by Miles, Ava
Arthur’s pulse started pounding, and he eased off the accelerator and pulled off the highway at the next scenic point. Turning in his seat, he glared at his brother.
“Look, I know people think I’ve picked up some strange ideas out East, but dammit, I hoped you of all people would understand why I left and why I came back.”
George slumped in his seat and kicked out his legs. “I do. You know, I didn’t think you were coming back when you left for New York—neither did Mom and Pop—but when you said you were opening up ‘The New Voice of the West’ in Dare, I wasn’t sure Dare was the right place for it. People here don’t like change and big ideas, Arthur. And with Mr. Merriam starting a university, people—”
“Dammit!” Arthur slammed his hand into the steering wheel. “What’s so wrong with big ideas? It’s what this country was founded on. Emmits has a vision for higher learning out here, and I have one for putting out a newspaper that represents these people’s thoughts. I would think I’d have their support.”
The sigh his brother gave was long and deep. “People fear what they don’t know. People think you and Emmits don’t think Dare is good enough as it is, and that’s why you’re trying to change it.”
“I love Dare, for cripes sake, but after trying to date Harriet here, I can say I support change. People need to mind their own goddamn business. I can’t even kiss her goodnight, for heaven’s sake, without the news being spread across Dare by lunchtime.”
“More like breakfast,” his brother tried to joke, elbowing him for good measure.
But he held himself stiffly. Knowing people were talking about him bothered him plenty, but hearing they doubted him burned like a boil on the skin.
“The newspaper and Harriet are a lot to accept after all the time you were gone. Mr. Franklin thinks she was your secretary in New York, and you’re only pretending not to have met before.”
“Wonderful!” he harrumphed. “Why would I orchestrate such a thing?”
“Perhaps she’s having your baby.”
He growled, making George throw up his hands in surrender.
“Come on. You have to laugh a little. Folks like to tell tall tales. Did you lose your funny bone?”
He turned and faced his brother in the muted light from the dashboard. “You wouldn’t be laughing if they were saying these things about you.”
“No, you’re probably right. But you’ve changed, and people need to get used to the new you.” His brother shook him playfully. “You’re not the same boy who left Dare.”
No, he was a man now, and he lived life on his own terms. “So what do I do?”
“Well, first, I’d suggest that you start inviting people over to the newspaper for coffee.”
His brows bunched together. “What? I’m working.”
George held up his hands. “I know, but seriously, people have said you’re not friendly anymore, that you’re not even willing to take a coffee break. You know how people around here do it throughout the day.”
He hit the steering wheel again. “Yeah, and it lasts too long. I’m starting up a business, for cripes sake.”
“Arthur, even Mom said she’s stopped dropping in because you seemed too busy to talk to her.”
“Oh, crap,” he said. That made him hang his head.
“She and Pops have been giving you space—they know you’re trying to get your bearings and start a business—but it’s hurt them, not having you come around as much.”
He gripped the wheel. “I come for Sunday dinner.”
“They want to see you more than that. And they are hurt you haven’t introduced them to Harriet. They’re more than a little confused by that, Arthur.”
Oh, no. Not that. “I don’t know what to do.” In trying not to lie to the people who meant the most to him, he’d hurt them instead.
“Slow down for one. You can’t become ‘The Voice of the West’ overnight. Despite what Mr. Merriam says. And ask Mom and Pops to drop by when they’re in town.” He turned up the heat since the car had gotten cool while they were idling. “As for Harriet…I don’t know what to tell you without knowing the full story.”
Emmits was right. They had to deal with Harriet’s past. This could not go on, not when it was hurting his family. “I’ll handle it.”
“Okay,” George said.
“You just get back today, and you already know this much?” he asked, putting the car in gear and easing back onto the highway.
“I had coffee with Mom and Pops earlier.”
“And how long did that take?” he mused.
George snorted out a laugh. “About two hours.”
“Figures,” Arthur muttered. “How long are you staying?”
“I don’t have my next site visit for a couple of weeks, so I’m around if you need anything.”
“Do you have ink in your veins?” he asked as a joke.
In his peripheral vision, he saw his brother turn his hands over and stare at his arms. “Gads no. Why?”
“My kids will and their kids too,” he said, knowing he was building something for his family, something future generations could take part in with pride.
“You always did dream big Arthur.”
As he drove down the snow–covered lane to their parent’s simple ranch house and dropped his brother off, he made himself a promise.
He wouldn’t stop dreaming just because he was back in Dare.
Chapter 15
The zing of Arthur’s typewriter and the chatter of the staff swirled around Harriet. The bookkeeper was friendly and liked to joke. His wife had baked an apple pie, and she’d enjoyed a piece along with everyone else, standing around the newly installed water cooler in the break room. People were still curious about her, but it was bothering her less.
Except when they asked where she was from.
Trying to utter ‘Denver’ had become harder, like she was losing her voice.
