by Miles, Ava
The Town Square
1960 is ushering in a new decade of change, and journalist Arthur Hale is determined to be on the forefront of it. A successful New York City journalist, he returns to his hometown of Dare Valley, Colorado to start a new newspaper that will channel the voice of the West, joining the ranks of prestigious papers like The New York Times and The Chicago Tribune.
But the bigger the dream, the higher the price. Arthur’s ambition and drive isolate him, and the only person who can break through his self-imposed solitude is Harriet Jenkins, his talented and mysterious secretary. Though Arthur’s sixth sense as a journalist tells him the beautiful and complicated redhead is hiding something, he can’t stay away.
What he doesn’t know is that Harriet Jenkins is actually Harriet Wentworth. A newspaper article ruined her father and sullied her family name, and now she’s out for revenge on the journalist who wrote it: Arthur Hale. As she gets to know Arthur, Harriet discovers he’s not the monster she thought he was. He’s a man of integrity, committed to uncovering the truth at all costs. Soon the impossible happens, and she finds herself falling for the man she set out to destroy, but can the two build a future on a foundation of lies and ugly truths?
PRAISE FOR AVA MILES’ DARE VALLEY SERIES
NORA ROBERTS LAND
"It {NORA ROBERTS LAND} captures the best of what I love in a Nora Roberts novel…" —BlogCritics
“…finding love like in the pages of a Nora Roberts story.” —Publisher’s Weekly WW Ladies Book Club
"Debut author Ava Miles combines small–town romance with big–world issues in a full–bodied romance fiction in the first of the Dare Valley series…and paints a wonderful idyllic setting for this small–town series with great characters." —USA Today, Happily Ever After
"Ava Miles's debut novel is warm, funny, and wholly entertaining." —Joyfully Reviewed
FRENCH ROAST
"An entertaining ride…(and) a full–bodied romance." —Readers’ Favorite
“Her engaging story and characters kept me turning the pages.” —Bookfan
THE GRAND OPENING
“Ava Miles’ Dare Valley world is a wonderful place to visit…” —Tome Tender
“The latest book in the Dare Valley series is a continuation of love, family, and romance.” —Mary J. Gramlich
THE HOLIDAY SERENADE
“Ava Miles has added the sparkle of the season to her newest addition to the Dare Valley Series” —Tome Tender
Mad Men in a small town with a happy ending…
No one else around town could offer her skills, and even without a resume or any background information, she was his best candidate. He couldn’t stand to do administrative work, and if she insisted she wouldn’t answer any questions about herself, he could suck it up. Plus, there were piles of boxes someone had to file, and that someone wasn’t going to be him.
“Okay, you’re hired.”
A secret smile appeared on her lips, and then she stood, pulling her gloves on once again, slowly and deliberately. God, how did women stand the bother of all that fuss about fashion?
“Wonderful,” she murmured. “I only have one other request.”
He took a step closer, studying her amused face. “Name it.”
“I’ve heard some bosses like to call their secretaries ‘sweetheart.’ Don’t.”
Well, she’d just let something slip about her background. She’d never been a secretary, or she would have used the word “seen,” not “heard.”
“Oh, and I don’t make coffee.”
That was interesting. Didn’t most secretaries do that? To get her goat, he simply said, “So what should I call you?”
“Harriet,” she informed him, turning toward the door and walking out. “Or Harry, if it makes it easier to remember not to call me ‘sweetheart.’”
As he watched her gorgeous body stroll out of his office, one thought crossed his mind.
There was no way this woman could be mistaken for a Harry.
To my grandfathers, one I knew, and one who had passed on long before I was born. To Ray Bosn, for Root beer floats, glazed donuts, McDonalds sundaes, and Easter eggs in his shoes. For his infectious laughter and twinkling eyes and the endless car trips he made to see us and give us joy. I miss you. And to my great–great grandpa, George Miles, who came out West in search of a better life, won our first family newspaper in a poker game, fought vigilantes, stood for justice, and printed the truth. Now I know who I’m from, and I can’t wait to meet you in heaven. But one thing I know for certain is that you both will be entertaining each other with tall tales until I get there.
