For His Daughter. Ann Evans

that came with running a thriving business. Where the air around his father was thick with tension.

      The foreman of the construction site waved at Rafe, and seeing the opportunity to break away from Leo, he shook hands one last time with the man, clapped him on the shoulder and left him at the curb. They were tearing down walls in the club’s front room today, and he was eager to see what kind of workmanship lay behind the flocked, garish wallpaper that the Culpeppers had thought so attractive.

      Once Rafe was satisfied the work was progressing well, he could move on to his next mission—getting one newspaperwoman to buy into the idea that the second Broken Yoke summer festival wasn’t geared strictly to make money for its citizens. Downtown revitalization, worthwhile causes, civic pride rebuilt. Could he persuade her that there was good to be done?

      Maybe he was worrying too much. After four years of working for Wendall Crews and his far- flung empire, Rafe had honed the art of gentle, and not-so-gentle, persuasion. He had the talent to spin the festival any way the town wanted it. And just how bright a journalist could this Danielle Bridgeton be if the paper had stuck her out here in no- man’s-land?

      Besides, big brother Nick had been right. Rafe still had the D’Angelo charm, and though he liked to think he’d changed, that he wasn’t prone to the old ways anymore, he hadn’t forgotten any of the old tricks.

      If all else failed, he’d lay it on thick and deep. He’d make Ms. Bridgeton feel as though she were the center of his universe. He’d have her eating out of his hand.

      By the time he was finished with her, she’d give them more newspaper coverage than the winter Olympics.

      MAYNE SHE WASN’T the world’s best journalist, but Dani thought she could recognize a losing proposition when she saw one. She regarded the three stories spread out on the desk in front of her.

      It would be hard to say which would be more exciting. Or which one was more likely to put Gary to sleep when he read it.

      She began to feel helplessly angry again at the fates that had dropped her into the dullest news corridor of Colorado. This certainly wasn’t the future her mother had scrimped and saved for her daughter to have.

      If Wanda Bridgeton could have seen her now, how disappointed would she be?

      Not wanting to give in to another fit of useless emotion, Dani decided that maybe a second opinion was called for. After all, she was biased about what interested people in this neck of the woods.

      “Cissy,” she called out the open office door. “Could you come in here a moment?”

      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,