
"Say it." The rawness in Cord's voice was as arousing as his kiss. "Admit you feel what I do."
"This is no more ethical than what Jack did."
He forced Hunter to meet his hungry gaze. "It damn well is." Then he kissed her again as though he could will her to agree.
Once he felt her surrender, Cord locked her against him as though she was the only thing that could ease his emotional overload. She'd always known on some level that he was truth in advertising, a passionate man. But first and foremost he'd been the boss's grandson and to someone like her, he needed to be blocked from the psyche.
Now he'd ruined everything, she thought as he released her lips to score a series of hungry kisses down the left side of her neck. She felt his heartbeat at every pulse point and knew there would be no more hiding from him.
"Tell me," he coaxed, his breath searing her skin.
Dear Reader,
For my forty-sixth book for the Harlequin family, I'm merging my personal passions with inevitable passages of time. I'm a news junkie and one antenna is always cranked to the who-what-where-when-whys going on in the world. I imagined how it must be for very human men and women in such high-pressure jobs. Add a culture that increasingly demands we must be politically correct and repress opinion and feelings, and we could almost be back in Jane Austen's restricted era. But not quite.
Enter Hunter Harding, the sweetheart of KSIO, San Antonio, Texas, discovering that her nemesis, Cord Yarrow Rivers, is ascending to the throne of Yarrow Communications, Inc. What neither knows until the beginning of the story is that Hunter loathes Cord for a perceived injustice that ended her engagement.
This story is a revelation of personalities, and includes bits of my experiences and places I've either lived in or traveled to. For the record, Mahwah High School (N.J.), where Hunter gives a commencement address, is my alma mater. The characters described there are totally fictitious and bear no resemblance to anyone I knew "way back when." Also, the University of Mary Hardin Baylor is most definitely and impressively the real thing. I salute all of their exemplary graduates who make an inspiring difference in health care. Special thanks to dear friend Carolyn Bolin for reminding me of some details pertaining to that fine establishment. She's a proud mom of an UMHB grad.
I hope you enjoy Hunter and Cord's journey toward becoming soul mates. And, as always, thanks for being a reader!
Warmly,
Helen
Books by Helen R. Myers
Silhouette Special Edition
After That Night... #1066
Beloved Mercenary #1162
What Should Have Been #1758
A Man to Count On #1830
The Last Man She'd Marry #1914
Daddy on Demand #2004
Hope's Child #2045
Harlequin Special Edition
It's News to Her #2130
Silhouette Romance
Confidentially Yours #677
Invitation to a Wedding #737
A Fine Arrangement #776
Through My Eyes #814
Three Little Chaperones #861
Forbidden Passion #908
A Father's Promise #1002
To Wed at Christmas #1049
The Merry Matchmaker #1121
Baby in a Basket #1169
Silhouette Books
Silhouette Shadows Collection 1992 "Seawitch"
Montana Mavericks
The Law is No Lady
Silhouette Desire
The Pirate O'Keefe #506
Kiss Me Kate #570
After You #599
When Gabriel Called #650
Navarrone #738
Jake #797
Once Upon a Full Moon #857
The Rebel and the Hero #941
Just a Memory Away #990
The Officer and the Renegade #1102
Silhouette Shadows
Night Mist #6
Whispers in the Woods #23
Watching for Willa #49
MIRA Books
Come Sundown
More Than You Know
Lost
Dead End
Final Stand
No Sanctuary
While Others Sleep
HELEN R. MYERS
is a collector of two-and four-legged strays, and lives deep in the Piney Woods of East Texas. She cites cello music and bonsai gardening as favorite relaxation pastimes, and still edits in her sleep---an accident, learned while writing her first book. A bestselling author of diverse themes and focus, she is a three-time RITA® Award nominee, winning for Navarrone in 1993.
Contents
Hunter Harding always knew when something was about to go seriously wrong. It would happen within hours, usually minutes, after the thought sprang into her conscious mind that life was going pretty well. This wasn't something that had evolved from being a journalist; her first experience went back to when she was sixteen, more precisely, on the morning she woke thinking how wonderful it was that her father was coming home that day from his latest assignment and would be there to see her dressed to go to the junior prom.
Her feet had hardly touched the stairs as she danced down to the kitchen---only to find her mother crumpled on the breakfast table, sobbing. Apparently, while Hunter had been in the shower, the phone had rung, the caller the station chief at her father's TV network in New York. The plane out of Colombia carrying her father, Nolan Harding, was missing and fears were that it had crashed in stormy weather. Days later, the wreckage was found, and they had the confirmation everyone had feared: there were no survivors.
Although they were financially stable, her mother sold their Mahwah, New Jersey, home and moved them back to Hunter's actual birthplace---San Antonio, Texas---to be near her maternal grandparents, since her father's parents had died some years before. Even though it was her senior year and she knew no one, Hunter learned to love Texas, made friends easily enough, and despite the hole in her heart, she determinedly moved on for her mother's and grandparents' sakes.
Then, just before her college graduation, when those she loved most were scheduled to watch her get her diploma and life was looking bright again, she thought it safe to sigh in appreciation, only to learn that morning that her roommate Danica's brother, foolishly tied up with unsavory types, had OD'd on drugs and was lying in a hospital in a coma.
This pattern of painful life experiences continued, the most recent the matter of her brief engagement to Denny Brewster. Hunter was still smarting too much from that episode to allow herself to dwell on the details for longer than a second. So when she woke in her San Antonio condominium early on a June morning and stretched with pleasure remembering yesterday's news that she and her newest co-anchor Greg Benson had almost achieved another week as the number-one-rated news program for the five and ten o'clock slots, the ringing phone automatically sent her body and mind into panic mode. She just knew that she was about to have a another reality check, the question was how traumatic?
Please, no, she thought. What's it going to take to end this hug-then-gut-punch pattern?
It turned out that the caller was KSIO's executive producer, Tom Vold, informing her that Senator George Leeds of Texas---caught in a career-breaking scandal only days ago---was advising the press that he planned to make an announcement this morning. Tom was convinced he would be tendering his resignation and wanted her to get to the station pronto to go live when that happened.
Under normal circumstances, such a development could be received as a career-enhancing opportunity, however it threw Hunter into a tailspin. She was due to fly to New Jersey to deliver the commencement speech at the high school she would have graduated from had she stayed on the East Coast. How was she to do the live spot---if the senator actually went through with his resignation---and still make her flight? What was she to tell the school's administration in New Jersey? "Hang on, I'll be there. Maybe?" But to ask her boss to get Greg, her relatively new co-anchor, to do the spot would send the message to him and their audience that she didn't see this as important news. If Tom wanted her to handle this, she needed to go.
Concluding that there would be little time to change tonight, she put on the red silk suit she'd planned to wear for this evening's event and rushed to work. Rarely fussy in her personal life, she believed in dressing up, not down, whenever possible as well as investing in quality clothing and accessories for her professional image. For example, she rarely wore anything less than fourteen-karat gold on the set. She believed the camera could tell or an abrupt movement would betray its inferior construction. However, when it came to shoes, regardless of price, she approached them all with equal resignation. She always joked to the set crew as she hunted for her discarded footwear that she had undoubtedly been a beach bum or bunny in a previous life.
By the time she arrived at the station, there was word that the senator would, indeed, step down. Luck was with them and they had a whopping forty minutes to formulate a strong package and cull quality guests. When the countdown came, she ably represented the network through his announcement and the guest interviews that followed.
"And that concludes our special report," she said some twenty-five minutes after the senator read his five-minute prepared speech. "I'm Hunter Harding. Please join us at five for a recap of today's important developments and at ten o'clock for the latest reactions from the White House, Congress and more. Until then, be well," she said as her outro, the newsroom jargon for an exit tag.
"We're off. Clean air as usual, Hunter," Wade Spangler, her news director, said of the mistake-free segment right after the control room advised that the computer had done a hard out, taken over and slid them into a commercial break. Regular programming for that hour of the morning would also be handled by computers.
"Thanks, Wade and everyone," Hunter replied, adrenaline still pumping through her system. Pretending that she didn't have a 220-volt cord buzzing up her spine, she added, "Pizza is on me. Someone check with Joey at the security desk. It should be here by now."
As cheers of appreciation sounded from the control room as well as the set, Hunter pulled out her earpiece, unclipped her mike and slipped off the battery tucked at the small of her back inside the waistband of her suit in anticipation of the assistant assigned to collect them. At the same time, she slipped back into her high heels. The station would continue with the morning talk show out of New York, so there was no immediate need to rush off, but she did have to remind her bosses that she had a previous commitment for this evening and see about rebooking the flight that she'd missed. Collecting her notes, she gauged who best to speak to that might help move things along for her.
"Has anyone heard yet if our competition went live with the senator's resignation?" she asked the group in general. She might be feeling under the gun, but it would improve her mood greatly to know that they'd cornered the competition on breaking news.
A familiar voice from the control room announced, "No, ma'am. KAST picked up their mother ship on cable to handle this, and the other two didn't budge from their regular programming. Congratulations, Flash. You kept us on top of the podium, as usual."
Letting an apprentice she thought she remembered was named Kaci finish collecting her audio paraphernalia, Hunter signaled a thumbs-up. "Thanks, Fred," she said to Fred Gant, her producer in the control room. "Tonight, tell your wife she should kiss you once for me."
Amid hoots and chortles of laughter, Fred drawled, "And she'll say, 'After you bathe your stinky dog.' By the way, you're wanted upstairs," he added. "Pappy Yarrow himself requests the pleasure of your company."
Knowing the nickname was said with deep affection, she only cast a questioning look at the wall of windows at the back of the set, particularly at one balding head amid the sea of impressive and not-so-well-endowed coifs. "Seriously? I'm supposed to be at thirty-thousand feet somewhere over Arkansas right now. Does no one in this entire building remember that?"
"Glass half full, darlin'," Fred replied. "Maybe he wants you to take his limo to the airport to make up for things."
Pointing her finger at him, Hunter rose. "He's kind enough to do exactly that. Tell Kym that I'm on my way."
Under normal circumstances, she never minded being called to Henry Yarrow's office when he was in town because Fred was right that she enjoyed a special relationship with the CEO and president of Yarrow Communications, Inc., their parent company. Mr. Henry, as she preferred to call him, had been a mentor to her almost since she began at KSIO as an apprentice while in college. But these days, the successful businessman could get a little long-winded, and time was precious today.
The Yarrow Building was forty stories, not the tallest structure in San Antonio but a glistening addition of glass and granite to the skyline. It housed all of the employees and operations of KSIO, the headquarters of Yarrow Communications, as well as thirty-three other businesses. In this day and age when large corporations were swallowing up smaller and weaker ones by the drove, YCI remained one of the few media businesses solely owned and operated by individuals, not a conglomerate.
Accepting the presence of security cameras as she rode the elevator up, Hunter automatically checked her hair and makeup in the highly polished wall panels. She still looked TV-camera ready: shoulder blade--length, mahogany-brown hair, glossy and neatly swept back behind her ears to allow a glimpse of eighteen-karat gold, lover's-knot earrings, bangs retaining just the right poof, mascara, liner and eye shadow untouched by emotion, an accidental rub or melted by the hot lights, and her suit was almost wrinkle-free. Despite the pressure of the morning, she looked much better than she had yesterday after the ten o'clock news when there had been declarations of abort in her ear as scheduled interviews didn't happen and remotes crashed. After most days under the camera, she was usually drooping in her clothing and hunting for the shoes she hated to wear. Granted, she could save herself a little of the stage meltdown if she wore more provocative outfits like the cable anchors were modeling these days, but she didn't believe that she was there to be eye candy for the crew or the audience.
When the elevator doors opened and she emerged on executive row, she saw that most of the secretaries were already on an early lunch break. Mr. Yarrow's assistant's composed face blossomed into a smile of welcome as she approached. When Mr. Yarrow's longtime secretary, Jean, had been forced to retire due to signs of early Alzheimer's, Kym Lee had been handpicked from the entire staff. Mr. Yarrow had wanted to hire from within the company for all of the obvious reasons: to encourage excellence, to satisfy employee aspirations for advancement and to build dedication to the company. It also helped that his new assistant was familiar with company policy, much of the staff and corporate affiliates as well as the business in general. When her title was tweaked to assistant to fit the times, there had been a bit of grumbling from her former workmates, but Hunter supported the change because she admired Kym.
The diminutive beauty rose when Hunter drew near. Born of Asian-American parents, she was also dressed conservatively in a magnolia-white suit and exuded the femininity and grace that Hunter admired. She gave her an answering smile.
"Hello, Ms. Harding. Please go in. You're expected." Kym stepped to the carved double doors beside her desk, tapped lightly, then opened the right side.
"Thank you, Kym," Hunter said. She knew there was no use in trying to gauge what was up by Henry's assistant's expression. Whatever she might be privileged to know, the young woman was too much the grateful employee to give anything away. Then Hunter saw who else was inside, and she knew she could quit wondering...and start worrying.
Hesitating midstep, her gaze locked with the gaze of the man standing beside Henry Yarrow at the floor-to-ceiling windows. She hadn't seen him---at least not within old-fashioned, dueling distance---in two years? It would have pleased her immensely to never lay eyes on him again, because if not for him, she would be married by now. Maybe have a child. The heartbreak and humiliation that he'd triggered had taken her months to overcome, the healing doubly difficult since she'd had to keep it all bottled up.
"Go ahead and take your lunch now, Kym," Henry Yarrow said with a nod and friendly half wave. "Come in, Hunter, dear. Marvelous job just now."
The TV in the corner by the black leather sofa and tan leather chairs was off, but Hunter didn't doubt that he had watched her segment. "I appreciate that, sir." Such praise would ordinarily have thrilled her if not for the presence of Cord Yarrow Rivers. The fact that he was Henry's grandson did nothing to improve her opinion of him.
Leaning more heavily on the cane than usual, Henry Yarrow's once-square-shouldered frame seemed to have curved and become burdened overnight by an impossible weight. Henry indicated the far more virile man beside him with a tilt of his head. "Cord, you know."
Staying focused on his grandfather, Hunter murmured a dutiful, "Mr. Rivers."
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Hunter."
His response held a warmth that hers did not, and Hunter had to struggle not to display any feelings of resentment. He might be Henry Yarrow's daughter's only son, Henry's only grandson, but he had nerve calling her by her first name as though they were well acquainted or even friends. That said, she couldn't deny that time had been kind to him. What was he---thirty-six or -seven by now? In his light gray silk suit, Italian leather shoes and with his dark brown hair expertly groomed by what she gauged was a six-hundred-dollar haircut, he looked the image of success, which he was. She couldn't deny him that. Darn the man, she thought with no small bitterness.
"Please have a seat," Henry said, easing into the chair behind his desk. "I'm afraid my age is catching up with me too quickly to afford the courtesy you deserve."
"Thank you for the flattery, but ceremony is unnecessary." Inside, however, Hunter thought, uh-oh. In the last months, especially the last two months, she'd been noticing him growing increasingly frail. Was he that seriously ill and about to announce that they were selling Yarrow Communications? It would be just like his sweet self to insist on preparing her for the possibility of being without a job. "I am sorry to see you looking unwell, sir," she said as though it was only him in the room. "I hope it's only temporary."
"I'm afraid not, my dear. On the other hand, while eighty isn't much in this day and age, I've had a good run, so who am I to have regrets?" He settled back with a groan that he tried to muffle with a handkerchief he'd dug out of a pocket and pressed to his mouth. Recovering, he continued with, "Hunter, I wanted you to be among the first to know that I'm retiring. Cord will be taking over effective immediately. I wanted him present to assure you that your position with us is solid. You more than represent KSIO's standard of quality, you are our star. Many of our hopes for the future of the corporation start with you."
It took several seconds for Hunter to breathe normally, let alone accept what she'd just been told. And it got worse. Bad enough to see YCI taken over by total strangers, her future was also being placed in the hands of the man who had wooed her fiancé and co-anchor to Los Angeles at the cost of their relationship. Impossible! With that much cold-blooded maneuvering, she could never trust Cord Rivers to tell her the truth, let alone safeguard her career.
"I don't know where to begin, sir," she began, her tongue feeling foreign in her mouth. She was also painfully aware of Cord's unblinking study; he was all but willing her to look his way, but she couldn't if she wanted to. As desperation washed over her anew, she focused on the man who'd been an inspiration in her life. "Thank you for the compliment, but I understand what happens when there's a big change in leadership---all bets are off. More important, I hope you know that I speak for many downstairs when I say that whether we are ordered to or not, we're not ready to say goodbye to you."
Henry's gray but dignified face brightened and his blue-gray eyes---shades lighter than his grandson's---grew overly bright. "Don't let it get around, but that's nicer to hear than a standing ovation at an industry banquet."
"I'll take your word for it. All I do know is that it's true." Known for her humorous quips to lighten tense or overly serious moments, Hunter leaned forward, all earnestness. "I also hope you know I personally appreciate all you've done for me. If I'm a fraction worthy of what you say, it's only because of your generosity and guidance. Whatever happens, I'll always remember that."
As the old man frowned, his stormy eyebrows drew into an intimidating line that resembled a bitter, January cold front barreling down from Dallas and points north. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you have reservations about my decision."
Reminding herself that her future lay in Cord's hands if only to supply a letter of recommendation, Hunter dropped her gaze to the edge of Henry Yarrow's massive mahogany desk. "I'm simply trying to say that your shoes will be difficult to fill."
"Hunter is being more gracious than I deserve," Cord said with impeccable timing. "I'm afraid that she still bears some hard feelings from when I moved Denny Brewster to the L.A. station, instead of her, two years ago."
Both Henry and Hunter started with surprise. Henry recovered and spoke first.
"Do you, my dear? Why didn't I ever sense that?"
"Because it's news to me, too," Hunter replied, sitting so straight her back was in danger of snapping. She slid Cord a look of disapproval for giving his grandfather the wrong information, not just the wrong impression. She would sew her mouth shut herself to avoid hurting the dear gentleman, but she couldn't listen to this. "I didn't have Denny's experience. I had no right to want the job and, frankly, wouldn't have taken it if it had been offered to me. What upset me was that Mr. Rivers was relocating my fiancé, which ultimately forced the end of our relationship, and apparently occurred with his complete blessing and---from my understanding---his encouragement."
This time both Henry and Cord reacted as though the overhead sprinklers had suddenly turned on.
"You can't be serious," Cord said, sounding more incredulous than annoyed.
With cool reserve, Hunter arched her left eyebrow. "Did you or did you not tell him that his image as a bachelor was a major part of his appeal for the market he would be entering and that to remain 'unattached,' as you put it, would result in the fastest gain in ratings?"
"Because that's how he presented himself to me," Cord said, folding his arms in front of his chest. "In effect it was the 'don't fix what isn't broken' speech. There was no coercion or threat."
"Denny said he was pressured."
"Then he lied." Shifting his hands to his hips, Cord turned away, shaking his head in clear frustration. Abruptly turning back, he said, "I didn't see a ring on his hand---or yours."
As his gaze settled on the hands she clasped tightly in her lap, Hunter lowered her eyes, too. They remained bare of jewelry, her nails clipped neat and short with only clear polish to enhance them. Her salon stylist complained about them whenever she came in for a haircut, but her argument was that the cameras were on her face, not her manicure.
"Denny's file stated that he was single," Cord added. "In all of my talks with staff, no one had a clue of any attachment. Not for either of you."
Noting Henry's unhappy countenance, Hunter chose not to participate in this lose-lose debate. If Cord was to be her boss, so be it. But first thing, once she got back from this trip, she would start polishing her resume to put out feelers for job openings at other networks, even north of Alaska or south of Australia---anywhere to get away from him.
"Hunter, a good portion of Denny's work was to be interviews with some of the most beautiful actresses and entertainers in Hollywood, eventually the world," Cord offered. "It was good marketing to sell him as available and use his personality and chemistry with the camera to appeal to women viewers." Resting his palms on the surface of his grandfather's desk, he leaned toward her, but he spoke almost gently. "After the contract was signed, Denny and I had little to say to each other. As far as I'm concerned, for all of his on-air charisma, he's an opportunist with a smile. And for the record, he wasn't in Los Angeles a full week before I saw him cozying up with his new co-anchor. I suspect that if a better offer comes from one of the magazine-formatted news shows, he'll ditch our L.A. station without a twinge of remorse---along with whatever relationship he's in at the time. You're better off without him."
Swallowing the bitterness building in her throat, Hunter replied quietly, "Perhaps...but we'll never know, will we?"
As Cord opened his mouth to reply, Henry raised his hand, then directed a disapproving look at his grandson. "That was---well, you know what it was."
Cord hung his head. "I apologize."
But when he looked up again, directly at her, he still looked more determined than apologetic, which left Hunter humiliated anew for being all but forced to expose so much in front of his grandfather. In the end, maybe she had been played for a fool by Denny, but that didn't excuse Cord Rivers. With those enigmatic stares and his Prince-Charming-with-an-edge good looks, he made Denny seem like an amateur.
"All I was trying to point out was that you both hid the fact that you were involved very well," Cord said, breaking into her thoughts.
At least he didn't try to lay on any guilt citing corporate policy, because there was none. Hunter had discreetly checked into that before agreeing to go out with Denny. "We didn't think it would be professional to do otherwise," Hunter said. Apparently, it was more difficult for her to contain herself than Denny, because after giving her the news about the California offer, he had agreed with Cord's supposed logic and suggested they take a break on their commitment while he settled in at his new position. The engagement had been so new, they hadn't even had time to get a ring, so there had been none to return.
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, she noticed something she couldn't remain silent about. Henry looked as unhappy with this conversation as she felt. "I'm sorry if I've ruined your image of me, sir," she told him.
"Nonsense, my dear. You're entitled to your personal life. What I am is troubled that you've undoubtedly held this in for all of this time. It speaks all the more to your professionalism, but I can't imagine what you suffered in private. Cord, I want you to sit down with her and fix this. You need a better foundation of trust and cooperation if you intend to communicate well and freely with each other."
"Of course," Cord said immediately. "Are you free for lunch, Hunter?"
"No!" Hunter reached for her purse which she'd set beside her chair. "What I mean is that I've already missed a flight. I was to do a commencement speech in New Jersey this evening. I thought you might have been told about it. It's the high school I would have graduated from had I stayed up there," she said to Henry. "They knew about it downstairs, but this morning's events obviously caused it to slip their minds. I was about to see about catching another flight."
Distressed anew, Henry checked his watch and then the clock on his desk. "You're due to speak tonight? Good heavens, the time. Cord...?"
"I'll take care of everything," Cord replied. "Grandfather, if you don't mind rescheduling our dinner plans, I'll call the airport and get the jet refueled and ready."
"I heartily concur. Make it as easy as possible for Hunter to continue doing us proud---and stay close. They'll obviously have advertised this up there, so don't let another station have a chance at stealing her away from us."
Hunter looked from one man to the other, feeling a growing panic. "Excuse me?"
Cord's blue-gray eyes lit with either satisfaction or amusement---or both. "We'll get you to your function in the corporate plane." Before she could react, he stepped away from the desk, pulling out his BlackBerry and keying in a few numbers. "Change of plans, Murray," he said into the device moments later. "Gas up and get a flight plan to---" he turned to Hunter "---where in Jersey exactly?"
"Mahwah. That's the northernmost part of Bergen County. But---"
"Mahwah, New Jersey. And tell Lane to arrange for limousine service to the high school. We have to be there by---" Once again, he glanced at Hunter.
"Six was when they were going to have a short reception for staff and special guests. The program starts at seven," she added with resignation.
Glancing at his watch, Cord said, "ASAP, considering the hour difference and traffic congestion. We're leaving the building now. Thanks."
As he disconnected, Hunter launched into her protest. She figured it was more professional than exhibiting an all-out panic attack. "I can't let you do this."
"Why not? We're the cause of you missing your flight and, as you heard my grandfather say, you and I need to talk."
"Absolutely," Henry Yarrow said with an encouraging sweep of his hand. "Now you two run along and I'll finish up one or two things and be on my way myself before Lenore calls and drafts half the building to come after me."
Seeing that she was trapped, and not willing to upset the man she owed so much to, Hunter rose and sought a calmness she didn't feel despite her years in the business. "Mr. Henry...I'm afraid I'm stuck with the redundant, but thank you, again. For all you've done for me. Please know you'll be in my prayers and in my heart every day."
"Would those sweet words by chance come with a hug?"
Hunter rushed to him but was careful as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Thank you, dear and wise young friend," Henry murmured near her ear. Then he kissed her cheek and held her at arm's length. Looking all business again, he huffed, "They'll ask you to do the announcement on the air tomorrow. You will be back, won't you?"
That was his way of saying she was his choice. Her throat grew so raw, she didn't think she could speak. "Of course," she rasped.
Henry relaxed. "I'll be watching from home. Make me immortal. Ah, Hunter...thank you. For all of the pleasure of watching you grow and for your delightful humor."
"Please stop. You're scaring me."
"Nonsense. I'm being the male equivalent of a diva. Truth is, I'm counting on being around to take bows for your long and illustrious career."
Hunter didn't see Cord circle the desk, but when she felt him take gentle hold of her elbow, she didn't resist him directing her to the door. Once outside, she saw that despite Henry's directive, Kym hadn't yet left for lunch.
"Would you call downstairs and tell my driver we're headed that way and need to get to the airport pronto? And do your best to make my grandfather keep to his plan of leaving here as soon as possible. If you run into headwind, call me without hesitation."
"Absolutely, Mr. Rivers. Have a good flight, sir, Ms. Harding."
This time on her way down the hall, Hunter was oblivious to any or all curious onlookers who were back at their desks. The shock of Henry Yarrow's illness-forced retirement and dread over Cord Rivers taking over things---including her personal travel plans---weren't easily taken in stride. How was she to endure being stuck in a plane with him for hours?
"I'm sorry for the way we had to break this to you," Cord said. "He wanted to hold off as long as he could."
"I understand."
"You're in shock."
While he didn't say the words with any sarcasm or accusation of any kind, Hunter blinked back hot tears as another stab of pain struck her. "He's been more than boss and mentor to me, he's been a---a friend."
"A friend who didn't know about you and Denny any more than I did."
But as soon as he was sliced with her scathing look, Cord cleared his throat. "Do you have any luggage you need to retrieve from your office or vehicle?"
As they arrived at the elevators, Hunter watched him punch the nearest down key. "No. I was going to catch the red-eye back, so baggage wasn't necessary." Accepting that she was sounding way too hostile, she forced herself to voice her next words with more reason. "Do you really have to come, too? You must have more important things to do. And you have to admit, it's a little ridiculous to be delegated a babysitter, despite Mr. Henry's kind references about my value."
"Showing support to our star journalist is hardly a waste of my time," Cord replied. "Besides, as Gramps pointed out, this will give us the perfect opportunity to talk."
Hunter stared at his reflection in the polished brass doors. For all of his striking presence and his new stature, she refused to go to her strategic guillotine without a fight. "At the risk of annoying you to where you buy out my contract, I'm not going to discuss Denny with you."
He whistled softly. "You are still angry. Were you really that serious about him? I saw live feeds of your news reports only days after he left Texas, and you looked and performed better than ever. There wasn't the slightest hint that you were suffering an emotional meltdown."
Hunter seethed. For the better part of a week, she hadn't been able to eat more than toast without losing it in seconds. She'd been afraid to pass a copy editor her adjustments to a field writer's report for fear that someone would see how badly her hands were shaking. She had felt totally humiliated and had lost all confidence in her judgment, which for a person trained to analyze was the most bitter of pills. But to Cord Rivers she offered a cold smile and said, "That's why you pay me what you do, Mr. Rivers."
"I don't buy it." The elevator doors parted and Cord followed Hunter inside. Once they turned to face front again and the doors slid shut, he continued, "All I'm saying is that if we were in love, you wouldn't be able to hide it, and I know I sure as hell couldn't."
Hunter wasn't prone to blushing, but hearing the undertones of passion in his voice, she felt an unwelcome heat flood her body. She gripped the strap of her leather shoulder bag to keep from yielding to unwanted fidgeting that would give away her physical awareness of him. "Mr. Rivers---"
"Cord."
She would choke if she tried to call him by his first name. She was already feeling queasy because the elevator was doing its best to beat a record to the first floor. Pressing her free hand to her tummy, she blurted out, "I can't take this trip with you. If you'll drop me off at the airport, I'll see about that alternate flight."
"Do I frighten you that much?"
"Try annoy."
"Honesty at last. Thank you. We have a launch point to work from."
"Better yet, start from the fact that your personal comment just now was inappropriate."
Unbuttoning his suit jacket to slide his hands into his pants' pockets, Cord shrugged. "Maybe I'm less formal than my grandfather, but then I'm not eighty nor have I ever been the cookie-cutter, politically correct type. The point is that you have issues with me, and that simply can't be left unaddressed."
"As long as I get your station good ratings, what do you care what I think about you?"
"Because I have been thinking about you since the day I talked my grandfather into moving Denny to L.A.---longer, if you must know---and it's time I do something about that."
Cord accepted that he might live to regret his honest admission; nevertheless, he was determined to enjoy the moment. The look on Hunter's lovely face was truly priceless; her deep brown, often cognac-warm eyes went wide, becoming a mirror to a fine mind racing at Mach speed. It wasn't often that anything or anyone got under Hunter Harding's skin. When she wasn't being the consummate professional, she was a prankster often getting the best of the guys in the control room after they'd teased her or played a fast one. This he knew from anecdotes his grandfather had passed on through the years or from staffers themselves. She was always quick with a quip and never lorded her position over the reporters and researchers, or anyone else at the station, which made her well liked. In personality, as well as looks, she could pass for Sandra Bullock's kid sister.
