Читать книгу It's News to Her - Helen Myers R. - Страница 6

Cord accepted that he might live to regret his honest admission; nevertheless, he was determined to enjoy the moment. The look on Hunter’s lovely face was truly priceless; her deep brown, often cognac-warm eyes went wide, becoming a mirror to a fine mind racing at Mach speed. It wasn’t often that anything or anyone got under Hunter Harding’s skin. When she wasn’t being the consummate professional, she was a prankster often getting the best of the guys in the control room after they’d teased her or played a fast one. This he knew from anecdotes his grandfather had passed on through the years or from staffers themselves. She was always quick with a quip and never lorded her position over the reporters and researchers, or anyone else at the station, which made her well liked. In personality, as well as looks, she could pass for Sandra Bullock’s kid sister.

But he’d been studying her for a long time and knew that beneath that physically delightful shell that won her both male and female fans and earned her a beloved label was a gentle, wounded soul who protected her heart with a samurai’s determination. It troubled him that someone as shallow and self-absorbed as Denny Brewster could have inflicted such hurt on her. Well, no more, he thought. Not if he had anything to do about it. He definitely liked that his compliment was taken exactly the way he’d intended it to be.

As the bell sounded their arrival at the ground floor and the doors parted, he watched as Hunter squared her shoulders, exited and launched into a determined march through the lobby. Quite a feat in that figure-enhancing skirt and killer heels, even with those long legs. While she stood about five-ten in her sexy shoes, he was still inches taller. If he wasn’t so concerned about her slipping on the highly polished, Italian marble floor, he would be grinning with pleasure for the enticing show she was putting on.

“Miss Hunter, Mr. Rivers.” Joey, the security guard, came bustling around the reception desk, all seriousness and authority. “Your car is waiting, sir. Miss Hunter, do you need me to walk you to your vehicle?”

“No need,” Cord replied for her. “She’s coming with me. Our flight probably won’t return until after midnight. Be sure to tell those on the next shift to keep an eye on her vehicle, would you?”

With his low brow furrowed and his lips pursed, Joey nodded. “Absolutely, sir. Have a safe trip.” He held open the first door, then quickly lunged to get the outer door.

As Hunter warmly thanked him, Cord’s attention shifted to the black Cadillac at the curb. The rear door was already open, and his chauffeur stood in attendance.

“Hunter,” Cord said as they drew nearer. “This is Phil Porter, my driver going on four years now. Phil, this is Ms. Harding. That homely guy behind him,” he added, nodding to the handsome blond also dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, “is my executive assistant, Lane Nugent.”

Greetings were exchanged with proper circumspection, and all three of the men waited for Hunter to get settled before climbing in themselves.

As Lane buckled up in the front passenger seat, Cord said to Hunter, “I can’t offer you any refreshments until we get on the jet.”

“I don’t care for anything, anyway, thank you.”

For the first time, Cord wished for the limousine, where he could push the button and close the divide between the front and back seats and even pull drapes. There were things he wanted to say to her, more he wanted to ask, and none of that was possible in this environment. But his grandfather used the limo, as was only right because it provided more security in every way. Cord relied on Phil’s excellent driving for a good part of his safety, and Lane’s expert marksmanship and martial arts skills for the rest. With today’s increased atmosphere for extortion and terrorism, no successful businessman or high-ranking politician could take his or her safety for granted.

“So, tell me about how you got invited to speak up in Jersey,” he said when it was clear that Hunter would remain silent if he let her.

Keeping her eyes forward, she replied politely, “It would have been my alma mater if my father hadn’t died, and we hadn’t moved down to Texas.”

As the Cadillac left the parking lot and merged into service-road traffic, Lane initiated low-key small talk with Phil. Cord knew him well enough to understand he was trying to provide him with what privacy he could.

Cord leaned ever so slightly toward Hunter in order to keep his own voice soft. “What has me curious is how you came to the administration’s attention. You’re barely old enough to have had your ten-year reunion.”

Hunter slid him a brief flattery-will-get-you-nowhere look. “That was two years ago and, since I didn’t graduate there, I didn’t feel I should attend. From what I was told, a former classmate saw some story I did that played on our New York sister network, and she’s active in one way or another in school extracurricular programs. Apparently, she put a bug in someone’s ear, and I was invited.”

“You’re good at promoting everything and everyone but yourself,” Cord said.

Shrugging, Hunter said, “Blame it on my German genes. My Grandmother Bayer used to tell my mother, ‘Selb loben stinkt,’ whenever Mother came from her violin lessons proud of learning a difficult piece.”

