by Miles, Ava
Hadn’t he compromised his integrity to protect her? It had to stop somewhere. She lifted her chin, realizing she still had enough Wellesley spirit in her to carry her through this. “I’m a grown woman, and I’m not your responsibility.”
“I admire and respect your independence,” he said softly. “But it’s the two of us now, and that changes things.”
They weren’t going to reach any agreement today.
“Like I said, let’s both think about it.” And because his eyes narrowed and the pulse beat wildly in his temple, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Go celebrate with your family.”
“Why should I? I don’t feel like celebrating.”
Making her way to the door, she clenched the knob. “Because it’s expected.”
He shook his head. “I thought you knew me better than that. I don’t give a flip about what’s expected, and neither should you. If there’s one thing you should let die from your days at Beacon Hill, lay that one on the altar.”
Her breath caught at his comment, but she firmed her shoulder. “Congratulations again, Arthur,” she said formally and opened the door.
Fortunately everyone was gone when she walked to her desk, stuffed her feet in her ugly, clunky boots, and collected her things, trying not to cry.
Arthur was wrong.
Sometimes the only thing that kept you going was doing what was expected.
Chapter 17
When Harriet entered the parlor, Maybelline was sliding a tube of pink lipstick that matched her shirt over her lips.
“What’s the matter?” she asked immediately, twisting the lipstick and snapping it shut.
Her lips trembled.
“Maybelle,” she said, using her sister’s old nickname.
“What is it?” she asked, her face tensing. “Is it Father?”
“Indirectly. Arthur found out he’s won the Pulitzer prize for the editorial he wrote about Father.”
Her sister dropped onto the mauve settee, her red hair tumbling around her shoulders. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes,” she answered, taking a seat next to her.
She’d cried on the way home, but had tried to compose herself before coming inside. Part of her felt like that crackled glass made by European glassblowers, their spidery fissures adding gravitas to the piece. Held together, but still broken, the lines visible and far reaching.
“Is he happy about it?” her sister asked, a tear streaking down her cheek.
Harriet put an arm around her, and Maybelline rested her head on her shoulder. “No, he’s not, which is sad, don’t you think? I mean, if not for me, he would be overjoyed.”
“I figured he wouldn’t be happy. Arthur had to know how much this would hurt you. Us. Oh, Harriet, when is it ever going to go away?”
Wasn’t that what she’d been asking herself for the past half hour? Could it ever go away while they were living a lie in this small town? Hurting the man she loved and being hurt in return by a past they couldn’t seem to escape?
“I told Arthur I can’t change my name. It feels—”
“Disloyal,” her sister finished for her. “I want more than anything for things to be the way they used to be, but they can’t. Sometimes at night, I wish with all my heart that when I wake up we’ll be at home again and none of this has happened. Just like when mom died.”
Her heart pulsed with remembered pain. She’d cherished the same wish, but their mother had never come back.
“I know,” she whispered, tears appearing again in her eyes.
“If Arthur weren’t here, what would you do?” Maybelline asked her, sniffing.
“I’d leave,” she said honestly, and handed her sister her clean handkerchief.
Her sister’s hand fell open, and she stared at the cloth. “That’s mother’s, isn’t it?”
The W embroidered in the corner had been commissioned by their mother. They’d had a collection of linens sporting the W for Wentworth around their house in Boston. “Yes.”
“I’m just starting to feel settled in Dare, but we can’t escape what happened, can we? Not when Arthur’s so connected to it.”
Eventually he would resent Harriet for taking away his joy in achievements like the Pulitzer. Her motivation in coming here had been sordid, and like a poisoned well, there was nothing she could do to change that.
“I think we should leave,” she told Maybelline. “We can go to a bigger city, one with a good college for you. Use our real names and only share our real story with the people we trust. I don’t want to hide who I am for the rest of my life.”
Maybelline straightened and turned toward her. “But what about you and Arthur? You love him.”
She rocked in place for a moment, struggling not to cry. “Yes,” she whispered, “but I don’t think we’ll be able to overcome how things began. I’ll just have to get over him.”
But she couldn’t imagine doing that. Was it possible to get over the love of your life?
“Oh, Harriet. I’m so sorry. For both of you. I like Arthur.”
What wasn’t there to like?
“He won’t like this one bit,” Maybelline whispered, wrapping her arms around Harriet and rocking them both like their mother had done when they were little and scared during a thunderstorm.
“He’s strong, and he’ll move on.” She knew it was true. A mountain wouldn’t bend, not even in the strongest wind. “Nothing can stop Arthur Hale, not even a little thing like love.”
But it hadn’t been little.
Not to her.
Not to him.
A sea of tears slipped down her face, and she had to grab the handkerchief from her sister.
No, it hadn’t been little at all.
Chapter 18
Why aren’t you out celebrating, boy? You just won a Pulitzer, and you look like someone put down your prize bull,” Emmits said the moment Arthur opened his front door. “Or do I even need to ask?”
That’s why he hadn’t called to tell him the news. Or anyone. He just wanted to be alone at home. Isn’t that why he’d left the office early even though the launch was a week away?