But he'd been studying her for a long time and knew that beneath that physically delightful shell that won her both male and female fans and earned her a beloved label was a gentle, wounded soul who protected her heart with a samurai's determination. It troubled him that someone as shallow and self-absorbed as Denny Brewster could have inflicted such hurt on her. Well, no more, he thought. Not if he had anything to do about it. He definitely liked that his compliment was taken exactly the way he'd intended it to be.
As the bell sounded their arrival at the ground floor and the doors parted, he watched as Hunter squared her shoulders, exited and launched into a determined march through the lobby. Quite a feat in that figure-enhancing skirt and killer heels, even with those long legs. While she stood about five-ten in her sexy shoes, he was still inches taller. If he wasn't so concerned about her slipping on the highly polished, Italian marble floor, he would be grinning with pleasure for the enticing show she was putting on.
"Miss Hunter, Mr. Rivers." Joey, the security guard, came bustling around the reception desk, all seriousness and authority. "Your car is waiting, sir. Miss Hunter, do you need me to walk you to your vehicle?"
"No need," Cord replied for her. "She's coming with me. Our flight probably won't return until after midnight. Be sure to tell those on the next shift to keep an eye on her vehicle, would you?"
With his low brow furrowed and his lips pursed, Joey nodded. "Absolutely, sir. Have a safe trip." He held open the first door, then quickly lunged to get the outer door.
As Hunter warmly thanked him, Cord's attention shifted to the black Cadillac at the curb. The rear door was already open, and his chauffeur stood in attendance.
"Hunter," Cord said as they drew nearer. "This is Phil Porter, my driver going on four years now. Phil, this is Ms. Harding. That homely guy behind him," he added, nodding to the handsome blond also dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, "is my executive assistant, Lane Nugent."
Greetings were exchanged with proper circumspection, and all three of the men waited for Hunter to get settled before climbing in themselves.
As Lane buckled up in the front passenger seat, Cord said to Hunter, "I can't offer you any refreshments until we get on the jet."
"I don't care for anything, anyway, thank you."
For the first time, Cord wished for the limousine, where he could push the button and close the divide between the front and back seats and even pull drapes. There were things he wanted to say to her, more he wanted to ask, and none of that was possible in this environment. But his grandfather used the limo, as was only right because it provided more security in every way. Cord relied on Phil's excellent driving for a good part of his safety, and Lane's expert marksmanship and martial arts skills for the rest. With today's increased atmosphere for extortion and terrorism, no successful businessman or high-ranking politician could take his or her safety for granted.
"So, tell me about how you got invited to speak up in Jersey," he said when it was clear that Hunter would remain silent if he let her.
Keeping her eyes forward, she replied politely, "It would have been my alma mater if my father hadn't died, and we hadn't moved down to Texas."
As the Cadillac left the parking lot and merged into service-road traffic, Lane initiated low-key small talk with Phil. Cord knew him well enough to understand he was trying to provide him with what privacy he could.
Cord leaned ever so slightly toward Hunter in order to keep his own voice soft. "What has me curious is how you came to the administration's attention. You're barely old enough to have had your ten-year reunion."
Hunter slid him a brief flattery-will-get-you-nowhere look. "That was two years ago and, since I didn't graduate there, I didn't feel I should attend. From what I was told, a former classmate saw some story I did that played on our New York sister network, and she's active in one way or another in school extracurricular programs. Apparently, she put a bug in someone's ear, and I was invited."
"You're good at promoting everything and everyone but yourself," Cord said.
Shrugging, Hunter said, "Blame it on my German genes. My Grandmother Bayer used to tell my mother, 'Selb loben stinkt,' whenever Mother came from her violin lessons proud of learning a difficult piece."
"I take it that the translation isn't complimentary."
"Self-love stinks."
"Ha! That explains a good deal."
"Speaking of compliments, this car is surprisingly low-key."
"More German genes in play?" Too amused to take offense, Cord replied, "Knowing my grandfather as you do, you must remember he doesn't approve of us drawing unwanted attention to ourselves. But these are different times, and his safety must come first, so with Lenore's help, I did get him into the limo. Otherwise, I use this leased vehicle when here. There's another on each coast, so when we travel, our chauffeurs fly with us. When we travel elsewhere, we rent. It's proven both more economical and practical working with personnel who know our routines and schedules as well as we do ourselves."
"I've met Stuart, Mr. Henry's driver," Hunter said with concern. "He's some years away from retirement. What will happen to him?"
"He'll remain at the estate. He lives in the spacious apartment above the four-car garage with his wife, Meg, who works in the house." There would be many doctor appointments and hospital stays. Devoted to the family, Stuart would make sure both Cord's grandfather and step-grandmother were well cared for, as would the rest of the staff.
"That's undoubtedly going to be a great relief for Mr. Henry and Lenore."
Her sincere concern had Cord venturing another probe. "What about your grandparents? Are they still alive?"
"My paternal grandparents died when I was very young. My maternal grandfather passed away four years ago. My grandmother lives with my mother in Boston."
"Boston---that's right, she's an accomplished musician."
"You've been in my files."
Her voice held more resignation than resentment, and Cord's gesture made the observation matter-of-fact. But he wasn't about to admit that he'd perused her Facebook profile and routinely checked her page on the network's website. "It's my job to know who our people are."
"Then you know she's a First Violin for the Boston Symphony Orchestra."
"That's impressive. Do you play?"
She glanced at him again with a look that said, okay, we'll play this silly game of yours. "The piano. Badly."
But she had the elegant, long-fingered hands for the instrument. "Do you see your mother and your grandmother often?"
"You know my schedule."
True. KSIO kept her on the air as much as they could and then encouraged special appearances on behalf of the station. "I'm sorry that work keeps you apart so much, but their loss is our gain. I hope they're proud of you."
"When they aren't worrying that I'll accept an overseas-correspondent job like my father's."
Cord felt a jolt himself and he couldn't quite hide a frown. "Is that an ambition?"
Hunter looked out her window. "Worried about losing your senior anchor?"
"I'd be a fool not to be." He replied amiably, but a cold lump formed in his stomach as he thought about her on a war-torn front. Since it was way too early to tell her that he had no intention of ever letting her take such risk, he asked instead, "Your mother didn't remarry?"
"No. My father was... Their relationship was one of those rare ones. After we lost him, my mother redirected her passion toward her music, which probably saved her sanity. Can we change the subject, please? The graduates I'm going to speak to deserve an uplifting speech," she said. "Lingering on those initial days and weeks after losing my dad isn't conducive to assuring those kids will get that."
Cord reached over and gently touched the tightly clasped hands in her lap. "I'm sorry. Again." He spoke quietly so that the sound was barely a whisper around them, and he kept his contact brief. Then he added in a conversational voice, "Are you speaking from notes tonight or a written-out speech?"
"It's written. Though I do like to speak extemporaneously for more informal occasions. That tends to relax and engage the audience more."
"I'm looking forward to hearing you. Or would you be more comfortable if I don't follow my grandfather's directive to the word and just have Lane escort you?"
With a mirthless chuckle, Hunter shook her head. "Mr. Rivers, one thing I do understand is that this has ceased to be about what I want. If the school administrators learn that the new CEO of Yarrow Communications is available to attend their ceremony, and I deny them your presence, I'm likely to find my appearance cancelled before I get on the stage."
Cord almost reached for his tie to ease the knot at his throat. She loathes you, pal---and she's no ingenue. It'll take more than charm and chitchat to bring down her walls to the point of being willing to even hear you talk about something other than the weather.
With that realization stinging, Cord was still surprised at how quickly they reached the airport. After a short pause at the security gate, they drove up to YCI's jet. Cord climbed out immediately, ready to offer his hand to Hunter, but Phil was at the opposite door faster, and had the honor.
Captain Zack Murray stood at the top of the stairs to offer a crisp salute in welcome. Beside him was Steward Chris Duluth. Cord introduced Hunter once again.
"Ms. Harding," Chris said, nodding down the aisle of the cabin. "Sit wherever you'd like."
"Sorry to interfere with this afternoon's golf game, Chris," Cord said, once she had passed.
"Full disclosure---I'm relieved, sir," the younger man said good-naturedly. "I'd prefer a morning game instead of melting on the fairway. Captain Murray says we're good to go as soon as you settle in."
"Then let's not waste any more time. No telling how backed up things will be on the Eastern Seaboard."
Once he headed further into the plane, Cord saw that Hunter had chosen an aisle seat forcing him to either do the obvious---sit by the window beside her---or take the opposite aisle seat. He chose the aisle seat.
"This is belated, but what kind of flier are you?" he asked, fastening his seat belt.
"I promise not to charge the door and try to open it at the first hint of take-off."
Cord adopted a smile but was sobered by the thought of her never being able to get on a plane without thinking of her father. Such a catastrophe would kill his enjoyment of air travel, too. "If I had to fly commercially more than I do---I'd dislike it myself." He nodded to the open cockpit door. "They usually leave it open for me but if too much view disturbs you, they can shut it."
"I won't be looking."
As she turned her head away, Cord motioned to Chris to shut the door, which he did quietly. Once that task was done, the steward approached her. "Would something bicarbonate help after we take off?"
Grimacing, Hunter asked, "Am I already turning green? Ginger ale would be great if you have it."
"We do. One other thing. If you haven't already, you need to turn off your cell phone and any other electronic devices."
"Of course."
As she reached for her BlackBerry, Chris turned to Cord. "Sir, anything for you?"
"Water, thanks."
Once he was gone, Cord leaned over his armrest. "I'd risk eardrum damage if you'd like to chitchat until we're in the air."
"How brave of you. But trust me, it won't help."
"It bothers me that you're determined not to like me anymore."
Raising her eyebrows, Hunter replied, "You're assuming conditions were once different. I met you what---a half dozen times prior to Denny's promotion? Half that since? That's not the basis on which to draw any reliable conclusion, let alone trust there's been an improvement."
Clearing his throat to hide a delighted laugh, Cord relaxed in his seat, determined to change that regardless of her stubbornness. "I'm thirty-eight, no failed marriages or illegitimate children to confirm any serious character flaws---although I'll be the first to admit I'm far from perfect---but my grandfather and step-grandmother love me enough to give me a key to their residence when I'm in town."
"Do your parents?"
"They sold their place after my father retired from the University of Texas. They enjoy being gypsies, traveling around the world. Fortunately, they know enough people to always have somewhere to stay. I'm afraid if they had kept their house, I'd be closer to the dust mites than I am to them."
Although Hunter's lips twitched, she quickly replied, "It's none of my business, anyway."
"Fraud. I've just piqued your interest, admit it."
Reluctantly, she cast him a brief, searching glance. "You're trying to make me feel sorry for you...and I almost do. It doesn't sound like you've had the happiest family life."
"Well, I'm a big boy now and it's all water under the bridge. Getting my bachelor's, master's and some good counseling helped. And Henry has been a heck of a good grandfather. It was he who ultimately convinced me that people are who they are and to get on with things."
Hunter's doubtful expression said that she didn't believe him for a second. "Like I said, it's none of my business."
Having shared more with her than he had anyone for some time, Cord was a bit startled. "You think I'm hiding something?"
"Everyone hides things or, more accurately, represses them, especially in this business."
"You've done an admirable job staying positive and creating your own niche without a father figure."
"Oh, believe me, my mother is a strong woman, and I had your grandfather as a part-time surrogate."
"I will forever bless him every day of his and my life for watching over you," Cord replied quietly with an intimate look.
"Will you please stop?"
"Stop what?"
"The flirting."
"I'm afraid you'd better get used to it. It's a spontaneous reaction where you're concerned."
They began taxiing toward the runway, and Captain Murray came over the speaker to make the usual announcements about staying seated and turning off electronic devices. "We're lucking out and will be third in line for take-off. Stand by."
Hunter lowered her eyes, and Cord watched her fiddle with her gold watch, check her fingernails and do everything but look outside. If she wore fake lashes, he was completely fooled---they looked that natural---and while her hands were long and elegant, her nails were relatively short and only buffed, not polished. She wore no rings, in fact her jewelry was nominal, yet of high quality. Her whole look was classy and ladylike, nothing overtly sexual, and yet Cord was as powerfully attracted to her as he'd ever been to any woman. Blatant was easy to find on any channel, just as it was on any street. Women were doing themselves a disservice by selling themselves cheap these days. There was nothing easy about Hunter Harding. But how the devil had someone with her principles fallen for a tool like Denny?
"You're controlling your anxiety quite well," he said with a new understanding for why she'd chosen an aisle seat. "I suspect that's another reason---aside from your hectic schedule---why you don't see your mother and grandmother more often."
"I'm better than I used to be. Hypnosis helped."
"You allowed yourself to be hypnotized?"
She bristled slightly. "Only after trying all of the other so-called cures. I didn't want this to affect my ability to travel for my work if it became necessary."
"I wasn't being critical or condescending, I was intrigued that you would or could give up control that way."
"Just because you and I have some conflict doesn't mean I have trust issues. Besides, the person who did the hypnotizing is a psychiatrist, the mother of a friend. I trust her as much as I would my own mother."
At least she was willing to admit she held a grudge. "Then I'm glad it helped. What about your mother, does she share your unease?"
"No. Since she's done with flying. Simply refuses to get near a plane."
"What if the orchestra takes a special booking they can't easily drive to due to time or whatever?"
"She'll drive herself if there's time. If not, she relinquishes her position to the second chair violinist. The conductor and management understand the problem and are willing to work with her."
"What happens at the holidays? Surely she asks you to come up and visit her?"
"And I do when I can."
"That's very brave...and generous." He made a mental note to check her schedule the next time he had a need to fly north in case he could convince her to join him in order to have a quick visit with her loved ones.
They took off a few minutes later, and by then, Hunter had taken out her folder from her bag and was reading through her presentation---or at least pretending to. Cord saw her do some breathing exercises, as well. However, he was certain she was also trying to give him a strong hint to stop giving her the third degree. The problem was he was enjoying himself too much.
"Feel free to read it out loud if you'd like," he told her.
"I don't...thank you."
"You're not turning shy on me, are you?"
"That's not the adjective that came to mind."
Cord smiled at how the ruder she wanted to be, the more polite she became. "I'm going to wear you down, you know. You're going to end up liking me despite yourself."
"Good luck."
"Why, thank you. Want to shake on it?" He extended his hand.
Looking from his hand to him, Hunter released her seat belt. "If you'll excuse me, I really do need to focus on this speech. I'll just take a seat in back where I can concentrate."
It was no surprise to find a limo was waiting for them upon landing. Hunter figured if Cord wanted a helicopter to get them to the school, it would have been waiting on the tarmac, too. They hadn't spoken for over three hours, yet Cord acted as though it hadn't been more than two minutes.
"I've left directives with Chris to get some decent takeout for the flight home. If memory serves, you don't like to eat before going on the air, do you?"
Refusing to let him see that he'd managed to surprise her, Hunter murmured, "No." Inwardly, however, she wondered where he'd learned that tidbit, or rather, who he'd interrogated for information about her? At least this was a full-length limousine, and the window was up between them and the driver---Cord's regular driver, Phil.
"Phil has taken over for the lease company's chauffeur, and he's already familiarized himself with the route." Cord checked his watch. "Barring mechanical trouble or a traffic crisis, we'll get you to the school right on schedule."
About forty minutes later, they pulled into the school's driveway. Hunter had called to announce when they were only five minutes away, and a small entourage was waiting at the sidewalk to greet them.
"Ms. Harding, it's such a pleasure to meet you."
Hunter smiled and extended her hand to a thin, balding man who'd quickly dabbed his perspiring head and face as she'd stepped from the vehicle. It was as warm here as it was in Texas, but she suspected nerves had a great deal to do with his condition. She gave him an especially warm smile in the hopes of relaxing him. "It's an honor to be asked to join you."
"I'm John Updike, unfortunately no relation to the original, but proudly principal of Mahwah High. And this is Denise Whitley, our office manager, and tonight's amazing program chair."
"Mr. Updike, Ms. Whitley. I know these events are enormous undertakings and a scheduling challenge." By the time Hunter shook hands with them, Cord had joined the group. "I'd like you to meet Cord Yarrow Rivers of Yarrow Communications, which owns KSIO. As I explained on the phone earlier, state-breaking news forced me to miss my earlier commercial flight. That's when Mr. Rivers and his grandfather, Henry Yarrow, insisted on getting me up here on the corporate jet."
"We're so grateful. This is a real treat," John Updike said, vigorously shaking Cord's hand. "What a coup for us." He gestured to the building behind him. "We have a private room for you to freshen up, Ms. Harding, and we can take Mr. Rivers to the reception area where our other dignitaries are waiting to get started. I don't suppose I have to warn you that some members of the press are also present?"
"Including our New York affiliate, I hope," Cord said.
"Assuredly."
After that Hunter pretty much lost track of Cord, which wasn't exactly a disappointment. The man was determined to make himself her chief focus, and she couldn't deal with him right now. But that didn't mean his words back at the Yarrow Building didn't keep preying on her mind.
"I've been thinking about you...and it's time I did something about it."
"Oh, stop!" she whispered to herself.
"Am I going too fast?" Principal Updike asked, holding up quickly as he led her to the press, who wanted as much time as she could give them.
Hunter glanced over her shoulder. Ms. Whitley had said something about Cord being introduced to the superintendent of schools, the mayor and the school's department heads and had led him in the opposite direction, but she still felt Cord's presence as strongly as when he'd stood beside her with his hand at the small of her back. "Sorry, no. I just remembered something I needed to tell Co---Mr. Rivers, but I'll do that after the interviews. Lead on, Mr. Updike."
Fifteen minutes later, she was finishing her chat with a second reporter when a pretty redhead her own age who had been lingering in the shadows came up, smiling shyly.
"Hunter?"
"Lisa---it's you!" She reached for her old classmate and they hugged. "If you'd stepped into the light sooner, that gorgeous hair would have been a dead giveaway. How've you been?"
"Fine, but you're the one. How glamorous you look and what an incredible career you're building for yourself. I'm so proud. I found you on Facebook, and I've been following your blog on the station's website for some time."
"Then why didn't you write?"
The shorter woman shrugged and tugged on her white, cotton blazer that was a half size too small. "I didn't want to intrude. You're so busy. Besides, I didn't want to bring up sad memories. And---" Lisa glanced over her shoulder with increased nervousness "---I married and I was afraid to tell you to who."
A tall man with wavy, brown hair and deep dimples stepped up beside her. "Hello, Hunter."
"Mike---you and Lisa? How great is that!" She hugged him, as well. "When did this happen?"
"Six years and two girls ago," they chimed in unison.
Hunter pressed a hand to her heart. "Pictures?" When Lisa quickly flipped open her cell phone and showed her one of the two of them in Easter finery, Hunter cooed. "Lovely, they got your hair and Mike's dimples. There is justice in this world."
Her former classmates looked delighted and relieved with her sincere pleasure for them. "Michelle is our firstborn and Vanessa is the younger one," Lisa said.
"We made a huge mistake and should have reversed the names," Mike said.
"Vanessa is a real tomboy," Lisa said, taking over. "And we sometimes call her Nessa the Messa out of sheer despair, don't we, honey? We should have named her Michelle and at least being called 'Mitch' wouldn't be too bad, while Michelle is the epitome of what you expect a Vanessa to be---classy, mannered and the last person you'd find wrestling the neighbor's son on the front lawn."
It was all Hunter could do to keep up. When she'd last seen them, Mike dreamed of pitching for the New York Mets, and Lisa wanted to open her own decorating shop. Her sixth sense that she'd honed since working in the business told her not to ask how close they'd come to achieving their dreams.
"That sounds like real life to me," she replied. "'Make a plan and watch God laugh.'"
Lisa beamed at her husband. "Isn't this like old times? Remember Hunter always validated a thought with a pertinent quote."
"In other words, I was Queen Nerd," Hunter said with a self-deprecating laugh.
"No, you made us feel better about a moment and ourselves. The world was stable if you were there to put things in perspective." Growing wistful, Lisa touched her sleeve. "What about you? I was hoping you would meet someone as great as your dad and be married, too."
Against her will, Cord's face flashed before Hunter, and she vigorously shook her head. "No time." She added a shrug and perfected her airy tone. "My boss keeps my schedule pretty full."
"Is he the distinguished guy standing behind you looking like he just stole Manhattan from Donald Trump?"
Hunter didn't bother turning to check. "That's the one." Wondering why he wasn't still with the other group, she felt that increasingly familiar hand at her waist. She immediately said, "Cord Yarrow Rivers, these are my two dearest friends from school before we moved, Lisa and Mike O'Neal."
"A pleasure---and it's Cord," he said, shaking hands with both of them. "I hate to intrude with anything that puts a smile on Hunter's face after such a draining day, but Principal Updike says they need to seat her."
"Oh, dear---do you think you'll have time to meet afterward, Hunter? We'd hoped to take you both out for a drink or dinner?"
Hunter winced. "I wish, Lis, but we have to get back to Texas tonight. I have another on-air must tomorrow morning." Hunter quickly dug out a card from her purse. "Here's my card. Call or email me and let's see if we can try to hook up again."
"I'd love to. Just getting to hug you again means more than I can tell you."
As the ceremonies began, Hunter lost Cord again. She finally spotted him staying close to their sister station's reporter and camera crew. After that, she went into work mode.
She wasn't nervous. She'd already experienced too many emergency live shots to easily unravel over something this planned, and when she finally stood amid friendly, but not riotous, applause, she understood the restraint completely. This was the kids' day, and speeches were a necessary evil to them. Seventy-five percent of them didn't know her from their state senators, unless they had taken a glimpse inside their programs. More wouldn't remember a thing she said, especially if she was formal and somber. On the other hand, if she was too lighthearted, the town leaders and school staff would regret having touted her as the school's current highest achiever. Hoping to strike a happy medium, she listened as Principal Updike introduced her, and then she rose and set her leather binder on the dais.
"Mayor Steel, Principal Updike, Superintendent Bradshaw, esteemed guests and graduating class---it's been a whirlwind day, but trust me, being here with you is still the high point."
The students erupted in cheers and whistles. A good start---she could almost hear them thinking---it's about us.
"A few hours ago, I was in Texas trying to keep career politicians and strategists---some of the top movers and shakers in the state and country---from gobbling up precious air time with their spin, and now I'm here looking at your vibrant, intelligent faces eager to charge toward the rest of your lives. That's the speed at which the world is spinning.
"But for a twist of fate, I would have once sat in one of those chairs---where are you H's?" As a few kids whooped and waved, Hunter pointed and smiled. "There you are. You girls are doing way cuter things with your hair than we did ten years ago."
After another few laughs and one brave male senior calling "Looking hot, Hunter!" she grinned back and suggested, "I promise any of you with a strong science background that the world is your oyster if you can just develop good hair products that can withstand twelve-to sixteen-hour days under hot lights and Gulf heat and humidity."
Then she grew slightly more somber, "Wherever you go, whatever you do, never stop believing in your dreams or challenging yourself. When I lost my father on the eve of the junior prom, I struggled to believe that things would ever be bearable again. Sometimes it was rough, even though I had a great relationship with my mother, and we were fortunate that my father had planned for such a catastrophe, so money wasn't our top concern. But it is for many.
"The thing is that Mom was hurting, too, and suddenly had her hands full, becoming the sole provider of a teenage daughter who was expecting to get a car, go to college, gain her independence. My mother was so shattered, she was afraid to let me out of her sight even to go to classes. I knew I needed more input, more help than my steady and sturdy grandparents. The church and my new school's counselors helped. Mentoring is always there if you'll open the door to the idea and just ask. That's how I came to KSIO. I wrote Mr. Henry to ask why he didn't have an internship program, and he called me and said, 'Come and be our lab experiment.'"
That comment and her comic, openmouthed look of terror won her laughs and more applause.
"Well, that dear man became my next mentor and slowly the world turned right-side up again. In the decade since I left Mahwah, I've had the privilege to interview two governors, one president, several Academy Award winners, a Nobel Prize winner and way too many wounded soldiers returning from war. I'm going to guess that I don't need to tell you which of them impressed and inspired me the most?"
There were more cheers and someone shouted, "Go Army!" Amid cheers someone else shouted, "Oorah, marines!"
The applause and cheers rose to a roar. It was clear that a number of kids were entering the military instead of enrolling in college. Hunter nodded and called back, "God bless and thank you for your service, ladies and gentlemen."
As she drew to a close, she said, "And so, be curious, be open to new ideas and weigh other perspectives with the respect they deserve, but never allow yourself to wake up one morning without remembering the enthusiasm for life you feel today or lose sight of your core values. And for goodness' sake, never leave home without sun block or hand sanitizer! Congratulations, graduates!"
The stadium thundered with cheers and applause. Principal Updike rejoined her at the podium to take her hand within both of his. "That was refreshing and insightful."
"Well, a touch of levity makes the medicine go down easier."
It took another hour before the ceremonies were over and the awards and diplomas distributed. Then it was an hour after that before Cord and Hunter made it as far as the limo.
Once they were on their way back to the airport, Cord pulled at the knot in his tie. "Well done---again. How you managed to keep the excitement level up after having put in the long day you did, I don't know."
"Not everyone would agree with you. I saw a couple of yawns down there in the graduate pit," she drawled, fidgeting in her impulse to slide her shoes off of her aching feet.
"I'm pulling rank---you're not permitted to nitpick yourself tonight. Besides, not everyone is going to grow up to be a rocket scientist or even a hair stylist."
She would be foolish not to appreciate the compliment, but Hunter had her own grading level for herself. "Yes, but I was judging myself, not the audience."
"I would expect you to say nothing less modest." Up front, Lane called ahead to the plane to let them know they were on their way while Cord checked the small refrigerator. "Thirsty? I know the bar in this thing comes stocked with champagne."
"Water for now, please. I'm as dry as if I read them the entire Sunday edition of The New York Times. I might take a glass of bubbly on the plane if you meant it about feeding me on the way home."
Hunter eagerly accepted the cool bottle he handed her. As she drank, she glanced out her window to see how much of her surroundings she remembered. It was dark, and traffic was heavy due to other graduation ceremonies in the area. The many parties were adding to the usual congestion for this outer wing of one of the country's major metropolitan areas. While Hunter had enjoyed herself, she was glad the day was over. The celebrity part of this business drained her of energy as much as flying chiseled at her nerves. She understood the need for it, but it still left her physically and emotionally depleted.
"Please forgive my informality," she said abruptly, "but I give up. I have to get these off." She leaned forward and slipped off her shoes.
Cord murmured his approval. "Thank goodness, you're human after all. I wondered how you managed over fifteen hours in those things. Fred says most of the time you ditch them the minute you slide into your anchor seat."
"Fred is going to be told that he talks too much," Hunter replied. But she said it with affection for her producer.
"All of it is praise. He's almost as crazy about you as my grandfather is. I'm going to suggest to him that he and Tom discuss a behind-the-scenes segment and show what all is involved for you as you prepare for your programs every day."
"Isn't TV littered enough with reality shows?" Hunter asked before taking a long swallow of water.
"Yes, but we're not talking about junk, sex and gossip." Cord turned halfway in his seat to face her. "Reporting has taken a black eye over the years, and journalists are often disliked and distrusted as much as politicians and lawyers."
"So you want me to be a cheerleader for the industry? I'll beg you to fire me first. A better idea would be to put young people on TV to encourage their peers to vote. It's pitiful that in this day and age more senior citizens are voting than people under the age of twenty-five."
"Can't argue with you there," Cord replied. "Maybe we'll start doing something with local schools. Be careful, you may have just earned yourself more work."
Hunter saluted him with her bottle. "Believe me, that kind of assignment would be a treat."
"Because you're that civic-minded or you like kids as much as you seem to?"
"Both."
"Do you plan to have your own someday?"
Well, that didn't take long, she thought. "There you go, diving into personal information again."
Undeterred, Cord said, "I'll take that as an affirmative. You all but cooed over your former schoolmates' pictures of their children."
"Because the last time I saw Lisa and Mike, we were discussing Lisa getting her driver's license, while my mother insisted I should wait until we got to Texas. I had no idea they were together, let alone had children. It was a nice surprise."
"Was it? He's the one who was supposed to take you to the junior prom that you didn't attend, right?"
"That really didn't take much deductive reasoning, Mr. Rivers."
"What's it going to take for you to call me Cord?"
More hypnosis, she thought. "We're not friends."
"We will be if you'll stop being so stubborn." When Hunter opened her mouth to reply, he quickly added, "Okay, as your boss, I give you a free pass whenever we're alone to call me Cord."
Despite her initial intentions to dislike and distrust the man, he'd been nothing but kind and generous to her, and guilt started to act like a wet blanket on her resolve. Hunter allowed that it was probably fatigue and the news about Mr. Henry's illness that was compromising her judgment; nevertheless, she relented.
"Maybe. Sometimes...Cord."
His smile lasted all the way back to the plane.
Hunter had to admit the return flight seemed to go faster than the trip up and allowed that it was more pleasant, as well. She wasn't even as anxious about flying. The champagne was undoubtedly helping.
When she had reclaimed the seat she'd sat in before, Cord resumed his on the opposite side. She supposed he was being kind again to make it easier for her to avoid looking outside. Plus, it allowed him to get a better view of her legs and bare feet, she concluded, catching him for the fourth time. Several of the crew had remarked about them on various occasions, so she supposed they were decent, and while her fingers might not be polished, her toenails were a cotton-candy pink. Men could get pretty silly about a woman's painted toenails.
