For His Daughter

Although she was several years younger, Cissy had become Dani’s closest friend here in Broken Yoke. She was a savvy saleswoman when it came to selling advertising for the paper, and she and Dani had discovered a mutual interest in making a name for themselves.

Cissy sauntered in and perched on the side of one of the office chairs expectantly.

Dani picked up the first story. “Tell me which of these pieces would interest you the most if you picked up the Sunday paper.” She expelled a resigned breath. “The new forklift that Silver Ridge paid a fortune for this past winter is out of commission because the idiot driving it ran into a ravine.”

“Was the idiot killed?”

“No.”

“Then who cares?”

Dani picked up the second story. “A guy down at Berthold Pass has grown a squash that has markings like Abraham Lincoln.”

“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.