Page 23 of Prime Time

“Whom would you like to interview that you haven’t?” Lyon asked.

“General Michael Ratliff,” she said smiling, and he raised his hand like a pontiff blessing the multitude. “And”—she rolled her eyes heavenward—“Robert Redford.”

Gracie hooted. “Now you’re talking.”

The general laughed out loud. “I’m glad to be in such august company.”

Lyon, too, was laughing, and Andy loved the wholesome, rumbling sound of it. “Dad,” he said when they had all calmed down, “you’d better get to bed.”

“You’re right, of course, though I hardly noticed I was tired. The company was so charming and entertaining.” Andy went over to him as she had done before and kissed him on the cheek.

“Good night. Get some rest.”

“Good night.” He left the dining room in his wheelchair.

Lyon asked Gracie, “Did the doctor come this morning?”

“Yes, while you were caught in the rain.”

“And?”

She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s in the Lord’s hands, Lyon.”

He reached over and patted her hand and looked up at her solemnly. After a moment he shook his head to ward off the gloomy subject and stood up. “Andy, I hate to desert you, but I’ve got a Cattlemen’s Association meeting tonight. Will you be all right?”

Flooded with disappointment, she smiled bravely. “Certainly. I need to study anyway.”

“Good night then.”

“Good night.” It was long after she heard the front door closing behind him that she could take the initiative and leave the dining room.

She never was sure what awakened her. Just suddenly she was awake and sitting up in her bed. The clock on the bedside table indicated with its glowing hands that it was after four o’ clock. She threw off the covers and padded to the window, for some reason exercising stealth.

Everything was still. Then she heard a noise. Poised to listen, she thought it was coming from the direction of the river. Her heart sprang to her throat when she saw the bobbing flashlights slashing through the darkness. Two lights, moving erratically through the trees. First one was extinguished, then another.

Who could it be? Ranch hands? She glanced toward the bunkhouse. All was quiet. Intruders? But who? Could other reporters have learned she was here and come to investigate for themselves?

No matter who it was, Lyon had to know.

Racing across the bedroom, she flung open the door and flew down the hallway. Not even pausing to knock, she turned the knob of Lyon’s door and pushed it open. Allowing only a second for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of his room where no moonlight penetrated, she crept toward the massive bed against the adjacent wall.

He was lying on his stomach. His arm was draped over the pillow. His nose was buried in the crook of his elbow. His bare back was broad and dark against the sheets. Leaning over him, she touched his shoulder lightly.

“Lyon.”

Chapter Five

He jerked upright, nearly bumping her chin with his head. Rapidly blinking eyes focused on her. “What …? Andy? What?”

“There’s something going on down by the river,” she said, the words stumbling out of her mouth. She didn’t know if her heart was thudding because of the possibility of danger, or because she was being treated to a close-up view of Lyon’s bare chest. “Flashlights, some kind of noise.”

He slung his legs over the edge of the bed. “The river?”

“Yes. I woke up and—”

She broke off when he stood up. He was naked. He brushed past her in the dark, for an instant the hair on his chest whispering against her arm. He grabbed a pair of jeans that were folded over a valet and pulled them on. “What kind of noise?” His jeans were the western type with buttons on the fly. He was working at them.

“Uh …” Andy stammered. “Uh, like laughter, sort of …” She trailed off lamely as the snap at the top of his jeans cracked loudly in the still hous

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