Page 11 of Prime Time

“There’s never been a mess in this house I couldn’t clean up. You do whatever you have to do.”

“With your permission, General Ratliff, I’ll spend this afternoon prowling around, looking for the best locations to shoot the interviews.”

He was sitting at the head of the table, picking at his plate of bland food. “Certainly. You have the run of the house.”

“Where are you most comfortable?”

“I spend most of my time in the sun room where you found me this morning,” he said, giving her a wink. “Or in my bedroom. Sometimes I sit in the living room.”

“I want you to be in a natural environment so you’ll be relaxed when the cameras roll. I’ll need to check out those rooms for electrical outlets, and such. Tonight I’ll call Nashville to tell the crew what equipment to bring. They’ll probably be arriving the day after tomorrow.”

She spent several hours that afternoon examining the rooms the general had mentioned, looking not only for the most advantageous settings technically, but aesthetically as well. One thing her audience had come to expect from an Andy Malone interview was that it was scrupulously researched and planned.

Gracie provided her with a box of clippings and memorabilia that chronicled the general’s life and career in the Army. She went through the contents carefully, noticing that the newspaper articles were dated to within a few years after the war. At that time he had taken an early retirement and become the recluse he had remained for over thirty years. Her reporter’s mind homed in on that fact, but beyond the sudden cessation of publicity, she could see no significance to it. She filled two sheets of a legal pad with possible questions.

Guessing correctly that dinner wouldn’t be a formal affair, she only changed her blouse. The one she selected was an ecru georgette with a short flutter sleeve. The narrow lapels dipped deeply before buttoning together just above her decolletage. She left her hair to fall free around her shoulders.

Lyon, looking damply clean from a recent shower, was securing his father’s wheelchair at the end of the table when she entered the dining room. He looked up and their eyes met and held for an inordinate length of time before she mumbled a “Good evening.”

He was, of course, fully clothed, but she could still see him as he had looked bare-chested. Her pulse sped up perceptibly when he graciously held her chair for her, and the scent that she realized was uniquely his washed over her.

r /> Through the fog of sensations that assailed her it occurred to her that she should be furious with him. The last time they had met face to face he had been blatantly rude and insulting. He had left her to choke on his dust as he deserted her on the highway. To her irritation, instead of rekindling her anger, the sight of him had only produced that shaky, hollow feeling deep inside that had plagued her since she first saw him.

The general, oblivious to or ignoring the tension between his son and their guest, bowed his head to say grace. Andy and Lyon followed suit. A few seconds into the prayer Andy yielded to the temptation to look at Lyon, who was seated directly across from her. Long, dark lashes unveiled her eyes slowly, then sprang wide when her eyes clashed with steady gray ones that were staring at her without a modicum of timidity or shame. To avoid their hypnotic power, she quickly squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head again.

“Andy began choosing sites for the interviews today,” the general said after Gracie had served Lyon and Andy. Another plate of food that looked entirely unpalatable had been set before the general. The housekeeper was making good her promise to fatten Andy up. The food was sumptuous and plentiful.

“Oh?” One of Lyon’s black brows cocked with interest.

“Yes,” she said. “Your father was gracious enough to give me carte blanche to use all the rooms of the house.” She had intended that as a rebuke for his own inhospitality, but saw that she had failed. The corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. “However, I think we’ll confine the shooting to rooms that your father frequents ordinarily.” She looked toward General Ratliff. “Is it possible for you to go outside? I’d like to do some exterior shooting for B roll.”

“B roll?” Lyon asked.

“B roll is an additional tape with an alternate scene. It can get rather boring to watch two people sitting in two chairs for thirty minutes. But if we have some B roll, we can electronically edit it into the interview segment.”

Lyon nodded with comprehension.

“Lyon was thoughtful enough to pave a path to the river to accommodate the wheelchair when I became too infirm to walk down there. Would the bank of the river be a good setting?” the general asked.

“Yes! Perfect.”

“Good. Lyon will take you down there after dinner, and you can check it out.”

Chapter Three

I’m sure Lyon has other things to do,” Andy mumbled into her plate, not daring to look at the man across the table from her.

“Not a thing,” he said.

Her fork clattered onto the china. She strove to keep her voice calm. “It would be much more practical to see things in the daylight,” she said to the general, still not acknowledging that Lyon had consented to his father’s suggestion.

“No doubt. But you’ve been cooped up in the house all day and haven’t even looked around the grounds. The walk will do you good. Now finish your apple pie so you can get started.”

She looked at Lyon, hoping that he would support her, but he looked like the proverbial cat who had swallowed the canary. Couldn’t he have thought up an excuse why he couldn’t walk with her? She speared one of the fat apple slices in Gracie’s pie as she glowered at him. Of course he could have. He was only looking forward to another opportunity to ridicule her. This time he would be disappointed. She wasn’t going to rise to the bait, no matter how provoking he became.

“Lyon, on your way out would you please ask Gracie to bring me some warm milk in my room?” the general asked. “I’m very tired tonight.”

Andy instantly forgot her problems with Lyon and turned her concerned attention to the man who had brought her to this house in the first place.

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