"Are you a Democrat or Republican?" Cord asked from his side of the aisle Hunter did a double take. They had just exhausted the subject of where to get the best Asian takeout in San Antonio while devouring the takeout that Chris had obtained for them. "That's none of your business. I'm an American first, a journalist second, which ethically speaking means you're not supposed to be able to tell which way my feelings lean." Then mischief got the best of her. "Besides, I'm neither. I'm an Independent."
Cord gestured expansively. "Yet another thing we have in common. Who would have guessed it? What about TV in general?"
His eyes glistened in the subdued cabin light, and Hunter had to blink to keep from becoming transfixed. "I told you, my work leaves me with little time to follow any program with any dedication. I do well to catch movie trailers and keep up with box office statistics, so that I don't feel entirely clueless with what everyone else is talking about in the hallways or when we have a special guest from the entertainment world stopping by. I'm almost as bad about reading anything that's fiction on the bestseller lists. My desk and nightstand are stacked with nonfiction."
"Does that mean you're also in the dark regarding sports?"
"Not guilty, Your Honor. My mother will tell you that she worried I'd grow up to be a tomboy what with me watching New York Mets games with my father at every opportunity. You probably can name fewer presidents than I can name Texas baseball, football and basketball players."
Narrowing his eyes, Cord replied, "George Washington."
"Tony Dimples Romo, Dallas Cowboys."
"That's ridiculously easy considering that it's obvious you have a thing for men with dimples," Cord scoffed.
"A mere coincidence---and who are you to complain about easy? Just about everyone has to memorize the list of presidents in school. I have to know the games and understand positions to recall players."
It was almost one in the morning when they approached the San Antonio Airport.
They had fallen into a companionable silence. Hunter was almost comfortable enough to nap.
"You're exhausted," Cord said. "Take tomorrow off. I'll arrange for---"
"Absolutely not." Sitting forward to stretch her spine and then tilting her head back and forth to get the kinks out, Hunter added, "Did you forget that your grandfather wanted the announcement made about his retirement this morning?"
He dropped his head against the headrest. "You know, I was enjoying myself so much that I did. Maybe that's a Freudian thing, too, since I've been trying not to think about Gramps's surgery." Turning to look at her again, he said, "We're asking a great deal of you."
"It's my honor---and I understand completely and sympathize about dreading what's ahead. I do, as well." She was glad she was seeing this side of him, some vulnerability. It made her feel less wary about the changes that were inevitable at the station. "I'll have something drafted by the time I arrive for the morning news. Do you need me to fax it to you at your home or email it to your BlackBerry?"
"Faxing to the house would be great, only because I want to be with him and Lenore when it airs, and this way I can be semi-prepared for the emotional hit and better prepared to help them. You do have a talent for pulling at the heartstrings."
"Too much emotion?" Hunter asked, immediately worried.
"Perfect. Your sincerity and warmth allows the viewer to feel safe in accepting their own feelings. It's a wonderful gift."
Lowering her eyes, Hunter checked the tightness of her seat belt. "Thanks, then I'll fax it to you as soon as I can."
"But you should have my email address for your BlackBerry," Cord added. "And my wireless number. Just in case."
After she retrieved her BlackBerry to insert the information before Chris came to tell them to shut things down, Cord dictated, and she quickly punched the proper keys. "I guess you should have mine."
"I already do."
She couldn't ignore the subtle tremor that raced through her. It could have been a result of the softness of his voice, almost a caress, or the way he looked at her as though she was that last sip of champagne he'd enjoyed. Intimacy had become unwelcome and foreign to her since Denny, and the cocktail of that concept and Cord Rivers was more intoxicating than the champagne.
"Just in case?" she asked with almost no air in her lungs.
"Of course."
After they'd landed, and Hunter thanked the crew again, Phil Porter smoothly and efficiently drove them back to the office. After they came to a stop and Hunter had said good-night to Lane and Phil, Cord insisted on walking her to her car.
"Will you let us follow you home so I don't have to worry about you on the streets alone at this hour?" he asked when they were a few feet from the Cadillac.
It was now two in the morning, but the hour wasn't too unusual for her. There were often functions she had to attend or some major news story or the elections. "It's not necessary, really. Besides, since Texas is a concealed-handgun state, I'm licensed. My weapon is locked in here," she said, tilting her head at the silver Escalade parked in her reserved spot. "Mr. Henry suggested it about a year after I started full-time with the station. There had been a murder of an anchorwoman in another state and it troubled him. I go to the firing range every quarter to keep up my skills."
"It's a relief to know you have some protection," he said, "but I still insist. We'll be right behind you."
Although she shook her head, Hunter's lips curved at the chivalry. "Poor Lane and Phil. Less sleep for them than anyone tonight."
"They're well compensated, and right about now, they're betting each other a crisp Jackson whether I'll get to ride with you to your place or you keep me locked out of your vehicle."
"Whoever has figured out that I'm grateful but no pushover or fool wins." Hunter used her remote to unlock the door. "But thank you again for all you did."
"Hunter." Cord waited for her to pause and meet his gaze. "I enjoyed tonight. It's the first time I felt like myself and not a commodity in---well, I don't know in how long."
She supposed he ran into that often being who he was, but even with the planes and limousine, Hunter realized she'd only been thinking of him as her boss---except when she was thinking of him as an extremely charismatic man. Feeling more than a little dazed, she whispered, "Good night," and sought the escape of the Escalade's interior.
It was a relief to turn onto her road and then her driveway. The Cadillac had stayed devotedly behind her, but not so close she was blinded by its lights. Phil may have lost or won twenty dollars; however, nothing showed in the way he tailed her. She pulled the car into the garage. It was a greater relief to hit the remote again and have the garage door descend behind her. She was not in Cord Yarrow Rivers's league, and she needed the respite.
Her BlackBerry sounded and she saw an incoming text. As she unlocked the door to her townhouse, she brought up the message.
Since there are too many ears in this car, I'll just wish you a good-night back.
Unable to resist, she texted back, Who won?
After a slight hesitation came the brief message, Sweet dreams.
Throwing back her head, Hunter laughed out loud. No, she wasn't in his league, but she'd held her own. At least for tonight.
It would be an exaggeration to say that she arrived at the station refreshed. She definitely wasn't ready to deal with the on-air announcement about Mr. Henry, but Hunter made it in at the same time the morning staff did, warning everyone that extra eye drops and makeup would be required before she was willing to remove her sunglasses. Last night, after changing into her most comfortable nightie and robe, she had read the text reminder from executive producer Tom Vold regarding his concern about how fast gossip traveled and that, if possible, they wanted their announcement of transfer of power to Cord to be done before most of the public left for work. Knowing their writer and video people would need anything and everything ASAP, Hunter never went to bed.
Considering the cacophony going on at the station's main telephone bank some kind of leak had occurred. Staff filed in, exhibiting everything from confusion to doubt. Fortunately, the powers that be decided extra security was justified, and Joey had a bleary-eyed Earl joining him. Earl gave a new definition to bloodshot eyes and kept his gaze locked on the doors as though he expected a UFO to navigate itself into the building at any second. Otherwise, things seemed to be business as usual.
Hunter came dressed in black sweats and carried an ivory dress suit with a gold rose pin on the left shoulder. The pin was a cherished gift from Mr. Henry from last Christmas. He'd dubbed her his rose of KSIO as he'd assured her that she had her job as long as she wanted it.
She already knew Tom and Fred were pleased with her text for the presentation because extensive communication between them had been done before she'd arrived.
"Have you considered a future as a presidential speechwriter?" her director, Wade Spangler, asked minutes later when he entered the makeup room holding a hard copy of her announcement. "This is going to be played all over the country and probably on late-night TV tonight."
"Well, give it back," Hunter told him, grabbing for the draft. "It'll be easy enough to muddy up." She was glad that Wade was pleased, but she was sensitive to exaggeration at this point, especially since she'd heard nothing from Cord, despite having fulfilled her promise to text him early.
Wade snatched the sheets out of her reach. "Changes would have to be over my dead body. They're loving it over at the inner sanctum. I just wanted a glimpse at what you were wearing so I could think lighting." He nodded at the outfit Hunter had changed into. "Thank goodness your skin isn't bone-white. Okay, Fred will pop in here momentarily to let you know that we're set to put you on as our A-Close," Wade said, referring to the last story in that programming block.
Now dressed in her suit, Hunter nodded, knowing in this case that her announcement was timed to leave viewers moved.
"Check with Fred about the midday news," he said, continuing to peruse his notes. "They want a recap instead of replaying the parcel, and to have you sitting in the guest seat beside Molly and Ed so they can pose a question or two. At that point, the whole country will have the news, and we don't want to stay with a depressing tone, so they'll shift over to yesterday and the commencement speech you gave. Is that okay with you?"
"As long as we don't have to linger on why I moved from there, otherwise we will sink into a depressing topic again."
"Damn, you're right." Tom rubbed the back of his neck. "Hell, then try to think of something that's coming up on your calendar that's upbeat. Stay on your toes. It'll all be fluid."
As he turned to leave, all droopy shouldered, Hunter called, "Understood, coach. My money is on you to make me look good and hide the shadows under my eyes that this makeup isn't covering very well."
"Oh, please. Everybody should look so good," Wade muttered as he exited the room.
"See, I told you that you're still too young for it to show," Linda, their makeup technician, said.
She was about done as the morning crew entered, now dressed in their stage clothing, too. When she first joined the network, Hunter worked this shift and had an affection and empathy for their lot. They saw her as the next level to reach for and acted starstruck. Oddly, that added to her feelings of nostalgia and melancholy.
When she was cued to take her seat, she made herself think only of the gentleman who would forever be her hallmark in the business. Upon cue, she began, "Good morning. On behalf of Yarrow Communications, KSIO and all of our sister stations across the country, it's my sad responsibility to announce that our much-loved leader, mentor and the original visionary of YCI, Mr. Henry Yarrow, is retiring.
"It's impossible to encapsulate in mere words what he has meant to me, let alone done for this giant family in communications. I was the novice fresh out of college when he brought me onboard here in San Antonio, and he guided me through my first days of the fascinating, treacherous and nerve-racking paces of TV news. When some said network TV was dead, and cable was the future, Henry Yarrow denied them that black-and-white conclusion and cable continues to respect his strength. When political bullies and business opportunists tried to silence his voice, he led a public protest that kept freedom of speech alive.
"Nevertheless, being number one was never Mr. Henry's ultimate desire. He wanted something beyond letting the public know what the big story was, why it was on everyone's lips and what the core questions were that needed to be asked. Then he pointed to us, his reporters, the front line of any information, 'Tell our public what they don't know yet. Give them the news and the facts to help them make sound judgments, and don't ever let them get bored or complacent so as to switch channels without understanding that the future still lies in their hands.'"
In her earpiece, Hunter could hear control room staff voice variations of an affirmative and Wade's soft coaxing to slightly rein in the passion. It was probably the wise thing to do if she was running for city council, but Mr. Henry's list of champions and charities was long.
"San Antonio experienced a burst of growth when he decided to make this the location for YCI headquarters. The country benefited as KSIO launched and/or acquired sister stations on both coasts and in the Midwest. Under his direction, YCI funded new communication departments in several area high schools, improved hospitals and nursing home facilities with home entertainment centers and libraries with state-of-the-art resource centers. Privately, he and his wife Lenore are often anonymous donors to various charities and performing art centers. Where there has been a need, he has often been the first to ask, 'What will help?'
"Sadly, health issues demand that he turn his entire focus and energy on himself, but we're privileged and honored that his grandson, Mr. Cord Yarrow Rivers, is willing to step in at this difficult time.
"Finally, on a personal note, I'd like to say to Mr. Henry---as he will always be known to me---we love you and will miss you. You will remain the standard we hope to rise to. Forevermore."
The camera switched off of her, and Hunter watched the rest of the package on a nearby monitor---photos and videos of some of Henry Yarrow's greatest achievements---before the piece ended on a picture of him and Lenore at their last, big public function together: last year's Emmy Awards when he was presented with a Lifetime Achievement Award. They both looked so happy and healthy. Tears of appreciation and sadness filled Hunter's eyes as the screen finally went black.
"And that's our A-Close," Fred said from the control room. "Thanks, everyone."
Usually special events brought cheers, but the room was silent and so was her earpiece. Scanning the audience, her vision finally cleared and she saw a technician pinching the bridge of his nose to hide his emotion, another wiping away tears. Hunter blinked hard and started thinking about the rest of her day to keep from totally breaking down.
"That's a moment of history that we'll be proud to remember. Beautiful job, Hunter."
She raised a hand in thanks to Tom's praise and pulled out her earpiece. She didn't want to test her ability to speak right now. But she realized she wasn't going to be given a chance to recover because Cord emerged from the shadows.
"Grandfather will be so pleased," he said as he approached her.
"You're not supposed to be here." Hunter knew she sounded the fool, but she couldn't help it. Cord had assured her that he needed to stay with Henry at the estate for this, and no one had told her otherwise.
"Thanks for the warm welcome."
Hunter shook her head. "You know what I mean. You said you needed to stay close."
"I intended to, but Grandfather thought better of the idea." He glanced down at her bare feet and smiled. "If you'll slip your shoes on, I'll escort you up to my office."
Although Hunter did slide back into her camel-colored strappy heels, she wasn't happy about it or his comment. "Why do I want to go to your office?" she asked just before Kandi, a sound technician, reached her for the mike, battery pack and earpiece.
As soon as she left, Cord replied, "Because having the conversation we need to have might embarrass you down here."
Startled, Hunter could only stare at him. She was pretty sure that she wasn't about to get fired, which left her with only one conclusion to draw. "Mr. Rivers---"
"Cord."
"We're not alone," she sang softly, mentally punching him.
"But we spent last night together---or most of it anyway."
Horrified that someone should hear that and take it the wrong way, she ducked her chin and headed for the hallway. Within a few strides, Cord was right beside her, and his grin made her all the more agitated.
"Why do you buy such narrow skirts if you're determined to keep trying to outrun me?"
"Try finding something that doesn't fit like a glove these days---in stores or online."
"I'm wholly into it," he mused. "Until you get a skin burn."
Hunter stopped at the elevator and took pains to depress the up button with care, all the while hoping not to lose her temper. "This is a sad day for me," she said, staring holes into the elevator buttons. "It should be for you, as well. How can you reduce it to---"
"It's a good day. The tough one comes when he enters the hospital for surgery," Cord interjected.
The elevator arrived and Hunter stepped in, knowing he was right. She even forgave him a little because she now understood that he was coping, and who was she to judge how anyone did that?
The chime announced their arrival at the top floor. With characteristic smoothness, he touched his hand to the small of her back to encourage her exit. Once again, it wasn't an overtly physical gesture, and yet Hunter's body tensed and her temperature soared as though someone had flipped a switch. Add the attention they attracted walking down the hallway as they passed the various secretaries, and Hunter was grateful to reach Cord's office. It was a small gift that Kym was away on some other assignment or chore. That triggered a question.
"I heard you call Lane your executive assistant yesterday," she began. "Please don't tell me that Kym is about to be deeply hurt from all of this?"
"Not at all. We talked it out. She'll continue her role as assistant to the CEO, but I couldn't very well have Lane around with the title tail gunner or even chief of security without triggering too much attention of every imaginable variety."
He reached around her to open the door to his office, forcing Hunter to turn sideways to avoid the physical contact she suspected he wanted. "Thank you for the explanation and reassurance."
"The reassurance that I'm not just a suit---or tool, as the kids say these days?"
Hunter stopped in the middle of the room and clasped her hands behind her back. There was no way that she would respond to that. As relieved as she was for Kym, she had to wait on what else was coming.
"Why am I here?" she asked instead.
"Can I get you something?" Having closed the door, he gestured for her to have a seat. "The coffee is fresh, and the fridge is loaded with plenty of choices."
"I'm fine, thanks."
As she sat, she was glad to note that there weren't many changes to the office---yet. It was early, of course, and he had every right to remove all semblance of Henry Yarrow and make this his own throne room. But the only things that were gone were Henry's favorite family photographs on the credenza against the wall of windows. So far, the credenza was bare of anything personal.
"Well, then let's get to it. I have some good news for a change," Cord said as he unbuttoned his navy blue suit jacket and sat down on the edge of the desk. "We're going to have you start soloing the evening news."
Hunter gasped. He called that good news? "No! You can't fire---"
"Whoa---who said anyone is losing their job? Did we not clear up your jumping to conclusions when I explained about Kym? But I want people to know who is giving them their news. I want them to trust what they hear because they know and trust the person delivering the news. And the way we do that is by spending more time with those individuals.
"Ever since Walter Cronkite retired, whenever there's a scandal or other grumble in the news, the credibility of the information depends on who's delivering it. More often than not we hear---depending on the age of the viewer---'If Walter were here, we wouldn't be experiencing this.'" Cord pointed at her. "What I want is for viewers to invest that kind of trust in you."
Hunter didn't understand the need to veer from the proven. "It's already done. We're winning in both of our time slots. Why change what's working?"
Crossing his arms over his chest, Cord shook his head. "You are probably the only reporter that I know who would try to talk her boss out of making her a star."
"I'm the one who is out in the public and getting the feedback. People tell me that they like our format better than that of any of the other stations. They like Greg." Just the thought of this idea reaching her anchor partner, Greg, made her stomach start to ache. "Do you know how hard Greg worked to get his position, or how many candidates we interviewed beforehand?"
She remembered how she'd sat in on management's second meeting with Greg and had instantly liked the twenty-seven-year-old father of toddler twins. Getting kicked downstairs or off the network would be economically devastating to him, as well as unfair. Not only was he a solid reporter, he had an appealing camera presence.
"Were you told how he was the tenth candidate we interviewed, and we almost didn't see him again because we were already impressed with several other candidates?" she continued while Cord patiently sat, listening. "Once he did his spot, we forgot about the others."
"He's not bad, but I don't think he's as convincing as you are. Part of the problem is his youth and lack of credentials. Our marketing research tells us that he appeals more to young women and men his age, but not younger or older. That's not the age groups that can be relied on to watch the news with any regularity." Cord inclined his head toward her. "In comparison, you are only slightly his senior, but you evoke a deeper understanding and compassion. Maybe it's the tragic loss you suffered, combined with the time you spent early on as a field reporter---it's certainly not something you can pick up in a communications class. People are drawn to you, and as such, it's time we mine those traits and accelerate your progression into the major leagues."
As flattering as it was to hear him delineate her skill and value, Hunter could take no pleasure in it because of the cost. "If Mr. Henry had thought I was ready, he would have promoted me himself."
"He told me that he was selfish and wanted to keep you close for as long as he could. A push like this will undoubtedly earn you wider attention, even beyond our networks, and my hunch is that you'll be enticed, if not pushed, into a larger market than San Antonio." As he watched her reaction, his expression went from admiring to incredulous. "Are you really that speechless? You never had a clue? Hunter, my grandfather despises my father and is deeply disappointed in Mother despite their union having produced me. You're the daughter he wishes he'd had---someone interested in giving back and improving the world, not just indulging in the benefits of celebrity, the good life and hobnobbing only with those of a like mind."
Cord's family dynamics were none of her business, but Hunter had to admit he was piquing her curiosity. Mr. Henry had never talked about his daughter or Cord's father. Could they be as shallow as that?
"Thanks," she began. "Please know that I'm flattered, but I can't accept. I do hope to progress with my career, only not this way."
"I know you want to do your father proud. If he was here, do you think he'd advise you to turn down this opportunity?"
"Probably not. However---"
"Your mother has given herself over to her career---wouldn't she approve of this?"
"Of course she would." Hunter was getting frustrated again that he wouldn't let her finish a thought. "I don't understand what the hurry is. Couldn't this wait until you've had a chance to settle into the position? Besides, you'll want to focus on your grandfather's surgery. And shouldn't Tom and Fred, even Wade, be in on this conversation? I'm going to assume you aren't doing this so spontaneously that even Kevin Dalworth doesn't know," she said of their station chief.
"They all know about it and prefer I handle the initial discussion with you. Fred spoke for everyone when he said he's not putting himself through having to watch those brown eyes of yours go all limpid and appealing. They forewarned me that you'd go to bat for Benson."
"Cowards," Hunter muttered under her breath.
Cord studied her, clearly perplexed. "Believe it or not, I did think you'd be thrilled with this news." His expression suddenly changed to one of revelation. "Wait a minute...I'll bet you think that this change would mean Greg would get his walking papers. On the contrary, we'll ask him to anchor the weekend news and substitute when you have something else that conflicts with our regular format. I understand Larry is hinting about retiring and Becca is only weeks away from needing maternity leave anyway," he said of their current weekend-news staffers Larry Jackson and Rebecca Devon. "In between, Benson can do the investigative stories. That'll help him brush up on his interviewing skills."
That not-so-small revelation had Hunter easing back in her chair. "I wish you'd said all of that before starting as you did. Do you not realize what I've been through since walking out of this office yesterday?"
Without comment, Cord rose and crossed to the mini-bar where he took out a bottle of water and poured it into a crystal glass from the silver tray bearing more glasses and a stainless-steel ice bucket. He added a few cubes of ice, which made a tinkling sound as they hit the sides. "Here," he said soothingly as he returned to her. "Hopefully, this will help."
Murmuring her thanks, Hunter did accept the glass and sipped carefully. That also gave her time to think.
"Hunter, you're wrong about me not understanding what a cost this has had on you," Cord said, continuing in his soothing tone. "It speaks volumes about your generosity and dedication to your coworkers that, even so, first and foremost, you worried on their behalf."
Glancing at him from under her lashes, she asked, "Does that mean you aren't going to cut Greg's salary? Carrying the weekend news along with his investigative work will be the job of two or more people."
Cord's chest shook from his repressed laugh. "Is this the same woman who worried yesterday that she was in danger of losing her own job?"
"Considering that I can't seem to edit myself where you're concerned, I suspect I still am," she blurted out. In the next second, she mentally kicked herself.
As he narrowed his eyes, she could see him willing her to let him read her thoughts. The atmosphere went very still between them, and she knew he was about to lean over, trap her in the chair, and kiss her. What have I done? she thought, wishing she could take back the last seconds.
"Don't change," he said at last. "And for the record, you did come close to being kissed just now. Your fault for being irresistible. Then I reminded myself that while I'm a passionate man, I'm not prone to acting with immature haste. When I kiss you, I want the odds in my favor that you'll kiss me back."
She could imagine that all too readily. Whatever control he had over himself, he was doing something incredible and inconceivable to her. Hypnosis? Her doctor had insisted that she wasn't that easy a subject.
"I'm sorry, I---" Realizing the water was sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her glass, she set it on his desk and rose.
"I thought honesty would make you comfortable."
Yes, but there was honesty and then his motivation for it.
"Would it be better to come out and say it?" Cord asked so calmly they might have been discussing where to have dinner. "I want you."
Aware the admission had been coming, Hunter still found herself unable to do more than sit back down.
"Well," Cord murmured after several seconds. "That will require an ego adjustment. Pretend this is a smooth transition---would you like to be the one to give Greg a heads-up before Kevin talks to him?"
"How...how am I supposed to talk to him, do any of what you're asking regarding these station changes, knowing that it's all about you wanting us to have an affair?" she made herself ask.
"One thing has nothing to do with the other."
"Now who's being naive? I won't be able to look at you without feeling like I'm blushing. If you look at me like you are right now, the building is going to smell like burnt rubber as gossip races through here. You're single-handedly destroying my reputation. No one is going to believe I earned any promotion ever again."
"What are we supposed to do?"
"You," she intoned. "You never say anything like that again."
He sat on the edge of the desk and considered her for several more seconds. Then, finally, he said, "Okay."
It was that easy? Hunter felt off-kilter again and didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. The latter thought had her mentally kicking herself for what she saw as the oldest ploy in the universe between the sexes.
"Okay," she said, standing and primly smoothing her skirt. "And I'll talk to Greg. Thank you for that."
She started toward the door. Just as she reached for the knob, he said her name. Turning, she waited.
"The words have been spoken, sweetheart. Whenever we're in the same room, even if there are forty other people, you'll be thinking of them as much as anything else. See how long you can pretend otherwise---or that there isn't something undeniable between us."
She left without responding, not because he'd made her angry again, but because he was right.
It was some time before Hunter made it back to her office, although that wasn't Cord's fault alone. Workmates and other station employees stopped her along the way wanting to discuss Henry Yarrow's retirement, compliment her on her piece and ask what she thought of Cord Rivers. That particular question was the hardest to answer since no one expected the clichéd or safe from her.
Watching the clock so she wouldn't miss her next appearance and the meetings she needed to have with Tom and Fred for her evening segments, she had just collapsed at her desk and was fumbling for a tissue to dab at the tears that had flowed after her conversation with the custodian who used to clean Mr. Henry's office when she heard a rap at her door.
Greg stuck his head in. "There you are at last. Got a minute?" he asked.
So much for wishing for ten minutes to get her emotions and thoughts under control, she thought, and sucked in a deep breath. As discreetly as possible, she dabbed under her eyes, hoping she hadn't done too much damage to Linda's work, and forced a welcoming smile. "You know better than to ask that. I know I'm late with my notes for today's programs, but---"
"Hey, I understand. You were super, and pulling that off after yesterday, no one's more impressed than me."
Wearing a blue dress shirt---the sleeves temporarily rolled up---and khaki pants, Greg looked like many of the clean-cut, eager junior reporters that did much of the research and legwork that went on daily at their station. His dark blond hair probably helped make him appear younger than his years, but so did his rosy cheeks and cornflower blue eyes that were often lit with excitement for some story or other. For the first time, Hunter had to agree that a little more experience could do nothing but help Greg grow with grace into this often serious profession.
"Thanks for being so understanding," Hunter said as he shut the door and plunked himself down in the seat beside her desk, the only seat not bearing file stacks and newspapers.
"I spotted how people are using you as their Wailing Wall. I don't mean to add to the watershed, but that was a classy send off to Mr. Y."
"Would you believe that it was easier to give it than to listen to people react to it and share their own testimonials?" Seeing the subject as a perfect segue to what they needed to discuss, she added, "I'm glad you got to know him a little."
"Me, too. What's Mr. Rivers like? Do you think he'll have any one-on-ones with the rest of the crew?"
Fasten your seatbelt, Hunter thought without humor. "That was Mr. Henry's way of doing things here at the head office. He knew everyone's name right down to the building's janitorial staff. He would never surrender the reins to someone he thought was going to hurt what he'd spent his life building. That said, I don't know Cord Rivers much better than you do." The pang she experienced after those words immediately left Hunter feeling more than a little chagrined.
"But you two flew up to New Jersey together and back. You had to have talked."
Talked, and talked...and this morning really talked. "He was trying to get to know me more than I was allowed to get to know him. Plus, I had a speech to deliver. Half the trip was about prepping for that presentation."
Greg nodded. "Sorry. I was hoping for some reassurances. I guess we all just walk the tightrope and wait."
"Not exactly. In fact, I'm glad you found me." Taking another deep breath, she began, "There are some changes, Cord---Mr. Rivers---wants to try, and he permitted me to tell you about them first because of our history together."
There was no missing the change in Greg's demeanor. He went from an engaged, enthusiastic journalist to a worried employee. "Sounds ominous."
"No, I don't think so. I think it's a little letdown at first glance but otherwise a great opportunity."
"Just tell me that I'm not getting fired." He groaned, looking up at the ceiling.
"You're not. Absolutely not," Hunter replied. "But... I'm afraid you also won't be co-anchoring with me anymore. Mr. Rivers thinks the station needs to rethink that approach and try a solo anchor again."
"Even though we're winning our time slots and have been for months?"
"That was exactly my argument. It made no difference." Hunter sat forward, trying to sound eager for him. "But there's a positive in this. You're going to be offered the job of soloing the weekend news."
Greg looked troubled by that information. "What happens to Mr. Jackson and Becca?"
"I do know Larry has been talking about retiring. His wife wants to travel and their grandkids are involved in sports, and he's been hating those missed games. As for Becca, I honestly don't know what happens after her maternity leave."
"Well, that's half as bad, I guess. I can't say I'm surprised for you. You deserve the big push. Me, I've felt like an imposter from the beginning."
"Hey, it takes a little time to get your sea legs."
"It helped that you were my life preserver." Still looking worried, Greg wet his lips. "I do have to tell you that if that's all they want from me, I know I can't handle the cut in pay."
Wanting nothing more than to circle around the desk and give him a reassuring hug, Hunter held up her index finger to address that. "You'll be doing more investigative reports during the week---probably for me," Hunter added. "From what I was told---let's say reassured---that should keep you in good shape. It will definitely build up your street cred."
Greg dropped his head back and all but crowed, "Yes!"
Breathing easier herself, Hunter ventured, "So it's okay? You're fine with this?"
"Oh, man, it's my birthday and Christmas combined."
Starting to feel better herself, Hunter offered some insight. "It will probably mean more hours away from your family...and investigative work, street work, isn't without its dangers."
He nodded, all solemnity. "But you're nothing without it, and the networking opportunity with law enforcement and city personnel is invaluable. Don't get me wrong, I have loved sitting beside you, but you've paid your dues. I'm seen as a short-tracker and it's not a good feeling---at least not for me."
That perspective was all she needed to hear. "You're going to be all right. I'm glad and proud for you."
"Thanks for going to bat for me. No, don't try to downplay it," he added when she began to protest. "I know without your input I'd be feverishly polishing my resume."
"Whatever I said was because you'd earned the support. I know you're going to be a big asset to the station."
"I will do my best even though the price of all this is having to go cold turkey on my addiction to late-night video games."
