Page 16 of Prime Time

“A river. Okay what else? I’m making a list.”

She went on to tell him about the set up and what the crew would need to bring as far as cables and lights and battery packs and microphones were concerned.

“I guess that’s everything,” she said after she’d gone over everything listed on her note pad.

“Not quite,” Les said shortly.

“What else?”

“You could tell me why you sound like a sorority girl who’s just discovered she’s out of birth control pills the day before the big weekend.”

“Les,” she groaned. She’d never get used to his ribaldry. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s awfully hot—”

“So was Florida when you interviewed those Cuban refugees. You were exhilarated by that interview. What’s going on down there?”

The last thing she needed was Les’s nose, which was a mile long when it came to sniffing out discrepancies of any kind, prying into her ambiguous feelings for Lyon. Les could always be diverted with flattery. “Did you ever stop to think that I’m homesick, that I miss you?”

“Uh-huh, like a dog misses fleas.”

“No.”

“Back to that later. I’m still hung up on this general not wanting to talk about those battles.”

“Les, please. It’s nothing. He probably doesn’t want to relive the whole war in detail, that’s all.”

“What about the son? Think he’d talk?”

“No,” she said sharply.

“Wow! Did I strike a nerve? What’s this son like anyway?”

“He’s … he’s like nothing. I mean he’s an intelligent businessman, a rancher, who has no interest in military matters. He told me that himself.”

“But he has an interest in his old man. And if the old man has something to hide, so does the son. Think you can wheedle it out of him?”

“No, Les. I wouldn’t try even if there were something, which I’m sure there’s not.”

“Come on, Andy baby, don’t go all naïve and Pollyanna on me. You know as well as I do that everyone has something to hide. Go to work on the son. God, if you practiced one tenth of your technique on me, I’d babble like a brook.”

“I don’t have a technique.”

“You damn well do, you’re just too nice to know it.” He let that sink in, then continued. “Warm up to the son, Andy. You can do it for me. Okay?” She said nothing. “You’re probably right about no secrets, but it never hurts to make friends, does it? Say you’ll try your tricks on the son … Lyon, is it? Okay?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll see what I can do.” She had every intention of staying as far away from Lyon Ratliff as possible, but she was only telling Les what he wanted to hear to keep the peace. “I’ve got to go now.”

“Darlin’, you saved me from a hellish hangover tomorrow. How can I ever thank you?”

“You’ll think of something,” she said dryly.

“I already have, but you’d never go for it. I love ya. You know that, don’t you?”

Les must truly be depressed tonight and craving sympathy. “Yes, I know you love me, Les, and I love you, too.”

“Then I’ll say good night.”

“Good night.”

“Sweet dreams.”

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