For His Daughter

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.”