Jan Freed - Talk To Me

Of course, that had been yesterday. This morning she knew better.

Nothing was worth the nauseating tension growing stronger the closer they got to Lake Kimberly. Not the means to expand Mystery Woman, Inc.’s geographical reach and order-processing systems. Not the giddy thought of paying her most delinquent bills. Not the assurance that Gram could live out her life in the house she’d occupied for over fifty years...

Well, rats.

Kara was halfway into a deep calming breath when the scents of leather, Polo cologne and leftover Egg McMuffin hit her stomach. She concentrated grimly on the jazz music drifting from the radio until her queasiness eased.

Her problem, unfortunately, remained. No matter how much Gram cherished Taylor House, her stately home in The Heights, given a choice between declaring bankruptcy, or selling the valuable real estate to pay off business debts, she would choose the latter. Family honor was at stake.

Gram would live under the Pierce elevated bridge before tainting the Taylor name.

Like it or not, Kara’s duty was clear. She would follow through on the original plan. Gaining an infusion of much-needed capital was worth losing her pride... and even her breakfast. A distinct possibility, given the challenge ahead.

Ross had invited Travis by phone to tape a pilot talk show with Kara. Her ex-husband had turned the first offer down flat. Also the second and third. Since he hung up now at the mere sound of Ross’s voice, the TV producer thought a personal endorsement from Kara might make a difference.

He seemed to think that because Travis had never remarried, she’d retained a position of influence in his life. Ha! As if she’d ever been able to change Travis’s mind.

A memory swooped out of hiding to mock her denial. Travis, fending off her inexperienced kisses, resisting her timid touches, succumbing at last to her tearful pleas in a dark and musty boat shed. Building her passion quickly, loving her slowly, claiming her heart and soul forever—

“You okay?” Ross asked, wrenching her into the present.

She blinked into focus. “Yes.” A hideous suspicion made her add, “Why do you ask?”

“You moaned.”

Through the blood rush of humiliation muffling her hearing, a saxophone wailed. “Sorry. Guess I’m not a big fan of Kenny G.”

“Ahh. You should’ve said something earlier.”

Sagging in relief, she watched him reach for the radio dial. The action strained his V-necked navy sweater across impressive shoulders, tightened his khaki slacks against muscular thighs. Tasseled loafers completed his interpretation of casual wear for their seventy-mile trip.

He settled on a classic rock station and leaned back, a GQ ad in the flesh. Good-looking, polished and successful. Eminently suitable.

For a moment, she tried to imagine herself with him in a musty boat shed.

“So, do I pass muster?” he asked, eyes on the road, his tone confident and slightly amused.

The truth disappointed her more than it would him. “You don’t really want or need my approval. You already know you’re handsome. And you don’t care what I think of your character, or else you would’ve backed off the first time I turned down your offer.”

He cast her a wry look. “Ouch. You never pull any punches, do you?”

“Only around my grandmother,” she admitted. “At least, I try to. I slip up every now and then. Last week at the Vanessa Allen Show, for example.”

“I thought your grandmother was the show’s biggest fan.”

“She is.”

“Wasn’t she proud of how you acquitted yourself on national TV?”

Predictably, Gram had bragged about Kara in public and lectured her on decorum in private. “What entertains Gram on television, and how she expects her granddaughter to behave in life are worlds apart. And true ladies ‘never display their tempers or speak rudely to others.”’

“Wow. What century is she living in?”

His tone was a little too condescending for Kara’s liking. “Good manners never go out of style. At least, not in the South.”

He winced. “Ouch again. How long will I have to live here before you guys stop acting as if I’m a carpetbagger?”

She pretended to consider. “As soon as you start saying ‘y’all’ instead of ‘you guys’ without having to stop and think about it.”

“I guess that means ‘Yo!’ won’t cut it either, huh?”

Relenting, she smiled and shook her head.

“Did your grandmother really give you a hard time after the show?”

“It could’ve been much worse. Fortunately, her seeing Travis again took some of the heat off me.”

“No love lost there, I’m sure.”

“You’re wrong. Gram adored Travis, and vice versa. From the time we separated until the divorce, she tried to talk me into returning to Lake Kimberly like a dutiful wife should. I swear she almost moved there herself so Travis would be well taken care of.”

Ross chuckled, but Kara remembered those dark days too vividly to be amused. She’d...grieved was the only word to describe her anguish while waiting for him to make the first move that never came.

Eventually Gram and Lisa had ganged up, saying that if Kara wouldn’t break down and talk to Travis, they would contact him and act as mediators. She’d lost it. Promised to leave Houston and never return if they so much as picked up the phone. It was the first—and last—time she’d ever screamed at either of them.

Shaken and pale, they’d agreed to respect her wishes.

“I’ve been divorced two years,” Ross said quietly. “We weren’t right for each other, but I still feel as if I flunked some major test to pass Life.”

The moment of pained silence was oddly companionable.

When Kara dragged herself out of the doldrums, she felt a tenuous bond with the smooth producer. “You know, even if Travis agrees to do the pilot, I’ll still have a battle on my hands with Gram. Unless...”

“I’m listening.”

But would he understand? “She’s been moping around the house too much lately. I’m so busy, it’s hard for me to pinpoint the problem. Going to the Vanessa Allen Show was the first time I’ve seen her that excited in years. I think if she could feel involved somehow in the development stages of this pilot show, she wouldn’t object so much to her granddaughter being a co-host.”

“Hmm. I usually don’t like too many fingers in the creative pie, but I’ll give it some thought I’d hate for you to have the additional stress of worrying about your grandmother. You’ll have enough on your mind.”

Oh, great. “Like how to keep from making a fool of myself?”

“Or me. I’ve got a lot riding on this show. Maybe my career.”

“Thanks, Ross. You don’t know how much better that makes me feel.” She made a show of rubbing her temples. “Got any aspirin?”

“Not to worry. I’ll coach you every step of the way. I won’t let you get egg on your face, I promise.”

Something in his twinkling gaze fixed carefully straight ahead made her flip down the visor mirror. A fleck of egg white and a few crumbs of Egg McMuffin clung to her chin.

“I’m doomed,” she muttered, reaching for her purse and cosmetics. “Guess I should mention the shaving nick under your nose, huh?”

As she wiped her chin and applied fresh lipstick, her peripheral vision caught him tilting the rearview mirror to check his unblemished image. Raising her visor, she met his irritated glance and grinned.

He snorted and turned back to the road. Pushed up his glásses and draped a wrist over the steering wheel. Shook his head and slowly smiled. “Your poor grandmother has a shock in store when she discovers the real you.”

Kara sobered. “Tell me about it. I pray she’ll forgive me.”