At five o’clock, everyone grabbed their coats off the shiny brass coat rack that Arthur had installed by the front door at her insistence. Harriet hung back since Arthur was taking her to supper tonight. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her compact and eyed her hair in the mirror, smoothing back an errant curl that had escaped near her ear.
“I like seeing your hair a little mussed,” Arthur said from behind her.
She jumped a mile and snapped her mirror shut with a clack. “It’s not nice to sneak up on people.”
His blue eyes were twinkling. “I couldn’t help it. I like knowing that you’re prettying up for our date.”
“Then shoo,” she said, motioning her hand like a scythe. “I need to put on some lipstick.”
“I like the red one,” he said and chuckled. “Okay, I’m going. Just holler when you’re ready.”
Like she’d ever holler. Ladies didn’t holler.
She took her time, and ten minutes later, she leaned against the doorframe of his office. Arthur’s back was to her, his fingers moving across the typewriter with his usual intensity and urgency, as if the words he had to write were a matter of life and death.
“I’m ready,” she said, and even to her ears, her voice sounded husky.
He swiveled in his chair and leaned back. “Well, well. Now that was worth waiting for.”
Pursing her lip to fight the smile that wanted to spread across her face, she didn’t move from her place at the door. “I’m glad you think so.”
Rising slowly from his chair, he strolled toward her. “You don’t mind if I kiss you, do you? I don’t think I can wait until after supper.”
They’d never kissed in the office before. Part of her had felt it was too tawdry, the boss and his secretary fooling around at work. The other part knew people in Dare walked into the office all the time, especially now that they had a growing staff, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing?
A blush slid across her cheeks. “Let’s wait. I just put my lipstick on.”
His hand eased into his pocket, and he dangled a handkerchief in f
ront of her like the line judge at a horse race. “I always come prepared.”
Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs, and her gaze fell to his lips.”Someone could walk in.”
“They already know we’re dating,” he volleyed back, his voice dark and tempting.
She cleared her throat. “I want to, but I…I don’t want them thinking we’re…” Her hand made an impatient gesture.
His face softened, and he tucked the handkerchief away. “Fooling around at the office. I understand. Let’s go.”
For some reason, she’d expected him to push, and then perhaps condemn her for being a prude.
Edging out of his doorway to let him to pass, she touched his arm. “Thank you.”
He winked that mischievous wink of his that raised her blood pressure. “Sure thing.” Then he walked forward and looked over his shoulder. “Sweetheart.”
Her mouth dropped open, and she darted across the floor and gave him a playful punch in the back. “I told you not to call me that!”
His shoulders shook as he continued ahead and grabbed his coat from the coat rack. “I couldn’t help myself. Just this once. Seeing your reaction was worth it. Plus, you hit like a girl.”
She grabbed her purse and shrugged her navy coat on. “I am a girl, so there’s nothing offensive to me about that comment.”
His hands helped her with her coat and then spun her around, doing up her buttons. “And I’m glad you’re a girl.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “You ready for supper?”
“Yes,” she said.
When they arrived at Nellie’s Tavern, their favorite haunt, Bertha greeted them with a smile and led them to a table.
“We’re going to take the one in the back, if that’s all right. Big story to discuss,” he told Bertha conspiratorially and waved to Vernon the bartender.
“Of course,” she replied and gave them menus as soon as they were seated.
Harriet lifted an eyebrow. “What big story?”
“Let’s order first,” he said, picking up the menu even though they both knew it by heart.
Watching him, she realized he seemed a bit nervous, his hands hadn’t stopped moving, like they missed dancing across the typewriter.
She settled her own menu in her lap, and they gave their orders when Bertha arrived. He asked for a Manhattan, and she decided to go with a vodka tonic.
“Okay, let’s hear it,” she said when they were alone again.
His fingers continued tapping the table. “Hmm…I don’t know how to bring this up.” His laughter was self–conscious.
Self–conscious? Arthur Hale? Her guard immediately went up. The back table. His nerves.
“You’re breaking up with me,” she said in shock.
His head whipped back. “What? No. Good God, Harriet.” He reached for her hand and gripped it. “No, that’s not what this was about.”
The heart that had just taken a swan dive in her chest, settled back in place. “Okay, then what’s going on?”
Arthur was usually Mr. Cool or Mr. Charming. Not Mr. Nervous. Her heart hustled to the diving board again when another thought occurred to her.
He’s not going to ask me to marry him, is he?
“It’s about your name,” he said and blew out a breath.
And any thoughts of rings and flowers subsided, replaced with darker thoughts. The ones that kept her awake nights.
“The real one. And what you’ve told people here, and what’s the real truth. It was awkward…the other night at the bowling alley.”
Acid burned in her stomach.
“My brother suspects something,” he informed her, gripping her hand. “And I’ve talked to Emmits about this too. If Maybelline wants to go to the university here, he can handle the transcript issue. The difference in names.”
