of wisdom.
While most people in town viewed Timothy Heart as a timid, reclusive man, Penny knew the truth. Her father had more adventures in his lifetime than the average person could even fathom—they simply took place in his imagination. He could turn the tiniest, most unremarkable object, like an insignificant, rusty thimble, into an epic tale about a Spanish princess captured by pirates who earned her freedom stitching a battered sail, thus saving the entire crew from a deadly storm on the high seas.
Tears pricking her eyes, Penny glanced toward the far end of the room. A hidden door painted the same antique white as the neighboring walls—including the doorknob—beckoned her.
Switching off the stove’s burner, she abandoned her teakettle to cross the creaking elm-wood floorboards. The camouflaged handle groaned, protesting the firm flick of her wrist.
Like the front door, this frame had also become warped with age, and Penny leaned against it with her shoulder, giving it a forceful nudge. As it jerked open, light from the main living area flooded the modest bedroom, which had been added onto the apartment when Penny turned thirteen. Before then, they’d shared the expansive studio, partitioning off large sections with colorful drapes and tapestries. On any given day, they would pretend to be Arabian royalty or explorers on safari. Penny loved their cozy, whimsical home. And even though many people in town encouraged Timothy to buy a “real” house, he’d refused, opting to build the addition instead, turning it into his bedroom that doubled as an office.
Penny’s gaze traveled the built-in floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases overflowing with dusty, well-worn classics likeThe Count of Monte CristoandThe Call of the Wild. As her vision blurred with unshed tears, she glossed over the iron-frame twin bed and Hogarth chair and landed on the mid-nineteenth-century campaign desk.
Growing up, she’d been fascinated with the exquisite piece of history. Due in part to the fantastical story her dad concocted about an army general in love with the daughter of his rival.
But mostly because of the secret compartment.
Scooting it away from the wall, she ran a hand along the back upper edge. Her breath hitched when her fingertips brushed across a familiar engraving. With one quick tap, a hidden drawer popped open at the front of the desk revealing an ordinary white envelope.