“I take it that the translation isn’t complimentary.”

“Self-love stinks.”

“Ha! That explains a good deal.”

“Speaking of compliments, this car is surprisingly low-key.”

“More German genes in play?” Too amused to take offense, Cord replied, “Knowing my grandfather as you do, you must remember he doesn’t approve of us drawing unwanted attention to ourselves. But these are different times, and his safety must come first, so with Lenore’s help, I did get him into the limo. Otherwise, I use this leased vehicle when here. There’s another on each coast, so when we travel, our chauffeurs fly with us. When we travel elsewhere, we rent. It’s proven both more economical and practical working with personnel who know our routines and schedules as well as we do ourselves.”

“I’ve met Stuart, Mr. Henry’s driver,” Hunter said with concern. “He’s some years away from retirement. What will happen to him?”

“He’ll remain at the estate. He lives in the spacious apartment above the four-car garage with his wife, Meg, who works in the house.” There would be many doctor appointments and hospital stays. Devoted to the family, Stuart would make sure both Cord’s grandfather and step-grandmother were well cared for, as would the rest of the staff.

“That’s undoubtedly going to be a great relief for Mr. Henry and Lenore.”

Her sincere concern had Cord venturing another probe. “What about your grandparents? Are they still alive?”

“My paternal grandparents died when I was very young. My maternal grandfather passed away four years ago. My grandmother lives with my mother in Boston.”

“Boston—that’s right, she’s an accomplished musician.”

“You’ve been in my files.”

Her voice held more resignation than resentment, and Cord’s gesture made the observation matter-of-fact. But he wasn’t about to admit that he’d perused her Facebook profile and routinely checked her page on the network’s website. “It’s my job to know who our people are.”

“Then you know she’s a First Violin for the Boston Symphony Orchestra.”

“That’s impressive. Do you play?”

She glanced at him again with a look that said, okay, we’ll play this silly game of yours. “The piano. Badly.”

But she had the elegant, long-fingered hands for the instrument. “Do you see your mother and your grandmother often?”

“You know my schedule.”

True. KSIO kept her on the air as much as they could and then encouraged special appearances on behalf of the station. “I’m sorry that work keeps you apart so much, but their loss is our gain. I hope they’re proud of you.”

“When they aren’t worrying that I’ll accept an overseas-correspondent job like my father’s.”

Cord felt a jolt himself and he couldn’t quite hide a frown. “Is that an ambition?”

Hunter looked out her window. “Worried about losing your senior anchor?”

“I’d be a fool not to be.” He replied amiably, but a cold lump formed in his stomach as he thought about her on a war-torn front. Since it was way too early to tell her that he had no intention of ever letting her take such risk, he asked instead, “Your mother didn’t remarry?”

“No. My father was…Their relationship was one of those rare ones. After we lost him, my mother redirected her passion toward her music, which probably saved her sanity. Can we change the subject, please? The graduates I’m going to speak to deserve an uplifting speech,” she said. “Lingering on those initial days and weeks after losing my dad isn’t conducive to assuring those kids will get that.”

Cord reached over and gently touched the tightly clasped hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. Again.” He spoke quietly so that the sound was barely a whisper around them, and he kept his contact brief. Then he added in a conversational voice, “Are you speaking from notes tonight or a written-out speech?”

“It’s written. Though I do like to speak extemporaneously for more informal occasions. That tends to relax and engage the audience more.”

“I’m looking forward to hearing you. Or would you be more comfortable if I don’t follow my grandfather’s directive to the word and just have Lane escort you?”

With a mirthless chuckle, Hunter shook her head. “Mr. Rivers, one thing I do understand is that this has ceased to be about what I want. If the school administrators learn that the new CEO of Yarrow Communications is available to attend their ceremony, and I deny them your presence, I’m likely to find my appearance cancelled before I get on the stage.”

Cord almost reached for his tie to ease the knot at his throat. She loathes you, pal—and she’s no ingenue. It’ll take more than charm and chitchat to bring down her walls to the point of being willing to even hear you talk about something other than the weather.

With that realization stinging, Cord was still surprised at how quickly they reached the airport. After a short pause at the security gate, they drove up to YCI’s jet. Cord climbed out immediately, ready to offer his hand to Hunter, but Phil was at the opposite door faster, and had the honor.

Captain Zack Murray stood at the top of the stairs to offer a crisp salute in welcome. Beside him was Steward Chris Duluth. Cord introduced Hunter once again.