She bit her lip. Hadn’t she and Maybelline discussed the same issue without any idea how to resolve it?
“I see,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.
“Emmits also said he could arrange for your name to be permanently changed to Jenkins if that’s what you want.”
Inside her, her heart finally took that swan dive, and instead of water, it encountered the hard ground. A name change? Wentworths had been in this country since 1756. “How?”
“He knows a judge who would keep it quiet.” He gripped her hand again, hard, making her aware of each individual bone, and how fragile they all seemed right now.
It would be a huge, final step. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
He patted her hand suddenly. “Bertha’s coming.”
The waitress arrived with their drinks and Arthur’s smoked ham, steaming mashed potatoes and gravy, and canned corn—one of his favorite meals here. The chicken breast, wild rice, and broccoli she often ordered usually delighted her, but today, it only made her nauseous.
“Thank you,” she said, keeping her eyes on her food, praying Bertha wouldn’t stop to chat like she usually did.
“Thanks, Bertha. This wonderful food will help us figure out what to do with the story. I’m sure of it.”
She beamed, the lines on her round face lifting from the compliment.
How he could pull off charming anyone right now baffled her. Then again, it wasn’t his name they were talking about changing.
When Bertha left, he reached for her hand instead of his utensils. “Talk to me.”
A headache was developing at the base of her skull, and all she wanted to do was close the door to her bedroom and have a good cry.
“Arthur, I don’t know. Changing my name…” It would be like disowning her father, wouldn’t it? And saying she wasn’t her mother’s child, even though she had passed.
“I know it’s a big step, but I don’t know how to make things right here. We can’t just tell the town it’s not your real last name. It begs too many questions. If you’d come here with your real name, with only me knowing about your past, things would be different.”
Right. They’d have to explain why she’d used a different name, which would mean her real reasons for coming to Dare would get out.
Suddenly the sunny walls of the tavern seemed to turn black and ominous around her. It was like she was in a cage…and worse, one of her own making.
His blue eyes were the only source of light around her. She focused on them.
“I’ve told you that I want you to stay, and I mean it, Harriet. I love you. But this is a major hurdle.” He lowered his head, as if suddenly tired, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Harriet. Or your sister.”
And they could. People didn’t easily forgive deception—and certainly not of this kind. The bold truth was that she’d come here to wreak revenge on Dare’s favorite son and had instead fallen in love with him.
“Even if you decide to leave Dare and resume using your real name, people could still find out about what happened.”
And be as unforgiving as they’d been in her community back East. Yes, she and Maybelline had concluded that as well. If they reassumed the name of Wentworth, they might become pariahs again no matter where they went. And always, always there would be questions and lies.
Continued exile seemed the only future.
Suddenly the years she had left in this life seemed too long, too heavy to bear.
“I’ll do anything you want, Harriet,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Help in any way.”
“I know,” she whispered, staring at her plate again.
The simple food reminded her of how different her life was now. The old life was fading the longer she stayed here, and sometimes, she felt like she was fading with it. Like the initial scent of perfume first sprayed in the morning that wears off by the end of the day.
“I want you to meet my family. I want to take you for supper, but I’ve been…” He sighed long and deep. “I didn’t know how to handle the questions about where you’ve come from. As an outsider, people are curious, and you’ll be the first girl I’ve brought home
.”
Even though she knew he couldn’t have brought any of his New York girlfriends home, the sweetness of it still blew through her.
“My mom has an inner radar about things being off. George and I never could get a single thing past her. I don’t want—”
“To lie to them,” she finished, finally realizing his full dilemma.
He was in love with a woman who had lied about who she was, and he was trying to protect her. Who said all the knights in shining armor had died with the Crusades?
“I need to think about it, Arthur. And talk to Maybelline. We’ve…discussed this situation a lot. But we weren’t sure how to get out of our current…predicament. Thank you for providing a possible solution.”
“I love you, Harriet, and I do want you to meet my family.”
This time she clasped his hand tightly. “I want that too, Arthur.”
“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s eat before this dinner gets any colder.”
And he winked, but it didn’t hold its usual sparkle. Her mouth lifted, but it wasn’t a real smile.
They picked at their food. Arthur managed to convince Bertha that the story they’d been discussing had ruined their appetites as he paid the bill.
When he drove away from the tavern, she turned in her seat. “Let’s go up to the Bluffs,” she whispered, not wanting to go home yet, not wanting the unavoidable conversation with Maybelline or the long, sleepless night ahead.
“Okay,” he said, glancing over at her.
When they reached the bluffs, the half moon looked like the piece of chocolate meringue pie she’d turned down at the tavern.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, sliding as close as she could, minding the stick shift, needing comfort, needing the connection with him that always made her feel like everything was perfect even when it wasn’t.
He pulled her toward him, angling his body on the seat to press them as closely together as possible. His arms left her, and she gasped when the entire bench seat squeaked back a few inches. Then he leaned back and pulled her on top of him.
