Читать книгу For His Daughter - Ann Evans - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

THERE WERE TIMES IN LIFE that called for begging.

This was one of those times.

Danielle Bridgeton looked across her desk at the state editor of the Denver Daily Telegraph, the newspaper she worked for. She lowered her head, sighed dramatically and pasted on her best wounded-puppy look. “Please, Gary,” she said, softly pleading with him to understand. “Get me out of here. I’ll do anything you want. Anything.”

Gary Newsome shook his head sadly. “You know, when I was young I used to dream about a beautiful woman saying that to me.”

Gary was fifty-something, bald and complained frequently of acid reflux. He was the most honest newspaperman Dani knew. He was also torturing her.

Dani steepled her fingers. A nun couldn’t have seemed more penitent. “Look at me, Gary. This is me, begging.”

Gary pushed air between his lips in a disgruntled rush. “I came up here to see how you were getting along, not to make you beg. I can’t do it, Dani. You piss off the pope, you get excommunicated. It’s as simple as that.”

But it wasn’t simple, it was unfair. Cruel. Even the pope believed in forgiving people, didn’t he?

“It was one lousy article,” Dani pointed out. “One. And I’ve learned my lesson.”

“No, you haven’t. You’re the most unrepentant journalist I know. Honest. Sincere. But definitely not repentant. Didn’t I try to tell you what would happen if we ran your story? You’re not the only one who’s got the publisher on his back, so take your lumps like a good girl. Work the I-70 corridor for a while and enjoy being a bureau chief. I’ll let you know when it’s safe for you to come back to Denver.”

Bureau chief. Gary made the job sound like a promotion. And it might have been if the bureau she’d been assigned to had been one of the state’s hottest news spots. But what kind of reporting could you expect when all you covered were the small towns that ran along the highway between Denver and Grand Junction? Those mountain towns were cute, scenic… and dull as dishwater.

“It’s been two years,” Dani pleaded. “I’m dying out here.”

Gary laughed. “It’s been two months.”

“Well, it feels like years.”

A lot more than two, in fact. Living in Broken Yoke could leave her brain-dead. There weren’t any interesting stories here, or in any of the other one-horse towns she was supposed to cover for the Telegraph. It was humiliating that she’d been reduced to this.

How was she supposed to continue building a respectable career in journalism? The most exciting thing she’d written in two months had been about some tourist who’d slipped off a ledge in the Arapaho National Forest and broken his arm.

Yes, officially she was the region’s bureau chief. But what a place to be in charge! And what a miserable end to a story that should have won her a bucket load of awards and national recognition.

Last year Dani had been resourceful and lucky enough to make a very important contact at Humanity Haven—one of the most prominent, respected and lucrative charity organizations in Colorado. By the time she’d finished months of digging, she’d uncovered all the inside dirt. Questionable expenditures made by key executives. Murky business deals. Fraudulent balance sheets.

Her five-part article hadn’t brought Humanity Haven down—its own culture of ambition, greed and arrogance had done that—but she’d certainly started the ball rolling.

Unfortunately, Dani had also unearthed that her publisher’s mother-in-law had been secretly dating Humanity Haven’s good-looking, much younger chairman of the board.

To say that Lorraine Jennings Mandeville had turned into a bitter, vindictive woman over the death of her now embarrassingly public love affair would have been stating things too mildly. Lorraine had had Dani exiled to the boonies. Dani couldn’t prove it, of course, but only an idiot would fail to see the connection.

“Pretend you’re on vacation,” Gary suggested. He looked out the tiny window that was the only source of light in the enlarged closet Dani was forced to call an office. “This is definitely a prettier part of the state than brown-cloud Denver.”

That might be true, but who needed pretty when you had a career to build? “They don’t even have a decent bagel shop. Do you know how many times I’ve had to listen to ‘Welcome to Broken Yoke, ma’am. Yoke—like the harness, not the egg. Ha, ha, ha.’”

Gary looked out the open office door toward the reception area. “Your office help seems nice.”

Dani scowled. Cissy Pendergrass, the receptionist/ secretary/ad salesperson sat just a few feet away at her desk, polishing off a salad from the little restaurant down the street.