As Emmits barreled into the foyer, Arthur stepped aside, knowing the man had no compunction about mowing down anything that stood in his path.
“Did you really expect me to be overjoyed?” he asked. “I love her, Mr…Emmits.”
“Well, that slip of the tongue shows me how little your head is working right now.” He held up a bag. “I brought a forty–year–old bottle of Pappy Van Winkle’s to celebrate with.”
He followed Emmits into his den. “I don’t feel much like celebrating.”
The older man slapped his belly. “Well, then, you can get drunk over your woman, and I’ll do the toasting. Where do you keep the glasses, boy?”
The crystal highball glasses Mrs. Merriam—he still couldn’t use her first name—had given him for a house warming present radiated rainbows when he snagged them from his makeshift bar.
“How’d she take it?” Emmits said, twisting out the bourbon cork and sniffing it.
“About like you’d expect,” Arthur replied, dropping onto the couch.
“You can set the scene better than that,” Emmits said, pouring them both a double. “You’re a journalist for crying out loud.”
“Fine,” he replied tersely and proceeded to lay out their discussion—well, their fight—in journalistic efficiency.
Emmits nursed his bourbon while he studied his crossed feet. “I have to admit, I would have been disappointed if she’d agreed to change her name and forsake her heritage. Now I actually respect the girl.”
Truthfully, Arthur would have been too. “I never really liked that solution, but I don’t know where that leaves us now.”
“Sure you do,” Emmits responded. “With a major stumbling block between the two of you, which has been there all along. The girl’s right. You do need a woman who can be happy for you and stand proudly by your side when you receive your prize at the award di
nner in New York.”
His mind wouldn’t even conjure up that vision. Not when he was convinced he was going to lose Harriet.
“She’s going to leave town,” he mused, downing his bourbon, the fire burning his throat.
He knew it in his gut.
“Well, that might be for the best,” Emmits said in his usual sing–song Oklahoma drawl that usually came off charming.
Today it only annoyed the crap out of Arthur.
“You could walk away from the love of your life that easily?” he growled, reaching for the bottle Emmits had placed on the nearby lamp stand.
“We’re not talking about me. The question is what do you want to do?”
“I want her to stay here.”
He tossed down another shot, and his gaze found a picture of his parents on the fireplace. They had their arms wrapped around each other after the spring calving. His mother was beaming, and even his dad was grinning, a rare sight. He wanted what they had, and he’d found it with Harriet.
“I want to marry her, Emmits.” He knew it with the same surety he’d felt about becoming a journalist, about moving back to Dare and starting his own newspaper.
Wouldn’t that resolve the name issue? They could marry somewhere else, and no one would be the wiser. She wouldn’t have to change her last name to Jenkins. Of course, he didn’t know what Maybelline wanted to do. And while Harriet was his primary concern, he couldn’t disregard her sister. They were family. Well, they could figure it out.
“I thought you might,” Emmits said, setting his highball aside. “But you need to think about being with her for the long haul, boy. Can you see that? Because trust me, in fifty years—hell, even five—there will be moments when your wife annoys you. When they come, you need to have a heck of a long list on the other side, reminding you why you put up with her starching your socks or making you pot roast, even though you’ve hated it all your life.”
“Starching your socks?” he scoffed. That was it?
Emmits drilled him with a stare, the kind he’d seen him give to congressmen who hadn’t been inclined to support a bill that favored Emmits’ businesses. “How about this one? You’re as old as I am—or heck, even ten or twenty years younger. The sex with your wife has slowed to a snail’s pace. Her body is sagging, and she just isn’t as passionate as she used to be for you, or you for her. And a woman in her twenties, the most beautiful woman you’ve ever met, approaches you and tells you that she wants you.”
Of all the things they’d discussed, they’d never discussed sex. “Is she a hooker?”
The old man barked out a laugh. “Trust me, boy, that’s the last thing your body will be asking you.” He poured another bourbon for himself and gestured to Arthur, who shook his head.
“So, you’ve never—” Arthur waved his hand.
“Cheated on my wife?” He gave a slight smile. “No, boy, but I can tell you there were moments when it was tempting. Not because I didn’t love her, but because the body didn’t really care about things like vows and children and our life together. It only saw the beautiful woman offering herself to me. When you have money and power, women are a dime a dozen. I’ve always tried to remember that. Lucky for me, my wife loves me for who I am. I’m not going to throw that away for a woman who’s after something else. You need to think about the women you’ll meet at the fancy parties you’ll be attending and how you’ll feel about them when you have a wife. Can you imagine saying no to them like I have?”
Yes, he could. In a strange way, the fact that he’d managed to turn Harriet down in her fake seduction attempt confirmed it. He couldn’t ever imagine wanting anyone more than he had her in that moment. “Yes, I love her enough.”
“Good, because if you don’t know now, you’re easy prey.”
“I’d always wondered about the women around you,” Arthur said, meeting his friend’s steady gaze. “I saw them flock to you at parties in New York and when we went to D.C.”
