For His Daughter

“Oh, please,” Cissy said, rolling her eyes.

“I’ve seen the picture the stringer took,” Dani said, referring to the photographer she sometimes used. “It really does look like Honest Abe, stovepipe hat and all.”

“And that would matter to whom?”

“True.” Dani slipped it to the bottom of the stack. She lifted her last and best. “A wolf got into a chicken coop and created havoc for some farmer in Manitou. Killed three of his prize Rhode Island Reds before he chased it off.”

“A dozen would be better. More dramatic.”

“Just three, I’m afraid. But Farmer Jenkins said his coop is so secure that the wolf had to be the canine equivalent of James Bond to break into it.”

Cissy lifted an elegantly shaped brow. “Are you making that up?”

“I swear, that’s what he said.”

The younger woman pursed her lips, tapping her bottom lip with her finger. “I’d go with that one.”

“Why?”

“Death. Destruction. Secret-agent wildlife. Definitely better than an Abe Lincoln rutabaga.”

“Squash.” Dani placed the story on the top of her pile. “All right. The Double-O-Seven wolf it is. Although Gary is still going to laugh when he reads it.”

“I’ve read your stuff. It’ll be great.”

“Thanks,” Dani told her, but then almost to herself she added, “I’ve just got to do better than this. There has to be something I can sink my teeth into.”

Cissy trotted off while Dani sighed again and reflected on how she’d once set aside a space on the top of her fireplace mantle for a Pulitzer. No secret-agent wolf was going to fill that hole on her shelf or in her life.

Damn you, Lorraine Jennings Mandeville. How could one woman mess up her world so completely? Dani wondered.

After she’d been exiled here, she’d briefly considered telling Gary she’d resign before being run out of town, but she wasn’t a quitter. Besides, it wasn’t forever. She could handle living in Broken Yoke a while longer. She could. It wasn’t a horrible place. Kind of postcard-pretty in a lot of ways.

Of course, by the time she finally made it back to Denver and her regular assignments, her career was going to be deader than Farmer Jenkins’s poor chickens.

She cupped her head in her hands, massaging a fresh headache with her fingertips. Surely there was some magic she could work with these stories.

She lifted her gaze to discover Cissy had come back in the doorway of her office. The woman had brightened considerably. Maybe she had come up with something. “Boss, Rafe D’Angelo—”

Dani held up a forestalling hand, too peeved at the moment to bother showing polite interest in a topic of conversation she was thoroughly sick of. “Please. Not one more word about the great Rafe D’Angelo. I don’t want to hear about how every woman in town wants him. He’s old news, and even if he wasn’t, I’m not interested in hearing about a guy who probably has an ego as big as this room. From now on, any discussion about him is off-limits. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cissy said from the doorway, looking uncomfortable. “But I think I should tell you one last thing. Rafe D’Angelo—”

“Is what?” Dani asked, pinning her with a disgusted look. “Is sexy? Is worth his weight in gold? Is the devil incarnate?”

“Is here,” Cissy finished for her.

Giving Dani a regretful smile, she stepped aside. In the next moment, the office doorway was filled with the tall, dark, unexpected presence of a complete stranger.

No. Not a stranger. Dani knew him instantly.

“Devil incarnate, huh?” the man remarked with a grin in his voice. “Interested in selling your soul?”

She popped up, feeling flustered at being taken unawares. Her stomach churned. Embarrassing. Really embarrassing. He had to know perfectly well that she hadn’t intended for him to hear a word she’d said, but it was too late to save face now. Better to brazen it out.

Dani came around the desk, a weak smile on her lips. “I’m so sorry, Mr. D’Angelo,” she began.

She got her first good look at his face. Her smile froze on her lips as she took in the sight of dark eyes, dark hair and a slightly crooked nose that kept this man from being classically handsome.

She remembered that nose. Those eyes. She remembered this man. How could this be the infamous local hotshot, Rafe D’Angelo? This was Oz, the casino pit boss she’d worked with briefly six years ago.

A man whom she may or may not have slept with.

The snake in the grass who had disappeared out of her life before she’d ever had the chance to find out.

Oh God. Did he recognize her?

It didn’t appear so. His features remained bland and unremarkable as he relaxed into the chair in front of her desk. She didn’t know whether she should be glad or unhappy about the fact that she hadn’t stirred his memory.

Of course, she’d looked different back then. Dolled up like the rest of the plastic princesses who had worked in Native Sun’s casino. The night she’d gone after the story of her life—city government employees who spent a hefty portion of taxpayer money on gambling and hookers—she’d worn enough makeup for the entire chorus.

In spite of years spent trying to put that incident out of her memory, she couldn’t help remembering how the tables had gotten turned. How the lowlife she’d gone after had slipped something in her drink. How he and his friend would have raped her if they’d had the chance.

