Where Rivers Part (33 page)

I
extend my utmost gratitude to my publishing team at Revell. They not only help make these Texas Gold stories shine, but they support me as an author with their time, their ingenuity, and their marketing budget. Jen, Kelsey, Lindsay, Robin, Jessica, and so many other unnamed publishing champions at Revell—you deserve many more cupcakes!

My agent, Natasha Kern, is the best in the business. Joining arms with Natasha was one of the smartest decisions I ever made as an author. Her guidance and support mean the world to me.

Much gratitude goes to the retailers, bloggers, reviewers, and industry folks who support these Texas Gold novels. Thank you!

The time I spend with my writing partner on the phone each morning is simply a gift from God. Lynne Gentry is one of the finest word crafters I know. As a friend, she listens and points me to Jesus. A girl can't find better than that.

I also want to take this opportunity to acknowledge my prayer warrior, Diana Haibel, a woman who has prayed for me and my loved ones for years. May God pay you back, my friend.

The paralegal character in this book is named after a real young man, Seth Jinks. Sadly, Seth lost his battle with addiction last fall,
leaving behind a devastated family. I met his mother at a book club, and she has become a friend. Vicki is a woman of incredible strength and dignity who now works tirelessly to support others affected by addiction. I admire her.

Big thanks go to the best hair designer in Texas, Shannon Morgan. Sitting in her chair once a month is so fun. The epilogue for this book was her idea. Thanks, Shannon!

I couldn't help but think of my husband when I wrote the character Cyril Montavan. Allen is such a hard worker and a man of integrity. We've been through a lot together in our thirty-plus years, and I am blessed.

Together, we raised two boys who are my heart's treasures. I am so stinking proud of the men Eric and Jordan have become. I may garner accolades for my novels, but my sons are by far my best work. I love them both more than can be adequately expressed. It was such a pleasure to dedicate this book to them.

Now a special note to my readers—thank you for purchasing my books, and for the reviews you post on Facebook, Amazon, Goodreads, and more. Your messages telling me how much you like these stories mean the world to me. You are always foremost in my mind when I write.

 1 

T
here's no need to fix something that isn't broken.

At least that's what Faith Marin's mother always said. And goodness knows, her mother was
never
wrong.

Unfortunately, the station's executive news had expressed the exact opposite sentiment in his office. “Okay, listen. I'm not saying what we're doing isn't working. I'm only suggesting we might have to consider changing things up a bit. No one else is going to keep Faith Marin's star shining. You have to do that for yourself. Right now, your Q score remains high, but you and I both know this is a nearsighted business. Viewers are fickle, which is why we spend an inordinate amount of time and money keeping the
Faith on Air
brand fresh and relevant.” Clark Ravino pointed at the stack of Nielsens on the corner of his desk. “And sometimes a bit of recalibration is in order.”

“Are you saying the show's brand needs to be recalibrated? Or mine?” She waited for him to answer, knowing he'd been getting a lot of pushback on her series after folding to her campaign for the station to take a risk on quality programming, instead of the popular morn-porn shown on nearly every other station in their market area. Personally, if she had to see Miley Cyrus gyrating half naked one more time, she would be sick to her stomach.

The devilishly handsome man sitting across from her had slowly placed his starched shirtsleeves on the top of the desk and steepled his fingers. “To be honest, the answer is both.”

“Oh, c'mon, Clark. Are we really going to be another butterfly station, never landing long on anything serious, instead fluttering on to the next thing that smells good? And then the next?” She'd had this argument with Clark on numerous occasions. “Look, whoever is coming up with this nonsense is simply not giving women enough credit. Our viewers are smarter than that.”

He gave her a patient smile. “You're missing the point.”

She scowled. “We went over all this last month. You agreed the show was getting too fluffy, that we needed to incorporate stories that significantly contribute to women's lives.”

He tapped on the stack again. “The demos are telling us otherwise. The Most Valuable Viewer age is getting younger every day. I don't need to tell you the station's news shows subsidize the entire rest of the day's programming. Even a tiny drop in household rankings is material when it comes to advertising dollars.” He pointed to the ceiling. “You can argue all you want, but that's what matters upstairs.”