And to my divine entourage, who continues to show me so much more is possible and that I’m on the right track.
Acknowledgements
I am blessed beyond measure by the following people:
My editor, the ever–insightful and charming, Angela Polidoro; my amazing assistant, Maggie Mae Gallagher; the awesome Gregory Stewart for the 1960 Dare Valley map and for always helping me out when I need it; the Killion Group for the incredible cover art; my superlative copy editor, Helen Hester–Ossa and her help on journalism in the 1960s; my lovely eformatter, Meredith Bond; Bemis Promotions for my website; my parents for checking the 1960s details and giving me some fun ideas about where Arthur could take Harriet; and to Paul and Mary Blayney for wonderful background information about small–town life in the 1960s and their continued friendship.
T.F. For helping me keep the faith.
To all of my readers who love Grandpa Hale as much as I do and asked for his story. Here you go! Happy reading.
Chapter 1
Babies sometimes made Arthur Hale feel as old as dirt, but mostly they made him smile. With his three–month old great granddaughter, Violet, tucked into the curve of his arm, he had to admit it was wonderful to have a baby around again.
And since his granddaughter, Jill, was an overachiever like he was, she’d given him not one, but two great–granddaughters. And they were beautiful, blessed with the red hair that was one of his late wife, Harriet’s, legacies. Of course, the babies’ hair looked like fuzz on a ripe peach now, but it would grow as they did.
The patter of rapid footsteps sounded in the hall, and one of his other favorite kids skidded to a halt at the door. Keith might be only eight years old, but he knew to be quiet around the babies. His mother, Deputy Sheriff Peggy McBride, had made that clear.
Tiptoeing inside, Keith approached the Amish rocking chair and peered over Arthur’s arm. “Grandpa, do you think Violet knows she got christened today?”
Since he’d finally told Keith and Peggy to just call him “Grandpa,” he couldn’t help but smile. His granddaughters had added to the Hale clan through their marriages, and Peggy was his grandson–in–law’s sister. Since everyone lived in Dare Valley, Colorado, the town of his birth and the town he’d be buried in, every weekend was a family fest. Arthur wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I think there’s a part of her that knows she’s been blessed and celebrated today,” he answered, wanting to straighten the red bow tie clipped to Keith’s white shirt. Funny how bow ties looked cute on boys, but not on grown men. He avoided wearing them except when he had to put on the occasional monkey suit to attend some fancy gala.
Jill danced into the nursery with Mia in her arms, the movement rather like the cha–cha he used to dance with Harriet. Jill’s curly red hair, leaf–green eyes, and porcelain skin came from Harriet. His beloved wife and best friend had passed away five years ago, and he still awoke each day hoping to smell the sweet hyacinth fragrance she always wore.
“Is Violet asleep?” Jill asked.
“Out like a light, if the amount of drool is any indication,” he replied with a wink, pic
king up the burp rag to wipe her rosebud mouth.
“Mia too,” she said, sinking into the purple arm chair in the corner, which clashed oddly with the explosion of bubble gum pink that decorated the nursery. “I think we can talk in our regular voices now. They’re like Brian. When they’re out, a passing train couldn’t wake them. Do you want me to take her, Grandpa?”
He snorted. “And put her where? On your back? You already have one on the front.”
Her curls bounced as she made a face at him, causing Keith to giggle. “I could lay Mia down.”
“But you don’t want to because she’s so sweet. That’s why I’m keeping Violet here. Been ages since I’ve held a baby. I plan to clock as many hours as I can with these two.”
Jill’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Maybe it’s the christening, but I really wish Grandma could see them. I think about her all the time since I’ve had them. Sometimes I even think I smell her hyacinth lotion.”
