After Tex (14 page)

“Do you think it would help if I talked to her?” Jake asked. “Or to Lyle?”

“I wouldn't go near Lyle, if I were you. It'd just make him meaner. The two of you never did get along. That's why I stay away, much as I'd like to
give him what-for. But talking to Barbara Sue might be good. You could tell her what her options are.”

“Will she listen?”

The diner owner sighed. “I doubt it, but we have to try, Jake.”

He knew the fruitlessness of talking to abuse victims before they were ready to hear their options. “Send her to see me,” he said anyway. “I'll do what I can.”

Henrietta studied him intently. “Does this mean you're actually going to start taking on a few clients?”

“I hung my shingle out there months ago,” Jake reminded her.

“You also made it pretty clear that it was a halfhearted gesture. Till Tex came along, I thought you didn't much care if you practiced law again or not. To tell the truth, it seemed to me like you were just drifting, trying to sort out some things.”

“I think that's exactly what I've been doing,” he admitted, acknowledging to himself that he'd been driven all these months by some sort of vague need for revenge, rather than any sort of positive purpose.

“And now?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Because folks around here need a good lawyer every now and again. They get tired of going all the way down to Laramie to get legal advice. I'd send 'em your way if I thought you wanted the work.”

“Who else besides Barbara Sue?” he asked, realizing that she had only been a trial balloon Henrietta had used to test the waters.

“That Morgan girl over at the beauty shop needs
some advice. Josh Wilson is her landlord and he's giving her fits. Won't fix things and charges an arm and a leg for that pitiful house he rents to her and her boy.”

The story was one that was all too familiar to Jake. He'd lived it. “Tell her to come see me,” Jake said tightly. Taking Josh Wilson to court would be a pleasure. He'd do it for nothing but the satisfaction. “Anyone else?”

Henrietta grinned. “I suppose that's enough for today. I wouldn't want you to get overworked after such a long layoff.”

“You're too good to me.”

“Well, I just think it's a shame to waste all that education of yours, especially when there are folks nearby who could benefit from it.”

“I suppose you know someone who needs a job as a secretary, too.”

She grinned. “I'll think on it. I imagine I could come up with a name or two.”

“I'm sure you can.” He dropped a dollar bill on the counter for the coffee. “Remind me to put a coffeepot in my office so I can steer clear of here.”

“The coffee might be as good, but you'd miss the company,” Henrietta retorted.

Yes, he conceded, he would at that.

T
he tension in the air was palpable. Megan had taped four of the five shows scheduled for production on Tuesday, but it was clear to everyone that her energy was flagging. It was also evident that everyone's patience had been stretched to the limits.

“Maybe we should give it up for the day,” Todd said, regarding her worriedly.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Micah objected, scowling at him. “It's a half-hour show, not
Gone With the Wind.
She can do it.”

Megan cut in before a full-blown argument between the two could erupt. “It's okay, Todd. I'd rather get it over with than try to cram it into tomorrow's schedule or bring the crew back on Thursday.”

Micah shot a look of triumph in Todd's direction, then went off to find Kenny Hawkins, the director.

“That woman—” Todd began.

“Is doing her job,” Megan filled in. Micah's edgy nervousness had been obvious to the whole production crew all day. Megan had spent too much time smoothing ruffled feathers.

“Settle down,” she instructed Todd gently. “Is all the gift wrap here? I want to show viewers how to
make their packages every bit as personal and unique as the gifts they're giving.”

“Over there,” Todd said, pointing toward the display being wheeled onto the set. “Everything you asked for.”

His cell phone rang. “Yes?” His expression turned grim. “Now's not a good time.” He paused, then sighed heavily. “Okay, yes, she's right here.”

Turning to Megan, he mouthed, “Tess.”

Megan took the phone and tried to inject a pleased note into her voice. “Hey, Tess, how are you?”

“He didn't want to let me talk to you,” Tess accused.

“It's just that we're right in the middle of taping some shows.”

“You said—”

“I know, Tess. I'm here now. What's up? Everything okay back there?”

“When are you coming back?”

Megan had told her at least a hundred times before she'd left and a dozen more since. “On Friday night,” she said once more, clinging to her patience by a thread. “It'll probably be late, though.”

“Can I wait up?”

“No. You need your sleep. I'll see you first thing Saturday morning. We'll do something special.”

“What?”

Megan couldn't think of anything to save her soul. “Whatever you want.”