“She hates me,” Dani said in a near whisper.

All right, that wasn’t true. But if it made Gary reconsider this punishment, she’d be willing to look as though she feared for her life.

“Then she’ll have to get in line behind Lorraine Mandeville,” Gary replied.

He rose, hitched up his pants and walked over to the map that adorned one pine-board wall. It showed the entire western half of the state, every county a different color. This was Dani’s turf now, and Broken Yoke her home base. If anything of interest happened in any of those mountain towns, Dani would make sure it found a spot in the regional weekend supplement of the Telegraph. So far, there had been darn little.

Slapping his hand against the map, Gary said, “Come on, Dani. There have to be dozens of stories out here just waiting to be unearthed. The people who settled in these mountains are sons of pioneers. These canyons are filled with tales of stolen treasure, unsavory characters, heroes who weren’t afraid to take chances.”

“This town is so small that their McDonald’s only has one arch.”

“So you think Broken Yoke is too insignificant, filled with boring people leading boring lives?”

Afraid that Cissy might have heard, Dani got up, gave her receptionist a smile and shut the door for privacy.

“It’s not just the size of this place,” she said. “It’s the whole area. Most of the people I’ve met have been very friendly, very eager to make me feel at home. Some of them are…eccentric. A couple are downright weird, but you’d get that in any town. It’s just that… there’s nothing here for me to sink my teeth into. The biggest thing coming up is the summer festival, which I hear bombed last year. It’s so boring around these parts that I might as well be writing obits.”

Gary gave her an impatient look. She could tell he was either in need of his antacid tablets or heading into lecture mode.

“What will destroy a journalist’s career, Dani?” He shot the sudden question at her. “What can destroy you fastest?”

“Lorraine Jennings Mandeville?” she ventured.

“No! It’s the unwillingness to open your mind to possibilities. Keep your ear to the ground and your eyes open. You’ll find something you can use.” Her boss took her arms between his hands, looking her straight in the eyes. “Just keep a positive attitude.” He reached out and placed his fingers on either side of her lips, forcing them into the semblance of a gruesome smile. “That’s my girl.”

Dani’s lips might have been fixed in a grin, but her eyes were sending him the kind of warmth that blows in off a glacier. She was whipped and she knew it.

Numbly she followed Gary outside while he said goodbye to Cissy and then walked out into the afternoon sun. His car sat at the curb. This late in the day, the street was thick with shadows, a pleasant, nondescript spring afternoon to fit a pleasant, nondescript town.

A young woman climbing up the outside steps of the bureau office smiled at Dani as she and Gary made their way out.

“Who’s that?” Gary asked. “She could be bringing you the next big story.”

“Becky from Becky’s House of Hair,” Dani said in a lackluster tone. “Stop the presses. She’s probably just discovered that the Farrah Fawcett shag is on its way out.”

Gary looked disappointed. “I always liked that hairstyle on Pauline,” he said, referring to his wife of thirty years. When even that didn’t get a smile from Dani, he gave her a regretful but determined glance. “Come on, Dani. I hate leaving you like this.”

“Then don’t. Take me with you.”

He took an exaggerated interest in his surroundings to keep from starting this one-way argument again.

She watched his eyes roll past Landquist Computers next door, the drugstore, the café where Cissy had bought her lunch, the hardware store that only yesterday had begun advertising Easter baskets. She stood in a warm pool of sunshine and waited. She’d made that mental trip down Main Street so many times, she knew the exact sequence of stores and just how many sections of sidewalk lay between here and the post office at the opposite end of the block.

“Somewhere on this street could be a story just waiting to be written,” Gary said in his best sleuthing voice. “Somewhere. You just have to look.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Or maybe it’s someone.”

The question in his voice made her follow the direction of his gaze.

The best-looking man in three counties was coming out of a shop halfway down the block. Your typical tall, dark and handsome guy, with an extra edge of male virility that a girl couldn’t help but notice. When he saw Dani watching, he lifted his hand in a wave and smiled.

Gary was quick to pounce. “Well! I see you’re not completely oblivious to the people around here. You’ve scoped out one of the more…interesting Yokers.”

