To Tell the Truth

  To Tell The Truth

  The Americana Series: Oregon

  Janet Dailey

  Janet Dailey’s Americana Series

  Dangerous Masquerade (Alabama)

  Northern Magic (Alaska)

  Sonora Sundown (Arizona)

  Valley Of the Vapours (Arkansas)

  Fire And Ice (California)

  After the Storm (Colorado)

  Difficult Decision (Connecticut)

  The Matchmakers (Delaware)

  Southern Nights (Florida)

  Night Of The Cotillion (Georgia)

  Kona Winds (Hawaii)

  The Travelling Kind (Idaho)

  A Lyon's Share (Illinois)

  The Indy Man (Indiana)

  The Homeplace (Iowa)

  The Mating Season (Kansas)

  Bluegrass King (Kentucky)

  The Bride Of The Delta Queen (Louisiana)

  Summer Mahogany (Maine)

  Bed Of Grass (Maryland)

  That Boston Man (Massachusetts)

  Enemy In Camp (Michigan)

  Giant Of Mesabi (Minnesota)

  A Tradition Of Pride (Mississippi)

  Show Me (Missouri)

  Big Sky Country (Montana)

  Boss Man From Ogallala (Nebraska)

  Reilly's Woman (Nevada)

  Heart Of Stone (New Hampshire)

  One Of The Boys (New Jersey)

  Land Of Enchantment (New Mexico)

  Beware Of The Stranger (New York)

  That Carolina Summer (North Carolina)

  Lord Of the High Lonesome (North Dakota)

  The Widow And The Wastrel (Ohio)

  Six White Horses (Oklahoma)

  To Tell The Truth (Oregon)

  The Thawing Of Mara (Pennsylvania)

  Strange Bedfellow (Rhode Island)

  Low Country Liar (South Carolina)

  Dakota Dreamin' (South Dakota)

  Sentimental Journey (Tennessee)

  Savage Land (Texas)

  A Land Called Deseret (Utah)

  Green Mountain Man (Vermont)

  Tidewater Lover (Virginia)

  For Mike's Sake (Washington)

  Wild And Wonderful (West Virginia)

  With A Little Luck (Wisconsin)

  Darling Jenny (Wyoming)

  Other Janet Dailey Titles You Might Enjoy

  American Dreams

  Aspen Gold

  Fiesta San Antonio

  For Bitter Or Worse

  The Great Alone

  Heiress

  The Ivory Cane

  Legacies

  Masquerade

  The Master Fiddler

  No Quarter Asked

  Rivals

  Something Extra

  Sweet Promise

  Tangled Vines

  Introduction

  Introducing JANET DAILEY AMERICANA. Every novel in this collection is your passport to a romantic tour of the United States through time-honored favorites by America's First Lady of romance fiction. Each of the fifty novels is set in a different state, researched by Janet and her husband, Bill. For the Daileys it was an odyssey of discovery. For you, it's the journey of a lifetime.

  Preface

  When I first started writing back in the Seventies, my husband Bill and I were retired and traveling all over the States with our home—a 34' travel trailer—in tow. That's when Bill came up with the great idea of my writing a romance novel set in each one of our fifty states. It was an idea I ultimately accomplished before switching to mainstream fiction and hitting all the international bestseller lists.

  As we were preparing to reissue these early titles, I initially planned to update them all—modernize them, so to speak, and bring them into the new high-tech age. Then I realized I couldn't do that successfully any more than I could take a dress from the Seventies and redesign it into one that would look as if it were made yesterday. That's when I saw that the true charm of these novels is their look back on another time and another age. Over the years, they have become historical novels, however recent the history. When you read them yourself, I know you will feel the same.

  So, enjoy, and happy reading to all!