This man—Oz—had evidently stopped that from happening. Her memory was fuzzy, but she definitely recalled waking up naked next to him. He’d seemed somewhat amused by her reaction when she’d rolled over and spotted him, propped up on one elbow beside her. He’d told her that she was safe, that he’d take care of her, and she’d believed him. It hadn’t helped that she’d fallen asleep shortly after that. At least, she thought she had.

Had they had sex?

She still wasn’t one hundred percent positive. When she’d finally come to again, she was still naked, but her head was clearer and Oz was gone. Vanished. From the room. From the casino. From her life.

Oh, it was too humiliating to think about, even now.

Given the way things had turned out, she realized she was perfectly happy not to take a trip down memory lane. No, better to stay away from that subject and hope that in addition to being the local ladies’ man, Rafe D’Angelo had a memory like a sieve.

She sat down limply behind her desk, suddenly conscious that her hair was a mess and she hadn’t bothered with makeup today. “Who—What brings you to my little part of town?” she asked, trying for her most professional tone.

He seemed perfectly willing, thank goodness, to put aside any conversation of a personal nature. “I’m sure you’ve heard the town has an interest in hosting a summer festival?”

“I’ve heard there’s been some discussion.”

She could tell he found that assessment funny. His mouth curved upward—in the kind of quiet, private delight that could make a woman’s toes curl. Dani suddenly remembered that several of her fellow show girls had particularly loved that smile of his.

“Discussion,” he said, as though hearing the word for the first time. “That’s a polite term for it. A festival committee has been established, but they’ve yet to agree on a theme. I was elected the publicity chairman.”

“Ah.”

She understood now. Flacks—which was what the newspaper called PR people who constantly ran around doing their smoke-and-mirrors thing—drove her crazy. They were experts at spinning the truth to fit their own needs, and she had very little use for them. Whatever else Oz—Rafe—might be, it didn’t surprise her one bit that he’d been elected to handle the PR slot. Hadn’t he always been an expert at subtle persuasion back at Native Sun?

She realized he was frowning at her. “Ah? What does that mean exactly?” he asked.

“Nothing really. Just that I think I see where this is going.”

“You do?” He cocked his head. “And where exactly are we going, Mrs. Bridgeton?”

“Miss.”

“Ah.”

It was her turn to frown. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Just nice to get all the players straight, I suppose. Especially since I’d like us to spend some time together.”

The words came out in such a hot, silky tone that she almost forgot what they were talking about. “I beg your pardon?” she said, trying to dissolve the sudden lump of something strange in her stomach.

“Spend time together. For the sake of publicizing the festival.”

Relief stretched through her. “Oh, of course. What did you have in mind, Mr. D’Angelo?”

“Please call me Rafe.”

She inclined her head politely in agreement although she had no intention of calling him Rafe. Or Oz. Or anything. In fact, the sooner she could shoo him out of the office, the better she’d like it. Life was getting too darned complicated.

She ran a hand over her hair, glad suddenly that she’d chopped off several inches a year ago so that it fell to just below her shoulders. The shorter, less-dramatic style she currently wore probably set off no memory bells for him. Giving him another professional glance, she said, “I assume you’re here looking for coverage.”

“I am. In the best interest of the town.”

“I plan to cover it, of course. If it’s still going to take place on a Saturday, I’ll have a piece running the next day in the Telegraph’s Sunday supplement.”

“I was thinking of something a little more extensive than that.”

Dani’s eyes narrowed. “Such as?”

“Reasonably priced ad space. Perhaps an article or two in the weeks leading up to the festival. We want to attract as many people as possible. It’s critical that it be a financial success.”

“Mr. D’Angelo, perhaps you don’t understand. The paper isn’t interested in covering any festival just so that this town can make money.”

“I understand that we can’t use the paper simply to fill the town’s coffers,” he said, not at all put off by her attitude. He withdrew a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. “I’ve asked the mayor to furnish you with a commitment list of all the projects the town intends to use the proceeds for. As you can see, it’s quite extensive.”

Dani quickly scanned the list. He was right—it was impressive. The Telegraph wouldn’t object to being used to further these kinds of causes. She set the paper aside.

“What angle is the festival going to take?” she asked.

“I’m afraid that’s still undecided. The committee is leaning toward one of two themes proposed at the last town meeting.”

Oh, she’d heard all about that town meeting. Free-for-all was more like it. “Was that the town meeting where one member threatened to deck another with his oxygen tank?”

He laughed lightly, a warm, mellow sound that made a good companion to his smile. “I’m not sure that specific threat was ever made. But I see you’re familiar with the people I’m dealing with, Miss Bridgeton.” He inclined his head toward the nameplate that sat on her desk. “May I call you Danielle?”

She nodded quickly. Clearly he didn’t remember her as DeeDee Whitefeather. “I heard that tempers flared,” she said. “If you got strong-armed into this job, then you have my sympathy.”

“Thanks. As I was saying, no definite decisions have been made, but if we could, I’d like to schedule some time with you tomorrow.”

Her nerve endings began to fire like pistons in a car. “Why?”