“Ms. Harding,” Chris said, nodding down the aisle of the cabin. “Sit wherever you’d like.”

“Sorry to interfere with this afternoon’s golf game, Chris,” Cord said, once she had passed.

“Full disclosure—I’m relieved, sir,” the younger man said good-naturedly. “I’d prefer a morning game instead of melting on the fairway. Captain Murray says we’re good to go as soon as you settle in.”

“Then let’s not waste any more time. No telling how backed up things will be on the Eastern Seaboard.”

Once he headed further into the plane, Cord saw that Hunter had chosen an aisle seat forcing him to either do the obvious—sit by the window beside her—or take the opposite aisle seat. He chose the aisle seat.

“This is belated, but what kind of flier are you?” he asked, fastening his seat belt.

“I promise not to charge the door and try to open it at the first hint of take-off.”

Cord adopted a smile but was sobered by the thought of her never being able to get on a plane without thinking of her father. Such a catastrophe would kill his enjoyment of air travel, too. “If I had to fly commercially more than I do—I’d dislike it myself.” He nodded to the open cockpit door. “They usually leave it open for me but if too much view disturbs you, they can shut it.”

“I won’t be looking.”

As she turned her head away, Cord motioned to Chris to shut the door, which he did quietly. Once that task was done, the steward approached her. “Would something bicarbonate help after we take off?”

Grimacing, Hunter asked, “Am I already turning green? Ginger ale would be great if you have it.”

“We do. One other thing. If you haven’t already, you need to turn off your cell phone and any other electronic devices.”

“Of course.”

As she reached for her BlackBerry, Chris turned to Cord. “Sir, anything for you?”

“Water, thanks.”

Once he was gone, Cord leaned over his armrest. “I’d risk eardrum damage if you’d like to chitchat until we’re in the air.”

“How brave of you. But trust me, it won’t help.”

“It bothers me that you’re determined not to like me anymore.”

Raising her eyebrows, Hunter replied, “You’re assuming conditions were once different. I met you what—a half dozen times prior to Denny’s promotion? Half that since? That’s not the basis on which to draw any reliable conclusion, let alone trust there’s been an improvement.”

Clearing his throat to hide a delighted laugh, Cord relaxed in his seat, determined to change that regardless of her stubbornness. “I’m thirty-eight, no failed marriages or illegitimate children to confirm any serious character flaws—although I’ll be the first to admit I’m far from perfect—but my grandfather and step-grandmother love me enough to give me a key to their residence when I’m in town.”

“Do your parents?”

“They sold their place after my father retired from the University of Texas. They enjoy being gypsies, traveling around the world. Fortunately, they know enough people to always have somewhere to stay. I’m afraid if they had kept their house, I’d be closer to the dust mites than I am to them.”

Although Hunter’s lips twitched, she quickly replied, “It’s none of my business, anyway.”

“Fraud. I’ve just piqued your interest, admit it.”

Reluctantly, she cast him a brief, searching glance. “You’re trying to make me feel sorry for you…and I almost do. It doesn’t sound like you’ve had the happiest family life.”

“Well, I’m a big boy now and it’s all water under the bridge. Getting my bachelor’s, master’s and some good counseling helped. And Henry has been a heck of a good grandfather. It was he who ultimately convinced me that people are who they are and to get on with things.”

Hunter’s doubtful expression said that she didn’t believe him for a second. “Like I said, it’s none of my business.”

Having shared more with her than he had anyone for some time, Cord was a bit startled. “You think I’m hiding something?”

“Everyone hides things or, more accurately, represses them, especially in this business.”

“You’ve done an admirable job staying positive and creating your own niche without a father figure.”

“Oh, believe me, my mother is a strong woman, and I had your grandfather as a part-time surrogate.”

“I will forever bless him every day of his and my life for watching over you,” Cord replied quietly with an intimate look.

“Will you please stop?”

“Stop what?”

“The flirting.”

“I’m afraid you’d better get used to it. It’s a spontaneous reaction where you’re concerned.”

They began taxiing toward the runway, and Captain Murray came over the speaker to make the usual announcements about staying seated and turning off electronic devices. “We’re lucking out and will be third in line for take-off. Stand by.”

Hunter lowered her eyes, and Cord watched her fiddle with her gold watch, check her fingernails and do everything but look outside. If she wore fake lashes, he was completely fooled—they looked that natural—and while her hands were long and elegant, her nails were relatively short and only buffed, not polished. She wore no rings, in fact her jewelry was nominal, yet of high quality. Her whole look was classy and ladylike, nothing overtly sexual, and yet Cord was as powerfully attracted to her as he’d ever been to any woman. Blatant was easy to find on any channel, just as it was on any street. Women were doing themselves a disservice by selling themselves cheap these days. There was nothing easy about Hunter Harding. But how the devil had someone with her principles fallen for a tool like Denny?

