âWe both know why we got together tonight.â
âMutual attraction,â Sierra whispered. A blush stained her smooth alabaster skin, and Ben would have bet anything sheâd never come on to a stranger before.
âIâm definitely attracted.â He was intrigued, too, and determined to get to the bottom of the puzzle she presented. âExcept Iâd love some conversation. For me, thereâs got to be more than lust at first sight.â
The pinkish color on her cheeks deepened to a rosy red before she tossed her hair back and held his gaze. The latter looked like an effort for her. âThen tell me about yourself,â she asked.
âWhat do you want to know?â
Her delicate shoulders rose, then fell. âWhat are you doing in Indigo Springs?â
âCreating memoriesâgood ones, I hope.â
Dear Reader,
Five of my relatives are journalists who work for three different daily newspapers. The count would be six if I hadnât abandoned the trade years ago to pursue writing novels. Any one of us could pontificate about the importance of truth. But should the truth always come out?
That question led me to create the character of Ben Nash, who receives an anonymous e-mail that gives him a chance to unlock the decades-old mystery of how his mother died. Ben is an investigative reporter driven to uncover and report the all-important truth. Will the fact that heâs falling in love with the daughter of the man who could be responsible for his motherâs death change anything?
An Honorable Man is the fourth of the five books in my RETURN TO INDIGO SPRINGS series. I hope youâll enjoy revisiting familiar characters and meeting new ones.
Until next time,
Darlene Gardner
P.S. Visit me on the Web at www.darlenegardner.com.
DO YOU KNOW WHAT really happened to your mother?
Ben Nash stared at the words on the computer screen. Blood rushed to his ears, obliterating the background noise in the Pittsburgh Tribune newsroom. It felt as though a vise gripped his heart, stopping his blood from circulating.
His mother had died nineteen years ago in a fall from a cliff in a Pocono Mountain town called Indigo Springs when Ben was twelve years old. Heâd always been told it was an accident.
The return address on the e-mail was [email protected]. His mother had never used her married surname of Nash, preferring to be known as Allison Blaine.
He clicked the e-mail closed with a trembling hand and scanned his in-box, identifying a second message from the same sender. The subject header was identical: Your Mother. He sucked in a breath and pressed the button on his mouse.
Why wasnât Dr. Ryan Whitmore investigated?
The Whitmore name was unfamiliar, as were most things associated with Indigo Springs aside from pain and loss. Benâs maternal grandparents had retired to the town just months before the ill-fated accident to help friends start up a restaurant. After the tragedy theyâd fled Indigo Springs, unable to deal with daily reminders of what had happened.
For Ben, though, the memories were ever present. An image of his mother, with her brown eyes warm with love and her lips curving into a tender smile, was imprinted on his mind as indelibly as an etching.
He checked the date and time at the top right-hand corner of the e-mail. Friday, 9:15 a.m. The second contact had been sent just minutes after the first. A scant hour ago. He hit Reply and typed a message of his own: Who are you?
Within moments, the e-mail popped back into his in-box with a Failure Notice heading. He scrolled through it, picking out the words undeliverable and user doesnât have a yahoo.com account.
âDamn it,â he snapped.
âSomething wrong, Nash?â Joe Geraldi, the managing editor of the Tribune, stood beside Benâs desk.
With a trim build and a full head of prematurely white hair, Joe radiated a brisk energy, the force of which he directed at Ben. It snapped Ben out of his trance. âWhereâs the IT department?â
Joe screwed up his lean, expressive face. âGeez, Ben. Youâve worked here for two years and donât know where IT is?â
âI know ITâs extension.â Technical help was a phone call away, a godsend for a reporter habitually in a rush. This matter, however, needed to be dealt with in person. âWill you tell me where they are or should I ask someone else?â