Hunter laughed, knowing how he often filled the time gaps between their programming slots by playing any and every video game he could find---one of the ways he avoided the snack machines, he'd admitted. By the time he left to find Kevin, Hunter was confident that he would impress everyone.
Sitting alone again, Hunter knew this allowed her to feel better about things, even to get a little excited about anchoring the news by herself. She knew she could do it, but because everyone else had adopted the team format, she'd never minded being part of one. How strange, though, that she owed this career opportunity to Cord, especially when he admitted it was a first step in what would inevitably mean her leaving San Antonio.
Why encourage what would cost him easy access to her?
I want you.
Yes, and now that he was in the business equivalent of music's First Chair, Cord wouldn't have to worry about collecting frequent-flier miles. He could follow her wherever and whenever if that's what he wanted to do. Money hadn't been an object before, and it certainly would never be now.
What's your problem? Any woman would be thrilled with this---a wealthy man, who's also eye candy, hot for you, and professionally supportive?
That's it, she thought. She didn't have to do anything, and rewards would fall in her lap.
Her pride wouldn't allow it. It just wasn't right.
"Blast it," she muttered. "Blast you, Cord."
"I'm so grateful for your company, Hunter, dear. I know you must be exhausted, having only just gotten off the air again, but with Cord still not back, I'm not sure I could keep my stiff upper lip without you."
Sitting beside Lenore Yarrow on the couch in a quiet corner of the hospital waiting room that was being refurbished and enhanced, Hunter took the weary and worried-looking woman's clasped hands in her own and stroked them gently. Yes, she was tired. The pace of her workday had almost doubled since she'd started anchoring the news by herself this week---not that it had to. Cord had made it clear that he would hire her another intern or even another reporter should she feel the need, but she wasn't about to be the cause of the station's costs rising. Besides, she enjoyed the hands-on part of her job every bit as much as she loved anchoring. Regardless, she wouldn't let a little fatigue keep her from offering her company and reassurance to the woman who had been as supportive of her as Henry had been, especially at this upsetting and critical time.
Shortly after her first installment of the news this evening, she'd received a call from Cord in Chicago that had shocked her. Although Henry was scheduled to undergo surgery next Wednesday, he'd collapsed and had been rushed to the hospital. That's when Cord told her the truth about his grandfather---that he had a brain tumor that the doctors were afraid might be cancerous.
"I hate to ask this," he'd said, "but can you get over there tonight after the ten o'clock news to give her moral support? I'm not sure that I'll even make it back by then. There's a bomb threat, and we're sitting outside the airport's toll gates. The place is one damned parking lot because they won't let us in."
The double blow had left Hunter reeling, but she had assured him that she would. After hanging up, she'd rushed to Kevin Dalworth's office to inform the station chief and he'd agreed that she should go be with Lenore immediately and return for the late night news. Since Cord was finally in transit by then, but still an hour or so away, Tom and Fred had been dears in getting her out of the building as soon as the program had wrapped.
"I wish I could do more," Hunter said to Lenore. "But I'm sure Cord will be back soon."
"Surely he postponed his meeting?" The anxious woman looked to her for encouragement. "It's never taken this long for a flight back from Chicago." Wrapping the soft, dove-gray shawl, which matched her hair and eyes, more tightly around herself against the air-conditioning, Lenore shuddered. "Maybe we should turn on the television. I can't even remember what the weather was supposed to be like up north. He could be in another storm. Oh, this is one of those times when I wish he was in a larger plane."
Immediately after his grandfather's retirement, Cord began traveling to their various YCI stations to assess and reassure staff and hadn't been due to return until the day before Henry's surgery. After Chicago, he'd been scheduled to go to New York. Like Henry, he was showing a keen attention to economics and didn't see the sense in coming all the way back to Texas for two days only to fly north again.
Not about to let Lenore watch TV in case the security situation was being addressed, which would upset her more, Hunter changed the subject. "Are you sure I can't get you some soup?" Hunter asked. "If you didn't eat all day, you have to have something. Cord won't be happy with me if I let you end up a patient here, too."
"He knows exactly what a treasure we have in you." Lenore leaned over to touch her temple to Hunter's. "But no, I couldn't keep anything down. Besides, I haven't burned any calories sitting here like a squatter. Oh." She shivered again. "They keep these places so cold. Even the hallways feel like mortuaries."
"I'm sure it's to help avoid incubating germs, but I suspect you're shivering because nutrition-wise, your body is running on empty."
"I feel sorry for the babies in the nursery," Lenore continued as though Hunter hadn't spoken. Then she added drolly, "At this rate they don't have to worry about Henry's tumor growing---they'll have to chisel it out."
Her ability to find a bit of levity during this difficult time was admirable. Everything about Lenore was, Hunter thought, stroking her hand again and trying to pass on a little of her warmth. From the years of listening to Henry speak of her, she knew that Lenore was the second Mrs. Yarrow. His first wife had died when Cord was a teenager. She didn't know what Cord's parents had against Lenore, but she knew they'd hurt Henry deeply.
Hunter did know that Lenore and Henry met when---as a journalism teacher---she'd brought her students to the station for a tour. Henry had come out of his office to say a few words and had ended up finishing the tour with them to buy more time with the comely widow. How romantic, Hunter thought. They'd been together for almost twenty-five years, and whenever she saw the two of them together for photographs, there was no mistaking that they still looked at each other as though they were newlyweds.
"When was the last progress update?" Hunter asked.
"You've been here over an hour...almost three hours ago," Lenore replied. "Maybe they're close to finishing, don't you think? If they hadn't been able to stop the hemorrhaging, this would be long over by now."
Lenore had told her that at the initial briefing, the internist had told her that Henry was showing signs of bleeding and that the neurosurgeons were being called in for emergency surgery. Hunter wondered how long it had taken to collect everyone and then to review the latest MRI scan or whatever they had done.
"I would think no news is good news," she murmured.
The sound of footsteps had them both looking up. Cord came striding around a corner. He looked as pale and stressed as Lenore, but his hair and clothing remained impeccably neat. Hunter didn't try to deny that her insides did a little dance at the sight of him or that she was grateful for his safe return.
"Cord---bless you, dear!" Lenore cried out, reaching for him. "I'm so relieved."
Hunter rose and stepped away to give him a chance to sit beside his step-grandmother and have a private moment. But she couldn't make herself look away. She was fascinated with the genuine affection he displayed as he embraced the woman who had lifted his grandfather out of depression and given him a second chance at love and happiness.
"I'm so sorry for not getting here sooner," he said. "You must think we could have flown to Panama in the time it's taken us to get back here."
"Just as long as you're safe and didn't take any risks."
"What's the latest on Gramps?" he asked, neatly skirting the need to explain more.
"Hunter and I were just discussing that. What did we decide, dearest?" Lenore asked, her expression vague.
"That given the fact that they had two challenges instead of one that they should take all the time they needed."
Cord met her gaze and mouthed, "Thank you." Then he said to his step-grandmother, "I'll go see what I can find out." He rose and vanished down the other corridor as quickly as he'd arrived.
"I hope he doesn't scold anyone," Lenore said before biting her bare lips. "Of course, that's exactly what Henry would do if the situation was reversed. Men are terrible at waiting, did you ever notice that? It's we women who are blessed---or cursed---with that ability."
Hunter returned to sit beside her and put a reassuring arm around her. "I'm sure he's beating himself up for having been out of town. This is his way of trying to do something."
"You're right. I'm not thinking straight. As you've found out for yourself, I'm afraid I don't accept nurturing as well as I like to bestow it."
"Nonsense," Hunter replied. "You've been very tolerant of my annoying suggestions and pleas."
"But you've made little progress with me," Lenore said with a smile. "I think I'll go to the ladies' lounge and run my hands under some warm water. If you'd like to make me a cup of hot tea, I'll do my best to drink some of it."
"Do you need me to come with you?"
Lenore patted her knee. "I'm thickheaded and not reasoning all that well, but I think I'm still fairly stable on my feet."
Hunter was over in the kitchenette area making the tea when Cord returned. He scanned the otherwise empty room and then came straight to her.
"She's in the ladies' room," she told him before he could ask. "This tea is for her. She's getting terribly chilled."
"She looks so frail. Thank you again for being here. I finally spoke to Kevin, and he told me you did way more than I meant to ask of you."
"All I could think is how utterly alone and afraid I would feel if it was me having to endure this, and it was a no-brainer to go to Kevin and ask for his approval." Too aware of his close proximity, she kept her gaze on the tea she was stirring even though she hadn't put anything in it yet. "Did you find out anything?"
"Word is that they're almost through with the surgery. His doctor should be out to report on things shortly thereafter."
Hunter closed her eyes and sighed. "Then he's alive. Thank Heaven."
When she opened her eyes, she found him staring at her, and for the space of a few heartbeats, they could have been alone in the universe. His expression was a breath stealer if she'd ever experienced one.
"Permission to tell you that I've missed you?"
She laughed breathlessly. "How could you? We talked at least twice a day, and you texted almost twice that much."
"I only wanted to make sure you were comfortable with the way things were going in your first week anchoring solo," he replied, trying to look innocent and failing.
"Right. Like, 'what did you have for dinner?' or asking for help with the paper's crossword puzzle has anything to do with my job."
"So, maybe I didn't want my absence to give you the opportunity and willpower to put back walls between us."
"You mostly flirted, and at least twice, I had someone in my office. Once it was Fred and Wade, both of whom recognize your voice when they hear it. It was very awkward."
"Well, you're not in the office now, and may I say you look particularly lovely." He took another slow inspection of her dusty rose silk suit. "That's new."
"I'm looking into the psychology of colors in the wardrobe," she said, admitting to some shopping to enhance her new position. "It was a hard news day, and the theory is that shades of pink can convince an observer not to blame the messenger."
"No one with your compassionate eyes, tender mouth and that darling chin thing you have going on would be blamed for anything."
"Chin thing?"
"Well, it's not exactly a cleft, and it's not a dimple, but it does make it all the tougher not to want to kiss you."
As Hunter's pulse leaped, she was grateful to see Lenore returning. "Give her this tea," she intoned, handing him the foam cup.
With a mild look of reproach, he did. Then he was back in coaxing-grandson mode, fussing as Lenore tried to change her mind about the hot drink. But she was relieved to hear that they should be seeing the doctor shortly.
"Do you think they'll have gotten all of the tumor, Cord? What will we do if he wakes and doesn't know any of us?"
Lenore had told Hunter earlier that, because of where the tumor was located, that was one of several possibilities. Wanting to give them the privacy such a discussion deserved, she retreated deeper into the room that was blocked in soothing colors of blue and purple. But as she pretended to browse at magazine offerings by the next, low-lit seating area, she couldn't help hearing more---much that touched her heart.
"He'll still be the man we love," Cord said. "And you'll figure out how to reach him. I remember how after his heart doctor berated him for not taking better care of himself, you convinced Gramps to give up his golf cart and walk with you around the grounds."
"Oh, you give me too much credit," Lenore replied. "What happened was that the second time I did get him to walk, we came across a doe and her newborn fawn. Henry was enchanted and realized he would never see such beauty again if he was on that intrusive thing, barreling to the next hole on his mini-course. He never did walk without his favorite wood, though. He claimed it was to swing at 'crows and critters' to protect me. But I know he needed its help to balance occasionally. In hindsight, I believe that's when the tumor began to grow---it was affecting his balance."
Cord coaxed the cup to her lips. "He's told me often enough that there was no better guide to view the flora and fauna than you. Your students' loss was his gain."
Hunter watched Lenore beam and blossom under his loving words. If there was an ounce of insincerity in Cord, then she was a failure at reading people. As much as he kept her nervous about his personal attention toward her, she couldn't help but like him for his gentleness with Lenore.
"Sweetheart," Lenore said, noting her distance. "What on earth are you doing way over there? Come sit with us."
Admittedly happy to do so, Hunter had just begun to sit down across from them when two men came around the corner. The most somber-faced man, still in his surgery cap and blue surgical uniform, scanned them, looking for the person he should report to. His gaze locked on Lenore.
"Mrs. Yarrow?"
"Yes."
Hunter noticed how Cord took hold of her hands and kept her seated, and her heart tightened at that protective gesture. If the news was bad, Lenore would be less likely to injure herself if she remained on the couch.
"I'm Dr. Stack. Henry has made it through surgery."
"The bleeding...?"
"We've managed to stop it."
"And the tumor?"
"We removed as much as we could."
"But not all," Lenore whispered.
The surgeon compressed his lips, his gaze lowering for a moment. "We couldn't risk trying for everything. I'm sorry. Our hopes are that we bought him some time. Perhaps months."
"I understand, Doctor," Lenore replied. But the look she sent Cord questioned if she could believe that.
"He's an impressive, resilient man, and rest is an amazing medicine. He'll stay in an induced coma to keep him still through tonight and start the healing."
"Thank you, Dr. Stack." Lenore replied. "Can I be with him?"
"As weak as he is, I'd prefer you wait until morning, but you can step in for a minute."
"Take her," Hunter whispered to Cord. "I'll wait here."
Cord was relieved to find that Hunter meant what she said and was curled up on a chair with her shoes off and her head resting on her hand when they returned.
She must have sensed more than heard them and jerked to alertness, quickly shifting her feet to the floor in search of her heels.
"How does he seem to you?" she asked.
"I could barely see him for all of the tubes and machines," Lenore replied. "Oh, I hope that's not my last memory of him. That would be so cruel."
"That's enough of that kind of talk. We're going to get you to bed," Cord said. "You'll have a better outlook once you get some rest."
"I can't leave him," Lenore replied. "Let me stay. I'll get a blanket from an attendant---"
"Forget it," Cord replied with gentle force. "You won't get any rest here. Come home."
"That's an hour's drive! Don't ask that of me, Cord. Could you bear to be that far from the love of your life?"
He slid Hunter a covert glance and said, "Then let's get you to the hotel across the street."
"That's a waste. Besides, I have no clothes, and I won't sleep. I couldn't possibly."
"I'll see that you have a full outfit to change into by first light. Come on, darlin', you're dead on your feet, and you're not going to do Gramps any good compromising your own comfort and health. Let's get you situated, maybe even draw you a hot bath. That should help you sleep. You need your strength to be ready to deal with Mr. Ornery when he wakes up and demands to go home himself."
"Oh, all right," Lenore said with a huff.
"Can I help?" Hunter asked.
Cord could have kissed her on the spot. "You're sure you're up to it?"
"It would make me feel better to see her relaxed and safe, Cord."
Hearing his name---and not forced off of her tongue---made it two kisses that he decided he owed her. Insisting they leave her car in the parking lot, Cord drove them across the street in a vehicle very much like the one that had been chauffeur driven the other day. He knew she was wondering how he'd managed to leave his security behind. Meeting her gaze in the rearview mirror from her position in the backseat, he merely lifted his right index finger off of the steering wheel to signal her not to ask.
Within ten more minutes, Cord had Lenore registered and was turning down the bed in the mini-suite while Hunter was drawing her bath. When Hunter next emerged, she brought a cloud of vapor with her, which evaporated as soon as she closed the door behind her.
"If that doesn't warm her, I don't know what will," he mused.
"I was worried that I was going to burn her." She checked the time on the digital clock beside the bed. "We are going to wait until she's out, yes? I don't feel comfortable about leaving her in case she slips or needs other help."
"Good point." Cord thought the extra minutes with Hunter were a bonus, as well.
Hunter passed him to close the copper-and-bronze-patterned drapes that matched the bedspread. "If there's water in that courtesy bar, will you get out a bottle and put it on the nightstand---along with a glass? I'm going to turn down this air-conditioning a few degrees."
"We're lucky you're here," Cord said, doing as directed. "My mind must still be at thirty-thousand feet. I wouldn't have thought of any of that."
"You've had too much preying on your mind." She kept her voice low so that she couldn't be heard in the bathroom. "Which reminds me---was the bomb scare just a prank?"
"From what I heard, some suspicious packages were removed at several locations."
"Dear Lord."
When their individual tasks suddenly brought them face-to-face, Hunter uttered a breathless, "Oops," and would have moved around him, except that he took hold of her shoulders, then slid his arms around her to bring her against him.
"Cord---"
"Don't," he entreated. "Just give me---us---a second."
Although she didn't struggle, she did murmur, "This isn't smart."
"Do you realize you've said my name twice tonight and didn't choke either time?" he teased. Then he sighed. "I'm afraid, Hunter. I'm not ready to lose him."
That instantly had her stroking his back. "Don't. Don't accept that as a possibility."
"Standing there looking at him in ICU, Lenore almost broke down. He looked so still, so old. It's as if the machines alone are keeping him in this world."
"But you heard the doctor. He's a fighter, and he loves Lenore and you deeply. He won't let go if he can help it."
"Thank you," he said, touching his lips to her fore head.
She felt so good against him. If he could, he would keep her like this for the rest of the night. They were meant to be together; he believed that more with every day. But convincing her would take more time, he realized as she tried to ease away. "Don't," he entreated, refusing to let her.
"Your grandmother isn't twenty feet away."
"The door is closed. And I'm only thanking you for making tonight bearable, not attempting to get you into that bed---as much as I'd like to."
With an indecipherable oath, Hunter hid her face from him by lowering her head to his shoulder. "Change the subject, please."
"No way. I like this one."
But with a reproving look, Hunter did free herself. "Why isn't your mother here? She should be helping Lenore for her father's sake. Surely you've let her know how critical things are?"
The subject was the last one he'd wanted to dwell on tonight, and Cord grimaced. "Of course. But she and my father are at a friend's villa in the Mediterranean. I phoned them earlier when I learned that Gramps had collapsed. They're returning, but it will be at least tomorrow before they can make all of their connections."
"I'm sorry for sounding judgmental."
"Don't be. I told you there's no love lost between my grandfather and father. Gramps sees him as an elitist and materialistic. That was a result of my father voicing one too many opinions---in this case declaring that Lenore wasn't up to family standards."
Hunter's expression reflected her incredulousness. "She was a teacher, too."
"Yes, well, as my father will tell you, there's a difference between a high school English teacher and someone who's not only been a university instructor, but a magazine columnist. My father feels he brought gravitas to the family, while she---to use his words---mostly contributed her late husband's medical debt."
"What an awful thing to say." Then she frowned. "Teachers generally have good medical coverage."
"But her husband's unique blood disease devoured that coverage. Lenore even tried to discourage Grandfather's interest, afraid she would be seen as a gold digger, but as you saw, that had little effect on him."
"He is, and always will be, one of a kind."
At any other time, her open affection for Henry would have left him almost jealous. "I wish you'd champion me with the same enthusiasm."
"I might---when you're eighty."
He would have yielded to the need to kiss her for that wicked remark, but a splash and shriek had them both starting and Hunter running to the bathroom. Rushing inside, she quickly shut the door behind her.
Cord heard Hunter asking Lenore if she was all right and heard more splashing and sputtering. Shortly after that, Hunter cracked open the door.
"It's okay. She started to doze off and got a mouthful of water."
The door shut again, and Cord listened to Hunter gently give Lenore directives as she helped her safely out of the tub. They both finally emerged---a still-damp Lenore wrapped in the hotel bathrobe leaning against a considerably wetter Hunter.
"Cord has turned down the air conditioner so you won't get chilled," Hunter said, getting her tucked under the sheet and blankets.
"I feel so badly about your pretty outfit," Lenore said.
"A little water isn't going to hurt anything."
"Oh, my, this feels so good. You've certainly spoiled me."
As Hunter covered her and kissed her good-night, she said, "It's been our pleasure. I hope you do get some rest." Then she retrieved her shoulder bag and stepped toward the door to wait on Cord.
Cord kissed Lenore, as well. "I'll be back in time to have coffee and breakfast with you, then we'll go across the street together. Understood? No sneaking around behind my back."
"And my clothes? Perhaps an overnight bag with a few more things if it's not too much trouble?" Lenore asked.
"I'll have Inez put together anything she thinks you need," he said of his grandparents' housekeeper. "I love you," he murmured.
"Will she stay put?" Hunter asked as they walked down the hall.
"Heaven knows. Thankfully, the hospital is only across the street."
Cord did stop at the desk to reiterate his concerns and directives about his step-grandmother, left his business card that included his cell number. Then he escorted Hunter back to his car.
"I'm following you home again," he said as he keyed the ignition. "And paying for your dry cleaning."
"That's silly. Besides, you all but admitted that you were beat. And where exactly are Lane and Phil?"
"They made other arrangements to get home." At Hunter's unspoken rebuke, he shrugged. "Yes, against protocol, but I knew this was a bad situation, and I wanted some private time."
"Then go have it," she said as he crossed the road and entered the hospital's parking lot. "I can get home just fine by myself."
"Once I see that for myself, you won't have to call me to confirm it."
Shaking her head, Hunter didn't say another word. As soon as he stopped behind her car, she got out, used her remote to unlock her SUV and climbed in. Once Cord moved out of her way, she backed out of the slot and took off for her condo.
Once she was in the garage, Cord wasted no time in jogging after her before she triggered the electric-door mechanism to shut him out. She looked anything but happy about that.
"I'm not inviting you in," she warned.
"I know. But you can say good-night."
"Cord."
"Why do I feel like high-fiving somebody whenever I get you to use my name?"
"Because I say it under duress. Even though you're very good to Lenore, you're still a bad boy at heart and like to chase a challenge."
"That was partly right at one time, but that's not who I am anymore" Cord raised his right hand as though making an oath to her. "You're the difference."
"I'm flattered. Good night."
Instead he stepped closer. She didn't back away, but he saw doubt darken her eyes.
"I'm leaving," he said when he reached her, "but not before I kiss you." Which he did.
She held herself very still at first, but as his lips moved against hers, caressed and nibbled, she made a soft, pleading sound before slightly tilting her head and perfecting their fit. It was all the encouragement Cord needed to progress to a deeper kiss.
Craving more of her taste, his lips parted hers. That's when she seemed to come out of her trance and, with a gasp, pulled away.
"Oh, God, what am I thinking?" she whispered.
"Hopefully that you enjoyed this as much as I did," he replied, staring at her lustrous, soft lips. "I have a feeling I could get drunk kissing you. We'll have to find out. Soon."
"Cord, that was my mistake," she said, her voice not quite steady. "Honestly, I'm not a tease. Blame my momentary weakness on emotional overload. I shouldn't have given you the impression--- Don't put me in this predicament. Go home. Please."
He left because he wasn't going to lie to her. If she needed a little more time to get used to the idea, that was fine, but he was going to kiss her again---and more.
On Friday morning after checking on Lenore, learning that Cord was there taking good care of her, and that there was no change in Henry's condition, Hunter attended her daily production meeting. She passed on the news to the staff about Henry's status and answered what questions she could. But it was a relief when everyone returned their focus back to work, and she could lose herself in stories and the minutiae that kept them all bustling most of the day.
Just the mention of Cord's name, and she grew hot all over, helplessly remembering the feel of his mouth on hers and the surprising tenderness that had almost instantly had her aching for more. She'd never meant to encourage him, felt a fool after all of her previous protests and knew he had to think her a hypocrite or worse, a tease. How would she ever take a call from him again, let alone look him in the face? As it was, when Lenore offered to pass her cell phone to Cord, Hunter had almost been too short with her in her desperation to get off the phone. That's why, when she emerged from Fred's office to check on another detail and approached her desk only to see reporter Eva tellingly holding her phone up, her heart plummeted.
"Call for you, Hunter."
Please, no, she thought. "Who is it?"
"A lady who claims to be a friend? Danica Anthony."
All but groaning with relief, Hunter pointed to her office. "An old college friend," Hunter said, passing her to take the call in there. "Thanks," she told the single mom who was determinedly trying to move up at the station and could be relied upon to screen calls and run errands when there was a lull.
Hunter shut her door and picked up her phone even before sitting down at her desk. "Danica? How are you? Long time no word."
"Look who's talking. I have an excuse---chasing after a toddler and caring for a cranky three-month-old. You only have success and a full schedule to apologize for."
Laughing, Hunter made it to her chair, pressing her hand to her tummy to try and keep her insides from quivering. She'd so dreaded that the caller was Cord. "I think I have the easier job. I did get to peek at the cuties on Facebook. Mommy is looking good, too."
"Thanks. I still have eight pounds to go, but Paul wants to treat me for progress made, and the opportunity coincides with an old chum of his being in town. He's single, Hunter. Is there any chance I can talk you into helping me create a foursome?"
Hunter did tend to turn down all offers, because more often than not, she had to work on the nights she was asked or cancel in the eleventh hour due to breaking news. Men tended to hate coming in second to anything and national, or even local, breaking news was a real ego crusher. "I don't know, Danica. What with going solo in the anchor chair---"
"Yeah, congrats on that, girlfriend. There's another reason to celebrate. I'm so proud of you. Are the ratings as good as they seem to be?"
Hunter knew Paul was an entertainment lawyer and probably already had the answer to that, but she wasn't about to let it go to her head. "Things seem to be going okay," she said, feeling more comfortable with cautious optimism.
"Okay, Ms. Modest, you're playing it cool, I get it. But listen, you have weekends free, right? It would be tomorrow. You don't have an appearance or banquet or something lined up, do you? Say you can come so I can get Paul's mother to sit with the kids while I go shopping. His folks will keep the kids all night, and I am not missing the opportunity to buy a new dress."
It struck Hunter that this was exactly what she needed to regain control of her life and keep Cord at a distance. She didn't have to pretend she had an excuse for not returning to the hospital or whatever he might plan to suggest. A prearranged dinner engagement was the real thing.
"Tomorrow, huh?" she said into the receiver. "Okay, tell me where and when. It'll be better if I meet you there just as a precaution. The nature of the business," she told Danica after her friend initiated a protest.
"Oh, I know you're right." Then Danica squealed like a schoolgirl. "You're coming! Thanks so much, Hunter. You won't regret this."
Hunter quickly scrawled the name of the restaurant and the time on her desk calendar and hung up, only to get another call and then another. Soon buried in work again, the morning descended again into one of intense preparation.
Hunger pangs were reminding her that she had skipped breakfast, and she was rising, thinking about checking what the vending machines had to offer, when Cord entered her office.
Dropping back in her chair, she said a breathless, "Hi. I thought you'd be at the hospital all day." He looked tired but in better spirits than yesterday when she'd first seen him.
"I came to get a few things done and make some calls while Lenore sits with Grandfather."
"They're letting her do that? That's a good sign, isn't it?"
"It seems to be. Lenore is already talking about him being moved to his own room, although I think that's a bit premature. For all of her intelligence, Lenore might be dealing with some denial about what brain cancer actually means."
"All the more reason not to let him out of her sight," Hunter replied. "She'll ask for a cot in the room, and she'll be his biggest advocate for whatever his therapy is supposed to be."
Cord nodded his agreement and smiled. "If that's what she wants, I won't argue with her because I know her presence will soothe Gramps." His gaze was a caress as he searched her face. "How are you? You look...like an expertly made, very expensive martini."
She was wearing a silvery-gray coat dress with the pearls her grandmother had given her for her college graduation. "Thanks." She gestured to her covered desk. "Buried. But it's a good busy."
"Then I won't keep you. I just wanted to ask you to have dinner with me."
Timing, Hunter realized again, was key to so much. What if he'd gotten on the phone earlier when she'd talked to Lenore? How would she be able to answer with any kind of truthfulness?
"I'm sorry," she began. "You know I never leave the building between broadcasts and don't eat before them."
"I meant tomorrow night."
"I still can't." Expecting to feel relieved that she had an excuse, Hunter only felt a sudden pang of guilt.
Cord, on the other hand, looked bemused. "Tomorrow is Saturday. You're off. I thought if things continue to go well for Gramps, we---"
"I have dinner plans."
The light in his blue-gray eyes went out, but he didn't immediately comment. To avoid his penetrating gaze, she gestured to her calendar. "It just so happened that my college roommate called, and a friend of her husband's is in town. I'm making it a foursome."
"You actually agreed to go on a blind date?"
Not only did he make it sound like that was the worst idea ever, his emphasis on the adjective made her prospect sound obnoxious before she'd even met the poor man.
"Danica is a good friend," she said, struggling to maintain her dignity. "I'm comfortable with trusting her judgment. And with Paul an entertainment-sports attorney, I'm guessing their friend could be a movie star or athlete. Want me to get his autograph for you?" she asked with false brightness.
Cord left without a reply.
Alone again, Hunter closed her eyes, feeling slightly nauseous and ashamed of herself. Years ago, she had cancelled a date at the last minute because a boy she'd really wanted to go out with had suddenly called. She'd had a miserable time because she'd known what she'd done was dishonest. And to add to her shame, the second boy wasn't nearly the person that she'd built up in her mind. She never accepted an invitation from him again, but the other boy---who found out what she'd done---never returned her call of apology.
But you and Cord aren't dating---you warned him that you wouldn't.
True, she had the right to do what she wanted. What's more, her concern for Mr. Henry shouldn't make her a hostage to whatever Cord had on his mind.
Maybe now he would finally grasp that she meant what she'd said about no kiss ever happening again.
On Saturday night, Hunter met the Anthonys and their guest outside of the city at The Vineyards, one of San Antonio's most popular special-event restaurants, located on an actual working vineyard. They'd repeated an offer to collect her, but she was thinking business, as usual, and knew she needed transportation fast if an emergency arose. Still, she dressed to celebrate, her designer cocktail dress an impulse buy she'd found on sale ages ago and had yet to wear. The silk wisp in a dark coffee emphasized her eyes and complimented her figure in every way possible. Dainty copper-and-gold shoes, a matching bag, and smoky topaz gemstones in her ears and around her neck finished her slow-simmer ensemble.