“Can we go to a movie?”

The last thing Megan wanted to do after flying home and making the drive from Laramie was to turn
around and drive right back there. “If that's what you want,” she said anyway.

“Good. I'll tell Jake. He said you wouldn't go for it, 'cause you'd be too tired.”

If only he'd told her that he'd tried to get her off the hook, she thought wearily. “Look, sweetie, I've got to run. The crew's ready to go.”

“Yeah, okay. I didn't have anything else to say, anyway.”

“Stay off that ankle,” Megan admonished. “I'll talk to you tonight.”

“Whatever.”

Megan handed Todd's phone back to him, then drew in a deep breath. Her gaze skimmed across the set to confirm that everything for the gift-wrapping segment was in place—tissue paper, pretty little decorative boxes in various shapes and sizes, elegant ribbons.

“Looks good to go to me,” she called over to the director. “Are you guys ready?”

Kenny, the most unflappable man she'd ever met, nodded. He'd spent most of the day staying out of Micah's path. “Let's do it.”

Megan started toward the set, only to have Todd snag her wrist.

“You might need this,” he said lightly, reattaching the portable mike to her collar. “Hey, Ken, have them do a sound check to make sure this is positioned okay.”

“Will do.” He signaled to Megan. “We're rolling. In five, four, three, two…” He pointed to her.

“Good morning, everyone. Today we're going to
talk about special occasions and how to make the gifts you give memorable.”

“Cut,” Ken called over the intro. “Sorry, Megan.”

“What is it?”

“Weren't you supposed to change between episodes? That's the same outfit you had on for the last show.”

“Damn,” she muttered, stripping off the mike and racing for her dressing room to slip into yet another outfit, this time chocolate brown linen slacks and a cream silk blouse with some simple, chunky gold jewelry. It had all been chosen and laid out ahead of time. She'd just flat-out forgotten to change.

“My fault,” Todd said, meeting her at the door. “I stopped you on the way to the dressing room, Micah interrupted us and then Tess called.”

“Forget about it. I'm distracted, too.” She ran a brush through her hair, then reached out a hand. “Have you got the mike?”

“Right here.”

She was back on the set in less than five minutes. Ken's gaze skimmed over her before he nodded in satisfaction. “Perfect. Let's do it, people.”

It took two horrible hours to get the half-hour show done to everyone's satisfaction. Micah seemed determined to reshoot everything until it was perfect. It was as if she considered this her one shot at a daytime Emmy. Megan finally called a halt.

“Micah, it's not going to get any better than this. If anything, it'll just get worse because none of us can see straight.”

The producer shrugged. “Whatever. It's your show.” With that she turned and left the studio.

Megan stared after her, then shook her head.

It was going on midnight by the time she was able to leave. On her way out she promised Kenny she'd be there by 10:00 a.m. to do it all again—five more shows back-to-back. The pace was far more grueling than she'd ever imagined. She was used to doing two shows a day for three days one week and two days the following week to pick up the total of ten needed for a two-week run. With everyone rested and prepared, things ran smoothly ninety percent of the time. Even the other ten percent didn't rise to the level of stress or mistakes that today's tapings had induced.

Worse, as exhausted as she was, she knew she had to do it all over again the next day.

By the end of Wednesday, Megan had absolutely no idea whether she'd even been coherent. In fact, she'd had to redo a fruit tart twice because she'd forgotten to put the fruit into the prebaked crust the first time and had dumped it onto a glass pie plate lined with raw dough. She was too much of a perfectionist to simply laugh it off and move on.

By the time she'd ended the segment, she'd made a mental vow to do nothing more complicated than open canned soup ever again. Of course, that would take the edge off her reputation for whipping up the extraordinary with little effort.

Once again, Micah had left in an apparent huff, though Megan hadn't actually seen her do so. Megan was too tired to worry about it. She was still in her dressing room with her feet propped up when Todd walked in without bothering to knock. She barely glanced up.

“I thought you'd gone home hours ago,” she mur
mured as he moved behind her and began massaging her shoulders. It was another of the skills she admired in him. The man had incredibly clever hands. “God, that's wonderful.” Almost as good as Jake's touch, but without the edge of sensuality.

“We live to serve,” he muttered. He'd long since stripped away his tie and rolled up his sleeves, ruining the sartorial perfection in which he normally prided himself.

“Why are you still here? Didn't I tell you to go?”