Of course,
upstairs
was a metaphor for the national cable news network that had scooped up not only their station but also most of the independents across America over the last year, in an intensely controversial attempt to further cement its already dominant position in the entertainment market.

In her opinion, that was the problem. In the few short years since she'd walked into this newsroom, doe-eyed and holding a freshly printed journalism degree, her profession had morphed from gathering and delivering economic, political, and societal information critical to people's lives to one big business unit preoccupied with ad revenue and ratings.

Often she'd left the morning news anchor desk feeling like she needed a shower to wash off the hour and a half she'd spent
churning out nothing more than a sanctioned gossip fest. More and more, the slant of every story focused on the kinds of drama found on reality shows, leaving weather and traffic the only truly relevant segments on the morning broadcast. Even the sports anchor was forced to share more about athletes' marital woes than game stats.

She'd endured too many broadcasts to count in front of the camera, smiling at her coffee-drinking audience like none of that mattered. She'd told herself to be patient, that indeed her sugared donut was on its way. Next in line for the coveted slot on the evening news, she'd worked like a dog—when necessary, shooting her own video on remotes, writing her own copy, hobnobbing at the stuffiest events in order to land exclusive interviews scooping the competition—only to be told the anchor switch had been placed on hold indefinitely after a focus group predicted a loss of viewers in the coveted twenty-five to fifty-four age group, also known as Most Valuable Viewers. Every ten thousand MVVs represented roughly a million dollars in advertising revenue. Even one tiny slip and ad dollars would evaporate.

From across Clark's desk, Faith squared her shoulders and looked her producer directly in the eye. “So the line you fed me six months ago over dinner at Brennan's was bunk? You said if I agreed to stay on the morning desk, you'd help make
Faith on
Air
Houston's premier morning show, that you'd let me do the kinds of stories that would position me to move on to a national market.”

Clark held up his palms. “I know what I promised. I think what we have here is simply a perception problem. We let our ratings slip, and so does your viability in the top three DMAs. You think the honchos in New York, LA, or Chicago aren't interested in market percentages?”

He stood, came from around his desk, and placed his hand on her shoulder, but not before letting his fingers casually brush against her neck. “I'm on your side, remember?”

That night Faith played the entire conversation over and over in her mind, losing valuable sleep. And it showed in her reflection in the makeup mirror the next morning.

“Girl, there ain't enough concealer to hide those dark circles under your eyes.”

“I know, Shanika. Just do your best.”

Trying to hide her exhaustion, she glanced past the cameras at the countdown clock and thought about all the sacrifices she'd made.

A shrill alarm clock had pulled her from a warm bed at two in the morning more than eighteen hundred times over the years she'd anchored at KIAM-TV. While the rest of Houston slept, she'd pulled on her favorite nylon hoodie and yoga pants, grabbed a mega mug of coffee, and made the hour-long drive from the Woodlands to the station, singing to the radio to warm up her voice.

Her daily bedtime was no later than seven in the evening, which wreaked havoc on her social life. Her only friends were business associates. She'd left steaming turkey and dressing on her plate to cover a Thanksgiving Day explosion in the Channelview shipyards that left dozens fatally wounded. The receptionist at her dentist's office teased that they always wrote her appointments in pencil, knowing how often she failed to show for her scheduled cleanings in order to report on some tragic fire, a sensational murder, or a high-profile arrest. General assignment reporters covered the day-to-day remotes, but big stories warranting breaking news status often required lead anchors to do live broadcasts from the scene.

Sure, her job was glamorous in many respects. Certainly she'd attained celebrity status and was recognized wherever she went. She'd climbed to the higher rungs of the compensation ladder. But despite her career aspirations, in many ways this was a lonely profession that definitely had a downside.

The manila envelope buried on her desk was evidence of that. Goodness knows what would happen to her rankings when the public got wind of the divorce papers inside.

She tried not to blame Geary. Given everything, his anger was justified. In the depths of her soul, she knew it was better this way. At least that's what she told herself when her exhausted head hit the pillow at night—in the bed where she now slept alone.