Jack Porter turned out to be neither an actor nor an athlete, but he was movie-star handsome. His hair was as blond as Cord's was dark and he was equally well groomed. In fact, she gauged that they were within a year or two in age, as well. She hoped that would be the end of her unintended comparisons, and he helped by quickly proving to be charming, fun and an intelligent conversationalist. Soon, however, Hunter realized that this rare treat out would only be a one-night situation because it turned out that Jack worked out of New York. What future was there in even considering an investment in him?
"I'm sorry," Hunter said, realizing she'd missed something critical as banter, news and anecdotes bounced back and forth among the party of four as they enjoyed cocktails in the lounge. "Some reporter I am---did I miss you saying what you actually do?" she asked Jack.
Jack exchanged brief glances with Paul. "We're in a similar line of work but for different companies. All of the A-list people think Paul is the go-to guy west of the Mississippi. If I can get a tired football jock with bad knees a beer commercial, I'm happy."
"He's selling himself way short," Paul told her.
"What's the favorite part of your job?" she asked Jack.
"Keeping great actors and actresses on Broadway."
"Mmm." Barely wetting her lips, Hunter put down her wine spritzer. "That's the only reason I'd consider moving to New York. I could go into serious depression thinking of the great live performances I've missed."
"We can't have that. Let me know when your next open weekend is, and I'll inundate you," Jack replied.
He spoke with such a matter-of-fact, no-pressure goodwill that Hunter almost let herself fantasize. "I just accepted a promotion," she said grounding herself in reality. "I don't get to think about playing for a good while."
"But you have every weekend off, don't you?"
Hunter did a double take. "How did you know that?"
"Because...you're here? Or was it you who told me, Paul? Danica?"
"I must have," Danica said.
Hunter thought of Mr. Henry, still so ill in the hospital. "This is a unique moment. There's a lot going on at the station that will keep me occupied pretty much 24/7." She wouldn't neglect or withhold her help and support to Lenore if she wanted it, regardless of what complications that triggered with Cord.
"I understand the new-broom-sweeping-clean concept," Jack said, "but you have to have a life. I'm going to get your contact information and start tempting you with performance schedules."
Hunter smiled. "I can see you're a force to be reckoned with."
"I can be when I think something or someone is worth it."
His intimate look was flattering, but Hunter didn't let herself forget that while Jack might be a lawyer, he was also a salesman, and as a result, being complimentary was as much a job requirement for him as credibility was for her.
"I'd heard Henry Yarrow retired," Jack continued. "How do you like his replacement?"
Hunter had been in the business long enough now to remain extremely cautious in answering him. She might only be on the air a total of an hour a day, but she knew that what she said after hours could have ramifications for her, as well as the station and YCI. She wasn't about to do or say anything that could end up in someone's gossip column or blog on the internet. Such things could easily snowball and end up costing the station valuable advertising contracts or heaven knows what.
"Mr. Rivers seems to be as capable and committed as Mr. Henry was," she said with good, diplomatic form. She had no intention of mentioning the reason for Henry's retirement, although there had been a small news release, so it wasn't a secret. But she hoped Jack hadn't heard about it and that Danica and Paul weren't interested.
They weren't, and Jack didn't, and soon the subject turned to food as the hostess came to tell them that their table was ready. Everyone but Hunter was about finished with their drinks and left their glasses, but she allowed the cocktail hostess to follow with hers.
The evening was fun and dinner was delicious, though Hunter didn't partake of the wine Paul ordered with their dinners, continuing to nurse her spritzer because she had to drive. But Danica had meant it about being determined to let her hair down and was the life of the party. She was ever ready with an anecdote about their years at UT, skirting serious trouble with staff as Hunter scooped stories for the school paper that sometimes garnered regional-newspaper attention.
"You have quite a fan in her," Jack said to Hunter when she rolled her eyes at Danica's praise, which was way over the top.
"She's like an annoying but lovable little sister," Hunter replied.
"Ha! She's a whopping two months older, but she's always sounding like Methuselah," Danica said.
"While you, my tipsy cutie, are sounding blonder with every passing minute," Paul teased. But he kissed her to keep her from pinching his arm.
Covering her mouth to repress a hiccup, the natural blonde did giggle. "This is what happens when you don't have even a sip of anything for almost a year because you're pregnant and then nursing," she said, leaning forward to confide to Hunter---and everyone else at the table.
"That's my cue to head us toward home," Paul said. "By the time we get you to your hotel, Jack, she'll be comatose in the backseat, and I won't get her awake again until I pick up the kids at my mom's tomorrow."
Jack turned to Hunter. "I took a room nearer the airport, forgetting that these two had bought a house on the opposite side of town."
"That wouldn't be out of my way. I'm not ten minutes from the station. I can drop you off."
"You're sure?" Jack asked, looking hopeful.
Turning back to Paul, Hunter intercepted Danica's merry hazel eyes and wink. "Was this a setup?" she asked, suspicious.
"Nah," Paul drawled as he urged Danica to her feet. "Call it a lonely husband's fantasy."
While she wanted to believe him, a kernel of doubt remained. "Don't make me regret this," she whispered to her former roommate as they hugged good-night. If Danica thought she was looking for a one-night stand, then her friend didn't know her as well as she used to.
Her doubt was eased somewhat on the drive back toward town. Jack was a perfect gentleman and mostly talked about how the Anthonys were a great family and how envious he was of them.
"I take it you aren't involved with anyone, but have you ever been married?" Hunter asked.
"Got close once." He shrugged. "Picked the wrong girl. I realized she wasn't ready to narrow her bed partners to one guy."
"Ouch. I'm sorry."
"How about you?" Jack asked.
"It's hard to have a relationship when you're married to your work."
"You just haven't met the guy to make you rethink that."
Grasping that he was strongly hinting that he might be that man, Hunter was laughing softly as she pulled up to Jack's hotel entrance. "Alive to charm another day," she said, referring to his earlier quip about being afraid of female drivers.
"You would get on well with my sister," Jack said, unbuckling his seat belt. "She's not susceptible to my silver tongue, either. At the risk of further offending your intelligence...would you let me buy you a nightcap? In the lounge," he added at the first sign that she was about to turn him down. "I've had such a good time---I can't remember when I enjoyed anyone's company more."
"I might go for a cappuccino," she said. "But only if you share more about your long-suffering sister."
As Jack pretended to groan, Hunter did park. She knew she didn't need the caffeine, but she also understood that she wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon. She had too much on her mind. Part of that was concern for Henry, but it also had to do with the two texts waiting for her from Cord. She'd managed a discreet peek as Jake said goodbye to the Anthonys to confirm neither of the messages was about Henry. At least she could take comfort in knowing that much. But what was she going to do about her boss who was openly pursuing her in print, as well as in person?
There was a lounge across the lobby that was gearing up to have a wild night. "Looks like fun," Jack began. "Although I doubt we could hear ourselves think in there, let alone hear each other."
And she had no interest in dancing---particularly on such a small dance floor where any movement could be construed as foreplay.
"Aha! A more appropriate option." Indicating another lounge on the opposite side of the lobby, Jack directed Hunter to it. The place was romantically lit, the mystical music was a CD, piped through stereo speakers and not provided by a boisterous band, and they were the only customers besides an elderly couple in a corner booth.
"Are you certain about the coffee?" he asked after seating her at a front table that assured her of good light from the lobby.
Appreciating his intention to be a gentleman, Hunter nodded. "I'm not much of a party animal."
After stepping up to the bar where he ordered them both the same thing, Jack returned. Resting his forearms on the glass, patio-style table, he clasped his hands and looked at her with admiration and some tentativeness. "Thank you for risking this."
"Risk?" A little thrown by his choice of words, Hunter thought he'd earned her reassurance. "Danica is one of my oldest friends. If she felt good about you, I was glad to accept the invitation."
Not appearing appeased, Jack drew a deep breath and shifted on the iron chairs padded seat. Several times tonight, Hunter's internal antenna had tried to get her attention. She'd blamed it on her occupation and rejected its subtle messages. This time it refused to be ignored, and she accepted that she'd spoken too soon.
"Well," Jack said with a sheepish glance, "Danica was rather influenced by Paul."
If his words weren't troubling enough, his body language finished filling Hunter with a slow infusion of dread, like a poison making her heart work hard and her mind slow to reason. "What does that mean exactly?"
"I'm not entirely off the time clock myself."
At any other time, she would have accepted that as a given. In this economy, everyone who had a job was hoping to keep it and proving it to their employer by putting in more hours. But she had a feeling Jack's meaning wasn't quite so simple.
"Why don't you tell me what's going on---and what it has to do with me?"
"I represent a client." He switched from clasped hands to palm-to-palm style, his fingers stretched as though sending his energy to her. "A client very interested in you."
"And who would that be?"
He sidestepped the question. "We'll get to that. What's important first and foremost is to assure you that this would be a career-altering position."
It turned out that one of the major New York networks wanted her to assume a major anchor post for their morning show. Giving her a rundown of the viewership numbers and rankings for all of the morning shows, Jack continued. "My client sees vulnerabilities in the other stations' formats, but he feels hampered by the charisma of his own hosts. He understands how the audience's ability to relate to the hosts is a key part of the success of this kind of programming."
"The likeability factor. Real or not, viewers feel they have a relationship investment with them." Hunter understood that well enough. You were only as good as your numbers, no matter what the profession. In this case viewer shares regulated the price the station could charge for commercials. The higher the station could price their ads, the greater the profit. Reduce profit, and it didn't matter about the hosts' talent or commitment---or if a decade ago they were number one. The bottom line was always financial yield today.
"It just so happens that a top executive at the station in question was recently traveling in Texas, happened to catch a few of your programs and was quite taken with you." Adding a full-wattage smile, Jack continued, "I can totally relate."
Hunter had lost her smile back when Jack announced he had a client. She could barely manage to thank the waitress who arrived with two opulent, steaming cups of cappuccino. The whole image of that frothy drink in its femininely curved cup sitting in front of Jack had her betting with herself that he might have drank something like this only one other time in his life. What else would this man do for a deal?
How could she let herself get cornered like this? As she quickly reviewed the evening while he talked, a few of Jack's reactions stuck out and made more sense---as did Paul's and Danica's. Danica! Her involvement in this machination stung the most.
She stared at the foam-rich drink and almost wished she had gone with a straight glass of wine---or something stronger. In fact, she was so lost in trying to think of how to proceed with this discussion---more like end it with some kind of dignity---she didn't realize that someone else had approached their table.
"Porter, you're trespassing."
Cord!
Jack's handsome, tanned face turned a sickly gray, but he recovered faster than she did. "Rivers." He stood and, after a slight hesitation, grinned and extended his hand, all gregariousness. "This is a surprise."
Was it? Hunter wondered---about both men's tactics and motives. Her trust, only beginning to return, shattered like ice falling to a sidewalk, and she shuddered. Looking from man to man, she saw that both appeared visibly tense but also unfairly handsome. They could be competing for a GQ photo shoot, she thought bitterly. Jack was in a pale gray that did wonders for his blond hair and tan, and Cord wore a charcoal gray that made him look distinguished and presidential.
"I'll bet it is," Cord replied, ignoring Jack's hand. Instead, he returned his gaze to Hunter.
"What are you doing here?" was all she could think to ask.
"Escorting family to the hotel. Lenore's niece and her husband have arrived from out of state."
"How---nice." She'd almost said, "How good of them," knowing that they'd undoubtedly come to be of support and help to Lenore. She wanted to ask after Lenore and, of course, Henry, but that was impossible now that she knew why Jack had really wanted to meet her. As a representative of a competitor, he had no right to hear about anything pertaining to YCI or the family's current fears and struggles. And so she nodded and withered a little more inside, because there was no missing that Cord thought the worst of things---and of her. "Please give Lenore and Henry, of course, my love."
Cord ignored that, too, and returned his gaze to Jack. He was all ominous again. "I'm serious."
Oh, God, Hunter thought.
Jack laughed awkwardly and gestured to an empty chair. "Come on, sit down and let me get you a drink."
"No, thanks. I'm needed elsewhere. Besides, I'd rather leave believing Hunter wouldn't be sitting here if she really knew who you are and why you've sought her out." Then, giving Hunter an enigmatic look, he murmured, "Good night."
As he strode out of the lounge and across the glamorous lobby toward the exit, Jack whistled softly and eased back onto his chair. "Wow. I'm glad he isn't one of those Texans who believe in packing a six-shooter."
"Oh, I'm sure his chauffeur and body guard are outside fulfilling that duty for him." Growing angrier by the second, Hunter tapped the glass tabletop with her right index finger. "I'm leaving, too, but not before I get my apology. Not only did you set me up tonight, but you came down here understanding that Cord can recognize you even in a dark lounge."
Jack wasn't buying that. "Sweetheart, let's be honest. He saw you way before he saw me. And what was with the macho threat? He acted like you're his property."
"Contractually, I am."
Shaking his head, Jack narrowed his eyes in study. "Do you two have something going on between you?"
"He and Mr. Henry believe in full disclosure," she said, intentionally misunderstanding his question. "If you expect their trust, first you have to give them yours. Instead we have this." She gestured in the direction Cord had gone.
Jack leaned forward and tried to take her hand in his. "Hunter, I apologize. I thought booking a hotel here, this close to the airport, would be the last place someone like the heir to the Yarrow dynasty would frequent. People go to the big shots of the world, they don't come to mere mortals."
"Well, you overlooked one thing---again. Family. Now why does Cord know you?"
Practically cringing under her hard scrutiny, he admitted, "I've represented some people for him in YCI's East Coast stations."
The admission made Hunter feel all the more sick. "You're a headhunter. You know how putting me in this position could permanently injure my ability to do my job. There's a whole list of people at that station I owe my career and trust to, as well. Dear God, I don't expect Cord or any of them to believe any explanation I give. I wouldn't believe me."
Her anguish seemed to encourage Jack. "As I said, I tried to play this as low-key as possible. I'm beyond sorry. But Hunter, give me one more minute, please. This can all turn out a win situation for you. The client I represent is ready to make a seven-figure offer that would more than offset any financial loss you'd experience here with an early termination."
Never in her imagination could she believe that someone would find her work of such high value, and yet Hunter brushed away his excited announcement with a wave of her hand. There was one point and one alone that she wanted him to grasp.
"I had the right to choose whether or not to hear that offer. You took that away from me." She stood. With Henry Yarrow in the hospital, she would never leave KSIO...unless Cord gave her no option, but Jack didn't need to know that nor did he deserve to.
"I'll call you tomorrow," Jack said, rising, too. "Sleep on it. If you don't want to discuss the offer, we can talk about anything else you want. Hopefully, you." Jack looked sincere and eager. "Hunter, please. I'd take any time you would want to give me. I really thought we connected tonight."
Early on, Hunter might have agreed. But now she understood why---she'd been played by another tool like Denny. What parts of Jack, which words were really him, and what was a performance to get a client what he wanted in order to earn a hefty fee? She suspected that giving him the benefit of the doubt would just lead to more disappointment.
"I already feel like a failure at character assessment, Jack," she told him. "We're done."
Thankfully, Jack understood when to accept defeat and made no effort to follow Hunter out of the lounge. Still, she was shaking with emotion as she exited through the front door which a watchful bellboy held open for her.
"Did you have valet service, ma'am?"
"Thank you. No, I didn't. I'm parked just a few vehicles down. Good night." Turning away, she already had her evening bag open to get her keys and willed the balmy night air to soothe her overcharged emotions. Not looking where she was going, she would have walked straight into Cord standing on the sidewalk in front of her SUV if he hadn't grasped her upper arms to stop and steady her.
She didn't think anything could rattle her more tonight, but he'd managed to. Was he going to fire her on the spot? Strangle her? He looked capable of anything.
"I'll follow you home," he said, his tone grim.
"Cord, please. I was as shocked to find out why I was invited as you were to see him."
"It's your place or the station. Choose. Either way, we will talk."
Hunter spotted his Cadillac parked in a slot behind hers. There was no silhouette to indicate anyone else being in there. The idea that he continued to drive himself added to her unease.
"Ma'am, is everything all right?"
The valet stood a few yards behind her and was observing them with concern. His small build and youthful age made her want to reassure him. The last thing they needed was for him to run inside to call 911. Then his face lit with recognition.
"Say, aren't you...?"
"No, sorry." She forced a smiled and shrugged. "But I get that all the time, so thank you for the compliment."
Her smile held until she turned back to Cord. "Please let me get out of here," she said keeping her voice as low as possible. "I don't want a quarrel with you---particularly not in public, or at the station. You know with me dressed like this and you looking ready to take off someone's head it would set tongues wagging. But, frankly, I'm afraid to let you into my home. You're beginning to look---and act---obsessed."
"I'm offended, not violent," he scoffed.
"Cord. You're scaring me."
His expression turned positively ill. He began to turn away, and Hunter thought he had decided to leave her, after all. Then he turned back to her.
"I apologize. But you have to admit, this looks bad."
His raw voice and look won him more ground. "Yes."
"Will you let me follow you and listen to your explanation?"
As emotionally wrung out as she already felt, Hunter knew she owed him that. Nodding, she continued to her SUV and headed home.
At her condo, she waited for him to lock his car and join her in the garage. Then she let the overhead door down via the wall button and unlocked the entrance to the house. She'd managed to regain some calm on the drive here, but her nerves began to kick in again.
A soft light in the kitchen provided by a petite Tiffany-style desk lamp set on a built-in hutch sent a peach-hued glow through the open living space. The condo was on the small side, only two bedrooms; however, as busy as Hunter was, that was more than adequate. Framing a fireplace was a sage-green couch and two chocolate arm chairs surrounding a coffee table covered with magazines and newspapers. Things weren't as picture perfect as Hunter would like for company, but then this wasn't a social visit.
Setting her purse and keys on the salt-and-pepper granite counter, Hunter said, "Whatever you think I'm supposed to tell you, the truth is that tonight was sold to me exactly as I told you yesterday."
"And the truth is all I'm asking for," he replied with equal civility and care.
Truth. What an awful feeling to have the tables turned on her, especially when she knew she remained an innocent party.
"Some friends, to play so recklessly with your reputation."
She nodded, feeling sad. "I don't know what made them think taking this tack would be smart or fair on any level, particularly with Paul being in the business, too. He knows better." While she didn't expect it to make any difference, Hunter added, "I would have already texted you to give you a heads-up, if you hadn't appeared at the hotel."
If Cord gave any value to that, he gave no indication. "Where were your friends? How did they allow this private meeting?" he finally asked.
"We parted at the restaurant. I'm afraid Danica had indulged in a little too much wine---or at least she seemed to. The Anthonys live on the opposite side of town, and when I learned that Jack was staying at a hotel nearer the airport, I played right into everyone's plan and volunteered to be the one to drop him off."
"But that's not all you did," Cord noted. "You went into the hotel with Jack. That would indicate that you enjoyed the evening."
Agreeing with his impression, it was something of a relief that her BlackBerry began to buzz. Hunter opened her small evening bag to draw it out. One glance at the screen, and she showed it to Cord. There was a local number and the name Danica. "It would seem that she isn't as tipsy as she led me to believe. Or maybe it's Paul. Either way, they must have heard from Jack."
"Go ahead and take it if you want," Cord told her. "I wouldn't mind hearing that conversation."
"Well, I don't care to have it yet. Probably not ever." Hunter shut off the machine entirely and placed it on the counter. "What now?"
She just wanted this over. It didn't help that he stood only a step or two away, and that he was studying her as though she were an insolvable problem, his hands shoved deep into his pants' pockets. He'd gotten rid of his black-and-silver tie sometime en route, and the top two buttons of his dress shirt exposed a sprinkling of dark chest hair. The look made him appear less authoritative, more accessible. But that just made matters worse.
"You could offer me a drink."
"I'd prefer not to encourage you to stay."
"Spoken like someone who still has something to hide."
That was unfair. "I've told you how this happened." Hunter's feet were killing her, but she needed the psychological boost of being closer to Cord's height, so she not only kept on her high heels, she held herself as straight as possible.
"Did you get to the point of discussing the job and his client's offer? Don't say no, because the expression on your face when you first saw me gave you away."
It annoyed Hunter that he was assuming she didn't want to share the information, when the truth was the offer was irrelevant. "Into seven figures. From what I gather, it was for something less structured than what I do here. A top spot, like on one of the two leading morning shows on the networks."
Cord didn't pretend that he was taking the dollar amount in stride. But he immediately went hard-core. "You have another year on your contract. I won't let you out of it. Not one day."
"Save your threats. I told him straight off that I couldn't and wouldn't be able to consider the offer."
In the profound silence that followed, the abrupt ringing of the phone on the other end of the counter made Hunter jump. Fairly certain that it was Danica again, she stood there facing up to Cord's steady scrutiny until the answering machine picked up on the third ring.
"Hunter? Sweetie, did you turn off your BlackBerry?" Danica groaned. "Oh, please, pick up. You're upset with me, aren't you? When Paul told me about the deal, I knew you'd react like this. But it's the break you deserve. You'd be perfect for the position. And think of it---you'd get to see Jack anytime. Don't try to tell me that you weren't interested. He's as much a dish as he is a go-getter. He sure was taken with---"
Having heard enough, Hunter pulled the plug out of the wall. "Happy now?" she muttered to Cord.
"She's right about one thing," he replied, taking a step, then two, closer. "Jack is ambitious. He won't give up and not just because his client wants you. Jack does, too. Anyone with eyes could have seen that."
Hunter took no pleasure in Cord's undeniable jealousy. "Then he's wasting his time. As far as I'm concerned, Jack Porter is history."
The tension finally seeped out of Cord. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come out of that hotel...if you'd gone up to his room with him."
Perhaps he meant that as a compliment, but Hunter couldn't take it that way. "You can't be serious. I don't know the man's middle name or his birth date! Why on earth would I go up to his hotel room after a mere two hours of inconsequential conversation? Can you see me that desperate and mercenary for advancement?"
"No." Cord slipped his arms around her waist and brought her fully against him. "But if you were, I'd still let you practice on me."
Knowing what was coming, Hunter tried to twist away. She couldn't let him kiss her, she was too upset and vulnerable. But he hunted and outmaneuvered her for possession of her mouth and took it like it was both his prize and lifeline.
Before she could catch her breath, he was seeking a deeper kiss, his tongue gliding over hers and tempting her to do the same to him. At the same time, he stroked his hands from her waist to her hair and down to her hips where he brought her urgently against him, until there was no missing her effect on his body.
"Say it." The rawness in his voice was as arousing as his kiss. "Admit you feel what I do."
"This is no more ethical than what Jack did."
Shifting his hold of her to clasp her head between his hands, he forced her to meet his hungry gaze. "It damn well is." Then he kissed her again as though he could will her to agree.
Once he felt her surrender, Cord locked her against him as though she was the only thing that could ease his emotional overload. She'd always known on some level that he was truth in advertising, a passionate man. But first and foremost, he'd been the boss's grandson and, to someone like her, he needed to be blocked from the psyche. Then there was Denny, and the after-Denny mess. She'd been safe as long as she despised him.
Now he'd ruined everything, she thought as he released her lips to score a series of hungry kisses down the left side of her neck. She felt his heartbeat at every pulse point and knew there would be no more hiding from him.
"Tell me," he coaxed, his breath searing her skin.
"You're not getting invited into my bed, Cord."
"Not tonight, no." With a reluctant sigh, he released her. His gaze was at once tender and possessive as he inspected and caressed her kiss-swollen lips. "I have to get home." With equal gentleness, he smoothed her hair that he'd mussed. "But it's going to happen."
"And from which side of your family tree do these traces of Neanderthal derive? Because I never saw a hint of it in Mr. Henry."
Cord grunted. "Just ask Lenore."
Cocooned by his power and passion, she focused on what they both loved. "How's your grandfather?"
"He was transferred into his own room, but otherwise there's been no significant change."
"But still in the induced coma?"
"The doctors thought it wise for a while longer."
"If you don't mind my asking, why is Lenore's family staying at the hotel if they're here to help her?"
Stepping around her to put her phone plug back into the wall, he said, "Their flight was delayed, and they didn't want to upset the household. Since Lenore refuses to leave Gramps at the moment, they're spending the night in town and will rent a car in the morning and drive out. I'm hoping they can then convince Lenore to let them take shifts."
"Did your parents arrive, too?"
A shadow of unhappiness darkened his eyes. "Not yet."
"I'm sure they'll get here as soon as they can."
"Maybe." Cupping the side of her face with his hand, Cord touched his lips to hers again. "Throw me out. Lane is threatening to quit if I don't start following protocol."
"Get out."
He kissed her again. "For the record, you had me worried sick, but I reminded myself that Gramps's barometer for registering the quality of people is never wrong."
Hunter closed her eyes to hide the tears that threatened. "Get out," she said again softly.
"Just one more." He proceeded to indulge in one last, slow, ardent exploration of her mouth.
Hunter was close to wrapping her arms around his neck when his BlackBerry started to buzz.
Uttering an unintelligible oath under his breath, he looked at the screen, then punched a button. "I'm on my way back," he said. He listened for a moment. "None of your business. See you in thirty."
He was grinning when he disconnected. "Lane says hi."
How on earth did Lane know where Cord was since he'd left heading to the airport? "Somehow I doubt that."
"Oh, believe me, he knew where I am the second I said, 'None of your business.' For the record, he thinks you make his work easier."
Her head too full to take on such loaded comments, Hunter gently pushed at his chest. "Thank you for sharing. Please stop taking risks with your safety and go home---for everyone's sake."
At the front door, Cord hesitated. "Don't start rebuilding walls in your sleep."
"Someone has to show some common sense," was her spontaneous response. Then she saw his expression and asked, "Would it be all right if I come by the hospital tomorrow? I know it's Sunday, and that there's no change, but---"
He breathed deeply. "Would you?"
"I don't want to intrude what with more family there. Still, I'd like to show my support to Lenore, too."
"Come."
After she could no longer see the Cadillac's taillights, Hunter shut and locked the door. She made her income with words, but she couldn't have described her feelings at that moment for anything.
Somewhat dazed, she went around the condo pulling drapes over the sheers for the night and headed for her bedroom. There she turned on the bedstand lamp before heading to the bathroom to change. The shoes went first.
In the mirror, her reflection made her pause. She looked how she felt---never more alive, yet confused... Very kissed---she touched her full lips---but wanting...hopeful, but anxious. Turning away from the mirror, she knew that it would be a miracle if she slept at all tonight.
As soon as she changed into the teal satin sleep shirt hanging behind the door, she returned to the bedroom and checked the clock. If it was 10:42 p.m. in Texas, it was an hour later on the East Coast. She knew at least one person she wanted to speak with who should still be awake.
Going into the phone's directory, she kept clicking until the right name came on the screen. Then she punched the green button and brought the phone to her ear. It rang once...twice...
"This is a nice surprise."
"Hi, Mom. How was the performance tonight?" She knew her mother's summers were busy; she had the pamphlet with the symphony's schedule on her bulletin board in the second-bedroom office.
"Don't ask. I broke a string."
"Oh, Mom. I'm sorry." Hunter knew incidents like that were common enough in her profession. "When?" she asked, meaning at what point in the performance.
"Three-quarters through, which wasn't bad. I could have struggled through the rest on three, except I had a solo coming up. I also couldn't leave and put a new string on because you know how long it takes to wear in a new one."
"I remember you telling me that. It would be awful for it to go out of tune right in the middle of your solo." Then she realized what her mother was going to say. "Oh, my gosh, Willem handed you his instrument."
"And finished as best as he could on mine."
Willem Burchfield sat in the second chair, and theirs was a complex relationship. He and M.K.---as Marnie Kay was known professionally---rarely even spoke, ever since her mother had turned down Willem's dinner invitation. Hunter had seen him in a few photos and on a televised concert. She thought him an attractive man in a Steve Martin kind of way, his mouth usually curved in a smile that suggested accessibility---except where her mother was concerned.
"Of course, you thanked him after the performance, didn't you?" Hunter asked. She all but held her breath waiting for the answer.
"Not graciously enough, it would seem."
"Mother!"
"What? I said thanks."
And probably that brusquely, too, Hunter thought with an inner groan. "But, Mom, he saved your performance."
"Yes, he pointed that out just before he announced that the least I could do is buy him a drink."
Hunter clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Her mother was a beautiful woman and regardless of her resistance, she did wish she could find happiness with someone again. "You better do it. You know full well that lightning can strike twice and next time you have a string break, he might not be so generous, and you could end up with an inferior instrument." She had learned from her mother how difficult it could be to adjust to someone else's piece, but Willem's happened to be a near twin to M.K.'s---something that had a near perverse effect on her mother.
"Let's change the subject, please. It's all too distressing."
"Okay, okay, calm down. How's Grandma? I hope I didn't wake her?" she asked.
"I can hear her TV locked to the Weather Channel. I'll go shut it off in a minute."
Smiling at the picture of her grandmother sleeping soundly as her TV blared, Hunter said, "When she wakes in the morning, give her a hug for me."
"Will do. How are you, dear? How's poor Henry?"
Hunter had called her mother to report the news the day she'd learned the worst. "He's still critical," she said. "Mom, keep that to yourself, okay?"
"I understand. And you? How are you?"
"You know the news business---crime is everywhere, and corruption is jealous and trying to play catch up."
"I didn't ask about work, Miss Evasive. I do keep up with your schedule as well as you do mine and I know you didn't anchor today. But you were on my mind. You know what that means," she said pointedly.
"The Russians are coming?"
"Hunter, dear...stop beating around the bush. What's happened?"
"Oh, just another little stumble in the vacation resort known as Life. It's no big deal."