Was he surprised by her obvious lack of interest? She didn’t imagine that Rafe D’Angelo was used to women being at all reluctant to keep him company. Even when she’d known him as Oz at the casino, he’d been way too sure of himself. He hadn’t been nicknamed the Wizard of Women for nothing. The pig.

He was silent for a moment, his dark eyes holding her like a hypnotist’s though there was nothing in his look that told her what he was thinking.

Then he said, “Two very different events have been proposed. Both parties have prepared presentations. I thought we could check them out. I’d welcome your input.”

“What are the two suggested themes?”

“One would celebrate Broken Yoke’s pioneer days. Reenactments of the founding of the town. Concessions, games and craft booths built around the town’s silver heyday.”

“Are you originally from this area, Mr. D’Angelo?”

Did he stiffen in his chair a little before he answered? Hard to say. “I’ve been away a while, but I was born here.”

“Then surely you know that Colorado needs another summer festival like a drowning man needs a brick. And while the state prides itself on celebrating the unusual, more than half the towns choose the same type of event. Founder’s Day. Pioneer Days. Rough and Ready Days. You can hardly tell them apart.”

“Then it’ll be my job to find a way to entice visitors here. I’m certain I can do that.”

Oh, this was bad, very bad. She could actually feel herself responding to that overwhelming presence of his. She felt too hot. DeeDee Whitefeather wouldn’t have been so affected.

Straightening in her chair with a deliberate sigh of boredom, she asked, “What’s the second suggestion?”

“A Christmas in July celebration.”

Dani wasn’t expecting that and found her interest piqued before she could remember that she wanted nothing to do with this man. “That’s a little different.” “It has possibilities. The fellow pitching it feels we can capitalize on the winter activities we have around here. Find ways for people to enjoy the same things, only in the summer. His wife is one of the teachers at our elementary school, and he’s enlisted students to help.”

“Skiing in July? Sounds problematic.”

“True,” D’Angelo agreed. “But he’s chosen some sample venues. Do you have a photographer available? It might make for fun pictures.”

She pursed her lips, intrigued in spite of herself. “I have a freelance stringer I can call on.”

“Then do we have a date? I could pick you up at nine in the morning.”

“What?”

“We could make a day of it. Perhaps have an early dinner afterward and discuss which idea might do the most good. Whether the paper would have any interest in covering one of them.”

She hoped she didn’t look as cornered as she felt. “I—I’ll need to work out the details with Chester, my photographer.”

“Of course.”

She really ought to see what the town had in mind for the festival. But there was no way she wanted to spend almost an entire day in this man’s company. Even if he didn’t remember her. Inspiration came at the last minute. “It would probably be simpler if I met you at these places. Why don’t you give my secretary the addresses and we can arrange to link up?”

She stood, determined to take the upper hand and show him that she wasn’t going to be maneuvered. This meeting was over.

Dani came around the desk, stretching her hand out once more. Rafe D’Angelo rose quickly, placing his long-fingered hand in hers.

“Thank you for the offer of dinner,” she said. “But I’m afraid I have plans tomorrow night.”

A curtain lifted in his eyes. They were suddenly alive with interest and amusement. “I’m disappointed,” he said. “Are you sure we can’t have dinner? Don’t you want to catch up on old times, DeeDee?”

CHAPTER FIVE

RAFE WATCHED THE SHOCK take over her features.

Oh, yeah, she remembered who he was, and she obviously didn’t like the fact he remembered her, too. By the set of her jaw, he had a feeling she didn’t want to discuss the past.

Eager to get some kind of reaction, he reached out and pulled her closer. “Now that’s the DeeDee I remember so well. All haughty superiority. What have you been up to all these years, darlin’?”

She slipped out of his arms, and he let her go. In another moment she was back behind her desk, a safe barrier between them.

“All right,” she said at last. “So you know I used to be DeeDee Whitefeather. I remember you as Oz. Six years isn’t long enough to erase those memories completely. But so what? We’re different people now. I don’t see why it should be a problem that we were friends in Vegas.”

He did a double take. “Friends? I’d say we got to be a little more than that.”

She paled, and he wondered if she remembered just how “friendly” she’d tried to get with him. She turned away in exasperation, pulling a hand through her hair. Six years hadn’t changed the bright luster of it, that great complexion, those eyes like storm clouds over the mountains. Had she really expected him to forget those eyes?

She remained silent, thoughtful. It occurred to him suddenly that she was desperately trying to put all the pieces together about their one close encounter, but was coming up empty.

“Come on, DeeDee,” he said. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

She turned quickly back to face him. “Look, we both know that night in Vegas was… I’m not sure how or why it happened, but it did. I vaguely remember waking up side by side with you on one of the big beds at Native Sun, so I assume somewhere along the way…”

That wasn’t exactly how it had stacked up, of course, but he was interested to see just how good her memory was. “I definitely was the one to take your clothes off,” he agreed. “In fact, whatever high you were on, you couldn’t wait to get out of them.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.