“You did, but I wasn't about to leave you here without protection.”

“Protection from what?”

“Those exhausted people out there. As tired as they are, they'd have let just about anything on the air to get the taping over with. I nominated myself to do quality control, since Micah cut out before the last taping.”

Megan glanced up. “Before the last show? Are you sure? I thought she was in the booth.”

“Nope. I watched her walk out the door. She didn't say a word to anybody. Something's up with her, but I can't get a handle on it.”

“Stress?” Megan suggested.

“Nope. It's more than that. She's been in a snit ever since you took off for Wyoming.”

“She's felt out of the loop,” Megan reminded him. “We talked about it.”

“Well, you're here now and she could be very much in the loop, if she'd just stick around and do her job.”

“Well, I'm not going to get into it with her yet. We're all under too much pressure. Let's keep an eye
on the situation. If things don't improve, I'll handle it.”

“I can talk to her,” Todd offered.

“Thanks, but she already resents the fact that so many of her marching orders come via you. I'll speak to her directly,” Megan said, then yawned. “What's on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“Nothing till noon. I cancelled all your morning appointments. You have lunch with Peter at one, a meeting with Caitlin about the magazine's next cover design at three, a TV interview at five. It's a light day.”

“Why am I having lunch with Peter?”

“You tell me. He called. I scheduled it. I assumed it was social.”

Megan sighed. Peter probably thought the same thing. He'd been trying for years to take on a more important—more personal—role in her life. She had to give him points for persistence. If he weren't such a fine, totally trustworthy accountant, it would have been a whole lot easier to make it clear that she wasn't interested.

Todd regarded her quizzically. “Should I cancel lunch?”

“No. I have to eat and there's worse company to have than Peter's.”

“Now those are the words a man waits a lifetime to hear,” he retorted lightly. “Why don't you cut him loose and put him out of his misery?”

“Who'd deal with my finances?”

“I can show you pages of classifieds in the phone book. Manhattan's a big place. The world's financial
markets are all represented here. I'll just bet there's another qualified accountant in the city.”

Megan hated change, even when she knew it was time. She also feared putting her finances into the hands of someone she didn't know with absolute certainty was honest. Tex had always handled every last detail of his own bookkeeping and preached to her to do the same. She hadn't gone that far, but once she'd found Peter, she'd uttered a sigh of relief and considered herself in good hands.

Peter's pursuit of a relationship with her had muddied the waters. Maybe she could extricate herself from that without losing their business relationship, but it was doubtful. She would always wonder if he harbored some secret grudge over the rejection, if he'd take out his revenge on her books. Nope, better to make a clean break of it.

“I'll think about it,” she said at last. “Get some names for me.”

“They'll be on your desk in the morning. Now go home and get some sleep. You have bags under your eyes.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me.”

He grinned. “My pleasure.”

“It doesn't matter, you know. There's no taping tomorrow.”

“Just that TV interview,” he reminded her. “And your date.”

“Maybe the bags will scare Peter off.”

“Doubtful. If the man weren't totally smitten and oblivious, he'd have figured out by now that you're only interested in his calculator.”

When she would have retorted, he held up a hand and backed off. “I'm outta here. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Todd.”

Left alone, Megan gathered up her papers and jammed them into her briefcase. She shoveled an assortment of jars and tubes into her makeup bag and left the studio. Outside, a limo was waiting to whisk her to her apartment. The ride was less than ten minutes long, but the service was an extravagance she could afford. On rainy nights, when taxis vanished from Manhattan streets, it more than paid for itself.

“Good night, Ms. O'Rourke,” the driver said as he held the door for her in front of her building. “You have a pleasant evening.”

“You, too, Bill. I'll see you on Friday.”

“Right. What time is your flight?”

“Six-thirty.”

“Shall I pick you up here or at your office?”

“The office, I think. If that changes, I'll call.”

Upstairs, she found a dozen messages on her answering machine. Her first instinct was to ignore them. Then she thought of Tess and punched the play button.

Most were from friends, calling to offer sympathy over Tex, inviting her to dinner, suggesting lunch. Buried among them, though, was one from Jake.

“I talked to that protective assistant of yours today. He didn't seem inclined to give me your itinerary for Friday. If you'll tell him I have security clearance or call me back yourself, I'll pick you up at the airport. I hear Tess conned you into promising a movie for Saturday. Guess you're already turning into one of
those guilt-ridden moms who overcompensates for her absences.”