Page 17 of Prime Time

“Sweet dreams to you, too.”

She hung up, feeling that she’d been put through a wringer. First by Lyon and now by Les. But Lyon had hurt her more. She was accustomed to Les’s swift changes of mood, his whining, his lechery, his exuberance, which tired anyone out who didn’t share it.

Pausing only long enough to switch off the light as she entered her room, she went directly to her bed. She fell onto the scented sheets and pulled the light covers over her. Reviewing the day, she couldn’t believe all that had happened. Had she behaved irresponsibly and impulsively to pull that trick of getting in to see the general? Had she gone about it another way, had she approached Lyon like a professional, would he feel differently toward her? Probably not. She had tried that tack yesterday. He had drawn his conclusions about her long before then.

It was obvious that he was projecting his wife’s faults onto all women. She had been flighty and selfish. She had left him for greener pastures, and he hadn’t gone after her. That wasn’t surprising. A man like Lyon wouldn’t go chasing after a woman who had left him. His wife hadn’t been happy with hearth and home, so he assumed every woman who pursued a career was as heartless and fickle as she had b

een.

“That isn’t necessarily so, Mr. Ratliff,” she said to the dark shadows in the room.

Some choices are made for people by others. Andrea Malone had never considered a career outside journalism because her father had wanted it for her so badly. Having no brothers, she had been the anointed one to carry on his name in the field. She had married Robert, and when her father died, she was almost relieved that now she could settle down and devote her time and energies to a home and family.

Robert had been surprised and amused when she outlined her plans to him. “You can’t mean that you’re going to quit work and become a homebody.” His face had registered his astonishment. It was apparent the idea had never occurred to him.

She had smiled tensely. “Don’t you want to have children?”

“Well, yeah, sure, Andy. But only after we’re too old to do everything else. I like having my wife on the tube. We get great seats in restaurants, passes to the movies, and I get to claim that I sleep with the famous Andy Malone.”

Often Andy felt that Robert considered her a trophy—a trophy that was only treasured each night in the bedroom. Because she felt that way, she often couldn’t respond to him. The trophy began to tarnish. Robert had grabbed at the job for the network and was away from home almost constantly, inventing stories to cover when he wasn’t assigned one. Then he had been killed.

Andy knew that if she had not made him unhappy, he might not have gone to Guatemala. Lyon was right. She was on a guilt trip. She felt she owed it to Robert to prove him right, to live up to his expectations. She wasn’t made to be a wife and mother, but a career woman. For three years she had kept herself insulated by her work. All her attention had been concentrated on furthering her career. She had almost become convinced that she didn’t want a man and his love, that she didn’t need it, that she could live without it.

But her eyes had locked with Lyon Ratliff’s over Gabe Sander’s Formica counter top, and she knew then that she did want a man. He had touched her and created a need. And now, after his kiss, her body was transmitting a hundred sensual messages to her brain that she may very well die if she didn’t have him.

“Good morning, Andy. You slept well, I hope.”

“Yes,” she lied. “Thank you, General. I didn’t know if breakfast was a ritual or not. I’m afraid I was rather lazy this morning.”

“I’m allowed to be lazy every morning, and I hate it. I’d much rather be up with the dawn the way Lyon is. What would you like?” he asked her as Gracie came into the dining room carrying the general’s breakfast tray, which looked as unappetizing as all his meals.

Gracie brought in the coffee, juice, and one piece of wheat toast, as requested, tsking and shaking her head in disapproval of such a meager breakfast.

“What are your plans today, Andy?” Michael Ratliff asked her just as she was finishing her coffee.

“I need to go over my notes again, to rephrase them into the questions I’ll ask during each segment. That way I won’t repeat myself, though I’m sure your answers will generate questions I haven’t even thought of. By the way, the crew is flying into San Antonio tonight and will be here first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I think you’re working too hard. Lyon asked for you to meet him outside when you’re finished with breakfast.” The old man’s eyes were sparkling. “I think he’d like to take you for a ride.”

Chapter Four

Aride?”

“Around the ranch. You’d like to see it, wouldn’t you?” Andy couldn’t disappoint the general, who was obviously proud of his ranch and wanted her to see it. “Yes, I do, but I’m here to work, not to be entertained. I don’t want to take up Lyon’s time. Surely he has better things to do.”

“He might have other things to do. I doubt if he’d consider any of them better,” Michael Ratliff said, smiling.

She couldn’t imagine that Lyon wanted to see her any more than she wanted to see him after what had happened last night. “Are you sure he asked to see me?”

“That was the last thing he said before he left. He asked that you meet him near the garage. Now if you’ll excuse me, Andy, I spend my mornings reading. I can only read for a while before my eyes give out. We’ll talk after lunch if you like.”

“Yes, and please rest. The next few days will be arduous.”

“I’ll have a long time to rest, Andy,” he said dryly. “I’m looking forward to the interviews.” He wheeled out of the room.

She finished her coffee in solitude, trying to marshal enough mental and physical fortitude to face Lyon. What did one wear to tour a ranch? To save herself from derision, she wasn’t going to wear her jeans and western boots again. She decided that the casual slacks and knit top she was wearing were as appropriate as anything.

Let him wait, she thought perversely as she went upstairs to check her hair and makeup. Picking up an atomizer of her favorite perfume, she studied it a moment, then sprayed herself liberally. If he read anything into it, he would be wrong. She always wore fragrance, even in the daytime.

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