Town Square, The (12 page)

“I think you were kissing me,” she responded, ducking her face, suddenly shy.

His brows quirked up, as they always did when he was teasing her. “Ah. How could I have forgotten? Let me see if I can jog my memory.”

His mouth leaned in and bussed her cheek.

“There’s nothing wrong with your memory.” In fact, it constantly amazed her. He was the most brilliant man she’d ever known.

“But I want to get it
just
right,” he murmured against her mouth, nipping at the corners, making her clasp his back with her mitten–clad hands.

“Arthur.” Even she heard the plea in her voice and was shocked by it.

She said nothing more as he pulled her against his chest and fit his mouth to hers. They’d perfected the art of kissing each other, since that’s as far as they’d gone. He knew how to press his tongue against hers and then dance around it, inviting her to take the next pass with him. Once she did, he would edge back and change the angle of the kiss before coming back inside her mouth.

As she fell under his spell, the winter clothes she was wearing started to feel hot and suffocating. Her body turned liquid, like an icicle in the full sun.

When he edged back, he cupped her cheek and stared boldly into her eyes. As if he saw her and only her and wanted to look at nothing else for the rest of his life.

“Bingo,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

She laughed shakily, trying to diffuse the desire shimmering between them. “That reminds me. I’ve heard you’re a wicked Bingo player.”

He laughed, the sound deep and infectious in the snowy basin. “I am. I find out all sorts of information there. Be good for the Metro section of the paper when we launch. You should come with me sometime.”

Taking his hand, she stepped back and squared her shoulders to continue their trek. “I might just do that.”

The townspeople were becoming more accustomed to seeing them together, and while they were still watched with curiosity, she was either getting used to the attention or immune to it. When she was with Arthur, time stood still.

“Maybelline just joined the church choir,” she absently commented. “She has her first solo tomorrow.”

“Wonderful! I can’t wait to hear her,” he responded in that easy–going way of his.

“She seems happier now that she has music back in her life,” she continued and then paused for a moment as a bald eagle flew over them, casting its massive shadow across the basin, its stark cry full of both longing and boldness.

The awe she had for this place grew every day, from the deer she’d seen eating at the edge of the road to the moose that had lumbered across the path they’d been skiing on a few weeks back, prompting Arthur to laughingly declare that it was one beast he had no desire to mess with.

“And what about you?” he asked suddenly. “Are you feeling fulfilled here?” He stopped again, stepping in front of her so he could touch her shoulder. “While there’s nothing wrong with being a secretary, I know it’s not your dream. What
is
your dream, Harriet?”

Her head lowered, and she shifted on her feet. How could she tell him that she wanted to be a wife and mother? That she imagined spending her time helping out at her children’s school, the church, and the local garden club. Perhaps that’s why she liked Dare so much even though she still felt like an outsider. Her dad had wanted her to be a scientist, to pave the way for women in a male–dominated profession, and while she believed in equal rights, she didn’t want to sacrifice her family for it—like her father had.

Her mother had stayed home, but Harriet didn’t remember spending much quality time with her. She’d been too caught up in the society set to bother with her children. Their maid had raised them, and Harriet didn’t want that to be true for her kids.

“What?” he said gently, tipping up her chin. “What are you having such a hard time putting into words?”

She cleared her throat, which felt like there was a frog in it. “Well, with a father who worked all the time, and a mother who was never home, I kind of dreamed about being a happy wife and mother and helping out in the community.”

His smile started slow, but it soon spread across his face. “I don’t know why, but you still manage to surprise me. That sounds like a wonderful dream.”

“You don’t think I’m wasting my talents?” she asked him.

“Who told you that?”

“My father,” she confessed, wishing she hadn’t brought him up.

The tension between them wasn’t as intense as it used to be on this topic, but it was still there, on both sides. Hovering. Like waiting for thunder after a lightning strike.

“Whatever you choose to do for
you
is the best thing. My mother raised us and helped out on the ranch, and I can’t think of one minute when she wasn’t using her talents. Perhaps I’m old fashioned, but it all starts at home.”

