Maybe there was an angle that would work, give the story a little substance to justify placing it on the front page.
“Teddy, how about going over and interviewing the sheriff?” he suggested. “Ask him what the plans are for security, especially since I hear that actress is coming in for the weekend. Is the county paying overtime for extra help in case there are any problems with crowd control?”
Teddy’s mouth gaped. “Crowd control? In Winding River?”
“Lauren Winters is pretty hot since she won her Academy Award this spring,” Ford explained, regretting that his predecessor had announced her attendance. That could have been his big story. “If word leaks out that she’s going to be here, every tabloid from around the globe will be sending in a photographer. While you’re at it, check to see if all of the hotel rooms are booked. The paparazzi get testy if they can’t stay close by. If nothing’s available, they’ll be sleeping in their cars on her front lawn or wherever it is she’s staying. Ask Ryan if he’s prepared to deal with that.”
Teddy’s expression brightened. “Are you serious? You’ll let me interview the sheriff?”
Ford barely contained a grin at the boy’s eagerness, especially since the sheriff was his uncle. Chances were real good that Ryan Taylor would dictate the story just the way he wanted to see it in the paper. Normally Ford wouldn’t leave the interview to an unseasoned reporter, but Teddy needed to get his feet wet, and this was as good a story as any.
“Go for it. You have two hours to talk to him, write up the article and get it in. I want this edition on the street on time. The old owner tended to play fast and loose with deadlines and distribution. I’m not going to.”
“Got it,” Teddy said, and raced out, tape recorder in hand.
Ford sighed again. Had he ever been that young, that energetic? Not that he was exactly dragging at thirty-two, but after just a month he was already adapting to the slower pace of Winding River. He no longer got up at dawn, no longer worked twelve-hour days. He lingered over coffee at Stella’s for a chance to chat with the locals.
At first he’d welcomed the change from the lightning-fast speed of things in Atlanta and then Chicago. Slowing down had been one of the reasons he’d sought out a paper to buy and a place to settle and build a life for himself before stress leveled him with a premature heart attack. Eventually he hoped to marry, maybe have a couple of kids. He wanted more than a career. He wanted a life.
He’d spent a couple of years using vacation time to look for a community that was growing, one where a solid newspaper could make a difference, where his editorials and news stories might really have an impact on a way of life. He’d been drawn to Wyoming because of the rugged beauty of the landscape and because of the changes that were happening every single day now that it had been discovered by big name celebrities. Development was bound to follow in their wake, which promised challenges to the environment and to a way of life.
Everything had come together the minute he’d visited Winding River and talked to the paper’s prior owner. They’d made the deal on a handshake over the winter, and now, just a few months later, he was in business, publishing his own weekly paper, albeit with very limited resources for the moment.
He knew enough about small towns to recognize that he had to move cautiously. Change was always viewed with suspicion. Ironically that had been one of the reasons Ford had left his hometown in Georgia and settled in Atlanta after college. He’d seen how resistant people back home were to change of any kind.
Unfortunately, he’d realized belatedly that things weren’t that much better in a big city, especially when he had to fight his own newspaper bureaucracy before getting some of his tougher pieces in print. Chicago had been more of the same, a constant battle between the pressures of the advertising department and editorial independence. Years ago the separation would have been a given, but these days, with tough economic times for newspapers, the suits were having more of an impact on the journalists.
Ford was still finding his way in Winding River, getting to know the movers and shakers, listening to anyone and everyone who had something to say about the way the town was run or the way it ought to be.
Change was on the horizon. The downtown was testament to that. A chic boutique had moved in just down the block from a western wear store. There were Range Rovers parked alongside pickups hauling horse trailers. High-priced gifts were being sold next door to the feed-and-grain store. And fancy corporate jets sat on the airstrip next to crop dusters.
The previous owner of the paper, Ronald Haggerty, had stayed on long enough to introduce Ford around, give him a slap on the back and a hearty recommendation to the various civic organizations. Then he’d retired and moved to Arizona. Ford was on his own now.
He was already beginning to formulate some opinions that he was eager to get into print, but it was too soon. He needed to wait for the right opening, the right story to show everyone that the Winding River News and its new owner intended to participate in every aspect of life in Winding River. A big, splashy, controversial front-page story, that’s what he needed.
So far in life, Ford Hamilton had found the odds were usually in his favor. And if his luck held, he’d have that front-page story very soon.
“Am I really going to learn to ride a horse?” Caitlyn asked for the tenth time as she and Emma made the drive from Denver on Wednesday.
“Grandpa said he’d teach you, didn’t he?”
Emma nodded, curls bouncing. “I am sooo excited. I never rode a horse before.”
“So you’ve mentioned,” Emma said wryly.
“And how many cousins do I have?”
“Five. You met some of them last time we were here.”
“But I was just a baby then. I was only four,” Caitlyn said. “I forgot.”
“Okay, there’s Jessie—”
“How old is Jessie?”
“She’s six, the same as you.”
“Do you think she can ride a horse already?” Caitlyn asked worriedly. “Will she make fun of me?”
“I don’t know if she can ride, but Grandpa won’t let her make fun of you.”
Caitlyn nodded, evidently satisfied. “Who else?”
“There’s Davey, and Rob, and Jeb and Pete.”
“They’re all boys,” she said, clearly disappointed. “And they’re all littler than me, right?”
“That’s right.”
“But me and Jessie will be friends, right?”
“I’m sure you will be,” Emma reassured her. “You had a wonderful time together the last time you were here for a visit. You had tea parties for your dolls and played games with Grandma and baked cookies.”
Caitlyn’s eyes shone with excitement. “How soon will we be there?”
“A half hour, maybe less.”
“What time is that?”