  Chapter One

  THE TAXI TIRES crunched through the plowed streets, snow mounded in high walls on either side. The milk-gray sky blended with the snow-covered slopes of the Sierra Nevada, fat crystalline flakes gently falling from the clouds. A group of skiers walked into the street in front of the taxi, skis in their hands, the tips resting against their shoulders. The driver pushed on the horn and they scampered laughingly out of his way. Then the tire chains clinked to a stop in from of the ski lodge.

  "Here you are, miss," the driver announced, and the chill of the December afternoon swept into the warm interior as he opened the door and slid from behind the wheel.

  As she stepped from the rear of the taxi and waited on the snow-mounded curb while the driver removed her luggage, Andrea Grant's arrival did not occur without notice, but the interest was only passing curiosity. No one recognized her and she felt a blissful sense of freedom with each breath of mountain air that filled her lungs. An entire week without sly comments being made behind her back, Andrea thought. She hadn't realized the gossip had bothered her.

  A smile curved the fullness of her lips. A large flake landed on her nose and she wanted to laugh. How glad she was that John had suggested she take this holiday, the first one that she had had in more than three years.

  John, always so wise and understanding, had stepped in to fill her father's shoes when she had so unexpectedly lost him so soon after cancer had taken her mother. He had offered his helping hand again when her engagement to Dale Marshall had been broken. Face it, Andrea scolded herself sternly, Dale jilted you. But that was in the past. She breathed in deeply. She would not let that bitter memory color her holiday.

  The taxi driver was standing on the curb, her suitcases tucked under his arms. Letting the sparkle of anticipation return to her hazel eyes, Andrea turned toward the lodge entrance.

  The lobby was crowded with skiers who had called it a day before the cloud-hidden sun settled behind Squaw Peak, the namesake of Squaw Valley. The hum of voices and laughter was nonstop. Andrea noticed that there was a contagion in the easy friendliness that abounded. Her own smile was warmer and more natural as she thanked the driver, adding a generous tip to his fee after he had set her luggage in front of the registration desk.

  "It was my pleasure," he responded, as his gaze swung admiringly over her figure.

  Andrea missed the driver's look, but she saw those directed her way by the male skiers in the lobby. She ignored them as she ignored all the other looks that had come her way since Dale.

  That faint air of aloofness only increased her attraction, although it did succeed in keeping men at arm's length. She was fair-complexioned, but there was no coolness to her beauty. Wide and bright hazel eyes were heavily fringed with lashes and flecked with a warm olive green. Dark blond hair was swept away from her face, its shiny medium length swirling into thick curls angling away from her ears and neck for an attractive windblown effect. There was a model's uniqueness rather than perfection to her prominent cheekbones, although her figure was more curved than the pencil thinness of a model's.

  "May I help you, miss?" The tightly polite line of the desk clerk's mouth relaxed into a smile.

  "Yes, I believe you have a reservation for me. Andrea Grant," she supplied.

  Flipping part way through a card index, he stopped. "Andrea Grant from Oregon. We have your reservation right here for one of the apartments. You'll be staying with us for a week, is that right?" At her answering nod, he smiled and slid a registration slip and pen toward her. "Fill this out, please, and I'll find someone to help you with your
luggage."

  Not an easy task, Andrea thought to herself as the clerk's attention was immediately claimed by a family waiting to register behind her. With her head bent over the registration form, she became conscious of being watched. She glanced to the side, and encountered the alertly appraising look of a pair of brown, nearly black eyes. The lean, handsome face revealed little concern that he had been caught studying her.

  "Hello." His low husky voice vibrated around her.

  Black hair gleamed with melted snowflakes while amusement deepened the creases along the corners of his mouth. Slightly nonplussed, Andrea stared into the strongly masculine face, feeling the leap of physical response to his unquestionable attraction. What was more, he knew her reaction, or sensed it at least.

  Andrea guessed that his virile charm had breached the walls of a lot more than one feminine citadel.

  "Hello." She returned the greeting evenly and reverted her attention to the form.

  "May I have my key, Mike?" The request was addressed to the desk clerk as the man observed Andrea's subtle hint that she didn't wish to indulge in any idle flirtation.