She wondered again about what his family was like. Though his mother had popped by the office a few times, he hadn’t introduced her formally yet, and even she knew it was a big step. Especially since her background was still a secret.

“I like that about you,” she said, her voice hushed.

He framed her face and kissed her smack on the lips. “And I like that about you. Now, come on. We have some tracks to lay, or we won’t be back to the car before dark.”

She rolled her eyes, not really caring if they reached their destination, but he really wanted her to see this surprise, so she trudged through the snow after him. About fifteen minutes later, a light bulb went off in her head. She realized that she sunk into the snow less if she made smaller steps with her shoes. Plus it helped her move faster. Modeling Arthur’s long steps had seemed the way to go, but he was taller, and it wasn’t her natural stride.

With her newfound knowledge, she passed him for the first time since they’d set out over an hour ago.

“Somebody’s found their rhythm,” he commented with a grin.

“You betcha,” she added, using one of his favorite phrases, and kept moving forward.

They trudged on in the silence, the late afternoon sun shining like a golden orb of fire above them, the blue sky as vast as the ocean.

When they reached the edge of the forest, he took her hand, squeezed, and rubbed her cheek with his finger.

“Best follow me now. We’re nearly there.”

The cold penetrated her clothing more without the sun to warm them. A trio of deer darted off across their path, leaping through the woods with the grace of ballerinas departing the stage.

As they broke through the next copse, Arthur halted. Harriet’s mouth fell open in awe.

“Oh, my gosh,” she said, staring at the frozen waterfall ahead of them.

A rock face of one hundred feet rippled with ice, ending in a frozen pool. The twists and turns of the ice gave the sight its own artistic magic, rather like the whitest, most translucent candle wax dripping down a pillar.

“People climb the waterfall in the coldest part of winter,” Arthur commented. “But that time has passed. Spring is coming, and even the mountain can’t stop it.”

She turned to him, placing a hand on his arm because she liked touching him that way. “Did you ever—”

“Some of my classmates might tell you I have, but I’m not confirming it.”

Just thinking about him trying to climb that wall of ice terrified her. “I hope you have more sense now.”

“I don’t feel quite the need to prove myself like I used to,” he said. “I’ve moved beyond that old George Mallory quote about needing to climb Everest ‘because it’s there.’”

“I’m glad,” she replied, wrapping her arms around herself as the wind blew.

He stepped behind her and pulled her against him. “You cold?” he asked.

“Arthur, you are not normally a man who states the obvious,” was her response.

Nuzzling her ear with his nose, he laughed softly. “Then let me state the unobvious.”

“Is that even a word?”

“I don’t care,” he murmured, sliding his lips along her ear lobe, just under her stocking hat. “Do you want me to warm you up? How’s that for less than obvious?”

Now she laughed. “I’d say, being a man and a woman, that couldn’t be more obvious.”

He spun her around. “Oh, really? You might be right there.” Kissing her one more time, he grabbed her hand. “Then how about some ice skating?”

She jerked away and dug her feet into the snow. “There is no way I am going out on a pool of ice when you can see bubbles of water under the surface.”

Letting her go, he walked toward the pool and tapped the frozen pond with his snow shoe. “It’s still pretty solid. Folks stop walking across this pond come late March. We have a while yet.”

“Arthur, please,” she said, because she’d heard about people falling through the ice this time of year.

“Okay, Harriet. You win. But how about taking a closer look at the waterfall? That alone is a thing of beauty.”

They walked along the edge of the pool, the snow covering the grass and wildflowers that would spring up again in another couple of months.

He put his arms around her again and kissed her cheek. Holding her, they stood gazing at that austere tower of ice. Harriet realized that’s what she’d been when she had come to Dare, so determined to bring Arthur down and have her revenge.

Suddenly his arms tightened. “Harriet, I love you.”

Somewhere deep inside, she’d known it was coming, known he wouldn’t fear saying the words first.

“Oh, Arthur,” she whispered, not exactly sure how to express how she felt about him or what he’d just said. For so long, everything between them had been so complicated. And staying here was supposed to be a temporary plan.

