Bureau chief. Gary made the job sound like a promotion. And it might have been if the bureau she’d been assigned to had been one of the state’s hottest news spots. But what kind of reporting could you expect when all you covered were the small towns that ran along the highway between Denver and Grand Junction? Those mountain towns were cute, scenic… and dull as dishwater.
“It’s been two years,” Dani pleaded. “I’m dying out here.”
Gary laughed. “It’s been two months.”
“Well, it feels like years.”
A lot more than two, in fact. Living in Broken Yoke could leave her brain-dead. There weren’t any interesting stories here, or in any of the other one-horse towns she was supposed to cover for the Telegraph. It was humiliating that she’d been reduced to this.
How was she supposed to continue building a respectable career in journalism? The most exciting thing she’d written in two months had been about some tourist who’d slipped off a ledge in the Arapaho National Forest and broken his arm.
Yes, officially she was the region’s bureau chief. But what a place to be in charge! And what a miserable end to a story that should have won her a bucket load of awards and national recognition.
Last year Dani had been resourceful and lucky enough to make a very important contact at Humanity Haven—one of the most prominent, respected and lucrative charity organizations in Colorado. By the time she’d finished months of digging, she’d uncovered all the inside dirt. Questionable expenditures made by key executives. Murky business deals. Fraudulent balance sheets.
Her five-part article hadn’t brought Humanity Haven down—its own culture of ambition, greed and arrogance had done that—but she’d certainly started the ball rolling.
Unfortunately, Dani had also unearthed that her publisher’s mother-in-law had been secretly dating Humanity Haven’s good-looking, much younger chairman of the board.
To say that Lorraine Jennings Mandeville had turned into a bitter, vindictive woman over the death of her now embarrassingly public love affair would have been stating things too mildly. Lorraine had had Dani exiled to the boonies. Dani couldn’t prove it, of course, but only an idiot would fail to see the connection.
“Pretend you’re on vacation,” Gary suggested. He looked out the tiny window that was the only source of light in the enlarged closet Dani was forced to call an office. “This is definitely a prettier part of the state than brown-cloud Denver.”
That might be true, but who needed pretty when you had a career to build? “They don’t even have a decent bagel shop. Do you know how many times I’ve had to listen to ‘Welcome to Broken Yoke, ma’am. Yoke—like the harness, not the egg. Ha, ha, ha.’”
Gary looked out the open office door toward the reception area. “Your office help seems nice.”
Dani scowled. Cissy Pendergrass, the receptionist/ secretary/ad salesperson sat just a few feet away at her desk, polishing off a salad from the little restaurant down the street.
“She hates me,” Dani said in a near whisper.
All right, that wasn’t true. But if it made Gary reconsider this punishment, she’d be willing to look as though she feared for her life.
“Then she’ll have to get in line behind Lorraine Mandeville,” Gary replied.
He rose, hitched up his pants and walked over to the map that adorned one pine-board wall. It showed the entire western half of the state, every county a different color. This was Dani’s turf now, and Broken Yoke her home base. If anything of interest happened in any of those mountain towns, Dani would make sure it found a spot in the regional weekend supplement of the Telegraph. So far, there had been darn little.
Slapping his hand against the map, Gary said, “Come on, Dani. There have to be dozens of stories out here just waiting to be unearthed. The people who settled in these mountains are sons of pioneers. These canyons are filled with tales of stolen treasure, unsavory characters, heroes who weren’t afraid to take chances.”
“This town is so small that their McDonald’s only has one arch.”
“So you think Broken Yoke is too insignificant, filled with boring people leading boring lives?”
Afraid that Cissy might have heard, Dani got up, gave her receptionist a smile and shut the door for privacy.
“It’s not just the size of this place,” she said. “It’s the whole area. Most of the people I’ve met have been very friendly, very eager to make me feel at home. Some of them are…eccentric. A couple are downright weird, but you’d get that in any town. It’s just that… there’s nothing here for me to sink my teeth into. The biggest thing coming up is the summer festival, which I hear bombed last year. It’s so boring around these parts that I might as well be writing obits.”
Gary gave her an impatient look. She could tell he was either in need of his antacid tablets or heading into lecture mode.
“What will destroy a journalist’s career, Dani?” He shot the sudden question at her. “What can destroy you fastest?”
“Lorraine Jennings Mandeville?” she ventured.
“No! It’s the unwillingness to open your mind to possibilities. Keep your ear to the ground and your eyes open. You’ll find something you can use.” Her boss took her arms between his hands, looking her straight in the eyes. “Just keep a positive attitude.” He reached out and placed his fingers on either side of her lips, forcing them into the semblance of a gruesome smile. “That’s my girl.”
Dani’s lips might have been fixed in a grin, but her eyes were sending him the kind of warmth that blows in off a glacier. She was whipped and she knew it.
Numbly she followed Gary outside while he said goodbye to Cissy and then walked out into the afternoon sun. His car sat at the curb. This late in the day, the street was thick with shadows, a pleasant, nondescript spring afternoon to fit a pleasant, nondescript town.
A young woman climbing up the outside steps of the bureau office smiled at Dani as she and Gary made their way out.
“Who’s that?” Gary asked. “She could be bringing you the next big story.”
“Becky from Becky’s House of Hair,” Dani said in a lackluster tone. “Stop the presses. She’s probably just discovered that the Farrah Fawcett shag is on its way out.”
Gary looked disappointed. “I always liked that hairstyle on Pauline,” he said, referring to his wife of thirty years. When even that didn’t get a smile from Dani, he gave her a regretful but determined glance. “Come on, Dani. I hate leaving you like this.”
“Then don’t. Take me with you.”
He took an exaggerated interest in his surroundings to keep from starting this one-way argument again.
She watched his eyes roll past Landquist Computers next door, the drugstore, the café where Cissy had bought her lunch, the hardware store that only yesterday had begun advertising Easter baskets. She stood in a warm pool of sunshine and waited. She’d made that mental trip down Main Street so many times, she knew the exact sequence of stores and just how many sections of sidewalk lay between here and the post office at the opposite end of the block.
“Somewhere on this street could be a story just waiting to be written,” Gary said in his best sleuthing voice. “Somewhere. You just have