  "Sure thing, Mr. Stafford. There's a message for you, too." The key and a slip of paper were placed on the counter.

  The hand that reached past Andrea was brown and strong. A brief, sideways glance at his face caught a thoughtful expression. That recklessly attractive look had vanished. He cast not one look her way as he moved away from the desk. She watched him leave, taking note of his tallness and his deceptively lean build that tapered wide shoulders into slim hips.

  Something in the way he carried himself rang a bell in her memory. For a second Andrea couldn't place what it was; then she remembered the time several years ago when her father had pointed out a well-known figure. "Do you see the way he holds his head and those firm, unhurried strides?" he had asked. "There's a man who has earned the right to command and is respected immediately by all those people whom he commands."

  Mr. Stafford, the desk clerk had called him. The name wasn't familiar to Andrea, but she hadn't really expected it to be. There was more than surface charm to the man and she wished now that she had not been quite so aloof. She would have liked to find out more about him. Only for curiosity's sake, she assured herself. She wasn't interested in him as a man.

  Then her view of the disappearing stranger was blocked by a young man with two of her bags tucked under one arm as he reached for the key from the desk clerk. The informal atmosphere of the ski lodge was enhanced by the lack of uniforms on the staff, but Andrea guessed that this was the bellboy in his stag's head sweater and brown slacks.

  "Art will show you to your room," the desk clerk told her as she slid the completed registration form to him.

  "Could you recommend a restaurant?" Andrea requested.

  "There're several in the Olympic House ranging from a steak house to sandwich or pizza shops. All of them serve good food. It all depends on what you want." He shrugged.

  "Thank you," she said with a smile. "I think I'll decide after I unpack."

  The accommodation was more spacious than she required, but it had been the only thing available when she had made the booking. Andrea decided that before the week was out she would probably be grateful for the relative privacy and comfort of the living room with its fully equipped kitchenette and the separate bedroom loft.

  The memories it brought back of previous vacations at Squaw Valley with her parents, staying in a room very similar to this one, were happy memories. Most of the grief she had felt at the deaths following so closely on one another was gone now. She could look back without pain and sorrow.

  Time was a healer. She could even think of Dale now without wanting to dissolve into tears. She knew part of her bitterness had been because his defection had followed so closely on the heels of her father's death. She had barely recovered from the shock of it when he had left her.

  John had told her that he had once loved and lost himself, but he had recovered. He had assured her that there would be a time when she would trust again and love again. Andrea wasn't nearly so certain. True, there had been moments recently when she had wanted a man's arms around her and his kiss on her lips. But they were physical desires, born of natural instinct.

  Mentally she shied away from men, unwilling to feel that deep, abiding hurt again. No one she had met had possessed John's strength of character she so admired or the feeling she could depend on him no matter what. How very lucky she had been that her father had possessed a friend like John.

  Partially unpacked, Andrea left the opened suitcases on her bed and walked swiftly to the telephone. John would be worrying about whether she had arrived safely. She gave the operator the number in Oregon, and her fingers tapped impatiently on the table. The housekeeper answered on the second ring.

  "Mrs. Davison, this is Andrea. May I speak to John?"

  "He's in his study…waiting for you to phone." The housekeeper's hesitation before adding the last phrase increased the impression of reprovel at Andrea's tardiness. Before Andrea could explain that she hadn't even unpacked, John's voice came over the line.

  "Andie, I was wondering when you'd call. I was beginning to get uneasy." He seemed to reach across the wires and take hold of her hand, the warmth and gladness in his greeting lightening her own heart.

  "I arrived safely, John. I'd started to unpack and decided to call you first. It's so beautiful here. There's fresh snow falling and everything is so pure and white, like a Christmas-card scene. You would love it. I wish you'd come." Her enthusiasm ended on a wistful note.

  "I'm too old to keep up with you, Andie," he said, laughing.

