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  Nora Roberts Land

  Journalist Meredith Hale’s ex–husband claimed her Nora Roberts addiction gave her unrealistic expectations about marriage, and she believed him. All dreams of happily ever after—or Nora Roberts Land as her mother calls it— went up in smoke. But when her family asks her to temporarily help their Dare Valley, Colorado newspaper, she decides it’s time to change her life and prove her ex wrong. She’s determined to find her own small–town Nora Roberts hero, prove that true love exists, and publish a story about her quest.

  War correspondent Tanner McBride has just returned stateside to work for a major newspaper, and the last thing he expects is blackmail. Yet, before he can even unpack, he’s headed to Colorado. His assignment? Make his boss’s ex–wife fall for him and then break her heart. Her article about discovering love à la Nora might air dirty laundry about her marriage to the media mogul, threatening his senate run. The mogul wants Meredith stopped, and he makes sure Tanner has no choice in the matter.

  When the two meet, the sparks between them are undeniable. Meredith, who vowed never to date another journalist, begins to succumb. Could Tanner be her Nora Roberts hero? As they work together to uncover the truth behind a suspicious death, the depth of their feelings unfolds and both realize they’ve kept their secrets for far too long. But before the truth can be revealed, their investigation takes a deadly turn, one that might make Meredith’s personal Nora Roberts Land go up in flames.

  PRAISE FOR AVA MILES AND NORA ROBERTS LAND

  “Ava Miles’s debut novel is warm, funny, and wholly entertaining.”

  —Joyfully Reviewed

  “Debut author Ava Miles combines small-town romance with big-world issues in a full-bodied romance fiction in the first of the Dare Valley series… and paints a wonderful idyllic setting for this small-town series with great characters.”

  —USA Today, Happily Ever After

  “Ms. Miles has created a love story where REAL love can triumph over all! A perfect summer read!”

  —Tome Tender

  “Ms. Miles does a great job in creating a story that shows how much the heroine loves Nora Roberts books and how determined she is in finding her own small town hero of her own ala Nora Roberts. The writing is tight, story flows smoothly and the few twists and turns left me on the edge of my seat, waiting for baited breath for what happens next.”

  —Love Romances & MORE

  “An enjoyable book…leaves readers eager to find out if Meredith will find her Nora Roberts man, and if Meredith and Tanner’s romance can survive considerable adversity. The chemistry between Meredith and Tanner, and a dangerous, exciting plot line woven throughout this love story, makes this a fast read. We’ll see what author Ava Miles has in store for the second book of this trilogy!”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  The search for a real Nora Roberts hero begins…

  Jill jumped off the bed and rifled through Meredith’s larger suitcase, sorting through the paperbacks. “You’ve lost your funny bone. So tell me, Divorcée Woman, who’s your favorite Nora Roberts hero?”

  Meredith crawled over to the edge of the bed. “Man, that’s like asking me about my favorite food.”

  Jill held up a book. “Mine’s Roarke. Hands down. That guy is smokin’ hot. I could write an ode to his hotness.” She threw aside a J.D. Robb paperback. “But we’re not going to find a Roarke here.”

  “Okay, but I’m still going to fantasize about finding him.” Meredith picked up Sea Swept. “Ah, my first Nora book. Hard to find someone hotter than Cameron Quinn.”

  “Oh yeah. Badass race car driver returns home when dad dies to take care of an orphan boy. That was a great series. His advertising executive brother, Phillip Quinn, was pretty hot in Inner Harbor, but a little urbane for my taste. The guy complained about getting blood out of a cotton blend, remember?”

  “Yes, but he was a wine snob like me. We’d be a match made in heaven.”

  “Haha. Okay, give me two more.” Jill leaned against the suitcase. After Meredith’s crazy attraction to Rick–the–Dick, she wasn’t sure what her sister went for in a man. “Then I’ll have something to work with. All of them need to be small–town guys.”

  Meredith flopped onto her back. “How about Bradley Vane from Key of Valor? Owner of a home goods empire who looks hot in a suit, but isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.”

