Free The Hamilton Heir by Valerie Hansen

some sham war with that despicable rag.”
    “Well said.” Dawn wheeled into the Hamilton Media lot and brought the car to a smooth stop. “I’ll drop you here and go park.”
    “Fine.” Tim got out, then turned and leaned down with his elbows on the rim of the passenger door. “Can I ask you something? Considering the expert way you drive, why did you say you were afraid to borrow my BMW?”
    “Because I was,” she answered honestly. “There’s a world of difference between a rental car and the boss’s private wheels. I happen to like working here.”
    “You think I’d fire you for scratching a fender?”
    “Well…”
    “You do think that, don’t you?” He straightened. “I can see my image needs almost as much improvement as this company does. From now on, I want you to bring it to my attention whenever you think I’m being insensitive.”
    Dawn’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Me?”
    “Who better to point it out?” Tim took a stepback and nodded. “You’re the one who hates lies, so I’ll expect nothing less than brutal honesty.”
    Her murmured, “Oh, brother,” as she pulled away was lost in the roar of the engine. Brutal honesty? She couldn’t do that. Not to Tim. He had enough problems without having his right hand-man—woman—attacking his character at every turn. Who did he think she was, his shrink?
    No. He thinks I’m the only one who will tell him the truth, she concluded, and he’s probably right. That was a high compliment. All she had to do was figure out how to help him without hurting him in the process.
    She knew her free expression could prove a shock to a man who was used to having everything done his way. But it could also benefit him, as long as she tempered her words with kindness.
    An overwhelming urge to protect Tim, even from herself, arose. Now that was a real surprise.
     
    Living room lights were still on at Stuart Meyers’s house when Dawn pulled up in front of it later that evening. She’d thought about phoning ahead but had decided it would be best if she proposed their interview and explained her assignment face-to-face.
    She didn’t know how many times she’d had to talk herself into continuing with this project. She’d even rehearsed a speech to her boss, declining the job she’d accepted on a whim. What had she been thinking? She was no feature writer.
    Long ago, when she’d asked the Lord to help her resume her studies of English, she hadn’t dreamed He might answer this way. Could this situation truly be answered prayer? Or was it merely coincidence that she was imagining as more important than it really was?
    Dawn’s logical side argued that she’d simply stumbled into the writing assignment by virtue of her regular employment. Then again, she argued, how much had God had to do with getting her the job at a place that published both a magazine and a newspaper in the first place?
    Shaking off her fruitless introspection, she approached Stuart Meyers’s front door and was surprised to hear what sounded like a loud movie on television. Either that, or World War III had started in his living room!
    She rapped on the door the way she always did. No one answered. She knocked louder. Still nothing. Finally, she convinced herself the old man might be sick or injured and tried the knob.
    The door swung open effortlessly and she peered in. “Mr. Meyers? Are…?”
    She froze. Her mouth gaped. Across the room, Stuart and Tim Hamilton were staging the battle of Nashville on that big table, with all the gusto of two teenagers enjoying a noisy video game. What she’d assumed was a movie score was actually a tape of the 1812 Overture, complete with cannon fire, playing so loudly in the background it rattled the windows. The house smelledfaintly of oregano and garlic, like after-hours at an Italian restaurant.
    Stuart looked up from his game and displayed a small plastic figure. “Dawn! Come on in. Look what the boy brought me! Horses. Got the whole