  "Will you stop harping about how old you are?" Andrea scolded lightly.

  "I am old. Much older than you."

  Behind his humorous tone, she caught the note of seriousness. Immediately a picture sprang to mind of him sitting behind the large walnut desk in his study, backed by shelves of bound books and richly paneled walls. His hair was dark brown but the sideburns were frosted with silver. The touch of gray made him look distinguished, not old. He had a wide powerful jaw, a cleft in his chin and warm gray eyes.

  "Do you know—" Andrea laughed back the lump in her throat "—I think I'm getting homesick?"

  "Nonsense! I heard that initial spurt of excitement in your voice. This vacation is going to do you a world of good. We both know you were letting the talk from some small minds get to you. You needed to get away."

  She smiled into the receiver. "You're right as usual. You're so wise, John," she sighed.

  "I wish I was always as positive about that as you seem to be," he observed dryly.

  "I still miss you," Andrea stated, deliberately making her voice light.

  "Maybe you won't be so anxious to rush back when I tell you that I finished another chapter today," he said. "Thanks to your research notes, I'll probably have several more ready for you to type when you get back."

  "I wonder if I can find accommodation for another week," she said, responding in kind to his teasing remarks.

  "Are you handing in your notice as my typist, my personal Girl Friday and my right arm?" John said, laughing.

  "A week of sun and snow and skiing will be all I'll want," she assured him.

  "Telephone once in a while so I won't start imagining you with a cast on your leg."

  "I will, I promise."

  "Enjoy yourself, Andie. Be young and foolish while you can."

  "At twenty-two, I sincerely hope I'm past that stage," Andrea answered, more sharply than she had intended.

  "Yes, you are very nearly over the hill, aren't you?" But John didn't allow her an opportunity to respond to his mocking observation. "Have a good time, honey."

  "I will…and take care of yourself."

  There was a tightness in her throat when Andrea hung up the telephone. She refused to give in to the cold finger of apprehension that ran down her spine. It was senseless to feel this odd depression. John wanted her to enjoy this holiday, a
nd certainly she did.

  In a flurry of activity, Andrea finished unpacking, bathed and changed. Forsaking the standard sweater and slacks, she chose a camel-tan tunic and matching, wide-legged pants. A cream-colored silk blouse added a dressy touch to the outfit. She considered wearing the owl locket John had given her before deciding on a gold braided chain necklace. Her suede parka was the same camel shade as her outfit.

  Outdoors, the mountain air sharply revived her appetite, reminding her that she had not eaten since late morning. Walking alone while everyone else was in pairs or groups, Andrea avoided the more crowded restaurants, choosing the steak house in the Olympic House where her solitary state might not be so noticeable. The last thing she wanted was to fend off some man's advances the first night she was there.

  Like nearly all the other eating establishments, the steak house was crowded. Andrea waited at the front entrance while the host seated the couple who had been ahead of her. She was vaguely aware of someone entering the restaurant and stopping behind her. Since she knew no one, Andrea didn't bother to glance around.

  "Well, we meet again," a familiar voice said.

  A startled look over her shoulder encountered the stranger she had seen at the desk, the Mr. Stafford who had aroused her curiosity for a moment. The ski suit was gone, replaced by a white ribbed turtleneck sweater and a dark blazer. If anything, his looks were more arresting than before, especially in view of the singularly attractive smile that softened his lean, chiseled features.

  "Hello." Andrea inclined her dark blond head in acknowledgment.

  "Have you settled in for the weekend?"

  She nearly explained to him that she would be staying a week, then decided it wasn't necessary. "Yes, I have; thank you."

  "Hi, Tell. How are you tonight?" The host approached, smiling widely at the man standing behind Andrea.

  "Just fine, Kyle," the man answered.

  "I have a table for the two of you right over here." The host started to walk away and Andrea realized that he assumed she was with Mr. Stafford.

  She hastened to correct his error. "Excuse me, but we aren't together."