Goosebumps broke out over Arthur’s arms. After Harriet’s passing, he’d experienced the same thing. Made him believe she was an angel now, watching over them all from her place in heaven. He coughed and had to look away when he spotted the wetness in Jill’s eyes.
“She’d have loved these little ones. She had a soft spot for babies. Always wished we could have had more than your dad, but it just didn’t happen.”
“What didn’t happen?” his other granddaughter, Meredith, whispered from the doorway. Peggy was beside her, hanging back a little.
“The girls are out,” Jill said in a normal voice. “You don’t have to talk like that. How’s it going downstairs?”
“Mac’s talked the men into playing football even though it’s only twenty degrees outside,” Peggy said.
“Sweet,” Keith said and ran out of the room, ostensibly to join them.
“Where’s Abbie?” he asked. It made him happy to see her and her fiancé, Rhett Butler Blaylock, looking so happy together.
“Helping Mom and Brian make dinner. They shooed us out.” Meredith propped her hand on her hip. “Said we were in the way. Now what were you two talking about when we interrupted? Jill, I saw tears in your eyes.”
“Grandma,” she whispered. “I miss her, especially today, seeing Mia dressed in the christening gown she made for dad.”
Meredith came over and touched her sister’s shoulder. Still hanging back in the doorway, Peggy looked like she was about ready to join the men. Tears made her squirm.
“Grandma was a softy. She would have melted, seeing these beautiful girls.”
And he could tell Meredith was about to tear up too. If he didn’t do something fast, this was going to become a pity party, and while he didn’t mind tears, Harriet wouldn’t have wanted everyone bawling their eyes out on this special day.
“Your grandma was hardly a softy,” he told the girls. “You must be thinking of someone else.”
His granddaughters exchanged a puzzled look and then gave him their full attention.
“What?” Meredith asked. “Sure she was.”
He tucked Violet closer and started rocking, loving the motion. “She was a hard case when I met her. Rather like Peggy.”
Now Dare Valley’s deputy sheriff was staring at him too. “Like me?”
“Why do you think I understand all you tough–as–nails women and what new love does to you?”
“If I weren’t so happy, I might object to that bunch of bull,” Meredith said, her wavy red hair a stark contrast to her cream–colored sweater.
Arthur shifted the baby in his arms. “Your hair is closer to your grandmother’s, Meredith. Jill, yours is a lot curlier, like my mother’s.”
“Why do you say she was so tough, Grandpa?” Meredith asked, coming forward and sitting on the floor next to him.
Peggy leaned against the doorway. “Part of me is glad you didn’t get off so easy in the love department.”
“Nothing worth having was ever acquired easily.”
“Tell us the story again, Grandpa.” Jill said, brushing a tear down her cheek. “I want my girls to hear it, and it seems like the right thing to do today. Like having Grandma here.”
“Well, the girls won’t understand it,” Peggy said, “but I’d love to hear it. I’ve always wondered what you were like when you were younger.”
Arthur decided he might as well tell it. Harriet was already in the room, and this new generation, even small and sleeping, deserved to know how it had all started.
“Well, I met her around this same time of year fifty–three years ago. It was December 1960. Kennedy had just become president, but hadn’t moved into the White House yet. I was twenty–three and had just returned to Dare Valley after working in New York at The New York Times,” he continued, and then started rocking faster in the chair as he took a stroll down memory lane.
***
Arthur spread the newspapers across his beaten–up desk in their proper geographic order with The New York Times flanking the right side and The San Francisco Chronicle flanking the left. One day he was going to print a paper as respected as they were, but first, he needed a working office space.
“Herman,” Arthur called over the incessant hammering in the next room. “When are those bookshelves going to be ready?”
The stacks of boxes spread around his new office building were driving him crazy. Perhaps he shouldn’t have hired his high school chum for the renovation job, but having just started a business himself, he wanted to support his friend. Smith’s Hardware had opened just last week.
“I’m doing the best I can, Arthur. You don’t have a level surface anywhere in this place. No wonder the bank built a new building. It’s taking longer to make the boards level than I thought. I don’t want your darn books to slide right off the shelves.”
Right. He didn’t need Herman Smith to tell him he’d bought a building with character. But it had been the only one available on Main Street, and he’d wanted to be situated right in the heart of Dare Valley. The Western Independent didn’t need to be fancy, as the newly stenciled sign on the front door announced with its simple black lettering. All that mattered was that the paper delivered good content. A quality newspaper sold copies. And his wasn’t just going to be good. It was going to be great. There was a niche for this newspaper—he just knew it. The people out West needed news that wasn’t tinged with the East Coast bias he’d run across over and over again in New York.
Plus he had the backing of the man who’d changed his life, Emmits Merriam, the oil tycoon who had come to Dare Valley as a young man to gamble at The Grand Mountain Hotel, now abandoned. Darn shame, that.
Emmits had built a summerhouse in Dare in the 1940s, and Arthur had run errands for him in high school until he gave the older man his take on oil exploration in Iran one day, which had made Emmits regard him with new eyes. His parents hadn’t understood why Arthur wanted to leave Colorado for college, but Emmits had. He’d even supported Arthur getting what he called a superior education, wanting him to “get worldly.”
While attending Columbia University in New York City, he’d fallen in love with journalism, and Emmits had managed to secure him a position at The New York Times. He’d struck gold with his first story on inner–city crime, rising through the ranks quickly for a young man. And he’d enrolled in Columbia’s Graduate School of Journalism, founded by his idol, Joseph Pulitzer, working day and night to become the best reporter he could be.
Emmits had declared the idea of Arthur becoming a journalist “capital” and had opened doors for him when he needed it, calling in favors for interviews with high–ranking officials or the elite.
Yet Arthur had begun to notice that the news in the paper he worked for didn’t really represent the opinions of the people he came from. As people throughout the country took to the streets demanding to be heard, from women to people of color, he experienced a proverbial light bulb moment. He wanted to create a newspaper that would represent people’s opinions out West. Decision makers in Washin
gton and on Wall Street needed to hear them, and he would be the conduit. He pitched his idea to Emmits one night over Manhattans, and his mentor loved it. Since Emmits had run for the senate, he knew how important it was to learn the pulse of places that were completely alien to New Yorkers.
While Arthur had been the one to secure the main loan, Emmits had been more than willing to heavily invest in the project. He loved knowing there would be a visionary newspaper coming to Dare Valley right as he was building a new university in Dare. Named after himself—so Emmits—it would be opening next fall.
Launching a newspaper might seem like a lofty plan, but Arthur wasn’t intimidated. He was going to be the voice of the West, the new west.
He was smart, young, driven, and he had a vision. This new decade was ripe for huge change. Heck, 1959 had shown what kind of path they were on. The first microchip had been unveiled; the Civil Rights movement had gained prominence; and the first casualties in this war in Vietnam had been reported. And now they had a young, idealistic president, who’d captured the imagination of the country with his New Frontier. President Elect Kennedy was going to do great things. He could just feel it.
Arthur picked up the copy of The New York Times. Part of him couldn’t wait until he held his own newspaper in his hands, the ink leaving a welcome imprint on his fingers.
Now that the 707 had taken its maiden nonstop voyage from coast to coast last year, he could follow stories where they led him. Cuba was so hot politically right now with all of Fidel Castro’s hi–jinks, and he was thinking about trying to go there—even if that was pretty damn risky. He was still freelancing as a journalist for other papers while he got The Western Independent up and running, writing an article here and there. There was no way he could stop writing about the news. He’d wither like ivy cut away from the mother vine.
He’d arrived only a few weeks ago and was trying to hire his first staff position—a secretary. She’d help him set up the office while he began the process of hiring and training other reporters and staff for the May 7th launch of the newspaper.
