For His Daughter. Ann Evans

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      Phil Pasternak, a fifty-something guy with a great tan who owned Alpine All Weather, the only sports store in town, stood up. “I think my idea of a Christmas in July celebration bears serious consideration. It’s quirky enough to draw outsiders, and over the past few months I’ve spent quite a bit of time and money planning out sample venues of the games and entertainment we could offer.”

      Everyone knew Phil wanted to unload a surplus of winter sports equipment he’d been saddled with after several winters of modest snowfall, but no one had hooted down his idea for the festival. Most were intrigued by the idea of how he intended to pull off snowball fights and sleigh rides in the middle of summer.

      Sam nodded. “Fine. Let the committee decide if it’s workable.”

      “And profitable,” Phil couldn’t resist adding.

      “I’ll volunteer to be on the committee,” Mort Calloway said from around his oxygen mask.

      “Me, too,” Howard Hackett piped up.

      Polly Swinburne sniffed loudly. “I certainly think I should be part of any committee that makes those decisions.”

      Sam wasn’t a good enough actor to keep his disappointment from showing. These three were obviously not who he’d had in mind when he’d made the suggestion.

      He tossed a glance around the room, finally settling on a mild-looking fellow whose face would live in no one’s memory. “What about you, Burt? You’re calm and logical. You’d make a good candidate for the committee.”

      The old guy blinked a couple of times, then creaked upward from his seat as though he’d just been asked to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. “I’ll do it if everyone insists,” he said politely. “But I’d prefer to stay out of it.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I’m not even sure Broken Yoke should have a summer festival. What’s wrong with just keeping things the way they are?” The elderly man frowned. “No. I’m not your man.”

      Nick expelled a sigh. “Good call, Burt,” he said under his breath. To Rafe he added, “Working with Howard and Polly and Mort would send him to the loony bin. Poor Aunt Sof would go nuts worrying.”

      Rafe gave his brother a puzzled look. “Aunt Sof” was one of their mother’s Italian sisters. Sofia and Renata were both widowed. After his father’s stroke a few years ago, the two women had arrived to help out. They’d never returned to Italy and now seemed firmly entrenched in helping to run the family lodge. Rafe had never met either one of them until he’d come home. They seemed nice enough, but he still didn’t really know them.

      “Why poor Aunt Sof?” he asked his brother.

      “She’s sweet on Burt,” Nick said. “But don’t ask either one of them, because they’ll just deny it.”

      Rafe looked back at Burt with renewed interest. Still some life left in the old boy, it seemed. Nice to think of two older people finding love, even at this late date. He wished them well, because as near as Rafe could figure, love was a pretty slippery slope to try to climb. One reason why he’d stayed firmly away from it.

      Another half hour was spent determining just how the newly formed committee should proceed and when the deciding vote for a festival theme would be taken. Just when Rafe thought they had a hope of getting out of the Silver Saddle before his backside went completely numb, his father spoke up again.

      “Independent of the festival committee, I think we should elect a Publicity chair. Once a decision is made, we can’t afford to waste time trying to decide how to get the word out. We need someone to start exploring what kind of publicity we can get for this thing. How much it’s going to cost, and just what we need to say. Anyone want to volunteer?”

      No one spoke up.

      “Then I’d like to suggest my son,” Sam said, looking toward the back of the room. “Nicholas.”

      Beside Rafe, Nick went upright in his seat. Poor bastard. Rafe was barely able to hide an amused smile. Roped into service and stuck with trying to please all these people.

      Nick stood up. “Pop, I don’t think I’m the right person for the job. This really calls for someone with PR skills, and everyone knows that isn’t something I’m good at.”

      Sam looked annoyed when there was mumbled agreement from a few others.

      “Besides,” Nick went on, “it shouldn’t be someone who has a particular personal agenda. You know I’d like to pick up some business for the lodge and our helicopter tours. We need a person who can be fairly unbiased.”

      “Like who?” Polly Swinburne asked skeptically.

      Nick tossed a desperate look around the room, and in the same moment when Rafe could hear his own inner voice saying No, no, no, his brother’s gaze landed on him like a load of concrete. “Like Rafe, for instance,” Nick said.

      There were several moments of silence. Rafe knew that most of the people here, while perhaps not having an actual ax to grind with him, might find him an interloper in their midst. No, maybe more than that. He let his eyes do a quick circuit around the room. How many of these people had he had run-ins with as a teenager?

      Short of killing his brother very slowly, Rafe couldn’t think of a suitable revenge. He shook his head. “Nick,” he said at last, clearing his throat. “I don’t think—”

      “Not Rafe,” Sam said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

      For just one moment, Rafe’s eyes met with his father’s. They had lightning in them.

      Rafe’s heart gave a kick of annoyance so faint he hardly felt it. He knew what the old man was thinking. Mustering all of his self control, Rafe said, “I’ll do it.”

      “No,” Sam said.

      Rafe felt his jaw setting in anger. If there had been a collective gasp in the room at that moment, it couldn’t have been more obvious that everyone knew more was going on here than just a simple difference of opinion.

      “Why not him? “Sheriff Bendix had the guts to ask.

      In spite of his surface poise and bland ease, Sam’s eyes hinted a warning toward the man. “My son hasn’t lived in this town for years. He cannot know what would work best for Broken Yoke. He has no interest in it.”

      Polly Swinburne swung a glance in Rafe’s direction. “I heard you bought up part of First Street downtown. Is that true? Because that doesn’t sound like someone who has no interest to me.”

      “It’s true. I’ve come back to BrokenYoke with the intention of making it my home.” Rafe’s eyes locked again with his father’s in a light challenge. “Permanently.”

      He waited, refusing to look away.

      Sam settled back in his wheelchair. “You have landed here for now. But a home is more than just an address.”

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