S.A., folks say OUR Journal.’ Jonathan Corsair tightened his jaw. He slammed his fist on the table. ‘You call that rag a newspaper?’ Waving the ...atest edition in Robyn’s face, Jonathan’s voice stabbed at her. ‘The Journal hasn’t been a real paper for over a decade, Miss Dunmore.’ Ruthlessly, Jonathan began slapping at each page. ‘There’s nothing on the front page but trivia,’ he said. ‘And in the top right corner, the most prominent spot, there’s an overblown three-column photo of some dirt. I don’t know how my sister plays with stinky dogs all day, either. Or why she loves that stinky little dog of hers,’ she teased. ‘I like George. He’s not that stinky.’ ‘George likes you too, Nic. Where did you get that fantastic hat? I have to get one.’ I patted her head. The last few people were filing off of the wagon that had pulled up a few minutes before. We climbed aboard and arranged ourselves along the corner at the back of the wagon. When Nicolette complained about the hay stabbing her. More

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