"Says my child who was born 40 and is now more adult than her mother. Tell me. If you bother to even admit to something, I know it will keep you up all night if you don't talk it out."
So Hunter told her about Cord, who hadn't been part of their conversations since Denny left Texas. She began with what she hadn't told her mother about the trip to New Jersey and back and about Cord's behavior since---especially after tonight's dinner date with Jack. "Now, please don't say the obvious," she said at the end. "Because I'm not breaking my contract, even for that amount of money."
"I wasn't about to," her mother replied. "It's never been about money or celebrity with you. You're your father's daughter, and it's the news for you, pure and simple. That job that---it's Jack, right?---Jack described sounded like you could do in your sleep. There would be no job satisfaction in that."
"You've just denigrated some of the most beloved names on television," Hunter drawled.
Her mother's sigh reflected frustration. "Because they love what they do. I'm talking about my daughter, who for all of her wisecracking and pranks on the job, is a serious journalist. So, are you telling me that things aren't good with Cord? You're still worried about losing your job?"
"No," Hunter admitted. "But good is subjective."
"Then it's the idea of sleeping with your boss."
"Give yourself a late-night slice of cheesecake."
M.K. moaned at the suggestion. "Don't put that delectable thought in my head. My metabolism is creeping backward as it is."
"Mother, you're two sizes smaller than the average American woman."
"Stop trying to get me off point. So, granted, an affair of that kind is frowned upon in business, but it sounds like the man is in love with you."
"If he is, that's also news to me," Hunter said. "Nothing about love was mentioned. Lust was, which puts me back to square one. He's my employer."
"Are you in love with him?"
Hunter dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. "I've been too busy despising him for that to happen."
"Said like a little birdie who just flew into a window."
Wincing at the awful image, she then rejected her mother's suggestion. "He demands your attention, I'll say that, but sexual attraction is what it is."
"Didn't you tell me that on that trip to New Jersey, you learned that he wasn't responsible for your broken engagement from Denny?"
"Yes."
"Then there's been plenty of time to fall in love. Remember, I fell in love with your father the first time I met him."
"I know, I know. You were coming from class at Julliard," Hunter recited, "and there were so many people, your violin case was knocked out of your hand, and he risked his life snatching it out of the street before a delivery truck crushed it and him. You're the exception, not the rule. Usually it's just lust."
"There was lust. But there was love, too, and we could tell the difference. The depth of that love is what alters with time."
Hearing the change in her mother's voice from amused to aching triggered Hunter's guilt. "Oh, Mom. I'm sorry to bring up painful memories."
"You didn't. You can't. They're a part of my every day. So are the good ones. That's just the way it is for the one left behind," her mother added.
The words were spoken in the prosaic tone of someone who had accepted her situation. Nevertheless, Hunter hated that for her. "All the more reason to give Willem a chance. Go for that drink." In the months since the man joined the symphony, replacing the violinist who had retired, Hunter hadn't missed a certain tension in her mother's voice when she mentioned Willem's name. She suspected that her dislike for him masked something she wasn't willing to admit.
"Fine, I'll do it---right after you give Cord a break."
"You're the only mother I know who would encourage her daughter to have an affair."
"I play a lot of old music, but that doesn't mean my opinions are locked in another century. As long as things end in an engagement," she added wickedly.
"You've been a load of help. I'm going to hang up now."
"Don't waste any sarcasm on me," her mother replied with some humor. "I'm just following my favorite sage's advice."
"Who is...?"
"Dr. Seuss. He said, 'Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.'"
Laughing, Hunter said, "I bow to your superior intellect."
"Good night, dearest. Keep me updated about poor Henry, will you? And please give Lenore my best."
"I will."
Since it was past two in the morning when Hunter finally fell asleep, and she hadn't set her alarm because it was Sunday, she didn't rouse until after eight o'clock. Stretching as she slid out of bed, she first went to turn on her laptop computer in her office to prepare to check the online news, then detoured to the kitchen and her coffeemaker.
Twenty minutes later, fully awake thanks to the caffeine and confident that she had a good handle on the latest goings-on in the state, country and world, she checked KSIO's website for viewer emails and to update her blog. She referred readers to the site set up for a family whose house had burned down after a gas line explosion and posted the phone number for the animal shelter for those wanting to adopt a dog or cat. Once again, she thought about adopting one herself, but with her hours, she felt it would be cruel to leave an animal by itself for most of the day. Better for her to just pat the neighbor's cat, who climbed the fence to visit with her when time allowed Hunter to sit on the back porch to open mail and browse through catalogs.
After that, she headed for the shower. Usually, she would do her chores---laundry and cleaning the townhouse, then work on the wish list of stories she'd like to run by everyone during the Monday editorial meeting---but knowing that Cord had undoubtedly told Lenore that she would be visiting, she had to get moving to get to the hospital.
There were no other messages on her answering machine but several on her BlackBerry. She texted answers to those from the station---minor feedback to researchers and to tell Tom that she was fine with postponing an interview with the district attorney to Tuesday instead of Monday to help D.A. Folsom. Mondays were always a madhouse at the station anyway. But the two new messages, one from the Anthonys and one from Jack, she deleted without listening to or reading. Let them all sweat, she thought. She had done her share of fretting because of them.
At the hospital, outside of Henry's room, she found Cord talking to two people, a man and a woman somewhere around his age: Lenore's niece and nephew, she quickly discovered.
"Hunter," Cord said, extending his arm to welcome her to their little group. "Come meet Emily and Joseph Cummings. Lenore's niece and her husband."
She shook hands with the bookish, pink-cheeked couple with matching ash-brown hair and kind eyes. "I heard you'd arrived. Lenore has to be so relieved and grateful for your support."
"Aunt Len has been a second mother to me," Emily replied. "When my mother was dying of cancer, Aunt Lenore made sure I didn't drop out of high school and kept up my grades to get into college. We owe her a lot. We're looking forward to seeing you on TV," Emily added, looking at her husband with excitement. "We've never met a celebrity before."
"Well, you still haven't," Hunter told them, although with a smile. "These days, I think journalists are one rung below ambulance chasers in popularity."
They laughed, but Cord only gave her a mild look and shook his head.
"All the money we spend on station promotion, and you try to undo our efforts," he drawled.
"Sorry, boss," she said with a hound-dog glance, although she knew he was no more serious than she was.
"My aunt says you're Uncle Henry's favorite," Emily assured her. "We always thought he knew his stuff."
Thanking them, Hunter glanced at the closed door. "How is he today? Any change?"
"No, I'm afraid not," Cord said. "As you've probably surmised, Lenore is with him now. She's putting aloe lotion on him to keep his skin from drying out from the air-conditioning and to try to stop the onset of bedsores."
With attention deflected, she covertly inspected Cord. He looked tired, but far more relaxed than he did last night at the hotel. Part of his mood might have to do with the fact that he had yet to remove his hand at the small of her back and was caressing her with his thumb. Despite wearing a black boyfriend jacket and white T-shirt with her jeans, the slow strokes made her feel as though she was wearing nothing at all.
"I wish she would have let me help her," Emily said. "She needs massaging herself after days of bending and stooping over a hospital bed."
Hunter nodded, understanding completely. "On the other hand, she's undoubtedly relishing this time with him, and there's no denying that such human contact, that 'pressing of human flesh' as someone put so well in an old, favorite movie of mine, has its own nurturing effect."
"Well put," Cord murmured, continuing his ministrations.
"Silly me. I hadn't thought of it that way," Emily said.
"Maybe you can spoil her later, back at the house," Hunter continued. She gauged that Emily was around forty, and her husband a year or two older. "Do you have children?"
"Two girls finishing up their nursing degrees at the University of Mary Hardin Baylor."
"Ah," Hunter noted respectfully, "I did a story on UMHB not long ago. They're the top nursing school in Texas and at least the third in the nation. They have their own prerequisites, right? Don't accept other schools? That's how I remember it. And if you get a C, that's as good as failing and you repeat. But students are so inspired, there are no failures."
"It's a tough school," Joseph agreed. "But when graduates apply for positions, they usually get to avoid entry tests due to the school's excellent reputation."
"So I learned," Hunter said. "The kids almost need agents, they're competed over and grabbed up so quickly. I was blown-away impressed."
Once again Emily and Joseph exchanged proud glances.
"Hunter makes sure that for every celebrity interview she has to do, she gets to do a bone-marrow-deep story," Cord replied. "I'd lock her in the research department if I didn't need her in front of the camera more."
As the Cummingses laughed, Hunter saw Lenore emerge from Henry's room. She looked exhausted, but her eyes brightened when she saw them.
"What a nice picture you all make. Hunter, I'm so glad you could come. I wanted you to meet my darlings."
Hugging the woman who seemed like she'd lost several pounds since this all began, Hunter said. "It's been a pleasure. You must be so proud of your great-nieces, as well."
"Oh, over the moon. But with their schooling, I don't get to see them enough these days."
"How are things inside?"
Lenore sighed. "I talk. I will him to feel my touch. I remind him of all we have left to do. He just lies there...so still. And those horrible machines give me nothing, either. I know they're all miracles of technology, but the same monotonous beep doesn't lend itself to encouragement." Lenore ducked her head. "I'm getting scared."
Hunter embraced her again. Then she said to Emily and Joseph, "You were here first. Please, go ahead and I'll wait. Maybe Cord and I can get this one to sit and take a cup of tea," she said, hugging Lenore to her side.
As the Cummingses went inside, Lenore said, "I'll go freshen up in the lounge."
Once she was out of earshot, Hunter allowed herself to meet Cord's gaze. "And how are you?"
"Better now that you're here. I started second-guessing myself and wondered if you'd change your mind about coming."
She pretended an accusatory glance, then a pitying shake of her head. "Still looking for warts, are we?"
"Behave, or I'll haul you to the nearest supply closet or empty room and kiss you senseless."
Too adept at picturing that, Hunter cleared her throat. "Yes, sir." She also noted how similarly they'd dressed. He wore a navy blue designer sports jacket over a crisp, white silk shirt and jeans, but he had on Western boots while she wore sandals. The loss in height made her feel almost petite compared to him.
Taking a deep breath, Cord grew serious again. "Word is getting out about how bad Gramps's condition is. I can't pinpoint where the leaks are coming from, but I suspect it's at least partially from the staff here."
The news came as no surprise but was distressing nonetheless. "That would be my first guess, too. Don't forget, it's a status symbol for them to have a Yarrow here regardless that it disrupts your family's privacy. I'm sorry."
"There's also a strong rumor that we may be losing a big sponsor."
Hunter couldn't believe it. "Why? It's never been a secret that you would step into Henry's shoes. And continuity and consistency is what ensures YCI's reliability."
Cord shrugged. "That's logical, but sometimes a move is about something else."
"Okay...are you going to tell me who we're talking about?"
He mentioned an athletic-gear vendor. At first Hunter didn't know what to say. The company had been buying large blocks of time for the five and ten o'clock news since shortly after she'd started anchoring. That triggered a thought, and she clutched Cord's arm again.
"Oh, no. Yesterday, Jake downplayed his success by claiming that he was happy if he got an old jock a gig. That's as near a quote as I can remember it. Paul immediately began singing his praises, and Jack barely made an effort to pretend modesty. What if he or someone he's connected to was given permission to brag---albeit prematurely---that he was about to succeed in a coup that would cut deeply into KSIO ratings?"
"You're saying the network that wanted to hire you has already gone after them? They'd benefit the most," Cord murmured.
"Too simplistic?"
"I have nothing better to suggest."
"You tell the client that their 'person in the know' blew it, and you'll have your answer as to the who, why and how it happened."
Cord gazed deeply into her eyes. "I know you really do hate the marketing side of this business, but we need you to lead our news family in a hefty ad campaign."
She knew that was coming, even without the potential loss of an advertising client. "I understand. But please, no more walking through fields of bluebonnets arm in arm like the lot of us have just come from a line-dancing lesson."
Although he clearly enjoyed her analogy, he replied, "That was gorgeous film. Not cheap, either."
"It would have been even costlier if one of us stepped on a copperhead or rattler---or broke an ankle dropping into a gopher hole."
Lenore returned, which put a temporary end to the subject. Hunter led Henry's wife around the corner to the waiting area they'd used the other day and seated her. "I'm going to get you that tea now."
"Oh, please, no. I'm quite warm from working on Henry." Lenore kept hold of Hunter's hands and pulled her down to the couch cushion next to hers. "Sit with me for a few minutes and tell me how you've been since I saw you last."
At least her hands were, indeed, warm, but there was no way Hunter could explain her last two days, so she passed on her mother's good wishes and told Lenore about the broken-violin-string episode and her mother's interesting relationship with her major competition. She wasn't telling secrets---Hunter suspected the entire orchestra was waiting for that relationship to either erupt or blossom---plus she hoped it would get Lenore's mind off her fears for a few moments.
"What a feat to get through such an ordeal, but how exciting, too." Lenore leaned closer. "Is he nice-looking?"
"Bookish, kind. Rather wounded, as mother is."
"Keep after her, Hunter." Lenore patted her hand. "I know she's a talent, but she's even more special for having produced a lovely daughter like you."
"I'm going to leave if you keep embarrassing me," Hunter warned.
Only steps away, Cord drawled, "Believe her, Gran. I stay in hot water with her all of the time."
Emily and Joseph came around the corner, and Hunter kissed Lenore's cheek. "I won't intrude but a few moments. I know he needs his rest."
"I'll come with you," Cord said. A few steps farther from the others, he continued. "I know you don't want to do this."
"It can't be easy for you, either. Sometimes I think it was a blessing not to see my father at the end. The casket was bad enough."
"That's why I'm coming with you. And when you see him---Hunter, I think we're losing him."
"Cord!" His premonition had Hunter stopping outside of the room, and when Cord took her hand again she was the one to squeeze. Hearing the pain in his voice made it all the more difficult to open the door.
Although it was a blindingly sunny day, the room looked as though the sun was already setting and lights would soon be necessary. Machines clicked and hummed. The oxygen tank whispered like a stern nun whispering, "Shush, shush."
Hunter made herself release Cord's hand and stepped to Henry Yarrow's bedside. With the bandages covering most of his head and the oxygen mask doing his breathing for him, he could be anyone. Gone were his robust cheeks, and his twinkling eyes were hidden by lids that were sinking in, as well.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she touched her cheek to his. "I miss you," she whispered. "Know you're loved so very much."
As she rose, the emotions she'd held in threatened to surface, and she made the mistake of looking at Cord. He immediately held open his arms, and she went to him. There, it was easier to fight the impulse to hyperventilate. Cord didn't try to reassure her with words. The truth was evident in the way he brought her tightly against him: he needed someone to comfort him, too. So they just stood there in the somber but peaceful artificial dusk and offered and accepted strength from each other.
It was a slight change in machinery sounds that had Cord lifting his head from where it rested against hers, and Hunter glanced over at the bed. And there was Henry Yarrow, eyes open and watching them. The gentlest smile lit his face.
"So things are looking up? You're happy with the solo format?"
Sitting across from Kevin Dalworth in his office on Monday morning, Hunter felt his energy grow contagious. "Who wouldn't? Does Greg still seem okay with his situation?"
"Seems to be thriving. His ratings aren't anywhere near what yours are, but they're inching up."
Hunter's gaze dropped back to the folder on his desk. "It's amazing how fast you people put that publicity campaign together." He had just given her a rundown of their newest project, which would commence immediately.
"Well, the truth is we'd started planning it at soon as Cord took over. With Henry's blessing, of course."
"That's a lot of ads and commercials."
"My wife spends our money. This is the only time I get to have any fun."
Grinning at his long-suffering look, Hunter touched her pen to her temple in a salute. "You do it well."
"Flattery will get you nowhere. Cord already gave you the right to refuse---well, within reason---if you feel a spot is awkward or overkill. Now, get on with you. Start paying for this stuff."
Hunter had already been working. She'd arrived an hour earlier than usual, which was a good impulse since she found herself deluged with texts and calls. But she was up for it. Yesterday had been a gift and a battery charger all in one.
Henry had wakened.
His consciousness hadn't lasted long. But it had been a miracle. While Hunter ran to get Lenore, Cord had stayed with his grandfather. He said Henry didn't speak, but they'd squeezed hands. Henry did that again when Lenore arrived. And then he'd retreated into sleep again. Moments to treasure and to mine as they all tried to keep their faith strong.
"There you are," Tom said as she exited the elevator at the ground floor. "Did you forget that our editorial meeting began ten minutes ago?"
"So why are you out here with me?" she asked, tolerant of his grumbling tone.
"I ran out of coffee for my machine." He shook two foil packets at her with his free hand. In the other was a jug of filtered water. "And someone brought doughnuts. I need to send someone back to get them before the starving interns eat them all. My hands were full."
"Send them to my office. Your box is on my desk. You're welcome," she said at his happy expression.
"Go get them. I know your open-door policy and the petty thieving that goes on around here. You can't trust a soul."
When Hunter finally made it to Tom's office, every seat was taken and the place smelled of brewed coffee and anticipation. The reporters, researchers, writers, cheered her as she entered.
Holding up the box, Hunter said, "This bribery continues as long as you continue to make me look good."
"Shoot, Hunter," Don Tucker, a writer, said, jumping up to offer her his chair only to relieve her of the box. "We'll eat as long as you make us look good. You don't know what having your name on my resume sheet does for me."
"She probably does, but why don't you explain it to me, Mr. Tucker?" Cliff Marcel, the news editor, drawled.
The young writer's face turned beet-red amid hoots, someone else declaring, "Brilliant, Tucker," and another wise guy humming "Taps" through a rolled-up sheet of paper.
Taking pity on the young man who'd only meant to be complimentary, Hunter winked. "Everyone in this room knows what living by a threat employment-wise means. And for the record, anytime you need a letter of recommendation, you've got it."
After that they got down to business. Discussion about stories and the plausibility of getting interviews or corroborating statements kept things lively. One reporter slumped in his chair as he lost the top story spot for tonight's first airing. Hunter knew why, but left that to Tom to explain later. She wasn't the headmistress any more than she was the paymaster. She just wanted people around her to be as curious and eager to report and inform as she was.
It was minutes after ten when things broke up and everyone charged off their assignments, triggering more excited conversations.
Hunter made a few last-minute notes in her notebook, picked up her coffee mug and waved to Tom, who was already reaching for the phone. "You know where I'll be," she mused.
"Don't get twisted out of shape if a camera crew tries to take a few shots as you're working or conferencing."
"Doughnuts didn't buy me a day's warning so I could get my dry cleaning and wear something better?"
"Stop. You know those photo fillers last for all of two seconds on the screen. And what do you care anyway? You look like a million bucks. How would you like to look like me? See what's left of this hair? I showered and I could still be a standin for a remake of Bride of Frankenstein."
Hunter made it to the hallway before she gave in to a choking cough. Only steps down the hall, she heard Tom's door open behind her and spun around, wiping under her eyes hoping her mascara wasn't running.
"No more," she entreated. "I'll have to redo---"
"Get in here."
Tom's expression as much as his tone had her retracing her steps. She knew something big had happened, and her mind started to consider the possibilities to prepare herself for the worst.
"Cord just called me from the hospital," Tom said as soon as she shut the door.
"No," she whispered.
"Sorry, sweetheart. About twenty minutes ago."
"I was there yesterday. He woke."
"He woke?"
"Cord wanted to keep that quiet until the doctors had a chance to examine him today and make a new determination."
"Sit down, Hunter. You look like you're about to collapse." Tom came around his desk again and coaxed her to the nearest chair. "Cord wanted to make sure you knew next. Kevin just transferred him down to me."
Dropping her things to the floor, she leaned forward to brace her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her hands. There was no use trying to keep the tears back. They seeped through anyway. "Poor, dear man."
"He was one of a kind, that's for sure," Tom said, awkwardly patting her back.
"It's not fair. He was fighting to come back."
Tom touched the top of her head and went back to his seat on the other side of his desk. "I'm calling for Fred. We need to get you on the air with an announcement ASAP."
The thought almost made her ill.
Noting her silence, Tom eyed her from under his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. "Look at me. We have to do it first. Any delay and the hyenas start picking at us. They'll assume there's a hierarchy problem going on or any number of things that can make a station and a corporation suddenly look weak, no matter how strong they are."
"Of course." Hunter dug out a tissue from her bag and wiped her eyes. Then she reached for her notebook and pen. "Let's get to it."
He picked up the phone and punched an extension number but kept voicing his thoughts. "We'll keep it short for now and use a good portion of your early report to do the real tribute---barring the end of the world coming first," he muttered.
"It feels like it already has," she croaked.
Nodding, Tom held up a finger. "Hey, Frank---my office pronto, pal. Code Red."
By the time she was on her way back to her office, Hunter was debating on whether or not to call Cord. She knew it was impossible to hear his voice and still go on the air in minutes to make an announcement. She would end up looking like someone had punched her in each eye. She decided on texting him for the moment.
We're all devastated here. Our hearts are with you. Have to get on the air.
She went live as Tom designated, during the ten o'clock news. By then she had steeled her emotions to get through the formal but soft-spoken announcement.
After that the switchboard lit up and many in the building were juggling calls from fellow journalists, former employees, friends, political leaders, stars and anyone else who had spent more than five minutes in Henry Yarrow's presence. Danica tried to get through in the midst of all that. Hunter methodically deleted her message.
When her mother tried her luck shortly before she went on the air at five, she felt that she'd run two marathons. "Mom, I'm sorry, but I'm on the air in sixteen minutes."
"Just tell me that you're all right?"
So this wasn't a simple checkin after their chat late Saturday night. "No, I'm not. This is as bad as when we lost Gramps." She was thinking "Dad," but knew her mother wouldn't understand.
"It's a testament to his imprint on the country that they're reporting this on every channel. Repeatedly."
"He deserves every tribute."
"Oh, sweetheart...I can hear your pain. I wish I was there so I could help you through this."
Hunter couldn't help feeling a bit of irony about that. Her mother wasn't a hugger or toucher, except when it came to her violin and sheet music, which she had been known to caress like a breathing entity. Except when it had come to her father. Hunter hadn't felt neglected, far from it. But she no longer yearned or ached for what was never hers to receive.
"It's helped enormously that you called. Give Gran a hug for me."
"She's baking bread. She's decided she's tired of sitting and knitting, and she's acting like she's going to start her own soup kitchen or something. I don't know. At least she's having fun, and the apartment smells divine."
Smiling at the image of her equally feisty grandmother, Hunter said, "I'll call in a few days when the dust settles, okay?"
"Anytime, dear. We'll be thinking about you."
When Hunter went on the air, she was wearing a black suit and the gold rose pin that Henry had given her. She'd raced home to change. It was her most nerve-racking moment since her first day on television six years ago. But by then, all of the KSIO crew knew the news and their compassion and care saw her through the night. Her second message was only slightly longer than the first announcement.
"This morning KSIO and everyone connected with Yarrow Communications lost a piece of their hearts with the passing of our founder and inspiration, Mr. Henry Yarrow. Only days ago upon his retirement we did a tribute, and we'll replay it in a moment. But first we wish to extend to Lenore, his beloved wife, his daughter Catherine and grandson Cord, as well as the rest of the family that I've been privileged to meet, our heartfelt sympathies."
She didn't know how she got through the rest of the program. On the contrary, she thanked each and every writer, researcher, director, technician and producer afterward. It was the encouragement that she saw in their faces that kept her in focus.
It was a relief to get home. Only then did she let herself break down. But her sobs hurt almost more than they relieved the terrible pressure she'd carried all day, and she forced herself to stop against the threat of becoming violently ill.
Although she'd already arranged for flowers, she penned a note to Lenore which she packaged with a delicate handkerchief her grandmother had embroidered for her when her father had died. She intended to send it via a courier from the station tomorrow morning.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed trying to convince herself to change and get into it when her phone rang. Her heart jolted as she saw that it was Henry's number. Cord...?
"Hello?" she said cautiously.
"I'm sorry if I startled you, dear."
"Lenore. I was sitting here thinking of you."
"I couldn't sleep and I wanted to thank you for the beautiful words on the news tonight. I'm sorry if Caller ID almost gave you a heart attack."
"It's all right. Using Henry's BlackBerry was the most expedient way for you to get my number. How are you holding up?"
"As best as one can under such circumstances, as you know only too well. We're all so grateful to you and everyone at the station and KCI, Hunter. But especially to you. Emily and Joseph were also deeply touched by your remarks."
Although she tried not to say it, Hunter couldn't resist, "And how is Cord?"
"I'm very worried, dear. He's closed himself in Henry's office. No one really ate dinner, but he didn't even come out for the pretense."
"I see." That didn't sound like Cord at all. At the very least, he would put Lenore's health before his own and check on her to make sure she was all right, even if only pecking at her food.
"I don't mean to snoop," Lenore continued, "but I'd wondered if you'd talked to him?"
"No. I texted him when I got the news, but I needed to keep it together, so I knew not to try until I was off the air for the evening."
"Of course. I don't know how you brave people in the industry manage when there's such terrible news. But...will you try now? Call him?"
He hadn't responded to her text and he was home, alone. What's more, he knew when she usually got home, Hunter thought, losing the last vestiges of her confidence. If he wanted to talk, he could have called already.
"Maybe we just need to give him some space," Hunter said, all but crossing her fingers in the hope that Lenore would agree. "He could very well have passed out from sheer exhaustion what with everything he's gone through during the transition, too."
"I suppose you're right. You will be at the viewing Wednesday, won't you?" Lenore asked.
"Of course."
"Thank you, dear. And God bless."
After she hung up, Hunter stared at her phone. Did he want to hear from her? If it was still yesterday, she would think, yes, instantly. Now things had changed. Everything could have changed.
But he'd specifically told Tom to make sure and let her know when he'd called with the terrible news.
Before she could talk herself out of it again, Hunter brought up his number in her BlackBerry's directory and triggered it. After three rings, the recorded voice asked her to leave a message.
"Hi," she said, her voice sounding husky and foreign to her own ears. She paused, feeling suddenly awkward. "I'm hoping this silence means that you're trying to lie down a bit. I just wanted you to know...well, I'm here."
She disconnected and sat there...and sat there.
The visitation took place on Wednesday evening. The funeral home was the largest in the city, but the parking lot was congested and things inside was worse. But Hunter tried to see that as an admirable reflection of Henry Yarrow's influence and his reputation in the city, state and the entire country.
She arrived with Tom and Fred. Behind them were Cliff and Wade. Others like Kevin were going home to pick up their wives. Tom was not as philosophical about the traffic and swore when rerouted out of the lot by an attendant to an adjacent church parking lot.
"Thanks, pal. You got something in Detroit, maybe?" As he finally parked, he said to Hunter, "I'm sorry. Fred and I can take turns piggybacking you to the door."
"This isn't just fat, you know," Fred replied patting his belly. "I got a hernia that needs repairing."
Hunter was already taking out a small zip bag with foldable flats and changing out of her high heels. "That's okay, guys. I'm fully prepared."
As they walked to the front of the building, Tom noted, "There goes the mayor." Sure enough, a handful of uniformed men ushered someone into a limousine directly at the end of the sidewalk. "Henry wanted to burn the mayor's new limo in the front of the Alamo for what that thing cost the taxpayers. He has nerve showing up. Poor Lenore."
"She was undoubtedly her gracious self," Hunter said. "She would be deeply hurt if all of the movers and shakers didn't do the right thing and pay their respects. That's the end game, as you well know. Play the political chessboard, but on the last day, do unto others as you hope they'll do for you."
Fred steadied her a few feet from the door as she changed back into her heels. "If you'd said that on the air the other day, you'd already be guaranteed an Emmy nomination," he said with a fake smile.
Knowing full well those had to be submitted by the station themselves, Hunter gave him a warning look. "Don't either of you dare do that to me. Not for anything regarding this whole nightmare."
Fred squeezed her shoulder. "I'm just trying to lighten things up, Legs."
Smiling at the nickname he was trying to wean himself from using due to an office-wide memo from Kevin regarding employee-management dialogues and avoiding sexist or other politically incorrect behavior, Hunter said, "I know. I'm okay."
By then, the others caught up and they entered the impressive dark brick building designed to look like something between a municipal center and church. They were quickly engulfed in a swarm of people. Despite the high-ceilinged foyer the amount of chattering made Hunter think of being caught in a beehive. She did, however, spot Cord with little difficulty at all, as though her internal radar was programmed for nothing else.
He was dressed in another gray suit, this one of a medium slate tone, and as always, impeccably tailored. Tonight, his tie was somber black. He appeared to be listening seriously to an elderly man that Hunter didn't recognize, and the man was gesticulating as though he was lecturing. Cord's face was pale and his mouth was tense, until glancing around as though seeking an escape, his gaze locked with hers. She couldn't define what passed between them, but she immediately began reliving the night after the fiasco with Jack when Cord had kissed her. Awareness washed over her, along with a heat that almost had her lifting her hair off her neck, despite the air-conditioning, which had been cranked up due to the July heat and the crowd.
He didn't nod or smile. After a small eternity, he looked back at the old man.
"There's our grim leader," Tom said, apparently spotting Cord himself.
Fred cupped her right elbow. "I caught a glimpse of Lenore through the doorway next to the viewing room. Let's get this done. These places give me the creeps."
It took them a bit to reach their destination since so many people wanted to chat with the family. Neither Hunter nor her companions went into the viewing room despite the closed casket. That had been discussed before leaving the station. They were here for Lenore and Cord. They each had their memories of Henry alive and energetic.
