Page 44 of An Alaskan Wedding (Alaskan Grooms 1)

“Welcome, everyone. This meeting has been called tonight to put forth an idea presented by Grace Corbett, a wonderful young woman who has recently moved to Love. She came to us with this terrific idea about mass-producing Hazel’s boots. It has the potential to create a solid economy in Love. Why don’t I call her up here so she can explain it to you? She’s much nicer to look at than I am,” he said with a chuckle.

Laughter rose up in the room. Grace ran her hands over her skirt and smoothed it down. After darting a quick look in Boone’s direction, she rose from her seat and took center stage next to Jasper.

Boone didn’t know why, but his palms began to moisten with nervousness. He so wanted Grace to do well. And he was fully prepared to intervene if anyone gave her a hard time.

“Good evening, everyone. I’m Grace. Grace Corbett,” she said with a slight nod of her head. A loud chorus of good evenings rang out in the café. “Even though I’m a newcomer to Love, I’ve found myself caring very deeply about this town. I want it to thrive. Ever since I arrived in town I’ve heard about some financial setbacks the town has been experiencing. That’s happening to a lot of communities around this country. But what this town has, in my humble opinion, is something that a lot of towns don’t have. Heart. Pluck. Resilience. Fellowship. And because of all those things, I think if this entire town stands behind Hazel’s boots and chips in to make them a red-hot commodity, they could really help this town make it through this downturn. There are so many ways to help. Promotion. Man power. Seed money. Let’s stand together and give it our all.”

People stood up and cheered as soon as Grace stopped talking. Boone was among them. Jasper beamed with pride. Hazel put two fingers together and let out a loud whistle. Grace’s face lit up with joy.

The door to the café burst open with a bang. A disheveled-looking Dwight stood in the doorway, a fierce expression etched on his face. He clutched a folder to his chest.

“Quiet, Dwight. Grace is in the middle of a presentation,” someone called out to him.

Dwight squeezed his way through the crowd and made his way to the front. “Grace Corbett is not who you think she is,” he announced in a loud voice. He paused for a moment to adjust his glasses. “She is masquerading as a participant in Operation Love when in reality she is a journalist. Frankly, she’s nothing more than a fraud.”

A shocked silence filled the room, right before a buzz

began to thrum among the townsfolk.

“That’s ridiculous, Dwight,” Boone said, moving toward the front so he could stand next to Grace.

“Actually it’s not,” Dwight said. “Read it and weep.” Dwight shoved a piece of paper at Boone.

Grace felt paralyzed. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. And she had no idea what Dwight was showing Boone. All she knew was that her world was on the verge of collapse.

“What is this?” Boone asked, his brows knitted together.

Dwight turned toward her and asked, “Would you like to do the honors, Miss Corbett? Or should I?”

Although Grace wanted to do something about the smug expression on Dwight’s face, she felt a desperate need to know what Boone held in his hands. How could she explain when she had no clue what was going on?

“It’s an article written by Grace Corbett for the New York Tribune. It just went viral, and it’s about us...and this town,” Dwight explained. He shot her a scornful look. “Tsk. Tsk. You said some very mean-spirited things about us.”

Article? What article? Mean-spirited? Tony had promised her that he wouldn’t be posting any of the articles until she was back home in New York City. How could this be happening?

Panic grabbed her by the throat. She needed to talk to Boone in private. Grace tugged at Boone’s sleeve. “I need to talk to you. In private.”

Boone was reading the piece of paper. His eyes were scanning it with single-minded focus. He swung his gaze toward her. All the light had been extinguished from his eyes. His expression was shuttered.

“Gracie, say something. Tell him it’s a big misunderstanding.” His tone was flat, as if he didn’t even believe what he was saying.

A huge lump had formed in her throat. “I can’t Boone. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

The look of puzzlement etched on his face was replaced by one of comprehension. “You wrote this...hatchet piece?” He ran a hand over his face. “Neanderthals masquerading as modern-day men. Is that your handiwork?”

Grace felt all the color drain from her face. Wait a minute. How in the world had her snarky article been printed for all the world to see? She’d withdrawn it. Tony had agreed that it would never see the light of day. It was a moot point now. The wild bucking bronco had been let out of the stable, and she had to deal with the fallout.

She chewed on her thumbnail. “I know it looks bad, Boone—”

“Bad?” Boone scoffed. “This is so far past bad I can’t see straight.”

People were talking loudly in the background, but at the moment all she cared about was Boone. She needed him to understand. “I’m sorry for not being honest with you.”

“So you came here as a journalist looking for a story?” Boone asked, his tone incredulous.

“Yes, Boone. I did. I’m a journalist for a newspaper in New York. And the reason I came here was to write a story about the town and Operation Love. The only way I can explain it is to tell you that for a very long time my job has been the only constant thing in my life.”

Gasps rang out in the café. Loud whispers reached her ears. Her gaze never strayed from Boone.

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