“They like to call themselves Yokels. Get it?” Dani inclined her head back toward the sidewalk. “That’s Matt D’Angelo. He’s one of the local doctors.”

“A doctor!” Gary’s enthusiasm was only slightly less than that of a Jewish mother in search of her daughter’s future husband.

“He’s getting married to his nurse at the end of this month. I’m covering the wedding. Childhood sweethearts reunited. Friendship turns to love…blah, blah, blah.”

Dani could see she had left Gary speechless at last. In all fairness, she knew he sympathized with her exile.

Giving him a genuine smile this time, she went to the driver’s side of his car, reached up on tiptoe and planted a kiss on the side of his cheek. He went beet-red.

“I know you’re trying,” she told him. “Just don’t forget about me up here.”

“I won’t,” Gary promised. “I have a voodoo doll with Lorraine’s picture on it, and the moment it works, I’ll be on the phone to you.”

“Great. My fate lies in the hands of a man who believes in the power of black magic but can’t balance his checkbook.”

He gave her a hopeful smile. “Lorraine’s fate lies with the voodoo doll, Dani. Your fate lies with you. Make this time work for you.”

She nodded and stepped back from the car. She watched him pull away, turn at the corner and go over the bridge that crossed Lightning River, the creek that bisected the town. He’d be in Denver in less than an hour, but it might as well be the end of the universe. It was all she could do to finally turn away and go back to the bureau office.

Becky was still there, sitting on the corner of Cissy’s desk, playing with a pen between two brightly polished nails. She didn’t even look up when Dani entered.

She lifted one hand as though preparing to swear on a stack of bibles. “If I’m lying, I’m dying,” she said to Cissy. “Althea Bendix saw him through the window of the real-estate office yesterday making eyes at that slutty Nina Jordan, who just about fell at his feet. Of course.”

Cissy didn’t look all that impressed. “Could have been business.”

“Monkey business, if you want my guess,” Becky said with a sharp nod of her head. “He’s up to no good, I’ll just bet you, and you know Nina. The woman can speak six languages but doesn’t know how to say no in any of them.”

Dani had been making her way back to her office, but suddenly swung around to join the women’s conversation. People who were “up to no good” were of considerable interest to her. Rule followers seldom did anything worthy of the front pages of the newspaper.

“Who’s up to no good?” she asked the two women.

“Rafe D’Angelo,” Becky supplied. “He’s back in town.”

The name meant nothing to her, although she knew that the D’Angelo family ran the Lightning River Lodge resort up Windy Mountain Road. The upcoming marriage of their son, Matt, was the talk around town. “And that’s a bad thing?”

Becky pursed her lips. “That remains to be seen. Lots of folks around here were glad to see the last of Rafe when he left.”

“When was that?”

“Straight out of high school. At least twelve years ago. Hasn’t been back since.”

“And people are still holding a grudge?” Some of Dani’s enthusiasm dissipated. This was starting to sound like stale news to her. Besides, she’d heard the D’Angelos were some of Broken Yoke’s town leaders. She didn’t need to make any more enemies.

“Not holding a grudge, exactly. Just hoping that his stay here is temporary.”

Cissy laughed. “Considering the way Rafe and his dad got along, I’m sure it will be.” She whistled through her teeth. “Just being around the two of them during one of their disagreements was like spending an hour in a blender.”

“Never dull, that’s for sure,” Becky agreed. For Dani’s benefit she added, “But what could you expect, really? His parents had their hands full trying to keep up with him. Rafe was such a daredevil. And the women—he was like the Pied Piper.”

Dani waited for more, but Cissy had discovered a final black olive in her salad and was busy chasing it down with her fork, a feat that Becky seemed to find fascinating.

“I can’t wait to see him,” Becky said at last. “He was so great looking as a teenager. Imagine what the man must look like.”

Dani could think of several boys from high school who had not aged well at all. “A lot can happen to change a person in that amount of time,” she said. “Are you sure he’s still worthy of all this anticipation?”

Becky rolled her eyes. “Honey, I went to school with him. You didn’t. Trust me, he’s worth it no matter what age he is. Besides, he’s one of the D’Angelos. They’ve all got that mysterious Italian blood. They age like fine wine.”