With Clark Ravino's edict still fresh in her mind, Faith forced a smile directed at the camera. “The Houston Humane Society warns that all dogs found on the street without proper tagging and licensing are subject to confiscation. We'll be right back after this commercial break.”

In this morning's broadcast, they'd led with a story about a cruise ship stranded a hundred miles off shore with mechanical issues, a charity event at the Golf Club of Houston, and a projected rise in house prices reported by the Houston Association of Realtors. Traffic was tied up in the southbound lanes of the Southwest Freeway, a result of a semitruck that illegally changed lanes and crashed into a Toyota pickup. Remarkably, there were no fatalities to report. And Doppler radar was picking up a system approaching in the gulf, causing the meteorologist to predict rain by Sunday.

Then the Humane Society piece.

After they returned from the commercial break, the producers aired a human interest segment, a story about the unveiling of a wax figure of Katy Perry at Madame Tussauds in London.

Mike Jarrett, her co-anchor, gave the camera a wide smile. “Now that sounds like something worth seeing.”

“Sure does, Mike. I'm sure all our viewers traveling to London will want to pen that one in on their travel itineraries.” Faith smiled even wider, hoping her sarcasm hadn't come across in her voice.

She was minutes from signing off the morning broadcast when Clark entered the studio, followed by a young woman in a stylish short hairstyle and an outfit not unlike those she often saw on the Pinterest boards she studied at night, trying to stay on top of what women found fashionable. Faith thought of changing her own hair out to something similar—a pixie-cut style recently made popular
by Jennifer Lawrence. Of course, before she shortened her hair, she'd have to get the blessing of some focus group.

The cameraman gave the signal it was time to wrap up.

Mike leaned slightly forward. “And that's our broadcast this Thursday morning. I hope you'll tune in again at midday for KIAM-TV News at Noon.”

Faith straightened her scripts and gave the audience a final smile, showing off her expensive veneers. “And thank you, Houston, for letting KIAM-TV be your eye on the news.”

The music cued, and the station's logo, an eye with the station's call letters, flashed across the monitors. Lucas Cunningham, the technical operations manager, stepped forward with a clipboard in his hand. “Good show, everyone.”

Faith stood and took a deep breath. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Clark and the woman moving in her direction.

“Faith, I'd like you to meet Lynna Scowcroft. She's going to be spending some time with you over the next couple of weeks.”

She extended her hand and gave the perky young woman a weak smile, knowing Clark's careful wording was code for:
This
gal, who barely looks past nineteen years of age, is
the media consultant du jour who will be evaluating your
every move and then reporting on ways we can make
your life miserable.

“Hello, it's nice to meet you,” Faith said politely before turning to Clark, giving him a look that left no doubt how she felt about her new shadow. If Lynna Scowcroft noticed, she didn't let on. Instead, she pulled her buzzing iPhone from her bag and brought it to her ear while mouthing that she was sorry, she needed to take the call. She stepped back out of the bright lights and into a dimly lit corner of the studio for privacy.

Clark grinned. “Hold back your enthusiasm,” he teased.

Faith shrugged and lowered her voice. “You couldn't find a grown-up to rake me over the image promotion coals?”

“You got the memo. We're working to attract a younger audience
willing to spend recklessly on consumer goods they don't need.” His slightly bantering tone did nothing to defuse the reality of his statement. They both knew the station was strongly beginning to favor pop culture news. The difference between them was that as executive producer of the news division, Clark Ravino was determined to disregard his personal feelings in order to embrace what was on the horizon. Faith wouldn't give in that easily.

Under the heat of the lights, he unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt and rolled up the sleeves. “A call came in to the assignment desk while you were on air. Senator Libby Heekin Rohny has scheduled a press conference out at the Johnson Space Center. Rumor has it she's going to announce some very unpopular budget cuts. I want you to cover the story.”

Faith's eyes lit up. They both knew he'd just thrown her a bone—a story with national importance. If she played this one right, she'd corner the senator and urge her to come on
Faith on Air
for an extended (and exclusive) interview. A coup for sure, and the kind of airtime that would build her portfolio. “Thanks, Clark. I owe you.”