Page 49 of Prime Time

“Insult me if it makes you feel better, Mr. Ratliff. You’re very good at insults. Also rudeness, stubbornness, and chauvinism. I didn’t know, however, that you were prone to cowardice.”

He lurched out of the chair unsteadily and had to brace himself on the edge of the desk. “Cowardice?”

“Yes. You’re a coward. You seem to think that you have a monopoly on misery. That you’ve been singled out to suffer unduly. You don’t know the first thing about suffering, Mr. Ratliff. I’ve talked to a man witho

ut any hands or feet. Do you know what he does? He’s a marathon runner.

“I’ve interviewed a woman who was paralyzed by polio from the neck down. Her condition is so bad that she lives on her back in an iron lung that does her breathing for her. She smiled during the whole interview, she was so proud of her artwork. Artwork? Yes! She paints by holding a brush between her teeth.”

“Wait a minute! Who appointed you as my conscience?”

“I did.”

“Well, save it. I never said that there weren’t others far worse off than me.” He flopped back into his chair.

“No, but you exult in your martyrdom because your wife left you. You’re holding a grudge against the whole world because of her.” She propped herself on her arms as she leaned over the desk. “Lyon, grief for your father is justified,” she said softly. “But don’t lock yourself away in here and let your wounds fester. You’re too valuable.”

“Valuable?” he asked on a bitter laugh. “Jerri didn’t think so. She was unfaithful even before she left.”

“So was Robert.”

His head snapped up, and his bloodshot eyes looked at her for a long time. Then he dragged his hands down his face, momentarily distorting the ruggedly handsome features, stretching the skin of his face downward like a rubber mask. When it settled back in place, he reached for the liquor bottle. Andy held her breath, then released it slowly when he recapped the bottle and put it in the desk drawer.

Looking boyishly contrite, he said, “Pass the chicken, please.”

She relaxed the tension that was holding her shoulders erect and slid the tray over to him. He laughed. “How many is this for?”

“Gracie said you hadn’t eaten for a while. She thought, you’d be hungry.”

“Join me?”

“There’s only one plate.”

“We can share it.”

Gracie nearly upset her cup of coffee as she jumped up from the table in the kitchen when Andy carried in the empty tray.

“How is he?” Gracie asked cautiously.

“Full,” Andy laughed. “I ate some, but he demolished every morsel. He’d like something to drink. Not coffee. I think with a little encouragement, I might be able to get him to sleep for a while.”

“I’ll fix a pitcher of iced tea.”

“Yes, that would be good. Gracie,”—she paused before voicing her next request—“I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything after what you’ve done for Lyon.”

“Call the Haven in the Hills and leave a message for Mr. Trapper. I don’t want you to give it to him, because he’s going to be upset and you don’t deserve the verbal abuse. The message is that he will get what he’s waiting for in the morning.”

“He’ll get what he’s waiting for in the morning.”

“Yes.” She wasn’t going to mention the release to Lyon now. His mood was mellow, and they were communicating on a level they never had before. She didn’t intend to do anything that would jeopardize this new trust he had placed in her. “You’d better notify the man at the gate that under no circumstances is he to let anyone else in today.”

“Right,” Gracie said smartly.

“I think that’s everything. With any luck Lyon will be asleep shortly.”

“Thank you, Andy. I knew you were just what he needed.”

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