  “Oh, I love the Key series. It’s awesome how the heroines battle evil with their hunky heroes. Keep going.”

  To the two women whose support helped make this book possible:

  The incomparable Nora Roberts, for being okay with me using her name for this book—and for her stories of happily ever after or Nora Roberts Land as I call it, which always lift my spirit, but more importantly helped me pass many tense nights in dangerous places when I was trying to save the world in my own humble way.

  My beautiful sister, Michelle, for letting me tell this story, which germinated from her life—proving truth is stranger than fiction—but happy endings always win out if we are brave enough to seek them.

  And to my divine entourage, who continues to show me the way to my bliss every day.

  Acknowledgements

  There are a myriad of people who have helped me build a ladder to my dreams:

  My former agent, Jennifer Schober, who left the business recently for personal reasons, but who loved this book right away like I did and supported me in seeking its highest potential. I miss you.

  Mary Blayney and her willingness to be outfitted with angel wings by providing her generous assistance in seeking Nora Roberts’ okay for this book and being a trusted, dear friend.

  Laura Reeth, Nora’s phenomenal publicist, who also helped with my request and many others, and has been a total joy to become friends with.

  The incredible members of Team Ava, including my publicity helpers, Joan Schulhafer, Debby Tobias, and Alissa Di Giacomo of Joan Shulhafer Publishing and Media Consulting; Elizabeth Bemis and Sienna Condy of Bemis Promotions for my website; my editor, Angela Polidoro; the Killion Group for the cover art; my copy editor, Helen Hester–Osstra; Gregory Stewart for my publicity photos, the amazing Dare Valley map, and a million other things; Dr. Tabitha King and Janet Geary for being research consultants; and lastly, my amazing Indie guru, Meredith Bond.

  Diane Gaston, the first writer I met on this journey, who assisted in nailing a few rungs in place on my ladder and is always willing to share her tools and skills when I need help, especially on this book.

  Evie Owens, who helped me see a new direction for this story and always makes me laugh.

  My Inn Boonsboro retreat gals who make our annual trek to Nora’s inn one of the highlights of my year.

  Inspiring writing teachers from my sixth grade teacher, Jackie Mason, to college professors Dave Jauss and Michael Kleine—and many others unnamed, including a whole bunch of women in Romance Writers of America and Washington Romance Writers, who share their insights so generously.

  Dan Baumstark, Kerrith McKechnie, Christine Spence, Julia Turner, Abhaya Schlesinger, Zahra Yousefi, Karen Dobson, Francis Ramirez, and other helpers for supporting me in magnificent ways.

  My cousin, Terry Miles, for being my family newspaper source and for sharing new stories about our great–great grandfather, the founder, who reportedly won the first paper in a poker game when The Plains were the Wild West.

  Jai Singh and Thuy-Doan Le for creating space for me to be my true self, and always finding the laughter in the divine or mundane.

  My always supportive family, who have cried over my characters’ pain and laughed at their antics, confirming I was on the right track in touching people’s hearts while entertaining with a tale.

  My TF, for things known and yet unkn
own. I love you.

  And lastly, to all of you who are reading this book. Thank you. I wish you all your own Nora Roberts Land—in whatever way is best for you.

  Prologue

  Fairy tales, like shoes, come in all shapes and sizes. Frogs turn into princes. Princes assist ladies into glass slippers.

  And now I’m back to shoes again. Shoes are comforting, right? They haven’t let me down, run around on me, or destroyed my dreams of happily ever after.

  My husband never transformed into a handsome prince. He stayed quite firmly in the reptile family, a chameleon, perhaps? And I’m pretty sure that if I had ever lost a shoe—even if it were priceless, like a limited edition Manolo Blahnik—he wouldn’t have lifted a finger to find it. Why didn’t I see that he was never going to be my prince?

  Modern fairy tales only exist in romance novels crafted by writers like Nora Roberts. For years, her words carried me to an enchanted place where love conquered all. And I bought into it—hook, line, and sinker. Now I need to set aside love and all of its false promises. It’s a messy business anyway.