Hunter let Tom and Fred go first and, after they said a few words and kissed her cheek, they moved on. Lenore saw her. She signaled an attendant, and they were suddenly the only two in the room. Hunter hugged her and sat down with her on the blue brocade settee.
"Thank you for the note and the darling handkerchief," Lenore began. "Everyone has been so generous and kind, but your gesture touched me more deeply than I can describe."
"I wanted you to know you've stayed on my mind and in my prayers."
Lenore patted her hand. "Thank you. As you probably remember, these things are necessary but, at the same time, part torture chamber."
"Everyone is talking about how amazing you look and how well you're holding up."
"Skills I learned over the years in the classroom. There are always a few little darlings who are intent on making sure you teach no one anything---or even want you to end up being committed. You have to remind yourself who you are and keep love in your heart."
"You are Henry's heart," Hunter said, her eyes filling.
"I will believe so for the rest of my life," Lenore replied softly. "Until he can tell me again himself." Glancing out the door Tom and Fred had left through, she said, "I wish I could feel as confident about how Cord is doing. Did you see him out there?"
There was no reason to deny it. "I did. He looks---so alone."
Hunter didn't realize she was thinking that until the word slipped off her tongue.
"He is, despite any support I can offer him and his parents here---at least for the moment. He's very much alone and lonely. A man can make terrible mistakes if he's left that way for too long."
Hunter did a double take. "Cord? Never. He was taught by the best."
"I'm not talking about the professional side of him, darling." Lenore sent her a sympathetic look. "Cord was taken with you the moment Henry brought you on board and gave him an implicit warning, 'Hands off---at least until you prove to me that you can be trusted even being in the same building as her.' You see, Cord was a bit of a mess in his younger years. It was a cry for attention, which really is nothing more than a cry for love, but his parents thought stricter schools were the answer and kept sending him away from here, from the only people he wanted, whom he trusted. Henry was so worried at times, but I teased him that it took one to know one and reminded him that he'd turned out all right."
"I've heard hints of this, but never much," Hunter said. "Plus it didn't seem any of my business."
"Amusing since you were the granddaughter Henry always hoped for, but never had. It was his desire that you and Cord would work well together."
"Oh, Lenore, we're getting along fine. We had our bumps, but it was---"
"I think he meant more than professionally."
Hunter didn't know what to say. What she couldn't say was that Cord did want more from her---the what just wasn't what Lenore needed to hear.
"I've taken too much of your time," Hunter said, leaning over to kiss her cheek and hug her one last time. "There are so many others waiting outside."
"I wish you could sneak me out of here. I'm already getting an earache from all of the advice about what I should do with all of my free time now. I wish people could hear themselves talk." Lenore sighed. "Thank you for this moment of sanity. I hope you'll come visit me. Stop by anytime."
When Hunter emerged from the room, she stopped to say a few words to Emily and Joseph. "How long can you stay after the service tomorrow?" she asked them.
"Joseph goes home Friday," Emily said with a regretful look at her husband. "I've promised Aunt Lenore another week to help her with the notes and things. She may not be ready to deal with Uncle Henry's clothing for a while. My father had me clean out my mother's side of the closet the next day, but everyone grieves differently."
Not wanting to remember her mother boxing her father's things, Hunter said, "It's good that you can stay awhile. Let me know if I can help anywhere."
The crowd was still quite large, large enough for her to have lost any sign of Tom or Fred. But she noticed Cord again and although he had moved to speak with a new set of people, his unhappy gaze kept shifting toward her right. Hunter followed his angle of vision and spotted a couple standing against a wall only a few yards from her. She recognized them by a photo she'd seen in Henry's office. These were Cord's parents--- Catherine and Charles Marcus Rivers.
While both attractive people and dressed with understated good taste, they acted out of place, as though they were visitors rather than family of the departed. More unfortunate was that they were making no attempt to be a part of what was going on. Hunter grasped that this had to be painful if not embarrassing for Cord to watch. No doubt he'd already tried to engage them, Lenore, too. Knowing how awkward she would feel being in the same predicament, Hunter ventured toward them.
"Excuse me, Dr. and Mrs. Rivers? I'm Hunter Harding with KSIO News. My condolences on the loss of your father, Mrs. Rivers. I loved him dearly and considered him the greatest mentor anyone could have."
While Cord's father looked pained at being approached and began to look away, his mother actually appeared grateful to have something to do, but she clearly had no idea who Hunter was.
"Thank you. The news...yes. But I'm afraid that we're out of the country so much that I'm not good with staff names."
"I'm glad that you were able to get a flight back. I believe Cord said you were in Europe? Are you researching another article, Dr. Rivers?" she asked, focusing on him. "I enjoyed what you wrote in last month's Art Thoughts Magazine. You managed to bring art as a social conscience alive for me."
At first looking unsure that he'd heard correctly, Charles slowly straightened his spine before reaching out to shake her hand. Imagining him without his thick glasses, Hunter still saw more of Catherine and Henry in Cord than she did from this poor soul who was so uncomfortable in his own skin.
"You read that?" he asked. "I thought only gallery owners and artists hoping to be mentioned did." He gave his wife a satisfied look.
"Well, both of my parents encouraged a broad knowledge of the arts as much as the fundamentals in education. 'Math and English are the salt and pepper of life,' my violinist mother would say. 'But things like paprika, thyme and cumin intellectualize the palate.' Unfortunately, work gives me little time to experiment with cooking and while piano lessons proved a waste of my patient instructor's time and my parents' money, I am enchanted with much in your world.
"Doctor, your article made me understand that it's not just the paintings lucky enough to be in museums that are important to us and offer life-changing insights, but also those destroyed by war or prejudice or lost through theft."
"Yes, what do the children have left to teach them of culture through the ages, let alone to inspire them?" Charles reiterated. "Only what some government allows them to see?" He offered a slight but formal bow. "You've made a difficult day a treat for me. I thank you, Miss...?"
"Harding," Catherine murmured.
"That's right. With my teaching days behind me, my memorization skills are fading. That I once learned a hundred new names a semester seems a lifetime ago."
"On the other hand, I don't miss those tedious graduation ceremonies one bit," Catherine drawled.
They chatted for a few more minutes and then Hunter explained that she was catching a ride with other people from the station and needed to find them. It was when she started to look for the others that she found herself tracked by a watchful Cord. His expression almost stole her breath. It would be rude not to go to him and pay her respects, and yet, considering that he hadn't taken her call Monday night nor returned it Tuesday or today, she'd lost her bearings, as well as her confidence.
Two things happened simultaneously to make her decision for her. A striking woman came up to him and embraced him, and Tom materialized beside her.
"You set?" he asked. "If we don't get trapped in traffic again, we can run through our ten o'clock stories before you go on."
"Where's Fred and Cliff?"
"Already heading to the car."
"Sorry for lagging. Let's go."
The guys started programming talk as soon as everyone had their seat belts locked, and Tom was keying the ignition. Hunter, however, found it difficult to stop thinking about Cord's behavior.
What had happened? How could he look at her one moment as though she was the only person in the room and in the next moment turn away from her as though she didn't exist? But she reminded herself that no one was thinking straight right now. For all of his ability and charisma, he was human---and if he had an ounce of that poor, hurt boy left in him, then he was bleeding internally and needed time to get his bearings.
"Hunter?"
"Preoccupied. What did I miss?"
"Fred thinks it would be smarter to let Greg handle your slot tomorrow night. This way they can get some footage of you attending the service and maybe you can say a few words on camera? You're holding up well under the circumstances, but we know what this is costing you, and you've already had plenty enough adjustments these last weeks. Besides, if you hold up too well, you'll seem like the bionic woman."
Remembering her breakdown in Tom's office, she said, "There's not a big threat of that happening."
"All I'm saying is that emotions aren't always a bad thing for the viewer to see. I think they'd like to follow tomorrow's service by viewing it through your eyes."
Hunter knew that neither man was being morbid. It was only educated guesses based on rating patterns in the industry that supposedly showed what viewers would keep watching and what they'd flip the remote to, to escape pain or from boredom. Frankly, she thought the idea of watching someone's pain was only baby steps away from needing therapy, but if they were going to turn this into a whole viewers' event, then she knew what her role was.
"No wonder you want me to take off tomorrow evening," she said with just a modicum of bitterness.
"Aw, Hunter, we're not being mercenary." Tom pleaded. "We'll be giving viewers a piece of history---like when a president dies or Princess Di or the Pope. People bond through those memories."
He was right, of course. "I'll try my best to give you what you need."
"We've barely begun, and I can't wait for this whole circus to be over," Fred said. "Anyone carrying any antacids? I've chewed up all of mine."
By morning, Hunter woke grateful for the decision that she should pass her shift to Greg and whoever else they'd choose as a buffer. She probably didn't get more than an hour of sleep. When she wasn't making notes as to what and who to look for and mention at the service, her gaze kept wandering to her BlackBerry and then the phone at her nightstand, and her thoughts ping-ponged to Cord. It got to the point that if she wasn't who she was at KSIO, she would rather have dealt with an airport full-body scan and intimate frisk than attend the service.
As Hunter dressed, the gray July day was already being touted on TV as rare for this part of Texas. Was the implication Henry's death would make the heaven weep? "Classy and intelligent---not," she muttered under her breath as she reached for the mascara that it would take an act of Congress to remove. "Frank, if you start having me recite some Ides of March poem, that hernia won't be the only thing that needs operating on."
Dressed in a sleeveless black sheath and carrying a silk black-and-red shawl in case the air-conditioning was cranked too cold in the church, Hunter drove herself to the service. Since Tom and Fred would return to the station and were bringing along a camera team, those were the logistics they'd agreed on.
As everyone expected, the church---next door to the funeral home---became a who's who of state and national notables. The VIP list even outdid yesterday's roster at the visitation.
Hunter stood outside and recited from her notes what would take place, who the most famous people were who were already here---clips to be inserted later by production---and a recap of the program. Not surprisingly, Tom had managed to get himself a copy.
Once the cameraman signaled he'd gotten the footage he wanted of her, she, Fred and Tom headed inside. She was aiming toward a bench with adequate room for the three of them when a funeral official with a name tag stopped her and asked her to move forward to the family pew.
"Oh, I'm not family," she whispered. "There must be a mistake."
"Ma'am, Mrs. Yarrow requests your company."
Dear Lenore, what could she be thinking? Hunter wondered. She must be feeling more insecure than she'd let on yesterday, maybe because Cord had to sit up on the altar for the entire service.
She began to apologize to Tom and Fred, but they hushed her and urged her on. Leave it to them to see this as a staging gift, she thought with more than a little resentment. At the front pew, she passed the Cummingses and touched Emily's hand, then found herself between Lenore and Catherine.
"Are you sure?" she whispered to the women. "I feel this is such an imposition."
"Nonsense," Lenore said, stroking her arm.
"It's quite all right," Catherine assured her, her lips barely moving.
"Henry would have wanted this, and Cord agreed," Lenore added.
He did? After acting so bizarrely yesterday? She'd felt as though, despite his admission of wanting her, he was trying to keep her his secret. Well, everyone would know her now because a KSIO photographer was taking pictures and one of their cameramen was shooting video. By noon every housewife in Omaha and every bartender from New York to San Francisco would know her dress was Victor Costa, her shoes were Jimmy Choo and she wore no rings, raising speculation that she soon might be considered being made a permanent part of the family.
Keeping her gaze forward on Henry's steel casket covered with red roses, she could almost block out the sound of the whirring and clicking of the cameras---until she saw a side door open up on the altar and the minister and Cord emerged. They settled on a pair of lavish throne-like chairs upholstered in red velvet and gold trim. Cord leaned slightly toward the minister and murmured something, then he faced the audience, but his gaze didn't go beyond the front pew. In fact it locked on her. No emotion showed on his face, but his chest rose on a deep breath.
She returned his stare. What do you want? Why are you doing this to me?
Of course, there was not even a hint of a reply. Just when she began to feel that she couldn't stay there, the Yarrows' minister stood and began the service, opening with a prayer.
The choir seated above and in back sang two of Henry's favorite hymns---"Amazing Grace" and "Abide with Me." That was followed by the minister again, who introduced himself as Pastor Timothy Cook, the Yarrows' spiritual friend and teacher for almost thirty years. He cited Henry's great faith, compassion and humanity. Then Pastor Cook spoke of Henry's love for Lenore and their great partnership. He made the attendees laugh as he recited his one problem with Henry, his insistence to keep most of his donations anonymous. "Well, I've finally got one over on you, old friend," Pastor said to the casket. "Go ahead and threaten me with duct tape for saying too much now."
He relinquished the floor to Cord, who didn't go to the dais, either, but stood in the middle of the altar, behind the casket. He took out no notes, only unbuttoned his black suit jacket, slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and spoke as though casually conversing.
"Many of you knew Henry Yarrow only as part and parcel of all he accomplished. Some of you were on the losing side of his achievements, a few of you became thorns in his side because you bested him in business contests. He loved his friends, but he enjoyed his business enemies more."
"Don't I know it," someone in the audience muttered.
The attendees laughed and some applauded.
"Once in a while you got an earful from him if you didn't do what you said you would do," Cord continued. "But you didn't often get overt praise if you did---except if you were a member of the gentler sex. Grandfather used any excuse to hug a pretty lady, as my Grandmother Lenore can attest."
As he winked at her, Lenore shook with silent laughter.
"My gramps was a man, not a saint, and he built his empire with pure enjoyment. But his intent was to leave the world a better place than he found it. He had the good fortune to have loved deeply twice. Well, three times if you count the young woman he wished had been his granddaughter. I promise you, if she had been, my job would be in jeopardy."
This time, as people laughed, Cord looked directly at Hunter. It wasn't his words that made her eyes burn; it was his tender expression.
"But let me tell you what most of you didn't know about him. He was a frustrated musician. If he could have been anything other than what he was, he would have been a rock star---he would have to have been because his ego was just that large. Thankfully, he couldn't carry a tune, his voice cracked more than Rod Stewart's and those pudgy hands that are the one thing I'm grateful I didn't inherit held a golf club better than guitar.
"As much as he loved toe-tapping, hip-rocking music, nothing touched his core like the purest ballads, and I'd like for us to say goodbye to him by asking Chris Healey to come up and play the song that I found in Gramps's desk earlier this week. You'll know it as soon as you hear it. He had a whole CD with nothing but this song playing over and over with various artists' renditions. I think it captures the spirit of Henry Yarrow, the man I'll spend the rest of my life thanking and trying to honor---at once a man not afraid to work hard, love completely and wrestle through his doubts. This was, he said, what life is all about. Effort from the heart and at the end of the day, praise. Ladies and gentleman, Chris Healey, accompanied by Neil Evans."
As Cord nodded to them, two slender young men moved up the far side of the church. Dressed like any street musicians, upon taking their spot on the altar, they began Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah."
Hunter didn't know how everyone else in the audience was reacting to the performance, but it was the most beautiful and heartbreaking rendition she'd ever heard. Her throat ached with emotion, and she stroked Lenore's arm as the older woman wept quietly into a bundle of tissues. On Hunter's right, even Catherine wiped her eyes and leaned closer to Charles.
She didn't want to look at Cord for fear of what she would see, but when she gave into the need, she saw that he sat with a serene smile on his face. His eyes were undeniably full, too, but gone was the haunted look that had been dragging him close to some private hell since all this began.
And then it was over. Applause was sometimes frowned upon in a church, but there was no stopping it this time, or the cheers. People began to stir and the great church was abuzz with praise and comments. Hunter hugged Lenore, knowing she and the Riverses would be taken through a side exit to the back for the loading of the casket and ride to the cemetery.
"Come with us," Lenore said.
"My car is here. And Tom and Fred want me to help them get some footage and do a brief recap outside for tonight's news."
"They're asking too much of you. I don't think Henry would have wanted to put you through all of that."
"You heard Cord. He would have been a rock star. We'll try for Texas legend and national treasure."
Welling up again, Lenore squeezed her hands. "All right, but we'll see you back at the house, yes? A little reception. Catherine, please help me convince her."
"Catered," Catherine added as though that was all that mattered. "Do come. I know Charles would enjoy having a chance to converse more, wouldn't you, dear?"
"Pardon?" Busy people-watching, Charles focused on Hunter. "Yes. Very good to meet you, too."
"Oh, Charles," Catherine moaned.
Turning back to Lenore, Hunter said, "I'll try. But I really need to get to Tom and Fred now."
"All right, dear. I know you will do your best, and I do respect your dedication."
Once outside, she was quickly and protectively circled by the crew. The teasing---low-key out of respect, of course---was expected.
"I thought they would stuff you into the limo like a lapdog, Legs," Fred said.
"What's life look like on the first row, Hunter?" Jimmy, her favorite remote cameraman, asked, waiting in the background.
"The air is thin up there, and because you've got hundreds of eyes zeroed in on the back of your head, the hairs on your nape keep rising like those of a nervous porcupine," Hunter replied. "So what do you boys have in mind? Let's try to keep this as brief and dignified as possible. I can tell straight off that our audience will prefer seeing as much of Chris and Neil's performance as they can rather than listening to me. And if you can resist close-ups, I'd appreciate it," she added, already reaching for her cosmetic bag to repair what damage she could.
"That was a moving performance," Tom said in agreement as he inched closer. In her ear, he whispered, "Try not to react, but Denny is here."
Hunter did stiffen for a second but then continued with her repair work. "You've got to be kidding? What for?"
While the guys still didn't know how personal her relationship with Denny had become, they did feel he'd dumped his on-air partnership with her faster than a gentleman should have.
"To rub your face in his success, I guess," Fred replied.
"Now, now, good knight," Hunter teased. "More people can find Hollywood on a map than Afghanistan."
Fred had a few choice comments about that. "We pretty much gave him the cold shoulder and chased him off, but even with a silicone-enhanced blonde hanging on him, he's insistent about seeing you."
"Then let's get this done so I can make my getaway," she replied.
They took several moving shots of the crowd and the church, then Hunter ad-libbed a recap of the memorable service. No sooner was that done than she spotted Denny at the parking lot talking to the blonde the guys had referenced. He put her into a top-of-the-line rental car and then started back toward them.
"Okay, I'm gone, guys. Denny's heading this way, and that's a reunion I have no desire to participate in."
Whatever the men said back to her was lost in her determined escape to her car. But before she reached it, she felt a hand on her wrist, and she was spun around.
"So great to see you, sweetie. You're looking---" he whistled softly at her black sheath dress.
Hunter wouldn't deny that he was as pretty as ever---sea-blue eyes and sun-kissed hair just mussed enough in that I-love-to-touch-me style and a spray-on tan. It was reassuring to realize that her tastes had matured, or refined. The Barbie doll in the rental could have her Ken for all she cared.
As he leaned closer to kiss her, Hunter reared back and jerked free. It wasn't her most graceful moment, since she stumbled over gravel. Considering where they were, his behavior was already inappropriate. Add in that the woman in his rental wasn't clearly along for cerebral inspiration, and Hunter was disgusted at his familiarity.
"Let go, Denny. Not only do I suspect your reasons for paying your respects, but we have nothing to say to each other."
"I owe Cord," he replied with a shrug. "And now he's the top banana, so it's smart to stay on his good side. From what I hear---and saw---back inside, you're doing good yourself. Want to get together later and compare notes, maybe help each other?"
"You're a real piece of work," she replied. "You're the only person I know who could bring a date to a funeral and have the nerve to hit on another woman---especially one who has a better memory about your last parting than you apparently do." Furious, Hunter brushed by him. "You played me for a fool once. It won't happen again."
"Not so fast." His smile became a sneer as he placed his hands on his hips. "You don't want to blow me off. I'm betting that I could make life pretty difficult for you if I let it be known that KSIO's princess wasn't the lily-white angel everyone thinks she is."
Although she was shaking inside, Hunter merely raised her eyebrows. "You're threatening to blackmail me?"
"Being in the information business---"
"You make a living spreading gossip, Denny."
His eyes grew cold. "Fine. Just think of what your new boss will say if he learns that you were once my fiancé."
"Cord already knows. So did Mr. Henry. I told them the day Cord took over the company."
Although the news left Denny deflated, he still blocked her way. "Wait a minute. At least smile or say something like it was good to see me again. You've got the KSIO watchdogs taking interest, and---okay, look, Fred is heading this way."
With a brief, humorless laugh, Hunter replied, "And this should mean something to me because?"
"I can't afford to have my face bashed in. It's my paycheck."
"Go to hell, Denny."
Hunter was surprised to make it to her car without Denny trying to stop her again. Trembling with fury, she sped out of the parking lot without looking back. How dare he make her feel cheap and dirty? She'd given him her heart as well as her trust. Regardless of whether he'd ever really loved her, a decent person wouldn't have tried to bank on a relationship he'd already walked away from.
Humiliated and afraid this would just morph into a bigger scene at the cemetery, she went in the opposite direction. It was the least she could do for the family.
By the time she got home, she was fighting back angry tears. "Don't you dare!" she scolded herself in the bathroom mirror as she started to change out of her clothes. Denny didn't deserve them. She could only hope that Cord didn't hear anything about what had happened. But, of course, he would. Tom or Fred, or someone, would tell him. And if by some miracle they didn't, he and his family would wonder why she wasn't at the reception.
Call the house now while no one is home.
That's it, she thought. There was housekeeping help, she knew. If she didn't get the answering machine, she could give whoever a message that she had grown ill at the church and needed to go home.
A minute later, after returning to the kitchen to get her BlackBerry from her bag, she called the Yarrow estate and left the message with Inez, Lenore's housekeeper.
Returning to the master bathroom, she finished changing into her teal-blue sleep shirt. She really did feel physically ill and knew she needed to lie down. Sleep would probably be an impossibility, but these last days and Denny's behavior had taken their toll on her. Still shaky, she returned to the bedroom, reached for the silvery chenille throw from the gray corner chair and covered herself as she laid down on the bed. Then, as she often did when under emotional overload, she fell into a deep sleep.
It was almost dark when she woke, but thankfully the nausea had passed. In fact, she was even starting to experience a little hunger pang---no surprise, since she hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours.
Slipping off the bed, she folded the chenille throw. Once she set it on the foot of the bed, she headed for the kitchen to see what appealed in the refrigerator. Along the way, she turned on her favorite Tiffany-style lamp. The stove and microwave clocks confirmed that it was nine o'clock. The sun set around this time in the summer.
After taking a frozen container out of the freezer, she paused to open a bottle of cabernet to let it aerate. Inevitably, she thought of Cord and Lenore and everyone. The reception was probably hours over by now. No one had called here and her heart weighed heavily as she accepted that they were probably deeply disappointed in her.
About to reach for a long-stemmed wine goblet from the breakfast nook's china hutch, she heard the doorbell. It gave her a little jolt. With visitors a rarity, and her neighbor out of town, her dread mounted. Surely Denny wouldn't have the nerve to try to come here?
She was still barefooted, and her steps were silent on the hardwood floor as she went to the front door. There she checked the security hole. To her amazement, illuminated by the light-sensitive, front-door fixture, she saw Cord. Quickly releasing the dead bolt, she yanked open the door. He stood in his dress shirt and suit pants, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows, making it impossible to miss the bandage on his left hand and wrist.
"Oh, no!" she gasped. "What happened?" She knew the answer as soon as she asked the question. "You hit Denny. Why, Cord? That's exactly the kind of press you don't need."
He'd been doing his own inspection, and after taking in her attire, his tired eyes warmed and his grim mouth curved slightly. "I can tell you out here," he began, "but I don't exactly want to share my view with whoever else might drive by."
Flustered, Hunter glanced down at herself and groaned. Quickly crossing her arms over her breasts, she stepped aside. "Come in. I'll go change," she added as soon as she could shut the door behind him.
"Don't you dare. Looking at you makes me not think of this so much," he said, indicating his bandaged hand.
At least he wasn't angry with her---yet, she amended. She winced at the thick, ACE Bandage, which was clearly covering gauze, as well. "Stitches and what else?"
"Mostly stitches."
"'Mostly?'"
"Fifteen. The wrist is only mildly sprained. And for the record, I didn't hit Denny. Fred beat me to him. I got this while keeping Fred from putting Denny's pretty face into another car's passenger window."
Hunter momentarily touched her fingers to her mouth as she visualized the fiasco. "Fred has to have hernia surgery. He has no business getting into a fist fight with someone twenty years his junior. Is he all right?"
"He's in better condition than I am. He's rather proud of his black eye and swollen lip. You do inspire chivalry in some men, Ms. Harding."
She would have to call Fred as soon as Cord left. "I'm so sorry."
"For what? It gave me the cause I hoped for to fire Denny. He swung at Fred first." Seeing her doubt, Cord shrugged. "Sure, ratings will nosedive temporarily, and we might lose a sponsor if they want to follow him to whoever is foolish enough to hire him, although by the time I'm through with making his reputation known, I doubt it. Even if it happens, it'll be a small price to pay."
This must have all happened hours ago. "Why didn't anyone call me?"
"I told them that I was handling things where you were concerned. They understood pretty quickly that no one was to dare touch a phone or BlackBerry."
"Oh." Hunter mentally ran through all that could have been said. "Oh."
As dozens of questions started to flood her mind, she looked at him with new curiosity. Belatedly, she realized that he'd changed shirts. The other would undoubtedly have blood on it. It must have been a small agony to button it, even halfway, and tuck it into his slacks as well as he did. "Did they give you something for pain? You drove yourself, didn't you?" Too stunned when she'd seen his bandages, she'd forgotten to look. "Cord, you shouldn't be driving. How could Phil let you? How could Lane?"
"Because I pay their salaries, that's how," he drawled. "And to answer your other question, I got a prescription, but I didn't bother filling it. I would take a drink, if you're offering?"
The way he braced his forearm with his right arm, his hand and wrist must be throbbing. Momentarily forgetting her attire, she gestured toward the kitchen. "Come sit down at the bar. Do you want a pillow to cushion that? I just woke and opened a bottle of cabernet. I'll get the glasses."
"I don't need the pillow, but the wine sounds great."
She led the way to the kitchen, intensely aware of how his gaze roamed over her from head to bare feet. He made her wish that she hadn't taken off her bra, but she never slept in a bra, and it was too warm for socks. "I have scotch---a few other things if you'd prefer? I've forgotten what all is in the cabinet. Some of it is so old, it might be undrinkable." Lovely, she thought. She was being reduced to rambling.
"I'll have what you're having," Cord replied, all calmness. "This way we'll taste the same."
Hunter almost dropped the glasses as she brought them down from the hutch. Even as he made her imagine being kissed by him again, she knew she couldn't let him. Yes, she'd been worried sick the moment she saw him hurt, but he had been turning her inside out for the last two, three days.
"No. Don't say that. I know I owe you an apology," she said, choosing her words carefully. "You and your family. For not coming to the cemetery."
"We got your phone message, and they understand. I understand." At her look of horror, he held up his hand. "They only know that a disgruntled employee was trying to strong-arm you. You should have stayed with the family the way Lenore told you to."
"And have Denny pull what he did after the graveside service?" Hunter shuddered.
"The police came quickly enough. They escorted him and his date back to his hotel. By now they've seen that he's on a return flight to California." When she poured the wine and handed him his glass, he asked, "Did you really manage to sleep?"
Hunter smoothed her mussed hair. "Can't you tell?"
Cord's blue-gray eyes darkened with desire. "I like the less-than-camera-ready look. Did the rest help?"
"I thought it did. Now you're here, and I'm confused again." She took a fortifying sip of her drink.
"I'm sorry."
Certain her hands were about to give away her nerves, Hunter put down the glass and laid them flat against the granite countertop, her fingers splayed. Focusing on them and not him, she asked, "Why did you shut me out when Henry died?"
"I didn't mean to. But there were things going on that you couldn't know about."
"It hurt. From my first day at the station, I never asked for your attention."
Her gentle rebuke left him looking pained. "That's an understatement." Drawing the same kind of deep breath that he'd done on the altar, he continued. "Still, I thought my best chance would be to make you want it. Make you want me."
"You succeeded." Hunter was willing to meet his gaze then, but he didn't get a dewy-eyed, innocent look. He got the challenge of the woman who wasn't going to be emotionally twisted and psychologically hammered with the push-pull of a man who she suspected might want to have a deeper relationship than he'd been used to, but was reluctant to give up his previous life---whatever all that entailed.
"I did," Cord murmured. "But tell me, Hunter...could I make you love me?"
Hunter stared at him, certain she'd heard him incorrectly.
"Henry's death threw us all. Not that he died, but that the doctors couldn't buy him---and us---that extra time. But that's how devious cancer is---and Fate. A person seems to be rallying, and you're fooled into starting to make plans and having hope." Cord put his own glass down. "When I saw him watching us, I felt blessed. And when he passed, I feared that hope was being withdrawn. Maybe because I didn't deserve any blessing."
"Please don't feel the need to list every transgression in your life from licking a spoon that your mother was using as she put icing on a friend's tray of cupcakes to having a one-night stand with a girl and never feeling guilty for not calling her again."
"Full disclosure---I was never guilty of doing either of those things. And the woman who hugged me at the viewing that you saw? Don't deny it now," he said drily. "I know you saw. That was nothing."
"It didn't look like nothing."
"She was someone I knew even before you started at the station. She's a great lady. Smart as a whip and happily married."
Hunter wasn't going to say a word. She'd apologized all she was going to, and she wasn't going to answer his question about love when he hadn't said he loved her.
"You're angry."
She shook her head once. "I'm afraid."
"Not of me. Never of me again." Cord came to her and watched her as she watched the hands she kept on the counter as though they were her anchor to reality. "The reason I didn't call you back the night Henry passed and seemed to shut you out until now, was that I had a clear but debilitating insight into who I'd been.