“You’re controlling your anxiety quite well,” he said with a new understanding for why she’d chosen an aisle seat. “I suspect that’s another reason—aside from your hectic schedule—why you don’t see your mother and grandmother more often.”

“I’m better than I used to be. Hypnosis helped.”

“You allowed yourself to be hypnotized?”

She bristled slightly. “Only after trying all of the other so-called cures. I didn’t want this to affect my ability to travel for my work if it became necessary.”

“I wasn’t being critical or condescending, I was intrigued that you would or could give up control that way.”

“Just because you and I have some conflict doesn’t mean I have trust issues. Besides, the person who did the hypnotizing is a psychiatrist, the mother of a friend. I trust her as much as I would my own mother.”

At least she was willing to admit she held a grudge. “Then I’m glad it helped. What about your mother, does she share your unease?”

“No. Since she’s done with flying. Simply refuses to get near a plane.”

“What if the orchestra takes a special booking they can’t easily drive to due to time or whatever?”

“She’ll drive herself if there’s time. If not, she relinquishes her position to the second chair violinist. The conductor and management understand the problem and are willing to work with her.”

“What happens at the holidays? Surely she asks you to come up and visit her?”

“And I do when I can.”

“That’s very brave…and generous.” He made a mental note to check her schedule the next time he had a need to fly north in case he could convince her to join him in order to have a quick visit with her loved ones.

They took off a few minutes later, and by then, Hunter had taken out her folder from her bag and was reading through her presentation—or at least pretending to. Cord saw her do some breathing exercises, as well. However, he was certain she was also trying to give him a strong hint to stop giving her the third degree. The problem was he was enjoying himself too much.

“Feel free to read it out loud if you’d like,” he told her.

“I don’t…thank you.”

“You’re not turning shy on me, are you?”

“That’s not the adjective that came to mind.”

Cord smiled at how the ruder she wanted to be, the more polite she became. “I’m going to wear you down, you know. You’re going to end up liking me despite yourself.”

“Good luck.”

“Why, thank you. Want to shake on it?” He extended his hand.

Looking from his hand to him, Hunter released her seat belt. “If you’ll excuse me, I really do need to focus on this speech. I’ll just take a seat in back where I can concentrate.”

It was no surprise to find a limo was waiting for them upon landing. Hunter figured if Cord wanted a helicopter to get them to the school, it would have been waiting on the tarmac, too. They hadn’t spoken for over three hours, yet Cord acted as though it hadn’t been more than two minutes.

“I’ve left directives with Chris to get some decent takeout for the flight home. If memory serves, you don’t like to eat before going on the air, do you?”

Refusing to let him see that he’d managed to surprise her, Hunter murmured, “No.” Inwardly, however, she wondered where he’d learned that tidbit, or rather, who he’d interrogated for information about her? At least this was a full-length limousine, and the window was up between them and the driver—Cord’s regular driver, Phil.

“Phil has taken over for the lease company’s chauffeur, and he’s already familiarized himself with the route.” Cord checked his watch. “Barring mechanical trouble or a traffic crisis, we’ll get you to the school right on schedule.”

About forty minutes later, they pulled into the school’s driveway. Hunter had called to announce when they were only five minutes away, and a small entourage was waiting at the sidewalk to greet them.

“Ms. Harding, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

Hunter smiled and extended her hand to a thin, balding man who’d quickly dabbed his perspiring head and face as she’d stepped from the vehicle. It was as warm here as it was in Texas, but she suspected nerves had a great deal to do with his condition. She gave him an especially warm smile in the hopes of relaxing him. “It’s an honor to be asked to join you.”

“I’m John Updike, unfortunately no relation to the original, but proudly principal of Mahwah High. And this is Denise Whitley, our office manager, and tonight’s amazing program chair.”

“Mr. Updike, Ms. Whitley. I know these events are enormous undertakings and a scheduling challenge.” By the time Hunter shook hands with them, Cord had joined the group. “I’d like you to meet Cord Yarrow Rivers of Yarrow Communications, which owns KSIO. As I explained on the phone earlier, state-breaking news forced me to miss my earlier commercial flight. That’s when Mr. Rivers and his grandfather, Henry Yarrow, insisted on getting me up here on the corporate jet.”

“We’re so grateful. This is a real treat,” John Updike said, vigorously shaking Cord’s hand. “What a coup for us.” He gestured to the building behind him. “We have a private room for you to freshen up, Ms. Harding, and we can take Mr. Rivers to the reception area where our other dignitaries are waiting to get started. I don’t suppose I have to warn you that some members of the press are also present?”

“Including our New York affiliate, I hope,” Cord said.

“Assuredly.”

After that Hunter pretty much lost track of Cord, which wasn’t exactly a disappointment. The man was determined to make himself her chief focus, and she couldn’t deal with him right now. But that didn’t mean his words back at the Yarrow Building didn’t keep preying on her mind.

“I’ve been thinking about you…and it’s time I did something about it.”

“Oh, stop!” she whispered to herself.

“Am I going too fast?” Principal Updike asked, holding up quickly as he led her to the press, who wanted as much time as she could give them.

Hunter glanced over her shoulder. Ms. Whitley had said something about Cord being introduced to the superintendent of schools, the mayor and the school’s department heads and had led him in the opposite direction, but she still felt Cord’s presence as strongly as when he’d stood beside her with his hand at the small of her back. “Sorry, no. I just remembered something I needed to tell Co—Mr. Rivers, but I’ll do that after the interviews. Lead on, Mr. Updike.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was finishing her chat with a second reporter when a pretty redhead her own age who had been lingering in the shadows came up, smiling shyly.

“Hunter?”

“Lisa—it’s you!” She reached for her old classmate and they hugged. “If you’d stepped into the light sooner, that gorgeous hair would have been a dead giveaway. How’ve you been?”

“Fine, but you’re the one. How glamorous you look and what an incredible career you’re building for yourself. I’m so proud. I found you on Facebook, and I’ve been following your blog on the station’s website for some time.”

“Then why didn’t you write?”

The shorter woman shrugged and tugged on her white, cotton blazer that was a half size too small. “I didn’t want to intrude. You’re so busy. Besides, I didn’t want to bring up sad memories. And—” Lisa glanced over her shoulder with increased nervousness “—I married and I was afraid to tell you to who.”

A tall man with wavy, brown hair and deep dimples stepped up beside her. “Hello, Hunter.”

“Mike—you and Lisa? How great is that!” She hugged him, as well. “When did this happen?”

“Six years and two girls ago,” they chimed in unison.

Hunter pressed a hand to her heart. “Pictures?” When Lisa quickly flipped open her cell phone and showed her one of the two of them in Easter finery, Hunter cooed. “Lovely, they got your hair and Mike’s dimples. There is justice in this world.”

Her former classmates looked delighted and relieved with her sincere pleasure for them. “Michelle is our firstborn and Vanessa is the younger one,” Lisa said.

“We made a huge mistake and should have reversed the names,” Mike said.

“Vanessa is a real tomboy,” Lisa said, taking over. “And we sometimes call her Nessa the Messa out of sheer despair, don’t we, honey? We should have named her Michelle and at least being called ‘Mitch’ wouldn’t be too bad, while Michelle is the epitome of what you expect a Vanessa to be—classy, mannered and the last person you’d find wrestling the neighbor’s son on the front lawn.”

It was all Hunter could do to keep up. When she’d last seen them, Mike dreamed of pitching for the New York Mets, and Lisa wanted to open her own decorating shop. Her sixth sense that she’d honed since working in the business told her not to ask how close they’d come to achieving their dreams.

“That sounds like real life to me,” she replied. “‘Make a plan and watch God laugh.’”

Lisa beamed at her husband. “Isn’t this like old times? Remember Hunter always validated a thought with a pertinent quote.”

“In other words, I was Queen Nerd,” Hunter said with a self-deprecating laugh.

“No, you made us feel better about a moment and ourselves. The world was stable if you were there to put things in perspective.” Growing wistful, Lisa touched her sleeve. “What about you? I was hoping you would meet someone as great as your dad and be married, too.”

Against her will, Cord’s face flashed before Hunter, and she vigorously shook her head. “No time.” She added a shrug and perfected her airy tone. “My boss keeps my schedule pretty full.”

“Is he the distinguished guy standing behind you looking like he just stole Manhattan from Donald Trump?”

Hunter didn’t bother turning to check. “That’s the one.” Wondering why he wasn’t still with the other group, she felt that increasingly familiar hand at her waist. She immediately said, “Cord Yarrow Rivers, these are my two dearest friends from school before we moved, