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She let that pass. “As hard as it may be for you to believe, there are some people in this world who enjoy the quaintness of things like duck races.”

“For your information, I happen to be one of those people.”

Molly thought she detected a slightly bitter note in his voice, but she pressed on. “You just don’t think they’re worthy of print coverage.”

“I think that when everyone in the town attends the festival, a recap isn’t going to sell any papers—except maybe to the family of the scholarship winner. But I also think there are enough new people in Payne that covering the history of the event and its founder is both relevant and marketable.”

“Maybe,” she conceded, “but the point isn’t about circulation—”

“It’s always about circulation,” Sam replied.

Molly rolled her eyes. “We’re talking about you and this town—not the paper. Whether or not your way will sell more papers doesn’t change the fact that you, yourself, said you’re having trouble getting people to accept you.”

He seemed to think that over. “And you believe it’s because I changed the coverage of the duck races?”

“No, Sam,” she said with strained patience. “I think it’s because you handed down your decision without even discussing it with the editorial staff.”

“You’re probably right,” he said. “I don’t have a lot of patience with the whining that goes on in those meetings. It’s mostly counterproductive.”

“I don’t think they consider their creative input whining,” she replied sharply.

“Yours isn’t,” he concurred. “You actually seem to have thought through your proposals before you field them.”

“Thanks.”

If Sam noticed her sarcasm, he didn’t comment. “But except for Daniel Constega, the rest of them just like to complain.”

Molly closed her eyes in frustration. “That’s exactly what I mean, Sam.”

“What?”

She looked at him again. “You can’t simply denigrate people’s work styles because they don’t happen to be the same as yours. Carl didn’t run the paper the way you do. The writers are used to having a lot of input.”

“Which is why,” he pointed out, “the Sentinel has covered the duck races the same way every year for a decade.”

“People like it. Traditions have their place.”

He hesitated. “You’re probably right.”

Surprised, Molly studied him through narrowed eyes. “Are you agreeing with me?”

“It looks like it.”

“My God. We might have to declare a municipal holiday.”

He regarded her with a definite sparkle in his gray eyes. “Maybe we could call it ‘Duck Day.”’

“Don’t start that again,” she said tartly, still chafing with remembered frustration at his apparent snobbery.

“I’m not belittling the ducks—or the teenagers who race them.”

“Just because they don’t win something prestigious like a scholarship to Harvard doesn’t mean they don’t work hard and accomplish something significant.”

“I agree.”

“A lot of teenagers don’t have the sense of responsibility or commitment to spend an entire year working toward something.”

“True.”

She glared at him. “What are you trying to pull, Sam?”

“Pull?”

“You never agree with me. In all the weeks that you’ve been here, can you name one time when you’ve agreed with me?”

He nodded. “Actually, I agree with you more than you know.”

Exasperated, Molly blew an auburn curl off her forehead. “In public? Can you think of one time you’ve agreed with me in public?”

“No,” he said bluntly. “I can’t.”

“And now you’ve done it, what, four times since we sat down?”

“Are you complaining?”

“I feel like I’m in the twilight zone.”

“Because you’re determined to find something about me you can’t stand?”

“There’s plenty about you I can’t stand,” she assured him. “Want a list?”

That made him laugh. She had to remember to stop giving him reasons to laugh. Every time she heard that warm, rich chuckle, it made her stomach flip. “No, I’ll pass,” he said.

Too bad, Molly thought. She would probably benefit from the opportunity to remind herself of his flaws. As usual, she was tumbling fast down the rabbit hole of infatuation with a man who’d made his “strictly temporary” intentions very clear. They had a business arrangement, he’d said. A mutually beneficial partnership. If she had a brain in her head, she’d remember that. She took a fortifying breath. “Rats.”

He laughed again. “You’re dying to tell me, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been dying to tell you since you got here. I was actually kind of hoping you’d fire me this morning.”

“License to vent?”

“Sure. Wouldn’t you relish the opportunity if you were me?”

“Absolutely,” he assured her. “To be perfectly frank, I’ve been marveling at your self-control for weeks. I was sort of wondering when you were going to crack.”

Good Lord, she thought, was he actually teasing her? Until this morning, she’d have sworn that Sam Reed had been born with no sense of humor and was personality-challenged. “Friday,” she told him. “I cracked on Friday.”

A devilish smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I guess you did.”

Molly blew a stray curl off her forehead as she mentally chided herself for the way her heart accelerated at the sight of his dimple. “And since you did ask for my help in getting the people of Payne to accept you, then you’ve got to believe me when I tell you that you sound as if you think we’re beneath you.”

He frowned again. “That’s not true.”

“So, fine. You’d better figure out how to communicate that.”

“Would it help if I told you I arranged to match the Duck Foundation’s grant and give the scholarship winner an additional two thousand dollars?”

Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” He spread his hands on the table. “I have great admiration for any kid who’s willing to work that hard to get a college education—no matter what the accomplishment. It shows determination, responsibility and commitment. I think that should be rewarded.”

“Did you tell anyone about this?” she pressed.

“No. Generosity tends to make people hostile.”

His eyes took on a sad look that made Molly wonder who had burned Sam for his generous nature. “That’s an interesting way of looking at the world,” she said.

“People are suspicious of generosity. They think you want something in return.”

“Probably because most people do.”

He shrugged. “It may be better to give than receive, but receiving takes humility. People don’t like it.”

Molly studied him closely. “How did you come by that conclusion, Sam?”

He waved a hand in dismissal. “Long story. I’ll tell you later.” The sad look disappeared from his eyes. Molly felt she’d just let a rare opportunity slip from her fingers. “So do you think my reputation is too far gone for me to redeem myself with the citizens of Payne?”

“I don’t think—”

“The paper could hold a ceremony. We could crown the scholarship winner the duck king or something.” Tiny lines appeared at the corner of his eyes. Molly was beginning to recognize them as the sure indicator that Sam was up to mischief. She watched him for a moment, intrigued. There had been something in his gaze just a moment ago, and he’d chased it away with this teasing look. Interesting, she thought, I wonder why I’ve taken so long to observe how many layers there are to this man.

“The duck king?” she finally prompted. “With an entire duck court. We’d give out duck calls. We’d wear duck shoes.”

“Sam—”

“Local restaurants could serve duck-related foods.”

“Duck-related foods?”

“Duck à l’orange. Duck soup. Roast duck.” She glared at him. “Cheese and quackers.”

His expression was so serious, it took her a moment to catch the pun. Despite herself, Molly laughed. She wadded up her napkin and tossed it at him. “You’re impossible.”

He caught the napkin in one hand. “So I’ve heard.” Sam pinned her with a close look.

Molly returned the look. “And speaking of impossible, why did you wait until today to let me in on your plans for the transportation story?”

“You saw what happened at the meeting—”

“Everyone was shocked that you and I could be in the same room without killing one another.”

His mouth kicked up at the corners. “You didn’t let me finish.”

She scowled. “Well, they were.”

“You and I might be legendary around the Sentinel office, but I don’t think most of Payne is talking about the fact that we’ve been hashing it out in editorial meetings.”

“I think you seriously underestimate the power of small-town gossip.”

“Maybe, but what I was going to say was that you have a reputation for being Carl’s go-to reporter. If there’s a serious story to be written, you’re on it.”

“Because I’m the best writer he has,” she pointed out.