Nora Roberts Land (3 page)

He was full of shit—a whole crock of it.

Their divorce didn’t have anything to do with some highfalutin image of romance and marriage. It had ended because she’d been married to a cheating, megalomaniacal asshole.

God, she had to get over this, over him. She was not going to let him ruin the rest of her life.

She pressed the book to her chest. Her racing heart calmed. She could feel a warm embrace from Divorcée Woman.

Nora’s books lifted the human spirit, making her readers hope for the best—romance, hot sex, love, independence, family, and good conquering evil. Nora Roberts Land. She wanted to believe in that again.

No, she
needed
to believe in that again.

She walked through the stacks to pick up the other books released since her divorce—especially the ones Nora published under the pen name J.D. Robb. She needed a Roarke fix big-time. Maybe someday she’d find her own version of him.

Her eyes fell on Nora’s anthology
Going Home.
It reminded her of Jill asking her to come home and help their family. What was more important than that? If she remembered the story right, that’s what Nora’s heroine had done in the title story. And in so doing, she’d found Mr. Right.

So, what would a Nora heroine do right now?

The question was a whisper in her head. She tapped her fingernail on the book, thinking.

A Nora heroine…would face her greatest fears head-on, without making excuses.

Meredith’s mind cleared, and with it, the threads of a brilliant idea emerged. A new purpose.

I don’t know if I’m ready for it,
she thought,
but I’m going to give love another try.
She was going to march back to her office and tell her boss she needed to go home to help her family’s newspaper. But while she was there, she’d also be working on an article for
The Daily Herald
—a personal-interest story about a divorced woman returning to her small town to find Mr. Right and a new happily ever after, aka Nora Roberts Land.

Her family could pick up her salary while she worked for them, so budget wouldn’t be an issue. Karen knew she brought something special to the paper and would hold her position while she was away. If she didn’t, well, Meredith could find another job. The Hale name opened doors, and she’d built her own reputation across town. Plus, she’d write the hell out of this story, however it turned out. Who wouldn’t want to read about a scorned woman trying to believe in the power of love again?

She sailed to the checkout. It was time to try something different.

She was going to get over Rick-the-Dick if she had to date every man in Dare Valley to do it.

Chapter 2

T
anner McBride stopped on the street corner, waiting for the light to change. He reveled in the controlled chaos, the honks from aggressive drivers, and the rumblings of New Yorkers as they pushed their way down the sidewalk in determined strides. It made him almost giddy that he didn’t need to worry about being shot at or stared at for being an American.

British accents caught his attention, and he swiveled his head. Pale fingers pointed at a map of the downtown area. An older woman in a floral dress shook her head and stepped into traffic.

Seeing the approaching cab, Tanner lunged forward and hauled her back to the curb. The cab rushed past, blowing his new sports jacket up like dry clothes on a windy clothesline.

The woman patted her bosom. “My goodness, I looked the wrong way.”

Tanner’s heart sputtered and then returned to its usual cadence. That had been tame in comparison to what he’d faced on a day-to-day basis in Afghanistan.

“We drive on the opposite side of you folks in England. I wouldn’t jaywalk.”

She squeezed his arm. “Thank you.”

He hustled across the street.

Everyone had told him he’d experience a sense of unreality when he returned home, and he might be bored by the lack of conflict and chaos. So far he could see a grain of truth in that. Hopefully New York would be big enough and edgy enough to keep him from going insane. He scanned the street and the rows and rows of postage-stamp eateries and restaurants. At least there was food. Christ, he was going to eat everything in sight for the next six months since food was safe here.

The out-of-the-way restaurant called The Porterhouse seemed an odd location for meeting his new boss, but Richard Sommerville wasn’t known for being conventional. Even though everyone thought he was a prick, he was a well-respected newspaper editor. And now he was thinking about running for the Senate.

Working the International Desk for
The Standard
would give him a terrific opportunity to further his career. He’d paid serious dues as an international correspondent. Now, it was time to come home and have a normal life—whatever the hell that meant.

But he planned to find out.

He was good at finding things out.