“Is that an ‘Oh, Arthur, good,’ or ‘Oh, Arthur, bad’?” he asked with his usual directness laced with a hint of humor.

She stroked his hands, which were still resting on her stomach. “‘Oh, Arthur, good,’ I think.”

“Then that’s enough for now. I know we still have more to sort out, but I want you to know you can trust me.”

“I know that,” she replied easily. Arthur stood for integrity. It was the core of who he was.

And why, yes, she was a little in love with him.

“Let’s head back,” he finally said, nuzzling her neck through her scarf.

She turned in his arms and lifted her face to his. “Let’s give it a while.”

Next to that tower of ice that was slowly melting underneath just like she was, she opened her mouth and poured everything she felt into their kiss.

Chapter 12

E
mmits Merriam had the barrel–chested body of a linebacker, even at eighty–one. His hair was shock–white now, yet he still had that same take–no–prisoners attitude Arthur had always appreciated.

“Well, now,” he boomed out from Arthur’s doorway, spreading his arms wide in the frame. “Doesn’t this place look a sight better than the last time I saw it.”

Arthur took a moment to catalogue the changes. Yes, the walls were all painted white now, and the space had been filled with more furniture now that his staff topped out at a grand total of fifteen. The artwork on the walls gave the office a pleasant ambiance. Harriet had a fine eye and had arranged all the framing. A photo of President Kennedy giving a speech in Washington hung by the wall near Harriet’s desk. Other black and white photos lined the hallway, from FDR to Martin Luther King, Jr., and a world map graced the wall outside the break room.

“Yes, doesn’t it?” he responded. “Good to have you back. Come into my office and sit a spell.”

Emmits slapped him on the back and followed him. “Happy to.”

In his office, they’d hung photos of him with various congressman and business executives. And his two favorites: one of him and his old boss from
The Times
, Arthur Hays Sulzberger, and the other of him and Emmits in the Capitol Rotunda, taken when he’d accompanied Emmits on some political door–knocking.

When Emmits sat in the chair in front of Arthur’s desk, he folded his hands across his belly and inclined his head toward the door. “Is that the pretty thing I’ve heard you’re sweet on?” he said bluntly.

After going five months without seeing each other, he’d thought his friend would be eager to talk about the university and the paper. This question couldn’t have been more surprising—or annoying.

“You’re sitting in the office of
The Western Independent
for the first time, and that’s what you’ve got to say?”

“You afraid to answer me, boy?” he challenged with his famous Oklahoma drawl.

That word made him feel like he was sixteen all over again. “No. That’s the girl.” He pushed aside the newspaper in front of him and reached into his bottom drawer for a bottle of Emmits’ favorite bourbon, Pappy Van Winkle’s, and two glasses, pouring them both a dram even though it was mid–afternoon. If he’d been in New York, drinking this early would have been commonplace. Plus, he’d been waiting for this moment. He felt like a proud papa over his baby, this newspaper. It was all coming together.

“My wife had one rule when we got married,” Emmits mused, grabbing his glass and extending it in a toast. “She told me my secretaries had to be twenty years older than me and as ugly as a mud fence. Joanne is one smart woman.”

“Amen to that,” Arthur agreed, although the whole secretary thing made him uncomfortable. “How is the university going?”

“Coming along nicely, thanks for asking. Just had a meeting to tour more of the finished construction this morning. I knew Preston Sullivan was the man to set things up.” He extended his glass again. “Just like I knew you would create a damn fine newspaper.”

Arthur looked around. “It’s not a newspaper yet. Takes forever to start up.” He’d given himself plenty of time, but sometimes the waiting drove him nuts.

“Don’t I know it? The university won’t open its doors until this coming fall, but there’s plenty of work going on now. Admissions are being finalized. We’re setting up for the first board meeting. I have to remind myself that a good foundation can’t be rushed,” Emmits said. “Like yours. You have employees now. And you’re getting more subscribers every day. We both know there’s no point in putting out something no one’s going to read.”