"I need you, Hunter. Realizing how badly was like a double-aught shotgun blast between the eyes. I need a family. I want my own family. I'll remain an empty shell without it. You want that, too. You had it and miss it. I feel that as profoundly as I feel my heart beating. I felt it when you were a sweet little ingenue right out of college. Dear God, I wanted to snatch you up for myself before anyone else could get a chance at you. But Gramps wasn't going to have any of that because he knew I hadn't walked through enough fires. He was right, I didn't deserve you."
Cord took one of her hands and kissed her fingertips. "I had more to say, but you're awfully quiet."
"I'm taking all this in...and thinking. So all you need to know is if I could love you?"
"No. I've changed my mind. Now I need to know you do love me. Because I love you---so much that it hurts to live with the yearning."
There had been enough words for now, Hunter decided. Coming around the edge of the counter, she went into his arms and kissed him.
Cord wasted no time in using his uninjured arm to lock her against him as he hungrily tried to absorb her with his own kisses. This time he was the one left shaking.
"Do you realize how long I've been waiting for this?" he whispered against her lips.
"Poor, deprived bachelor."
"This is no time to tease a man whose heart is in his throat."
"My heart stays in my throat almost every time you look at me," she said, touching his cheek.
"Then you've seen what I feel for you---" it wasn't a question "---and all that I want to do with you."
His body's need made that grow increasingly apparent. But there was just one more thing she wanted him to know.
"I've never been able to trust in happiness for long," she began. "Not without something awful happening and ruining things. The blow of realizing Denny wasn't who I believed was the last straw for me. It made me avoid dating and lose myself in work."
"Until Jack came along."
"No. I'll admit, I agreed to go out with him because I thought it would make you leave me alone. I thought, at best, you wanted a mistress, a temporary lover. But Jack was only a favor for Danica. The truth is," she added, stroking her thumb over his firm lips, "we're more alike than you know. I'd rather have whatever time I'm allowed with you than an eternity of this emptiness. I love you, Cord."
At the moment their lips came together again, he uttered a soft groan deep in his throat and held her fiercely against his heart. This time it felt like a homecoming, and their kisses were sweet and ardent all at the same time. With gratitude as well as her freed curiosity to learn every inch of him, Hunter slowly slid her hands up and down his back. He was lean but toned and she made a mental note to ask him if he was athletic or did he secretly work out at the estate instead of a gym to keep fit? There was so much she didn't know, so much they didn't know about each other. What was important now, though, was to love him without reservation.
The last time they'd stood here, he'd been angry and urgent, afraid. She understood now that he'd been afraid of losing what wasn't yet his. Now, as he invited her with deep, coaxing kisses, she responded, releasing all of the passion she'd locked inside herself.
"Hunter..."
"Come with me." As his body was already telling her of his need, hers was emitting its own messages. Taking his uninjured hand, she led him to her bedroom.
The bedside lamp was still on from when she first woke, and the dark burgundy shade pushed the light down and across the satin red-and-gray, geometric-patterned bedspread. That and the dove-gray walls often made her think of being adrift in a mist-cloaked sea. It was an invitation to oblivion that helped her relax after long hours or stressful days at the station. But bringing Cord here made her see the romantic aura in the room---romantic in a serious, mature way. Of course, even when younger, she'd never been a lace-and-ruffles kind of girl.
"I wondered what it was like in here."
Cord only briefly surveyed their surroundings, and Hunter heard something controlled in his voice. "Did you?" She unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and pulled it out of the waistband of his trousers. As she began to ease the silk over his shoulders, Hunter touched her lips to where his heart beat powerfully. "And what did you imagine?"
"I couldn't. I kept getting hung up on the image of Denny here," he admitted.
Stepping behind him to finish helping him off with the shirt, Hunter then laid it on the gray parson's chair in the corner nearest the bathroom door. Returning to him, she stroked her hands up and down his back, then slid them around his waist and caressed his chest and taut abdomen. "Things are totally different now." With every word, her lips caressed the flesh between his shoulder blades. "I was in a snow-blind phase. Everything was white. Afterward, it felt unclean, so I donated the entire bedroom set, every fixture and piece of art, every towel and linen, to a single mother I'd heard about who was struggling to support herself and her two children because her worthless ex refused to pay child support. There's been no one here since but me," she said, stroking her cheek against him. "This is our place now."
"I'm sorry for what he did to you. But thank you for wanting...changes---damn, Hunter, come here."
She had been enjoying learning his musculature, how with the most delicate strokes, she could make his pulse leap, and when she'd trailed her fingers down the zipper flap of his pants, she'd triggered his impatience. When he spun around, he swept her up into his arms---only to end up groaning in pain for the reckless move.
His wound, she realized, and wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist to relieve him of her weight against his arm.
"Better?"
"Glorious. Kiss me again."
As with his entreaty, there was a yearning in their union that filled her heart with the sweetness and beauty of it. "You need to let me get your pants off."
"What a hell of a time to get hurt," Cord muttered in self-disgust. "I'm the one who should be undressing you."
"I'll give you a rain check. Sit down," she told him. "Unless you want to risk a return trip to the E.R. so you can get those stitches redone."
Murmuring another expletive, Cord sat down on the bed.
Unhooking her ankles and shifting back on his lap, Hunter slid her legs beside his hips.
Breathing more deeply, he stroked her calves and thighs. "Besides lap dancing and being double-jointed, what other talents do you possess?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "I thought we'd discover that as we move along."
With another rasp of gratitude, he slid his hands under her sleep shirt to discover the bit of lace she almost wasn't wearing beneath. "Heaven help me," he said, pressing a kiss between her breasts. "If I knew then what I know now..."
Laughing softly, Hunter gently urged him to lie down. "That's what happens when you don't have anyone to spend your money on. I spoil myself with nice lingerie."
"Remind me to give you a raise." Continuing his exploration upward, he caressed her bare back before moving to cover her breasts with his hands. Sucking in a harsh breath. "Sweet reality. You feel exquisite. I want to see."
But his bandages slowed him again as the teeth on the clasp almost caught in her sleep shirt. As he swore and apologized, Hunter swept the thing over her head and tossed it in the direction of the chair.
"So beautiful," Cord murmured, coaxing her down to his mouth.
Hunter gave herself to his lips, tongue and fingers, closing her eyes at the sensual ministrations. As her need grew, she arched closer to get more and rocked helplessly against his arousal because she felt every moist lave of his tongue and flick of his thumb in her womb.
"Just loosen my pants," he entreated. "I need to be inside you."
Wanting him to stretch completely out on the bed so he could be more comfortable, she slid off of him and crouched to quickly remove his shoes and socks, then stood to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his slacks.
Mesmerized once she succeeded in her task, Cord slipped his fingers into her lacy thong. "What color do they call this?"
"Paradise Pearl."
"It certainly is."
Once they were naked, Cord reached for her, but Hunter evaded him to fold down the bedspread and the top sheet. In the next instant, she found herself on her back and quickly covered by Cord's hard body. For torturous moments they simply gazed into each other's eyes as they absorbed the provocative sensations of their nudity. There was almost an unspoken contest as to who could stay still the longest, but being male, he was created to lose in that challenge of wills.
When he saw the light of amusement in her eyes, Cord uttered a rumbling growl deep in his throat and slid down to finish his survey of her body. Each breath came more quickly or grew more labored. Their bodies, once cool, became feverish and damp as they explored and aroused. It never crossed Hunter's mind to be shy with him, even when he explored her intimately with his mouth, as he had with his fingers.
But when she eased back from that first crest of ecstasy, Hunter knew she didn't want to go over the edge and through that little death without him. "Please," she whispered, drawing him upward. "Now."
Rising above her, Cord eased himself into her.
Hunter trembled as her body adjusted, then thrilled to his slick, powerful invasion. She wrapped her arms around him to bring all of him back against her.
Groaning, Cord lightly scored the side of her neck with his teeth, only to shudder and bury his face in her hair. "I'm going to disappoint you the first time," he told her.
"You can't. You feel too good."
"Darling..."
His whisper sounded more like a prayer. Her heart overflowing, Hunter buried her hands in his hair, then dug her heels in beside his hips and led them in that ancient dance that carried them to oblivion.
When Cord opened his eyes again, he wasn't sure if it was ten minutes or ten hours later. The darkness offered little help. They were still sleeping spoon fashion, and not only was he reluctant to lose this indescribable feeling, he hated intruding on Hunter's rest. But besides needing to know what time it was, he was hungry. Ravenous for her again, as well. He wouldn't let himself do anything about that for a while; she felt as insubstantial as a dream in his arms and needed to rest.
"I'm awake." Lifting his bandaged hand that had found safety from accidental bumps by covering her left breast, she kissed his exposed fingertips. "Go ahead and move if you have to."
First, Cord buried his face in her hair, kissed her behind her ear and breathed in her scent. "I'm bone-dry and starving. What time is it?"
Stretching a bit, Hunter read, "One on the nose. I can go get that wine and food."
"A couple of bottles of water, too?"
Already switching on the nightstand light and twisting out of bed to reach for her sleep shirt, Hunter said, "Done."
Captivated anew by her beauty and her comfort with her body, Cord didn't head for the bathroom until he heard the refrigerator open in the kitchen. How quickly life could change. Inevitably he thought of all yesterday had held. Now, however, there was only peace and joy.
He'd fantasized about endlessly making love with Hunter over the years, and nothing was supposed to be able to top a fantasy. However, reality was better. He smiled with pleasure at the discoveries he was already making about her---her indulgence for enticing lingerie, her pleasure with exploring his body, her playfulness and wicked sense of humor...her genuine enjoyment of sex.
Making love.
There was a difference, he admitted a minute later as he exited the bathroom while fastening a towel around his waist. He'd never believed it. He'd heard some guys who were in serious relationships talk, and in very private moments he dreamed, but he could never have dreamed of what he'd experienced tonight with Hunter.
In the kitchen, he found her tearing the wrapping off of what turned out to be heated garlic toast; she added it to a shallow bowl of nuked ravioli.
"That actually smells great...but it looks scary," he told her, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist for a snuggle.
"It's takeout and homemade, not from a machine. There's a family place just a few streets away. I buy an entire lasagna-size pan at a time and portion it. Half Italian sausage, half four-cheese."
"But only one plate."
"And one fork. It's called sharing and romantic. Come on. You carry the wine. Oh, and I forgot the water. Better get you a tray." After getting things situated again, she led the way back to the bedroom.
"We're eating in bed?"
"An indulgent pleasure of mine, particularly if I'm feeling sorry for myself or under the weather. What, you're worried about spills? If you're as hungry as you claim to be, I promise you there won't be enough left for crumbs in bed. Are you telling me that you never ate in bed growing up? Not even when you had the measles or chicken pox?"
Offering a droll glance over his shoulder as they parted ways at the foot of the bed, he said, "Boarding and prep schools tend to frown upon it."
"What about picnics?"
"Does lunch at a sidewalk cafe at a four-star restaurant count?"
"Then all the more reason that for our first date, you need to experience a late-night dinner in bed."
Bemused, Cord watched her reorganize the bed covers and place the large, shallow bowl in the middle of the mattress. The gentle sway of her hips almost took his mind off of food, as did those legs that went on forever. He'd overheard Tom refer to her as Legs and decided that would be his pet name for her, as well. And he would be the one the personnel director wouldn't dare chastise.
"This isn't our first date," he said, belatedly realizing what she'd said. He set his tray on the nightstand and held her glass out to her.
"Of course it is." Taking a sip, she set the goblet on her nightstand.
"The flight to New Jersey was our first date. We had wine and Asian food on the trip back."
"I was on the job," she reminded him. "And despised you---or thought I did. I wouldn't have gone out on a date with you even if you'd threatened to fire me."
"You didn't despise me." Cord's insides froze at the thought. "You were a little---confused and disappointed. Besides, if we go with your perspective that means we've never been on a date, but we've had sex. Made love," he amended quickly and with a self-satisfied smile. "You would never do that,"
"Consider it a compliment to your animal magnetism." Sitting down cross-legged on the bed, Hunter immediately stabbed a ravioli and popped it into her mouth. "Mmm. Delicious and decadent." She then fed him one.
Taking up his glass, Cord stretched across the opposite side of the bed and took a grateful sip of his wine, then eyed her indulgently. "All right, have your fun at my expense."
"Only a little. Actually, I'm teetering on the brink of shock." She fed him another piece before taking one for herself. Then she dabbed a slice of the garlic bread in the creamy Alfredo sauce and fed it to him, too.
Cord moaned. "You're right, it's good. But you're wrong about the shock part. There are no rules, and as with all of life changes, it's bound to take time to adjust, to learn to accept and adapt to each other's differences."
"Twenty-four hours ago, I thought you realized you'd made a mistake and changed your mind about wanting me. Love wasn't even hinted at. Now, here we are. Do you realize that I might even be pregnant? It's all backward."
"It's perfect...for us." Determined to keep her thinking positive, Cord was again late in catching the idea that she'd just thrown out to the universe. As his heart made an acrobatic move that should have been medically impossible, he saw her reach for her wine. He smoothly removed it from her grasp before she could take another sip.
"Excuse me," she said, pointing to the departing goblet.
Ignoring her protest, he placed it on his table and returned with a bottle of water, which he opened and handed to her. "You're serious? It's possible?"
"It's possible. I don't know how probable. But you didn't use a condom, and I'm not on birth control. Think it's a good thing we have directors and producers to get the news on the air in a timely fashion?"
As she reached for the fork again, Cord stilled her hand. He didn't want to make fun of this subject. "Would that be all right with you?"
He watched as Hunter's expression softened. "You said you wanted a family."
"I do. Don't you?"
"Yes, but I didn't know if it would ever happen. I'm not one of those women who would have wanted to raise a child on my own---or be a one-child parent. And I know how difficult one unwed-mother pregnancy would be on my grandmother. Multiples could have dire consequences."
"Stop." Cord cupped Hunter's cheek with his good hand. "You don't have to worry about any of that. Marry me."
Smiling, her eyes overly bright, Hunter planted a kiss in his palm. "You don't have to rush things. We can---"
"No, we can't," Cord said, getting off the bed and heading for the bathroom where he'd put his clothes. When he returned, he held a small, black velvet box.
Watching Hunter's lovely eyes grow wide, he came to her side of the bed and sat beside her. "This was my grandmother's. I spoke with Lenore before coming here this evening and told her my intentions. I didn't want her feelings hurt." Gingerly lifting the lid as he balanced the box with his bandaged fingers, he exposed a three-carat, canary-yellow diamond circled by three more carats of white diamonds. "Be mine," he said, lifting it out of the satin-lined slot. "My first, last and only."
"You really did come here intending..."
"I love you. It was time. Marry me, Hunter Harding?"
"Yes," she whispered, giving him her left hand. When he slipped the ring on her finger, Hunter breathed shakily. "Oh, Cord...do you think your grandfather would have added his blessing?"
"He already did." Quietly, but proudly, he told her about one of their last, prolonged conversations. "It was the day after we returned from New Jersey. The day I headed out to California with my next stop being Chicago. I told him that I thought we'd made progress in clearing the air. I told him a great deal about my feelings for you. He must have seen something in me this time because that's when he told me that if I had the good luck to convince you, he wanted you to wear his Annie's ring."
Hunter wrapped her arms around his neck, overcome with emotion. "That makes missing him all the more painful. It would have been the thrill of my life if he could have agreed to give me away and walk me down the aisle."
Wanting only to ease her grief, Cord said, "Well, sweetheart, first of all, he would probably have needed a wheelchair to carry you down on his lap. And second, when it came time to ask if anyone objected, he would have made sure the minister allowed a painfully long silence before proceeding."
Bursting into laughter, Hunter agreed. "He would, wouldn't he?"
He kissed her then, with all of his heart. If he thought she'd shown him her passion before he learned that he still had much to grasp about his dark-eyed beauty. Before the end of their second kiss as an official couple, the future Mrs. Cord Yarrow Rivers had him lifting her onto his lap.
"I have to get back to the estate soon," he groaned. "There's an early board meeting to make everything official, and then I have to meet with grandfather's attorney, along with Lenore and my parents. More incessant, preliminary paperwork."
"I know."
"I wanted to spend this night above all nights with you."
"Better yet, make sure you clear your calendar for our wedding night," Hunter warned with mock sternness. Then she grew sympathetic. "All responsibility is on you now."
"But I'll be back tomorrow night. We can discuss dates."
"I'm a fig girl myself."
"Minx.'
Stroking his hair, Hunter said, "Before you leave, remind me to give you a key."
He held still, savoring that moment. "Just like that?"
Gently biting his earlobe, she chided, "First you complain about my caution, now you're questioning my conviction?"
When she sat up smiling, their gazes locked, and the first flame of passion reignited. Slowly, slowly, as though reveling in the wait as much as the impending connection, they inched closer, focused on each other's lips. Then their warm breaths merged as one. Finally their lips brushed together.
As sparks of desire shot through Cord's body, he slanted his mouth over Hunter's, initiating a different kind of dialogue as mysterious and ageless as the universe. Deep, stroking kisses soon had him gliding his right hand to her breast where he relished the feel of that bud, already taut and ready for his mouth.
"Just once more," he breathed. "Then I have to go."
"Yes."
Their attempts at restraint had already loosened his towel. Hunter swept her sleep shirt over her head so fast he would have chuckled if he wasn't so grateful they were on the same sexual wavelength.
"Straddle me," he coaxed.
She did but stayed on her knees, enticing him with herself. Framing her breasts with his hands, he stroked her nipples as he brushed kiss after kiss over each mound. "I promise you," he said, "when I have two good hands again, I'll do this justice."
With her forehead touching his, she had them cocooned in a world all their own. "Well, there's plenty more of you that's working just fine," she told him.
He was glad she thought so, but he wasn't going to last long if she kept on with the sexual innuendos. "Take it, take me," he told her.
She did, just as slowly as they'd kissed, wanting every ounce of what they could bring to the moment. When he was sheathed by her, he felt her tighten inside and milk him.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, feeling moisture on his forehead.
"Mmm-hmm."
"You keep that up, you may get that early baby you're worrying about."
"Not the best position for fertilization."
"You're about two seconds away from being flipped over and rocked to sleep," he said between nips of her lower lip. "Then we'll talk about fertilization."
"Cord Yarrow Rivers, don't you dare get ravioli and Alfredo sauce all over your grandmother's beautiful ring."
"Your ring now, my love."
"Cord---Cord!"
"...And so the cat is out of the hat---and hat box. With the mystery of the lost family feline resolved, the Johnsons continue with their unpacking at their new home on Long Island while Mommy cat, Misty, spends her days nursing her two kittens---when they're not busy shredding packing paper and batting foam worms.
"That is Monday, October twenty-fourth. We wish you a night with equally blissful endings."
"And that's a wrap. Thanks, Hunter. Textbook warm-and-fuzzy story," director, Stan Pfeiffer, said. "Now when I get home tonight, my five-year-old is going to meet me at the door and wrap her arms around my leg crying, 'Daddy, can we adopt one of Misty's babies?'"
"From what I gathered, checking back with the Johnsons, it sounds like they're keeping those kittens," Hunter said, removing her earpiece. "There's your out...unless you want to head down to the local animal shelter. There are always plenty of homeless cats and dogs there."
The native New Yorker, who more resembled a longshoreman, wagged a sausage-size finger at her. "The closest my kid is getting to a pet is if I point to a rat in the alley between our apartment buildings and tell her that she can name it."
Hunter shook her head as she awaited help to take off the rest of her gadgetry. For all of his gruffness and toughness, Stan was something of a pussycat himself. It had just taken Hunter longer than usual to figure that out, and for the two of them to settle in to a comfortable work mode. But then there had been a great number of things to adapt to in the last fourteen months.
She also had her mike unclipped from her royal purple, soft-knit dress as the assistant came to help her, but she had temporarily lost the ability to get the wires and uncomfortable battery pack out from under her clothing. "Thanks Roger, thanks everyone," she called to the rest of the crew that continued to whistle and applaud their own smooth work as much as hers
"There you go, Mrs. Rivers," the assistant said, achieving what Hunter did not. "Are you okay?" she asked, giving her a closer inspection than usual. "You looked a little uncomfortable at the end. Did the earpiece poke you, or the mike battery cut into your back?"
"Not too much more than usual, Rachel, thanks." Pushing back her chair, Hunter stroked her belly. There was no more hiding that she was big with child: any-day-now size. "There's no comfortable position to sit or lie in these days," she drawled. "Do you think that the viewers picked up on as much as you did?"
"Oh, no, ma'am. It's just that everyone says you're the consummate professional and to take notes. They're right. I've enjoyed getting to know you, and I'm thrilled to think I'm beginning to read you a little better. Just let me know if there's something I can do to make this stuff easier."
Touched by the sweet girl's initiative, Hunter reached out to squeeze her arm. "Rachel, I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that you're catching on fast and couldn't do your job any better. I hope you get that promotion to the next step in production. I'll put in my good word."
As the young woman grinned and scampered away, Hunter saw Cord emerge from the production room and stride purposely toward her, although he did take the time to exchange greetings with several of the staff. He looked as handsome and distinguished as ever in his navy blue, pinstripe suit and red tie. It took no time at all for the butterflies to start fluttering in her tummy, just watching him. And to think they had already celebrated their first anniversary a month ago. Hardly newlyweds anymore, she thought with a wicked smile, knowing exactly what he would say about that.
Before she could reach for her shoes---the lowest heels she'd worn since she wore ankle socks---Cord was at her side, crouching to help her slide them on. She almost blushed because his movements were more intimate and caressing than practical.
"What's the grin about?" he asked, looking like he knew full well.
"I'm merely enjoying watching you, but the guys in the control room may be groaning in disgust."
"Every damned one of them is green with envy."
"Uh-huh. How did the program that you caught look to you?"
"You've hit your stride again---and you look radiant and luscious."
"That's a polite word for fat." She sighed, thinking if she ever fit into a pair of her high heels again, she would never complain about discomfort again. But then she'd also worried that she would never be embraced by this city, too. At first, some of the critics had tried to resist embracing her.
"You're pregnant and oversensitive, my love. Everyone in the control room may remember that I'm the paycheck, but they still want their product to look it's best, and a chief part of that product is you. Clever Cat-and-the-Hat bit," he added.
"Too cutesy for cosmopolitan New York City?"
"Give yourself a break, sweetheart," Cord said, stroking her calf. "You're not exactly from a two-chicken TV station. Everybody loves a positive story, especially in difficult international times."
She knew that, but her hormones were trying to undermine her at every turn. It was her fifth month as the evening anchor at YCI's New York cable TV channel and she'd begun staying consistently in the number two position in her time slot even against the network stations. Along with their recent anniversary, she and Cord were expecting their first child---a son---any day now. Life was definitely in transition.
"When did you get in?" she asked, forcing herself to relax and count her blessings. He was having to commute to headquarters---as well as travel---more, and while she couldn't help but worry when he was flying, she knew there was no one more cautious and invested in safety than Cord and his aircraft crew.
Before answering, Cord rose and kissed her soundly. Still, it was a chaste kiss compared to what she knew he would bestow on her when they reached the limo where Phil and Lane were sure to be waiting.
"About twenty minutes before you probably sat nervously in your office and tracked our flight on the internet, and I made it into the control room about ninety seconds before you went live, so I did see every piece." He chuckled as she rolled her eyes. "Still, it's nice to be missed."
"Why not just accept that I miss you every second, even when you're at the loft and I'm here?"
"I do, beloved," he said, suddenly all seriousness. "I still can't believe my good fortune and universal blessings." Slipping his arm around her, he helped her to her feet. "How's that for discreet? I even resisted sneaking a fanny rub."
Thank heaven for small favors, she thought with an inward groan, because she knew full well that he believed in showing his true feelings for her and didn't care what anyone thought. "I love you," she purred. "And I'm sorry for sounding like a rat terrier with a bad haircut."
Shaking with laughter, Cord led her off the stage and toward the nearest exit. "How about we head home for a bubble bath and foot-and-back massage?"
"Cord Rivers, if you do that for me, I will give birth to a baby hippo for you."
He held her close all the way to the elevators during and the ride down. "Did you talk to your mother? Is she going to let me send up a car for her and your grandmother, so they don't miss the baby's arrival?"
Hunter bit her lip. She knew he and her mother and grandmother got along just fine, but she didn't want to inundate him with company. Particularly female company. She was more than enough for him.
"I heard that," he said. "Just as loudly as if you were beating a bongo drum in my ear. How many times do I have to tell you, the more the merrier?"
Easy for him to say. Their loft had a state-of-the-art kitchen now, and her grandmother might like it so much, she'd never leave. "I still think it would be smarter to put them up in the hotel across the street."
"We have plenty of room," Cord assured her.
"What's the news from Lenore? Will she come up?"
"She let me make the reservations while I was down there. She arrives the day after tomorrow, and she sends her love. She's missed you more than she'll say."
"Oh, I can feel it. It's been hard for her, even though Henry has been gone fifteen months now." Hunter stroked his chest. "Sounds like you're going to have a full waiting room to help you pace."
He slid her a speaking glance, and she knew why. While they had taken natural childbirth lessons together, he was the worrywart where the delivery was concerned. She thought the easiest thing would be for him not to go through it. He was having none of that.
"I can sweat blood for you and coach, thank you very much," he'd said.
As they exited the building, the autumn-night air whirled around them, tugging at their clothes and hair and peppering them with leaves off the trees that lined the street. Hunter felt the excitement of the city and took a deep breath, finding this time of year energizing. Spotting Lane and Phil waiting for them, she began a penguin pantomime. Both men struggled to keep a straight face.
"Evening, ma'am," Phil drawled.
"Good to see you in fine spirits, Mrs. Rivers," Lane said, one eye on her and one eye on passersby.
And then they were on their way. This was a new limousine, the latest in construction, gimmicks and security. Hunter didn't want to know what it cost. What she did know was that Cord had ordered it because she would be riding in it with him. The best part was that once the door was shut, he put up the window and curtain between them and the front seat and reached for her.
His first kiss after they'd been apart for more than a day almost always brought tears to her eyes. She knew those periods were as tough on him as they were on her. She did a whole visual inventory to make sure he wasn't hiding any shaving or paper cuts and that his eyes weren't beyond bloodshot from sleepless nights.
"Did all of your meetings go well?" she asked.
Cord slid his hand inside her light coat and caressed her belly. "I can't remember. I ditched them from my mind the minute we headed for the airport." Then he leaned over to croon at her tummy. "Hey, Little You. Are you giving your mommy too much of a hard time?"
"He's already a gifted handler, like his daddy," Hunter said. "I'm probably ruining his DNA. He sleeps when I'm in meetings and on the air. If I'm on the phone with a politician who's trying to blow me off with bureaucratic doublespeak, he rubs his foot against the inside of my belly as though saying, 'Chill, Mommy. He only won his election by 400 votes.'"
Watching her, his smile beatific, Cord slid his hand upward to cover her breast. "You can't blame him for loving the sound of your voice. So do I."
Hunter heard, but then didn't hear because his caresses were doing what they always did to her. She leaned her forehead against his and sighed in pleasure. "I miss you that way, too. Maybe we can share that bubble bath?" she entreated.
Cord groaned and locked his mouth to hers to let her know how much he appreciated that thought. "You remember what the doctor said. That part of things is on hold until your sixth week check-up after delivery." But that didn't keep him from lowering his mouth to her breast. Then he slid his hand under her skirt and between her thighs. "We've done all right improvising, haven't we?" he rasped. "It's all good."
It was and the best part was that every day their love deepened. "It's all good," she began to reassure him, then her breath caught. "Or---oh! Not?"
Cord was immediately alert. "What is it? Hunter?"
When the cramp finally eased, Hunter started to laugh breathlessly. "I guess no bubble bath for me tonight."
He froze, looked down to her belly and back up at her bemused face. "It's begun?"
"I've been having subtle contractions for a while. They're not bad yet, but the one I just had tells me that's about to change."
"Darling." He framed her face with his and kissed her soundly. Then he leaned forward to rip open the curtains and lower the window. "Gentlemen, there needs to be a slight adjustment to our destination.
"Hospital?" Lane asked, glancing back at Hunter.
Phil was already observing her in the rearview mirror. "Hospital."
Two hours and fifty minutes later, Brendan Harding Rivers joined their happiness. Cord noted that he had both of his parents' lush, dark hair, his mother's warm, brown eyes and his daddy's nose and mouth. Cord couldn't stop looking at him---or exhausted but radiant Hunter.
"I can't believe you did this," he said, not willing to let go of her hand or to stop staring at Brendan in Hunter's arms. He'd even made it through delivery without passing out cold and embarrassing Hunter.
"I detest the overuse of amazing, but isn't he just?" Hunter whispered.
"The beginning of a new dynasty."
"Dynasty! That's news to me," Hunter said with some worry. "He might not want to be in our business. He might want to invent things or heal people."
"Look at that mouth---he's already trying to talk." But Cord wasn't about to upset Hunter. Next to her heart, she'd just given him the greatest gift of all. "Thank you, my love."
"Thank you," Hunter replied, stroking his cheek. "I so hate that you'll have to go home to an empty loft tonight."
"Are you kidding?" he scoffed. "I'm not letting either of you out of my sight. I'm going to stay right in that chair over there...when I'm not walking down to the nursery to check on this little guy."
After a soft laugh, she asked, "Will you think to remember to make a few important phone calls to waiting family, too?"
Kissing her softly, he murmured, "That I can do."
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0806-3
IT'S NEWS TO HER
Copyright © 2011 by Helen R. Myers
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