A bell chimed when he opened the door. Sommerville sat three tables up on the right, chatting on his phone, looking like what his mother would call a Pretty Boy Floyd in some fancy, gray, pin-striped suit Tanner would bet cost more than his plane ticket from Kabul to New York City. The restaurant sported worn red booths, scuffed hardwood tables, and no other customers. The smell of hickory aged steaks made his mouth water. Tanner pulled out a chair, hoping he wouldn’t have to wear a suit for this job. A sports jacket, button-down shirt, and creased slacks were about as much dressing up as he could take on a daily basis.

Sommerville lifted a finger to convey he was finishing up his conversation. “Listen, I need to run. You do what I tell you. I don’t want any more excuses.” He clicked off and laid his phone on the table as delicately as a priest would handle a sacred instrument. “Tanner McBride, it’s great to see you. Welcome to The Big Apple.”

They shook hands, measuring each other. Sommerville might be a well-respected journalist, but he was too
GQ
. Man used crap in his blond hair that had it swirling in a way some people might call fashionable. It looked fussy to Tanner. The guy probably got manicures too, if his hands were any indication. Yet the gleam in Sommerville’s eyes couldn’t be missed. Predatory, but in a classy way. Stupid people wouldn’t see it.

Tanner wasn’t stupid.

A man at the front turned the CLOSED sign over in the window and locked the door. Tanner’s radar went up, but he kept his face expressionless. Sommerville wanted privacy. Must be something big. The out-of-the-way venue began to make more sense.

“Let’s order, and you can tell me about your last days in Kabul.”

He was tired of talking about Kabul, but he indulged his new boss. Journalists who rode desks tended to get off on the war stories of other journalists.

Sommerville nursed his scotch as Tanner gave him the highlights of his recent tour. Lies, blood, and death pretty much summed it up. There were good people there like anywhere else, but if he never saw the place again, he’d be happy. God, he was tired of seeing kids get killed over politics and drugs.

Tanner waited for Sommerville to share the reason for the private meeting. He was halfway finished with his medium rare ribeye steak when Sommerville set aside his drink, finally ready to talk. Tanner reached for his water.

“So, I have a new assignment for you. A big one.” He rubbed his hands together, the sound like sandpaper on wood.

“What is it?”

Sommerville’s phone beeped, but he ignored it. “First, I’ve been checking up on you. People are saying you’re burned out. Need some time out of the fast lane. So, I’m switching you back to domestic for the time being.”

Tanner’s jaw clenched. “That’s not what we agreed to.”

Sommerville waved his hand. “I know, but this is a really juicy assignment.” He dug out his wallet and pulled out a picture.

Tanner studied it. The blond woman looked to be in her early thirties and as cool as a cucumber. Her blond hair reminded him of the coif women journalists on CNN preferred. She was attractive—beautiful, if he was being honest—and intelligence and confidence radiated from her direct green gaze.

“Who is she?”

Sommerville laid it on the table like he was a Vegas dealer, the photo facing Tanner.

“She’s my ex-wife, and I want you to make her fall in love with you.”

Tanner started laughing. He jostled Sommerville with a hand to the shoulder like he would a Marine who’d told a dirty joke to break the tension as they rode through hostile territory. “Christ, that’s a good one. Flipping me back to domestic. Right.”

Sommerville smiled. It thinned out his full lips.

Tanner’s laughter died. “You’re serious?”

“I never joke about journalism. If Meredith—that’s my ex—writes the article she’s pitched to her boss, my reputation will be damaged. I’m not entirely sure she’s going to leave me out of it. We had a…disagreement recently. I need someone to handle her. Be the focus of her article, and then crush her premise to bits.” He drained his scotch. “I won’t let her ruin my run for the Senate.”

Tanner spread his hands on the table. “I don’t see how this has anything to do with me.”

Sommerville raised his drink to a passing waiter for a refill. “Then let me fill you in. I have it on good authority my ex-wife is going to return to her hometown in Dare Valley, Colorado, to write an article about her attempts to find love like a heroine in a Nora Roberts romance novel.” He suddenly slapped a paperback on the table. “Ever heard of her?”

Tanner picked up the book,
Montana Sky
. Had Sommerville gone off his rocker? “Sure, my mom reads her. Why?”

“I blamed these books for our divorce. My ex-wife is planning to prove I’m wrong by actually trying to
live
the life of a Roberts’ character and showing happy endings do exist.”

Okay
…Tanner signaled the waiter. “Bourbon. Neat.”

Sommerville grabbed the book. “Do you have any idea how many people read Nora Roberts?”

Tanner lifted a shoulder. Were they actually talking about romance novels?
This
was his big assignment? His dream job lay in ashes at his feet. Sommerville was certifiable. There was no way he’d work for him now.

“We’re talking millions. This article will be read by every woman in America—possibly overseas too. Meredith has to be stopped! I won’t let her divulge…less than favorable information about our marriage and what drove her to this ridiculous stunt. She’s acting like a hysterical female.”

Tanner crossed his arms. “So you think making your ex fall in love with me is going to somehow stop this?”

Sommerville reached for his drink. “Yes. If she falls for you, and then you dump her, she can’t write the article. Plus, you can keep tabs on her. Bottom line. I can’t let her create an unfavorable impression of me.”

Unbelievable. “This doesn’t seem like a job for a journalist.”

“Bull. It’s perfect. Think of her as a target. Plus, it will give you some time to recharge. You’ll like Dare Valley. It’s a small college town in the Rockies. Meredith’s family owns a small paper there. You’ve probably heard of it.”

Then it clicked. “Holy shit.
The Western Independent.
” Every journalist worth their salt knew about the small, independent paper that had been founded by one of journalism’s best, Arthur Hale. The blond chick had some pedigree.

“Her grandfather never liked me, never even considered letting me taking over. He’s a crotchety old bastard. Of course, marrying into the Hale family opened a whole set of doors for me, so it was worth it. It’ll help my campaign once we get past this whole exploratory committee process.” He crunched ice cubes. “I’ve arranged through a third party for you to be an adjunct professor in the Hale School of Journalism at Emmits Merriam University this coming semester. They were delighted someone of your reputation would want to teach last minute. It’s a small, private, liberal arts school.”

Tanner set his bourbon aside. “Wait a minute. You accepted a position at the journalism school
for
me?”

Sommerville drained his drink. “Yes, keep up, McBride.”

Tanner stood, shoving his chair back so hard it scraped across the wood floor. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you have the wrong man. My lawyer will be contacting you about dissolving our employment agreement. Since your new offer breaks all the conditions we agreed upon, I don’t expect you’ll fight it.”

Sommerville leaned back in his chair. “I won’t have to. Sit down, McBride. There’s more.”

There had to be
, he thought with dread. Tanner landed hard in the seat as Sommerville slid a file toward him. He opened it and rocked back in his chair. Dirty black and white photos filled his vision. The time stamp indicated they were ten months old. The woman with his brother wasn’t his wife. Shock and sadness rolled over Tanner.

“Your brother is expecting a baby, I hear. It’s a shame he wasn’t more careful about the company he kept when he fell off the wagon last year. Prostitutes have a way of ruining a man’s political position, notwithstanding his marriage and his family life.”

Tanner closed the file with the flick of a finger. Red hot rage flashed through him. “I don’t believe it,” he said, but the photos looked real. And David had always been a ladies’ man. But a prostitute?

“You can check, but I promise you they’re real. You helped raise him, right? After your dad left? Must have been tough for a fourteen-year-old kid. All that responsibility.”

“You fucking bastard.”

Sommerville chuckled. “As if I haven’t heard that before. This is business. It’s not personal. I need you to do something you don’t want to do, so I found leverage. It’s the way of the world.”

Tanner had seen people be used in despicable ways, but typically he was the one writing about it…not the victim. His objectivity went through the window. He reached across the table and grabbed Sommerville’s blue silk tie.

“I could fucking kill you for this.”

Sommerville’s mouth curled. “We’re not in Kabul, and that tough guy routine won’t help your brother. The only way I’ll give you the negatives to this photo is if you go to Dare and keep tabs on Meredith, make her fall for you, and stop her story. Let go, McBride.”