Cissy had found her olive and now sat happily munching it. She nodded agreement to Becky’s claim.

Dani frowned down at her. “You couldn’t have been more than ten when he left.”

“I was nine. But I remember my older sister being nuts for him. She snuck out of the house once to meet him. Ended up getting grounded for two weeks. Even after our parents had yelled at her, she just looked at me all dreamy-eyed and said with a goofy smile, ‘Cissy, it was all worth it.’”

Becky’s head bobbed. “You can find stories like that all over this town.”

Dani sniffed. “I wonder if that’s not all you can find all over this town because of Rafe D’Angelo.”

Becky looked confused, but Cissy arched one blond brow. “You mean little kiddies? Naw. Any woman who hung around with Rafe will tell you he was always a gentleman, even when you were getting dumped by him. Sexy, powerful…”

“How can an eighteen-year-old have any power?” Dani asked, truly skeptical now.

“You’d have to have been here to understand. Demanding, daring—but according to my sister, he always took good care of you.”

That made Dani laugh. “Ah. A thoughtful cad.”

Becky tilted her head at Dani. “I’m sensing you have some hostility toward men.”

“Really?” Dani replied. “Because if they rounded up every man on earth right now and sent them all to the moon, they would still be too close to suit me.”

She sounded so bitter that she wished she hadn’t said anything. But the truth was she knew all about devilishly attractive men who didn’t have it in them to be faithful or trustworthy. She’d just broken off with a first-class rat. Two years ago, she’d come close to moving in with one. Even as far back as when she’d been working in Vegas she could remember one particular playboy whose favorite hobby seemed to be breaking hearts. Oz had been his name—the Wizard of Women.

Her mother had been right. Men never failed to let you down.

Becky gave her a sad-eyed glance. “Divorced, sweetie?”

Oh, well. Might as well admit the truth. Besides, she was well over Kirk. “No. But I just dumped a rich, powerful jerk who sounds just like your Rafe D’Angelo.”

Becky perked up considerably. Even Dani had heard that Becky was looking for husband number three. “Does he live around here by any chance?”

“No. Denver. And you’re welcome to his address if you think you can make him concentrate on anyone but himself for more than ten minutes at a time. The louse has a Ph.D. in arrogance and a master’s degree in snake-oil salesmanship.”

“You’ll get over him.”

“Already am. But you were saying…”

“Oh, yes.” Becky settled in, heading back to gossipy basics. “Just that I heard from Althea Bendix who heard it from Polly Swinburne that Rafe has bought up half a block of old buildings on the town’s main street. Including the old Three Bs Social Club.”

Very few of the buildings in Broken Yoke were noteworthy, but Dani had already learned that one of the genuine historic sites in town was the Three Bs, a rambling, deserted old hotel and watering hole of questionable origin. Given the right designer and a huge infusion of cash, it might make an interesting salute to the town’s silver-mining days.

“What’s wrong with fixing up the Three Bs?” Cissy asked Becky. “It’s been an eyesore long enough.”

“Well, where would he get that kind of money, for one thing? When he and his daddy had their big falling out, he ran off without a nickel to his name. Of course, he could have won the lottery. He always was a lucky devil.”

Dani tapped her chin, thinking of the business possibilities for the old place. “He could cut it up, I suppose. Turn it into shops and restaurants and maybe even condominiums.”

Becky shivered visibly. “You’d never catch me going anywhere near there. People say it’s haunted.”

Cissy made a derogatory sound and dumped her empty salad bowl into the trash can beside her desk. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. People say Elvis is still alive and you don’t hear any new songs on the radio, do you? I think it would make a wonderful focal point for the town. A way to revitalize downtown.”

Becky wasn’t about to be sidetracked by logic. “Why would Rafe care about revitalizing downtown? He wasn’t all that fond of Broken Yoke when he lived here before.”

“Maybe things have changed,” Cissy said. “Everyone changes. You long to put down roots eventually.”

“Rafe D’Angelo, putting down roots?” Becky said in a horrified tone. “My Lord, what’s the world coming to?”