Shaking his head, Emmits laughed again, loud and deep. “I knew you did. If you’d been man enough to ask me back then, I would have told you. Guess you’re man enough now, and it seems like Harriet might have helped you get there. I’m starting to think she just might be a good match for you.”
He liked hearing that. Emmits’ opinion meant the world to him.
There was a knock on the front door. It was only half past seven. Part of him hoped it was Harriet.
“If you’ll excuse me—”
“Go,” Emmits said and set his highball aside.
When he opened the door, his family stood on the front steps. His mother had a casserole dish in her hands.
“Emmits told us the Pulitzer prizes were going to be announced today,” his mom said, staring at him like she could read his mind. “Did you hear?”
His mouth tipped up, but it just wouldn’t stay. “Yes. I won.”
“That’s great!” George said, barreling forward to hug him.
His body was stiff, and the hurt inside him started to rise. George must have sensed it because he gave him a light shove. “What’s the matter with you? This is a huge honor.”
His dad laid a hand on his shoulder, and he fought against the pain tunneling up in his chest.
“Everything all right, son?”
George turned somber next to their father, and their mother’s eyes were narrowed like when she was trying to figure out what was wrong with him. Suddenly he couldn’t keep the secrets he’d been carrying anymore. It was time to trust the people he loved.
“Why don’t you come in?” he said, stepping out of the way. “I have something I need to share with you.”
And he didn’t mean the Pulitzer. He was going to tell them about Harriet. Tell them he wanted to marry her. Trust they would support him, like they always did, and stand by him.
In the grand scheme of things, a Pulitzer seemed insignificant in the face of that.
Chapter 19
When Arthur saw Harriet’s face the next morning, his stomach plummeted.
She’d reached the decision to leave, just like he’d suspected. Her greeting was a little too cool, and her beautiful, blood–shot eyes evaded his gaze. He closed the door to his office for privacy.
Well, he wasn’t accepting that. No, not one bit. It was time to execute the next part of his plan.
He picked up the phone and called his brother. “Everything ready for noon?” he asked.
“Yep, called in a few of the guys. We’ll hang the banner ten minutes till.”
His family had taken the news of Harriet’s background like champs. They’d been concerned at first, but Emmits had voiced his approval, telling them “the girl has spine,” and they’d gradually relaxed. When he told them he planned to marry Harriet, Emmits said “you’d better move fast, boy,” making them all laugh. His parents had offered their support and George had asked him when he was going to make his move.
He’d decided to ask her as soon as possible, since he didn’t want her to up and leave without a word. And when he thought about where to ask her, the answer had floated down to him like leaves on a fall day.
Dare’s town square.
He could tell her there how much he loved her and wanted her to be a part of his life and this community. That he would give her his name.
She wouldn’t have to give up her heritage because the people they trusted would know who she was and where she’d come from.
And to show her how much support they had in Dare, he and his family had invited the townspeople to come out at lunchtime, spreading the word through the great web connecting everyone in Dare.
He’d also decided to make up a banner. They didn’t have billboards in Dare like they did in the big city, but he had the freshly pressed newspaper rolls. Using the paint his parents had leftover from their work on the barn, he and George had painted the bold red phrase: Harriet, will you marry me?
It was the most public way he could ask her, which was intentional. He wanted to remind her how muc
h she’d acclimated to Dare. And to send a message about the kind of life they could have together here.
Fortunately, the sun had come out today after the horrible snowstorm yesterday and was shining bright. The temperature was supposed to be fifty degrees by noon.
Emmits had called a Denver jeweler late last night, because he was Emmits Merriam and could get away with that. The man would be arriving in Dare at ten o’clock. Arthur was going to meet him at Emmits’ house to pick out a ring.
There was no way he was proposing to Harriet without a ring.
He might not be able to take her to Tiffany’s in New York, but by George, he was going to do his best to make this the most memorable proposal in Dare’s history since Frank Summers had asked Nancy Peters to marry him by the old Kissing Tree in 1941 before he went off to war.
His chest grew tight, and he sat back in his chair. He was proposing to the woman he loved at noon today in front of the whole town.
What if she didn’t say yes?
Shaking himself, he stood and decided he was going to head over to Emmits’ house early. His friend would keep him occupied until the jeweler arrived.
There was no way he would get any work done today, a crazy thought with the launch fast approaching.
He opened the door to his office and gazed at Harriet. The funny truth hit him again in the gut. He really didn’t care if he got any work done today. It was true what he’d said to her yesterday. She’d somehow managed to become even more important to him than his life’s passion.
Because she was his heart.
“I’m going to see Emmits,” he told her, stopping briefly by her desk. “If anything comes up, you can reach me there.”
She lifted her puzzled face to meet his eyes. “Okay. When do you think you’ll be back?”
“Around noon. I’d like to take you to lunch. Would that be all right?”
The corners of her mouth lifted in that infernal polite smile he remembered from their first days of working together. “I don’t know…”
“It’s important,” he said, using Emmits’ play book. Never let them say no. “I’ll come by for you. Have a good morning.”