  So, I’ll…buy more shoes. No, scratch that—I’ll buy…La Perla lingerie.

  I want to be a superhero now…like Divorcée Woman.

  She’d know what to do after signing these papers.

  Maybe an alter ego will help me regain my confidence.

  After all, I already have plenty of shoes, and they’ve never helped me much anyway.

  Diary entry by journalist Meredith Hale on the day of her divorce

  Chapter 1

  Meredith Hale scanned the bookstore window. There it was—the new Nora Roberts book—the cover a bold, powerful landscape of sky and water.

  Her superhero alter ego, Divorcée Woman, couldn’t override the rash of goosebumps on Meredith’s arms or her knotted stomach. Meredith patted the red lace La Perla bustier hidden under her black suit jacket and took one hesitant step closer to the glass, her breath hitching as she scanned Nora’s prominent display. She imagined Divorcée Woman telling her to suck it up. It was only a bookstore after all. It wasn’t like she had to take a bullet for the president or anything.

  She’d gone cold turkey on Nora’s books a year ago, when her ex-husband, Rick-the-Dick, threw Black Hills at the wall, snarling that her favorite author had given her an unrealistic view of love. “Our marital problems are her fault,” he said. “She’s made you believe in happily ever after—something any adult knows is a myth. Grow up.” Then he packed his custom-tailored suits and slammed out the door of their swanky Manhattan apartment.

  At first she’d thought maybe he was right. But she missed Nora’s books. And not reading them hadn't made the whole divorce thing any easier on her. It hadn't made the panic attacks go away.

  She wanted her Nora Roberts back, dammit. It was time to reclaim her life.

  Unfortunately, just looking at the cover had her hovering on the edge of a panic attack. Her hands grew clammy. She wiped them on her black suit and dug into her matching purse for her cell phone. Her sister would be able to talk her into going into the store. After all, Jill could talk anyone into anything.

  “Hey, Mere,” Jill greeted, the ever-present sound of her favorite band, Abba, in the background. Jill wanted to live life like a dancing queen.

  “Hey,” she said, making sure to sound calmer than she was. “How’s business at the coffee shop?”

  “Well, after a regional dairy salesman tried to talk me into changing my store’s name from Don’t Soy With Me to Don’t Milk Me, I’m about ready to bash my head against the espresso machine. He was so dense. I tried to explain it’s a play on words, but he just blinked like one of those dairy cows and went, ‘Oh.’”

  Meredith’s panic slowly eased. Jill and her stories were always a comfort. “Being in New York, I don’t run into too many milk salesmen. Does he wear a special outfit?”

  “No, thank God. Speaking of milk, did you get my present?”

  Ducking closer to the store window so she wouldn’t be mowed down by a rush of pedestrians, Meredith said, “You mean the coffee mug with the line, ‘You’re My Udder One’?”

  “Yes. I tried to appease the milk guy by telling him I’d put those mugs out for display, but he wouldn’t leave. He even offered to teach me how to milk a cow. I think he was hitting on me.”

  As Meredith muffled her laughter, a passing banker gave her a disapproving stare. His shoes, belt, and briefcase matched—the Wall Street uniform. “And I thought my love life was pathetic.”

  “What love life?”

  “Funny. Speaking of which, I’m outside a bookstore. I woke up this morning and decided I want to read.”

  “Oh, honey, I didn’t know you were illiterate.”

  “Hah.” She eyed the rush of people heading in and out of the bookstore on 82nd and Broadway.

  “Okay, take a deep yoga breath. Jeez, Mere, you sound like Great Aunt Helen when she put down her oxygen to steal a swig of Grandpa’s scotch at Christmas.”

  “Right. Breathe.” Was her vision blurring? “I’m taking a step.”

  “Oh, baby, I wish mom and I were there to see it.”

  Her sister’s wicked humor cut through the fogginess in her head. Meredith wasn’t sure she was in her body anymore, but it moved when she walked. Her hand managed to open the door. She walked in on legs wobbling like an untangled yoyo.

  “Are you inside yet?”

  She squeezed into a book aisle as people cruised by. “Yes.”

  “Welcome back to the land of the reading.”

  Was there anything more comforting? “Thank you. I’m standing by the thriller and suspense section. Makes me think of Grandpa. He’s convinced there’s some sort of conspiracy going on at the university. I’m researching the college drug trade for him on the side. Maybe I should buy him a John Grisham book instead.”

  “I know! He keeps pumping me for information about the parties I’ve gone to. I told him people drink too much and puke. End of story.”

  “Tell that to his infernal journalism gut.” Not that she could point fingers. Hale DNA had given her one too.

  “I know the fam’s grateful you’ve been helping out with the paper after Dad’s heart attack,” her sister said, “But Dad’s still working too hard. He loves that paper like it’s a child—just like Grandpa.”

  “I know, Jill.” Suddenly guilt pressed down on her, its force almost as strong as the panic. She was helping, but she wished she could do more. Sometimes being long-distance sucked.

  Her sister cleared her throat. “I don’t know how to say this, but you need to know. Sorry the timing’s not great with the whole one-year-divorce anniversary thing, but…” Her sister’s breathing went a little ragged on the line. “The doctor’s concerned about dad’s progress and wants him to take some time off. Mom hasn’t wanted to ask you, but someone needs to help Grandpa. I know he can run circles around us all, but he’s in his seventies. Is there any way you can come home to help out for a few months? I’d do it, but I have zero journalistic instincts. Plus, I have Don’t Soy with Me to run.”

  “Come home?” She bumped into a book display, and a whole parade of James Patterson hardcovers slid to the floor. Her lungs seemed to stop at the thought. “I can’t breathe…and I really want to.” She gulped in air.

  “Go to the coffee shop and sit down. Put your head between your knees.”

  She wobbled over to a chair and caught sight of the romance section. The tightness between her ribs could have competed with a boa constrictor as it killed its victim. She didn’t care what people thought. She put her head between her legs when she saw red.

  Her phone buzzed in her clenched hand, signaling another call. She ignored it, breathing deeply. When her equilibrium returned, she took deep breaths until she was sure she’d inhaled all the circulated air in Manhattan. She put the phone to her ear again.

  “You still there?”

  “Yep. You okay?”

  Question of the year. “I didn’t pass
out, but it was close.”

  “Meredith, your husband cheated on you, and then blamed it on you—and Nora’s books. You’ve been through an emotional wringer. Give yourself a break. I keep telling Jemma that too.”

  Jill’s best friend had just been dumped by her childhood sweetheart. “You’re pretty good at giving advice.”

  “Practice. Jemma’s devastated.”

  “Yeah, I get that.” Her eyes burned, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can’t stand another night in my apartment. I miss my Tribeca place and eating out in restaurants and visiting gallery openings. I don’t miss Rick-the-Dick, but I do miss being part of that jam-packed world.”

  “You have the Power Couple Blues, Mere. Maybe coming home to help the paper will give you a new perspective. You don’t have any family there. Most of your friends changed when you got divorced.”

  True, she had become intimately familiar with the term “fair weather friend” over the past year. “I miss you guys.” But going home? She’d been in New York since starting at Colombia. “Let me grab a coffee.”

  “I wish I was there to make your favorite. Then I’d give you a ginormous hug and tell you about Paige Lorton snorting whipped cream up her nose and old man Perkins giving her the Heimlich.”

  Her laughter popped out like the final popcorn kernels in the microwave. “Oh, Jillie, I love you.”

  “I love you too. You’re my big sis. I miss you, Mere.”

  Holding the phone away from her face for a moment, she walked up to the counter and gave her coffee order—a tall, no foam latte—before shuffling back to her chair. She slumped against the metal back, returning the phone to her ear. “Let me think about coming home.”

  “Surely Karen knows how hard you’ve worked after joining her paper. You’ve been there for a year now. Plus, it’s Rick-the-Dick’s rival paper. That’s gotta be extra bonus points.”

  Her coffee magically appeared in front of her. She looked up to see a petite barista with flat-ironed hair. “You look like you needed me to bring it over.”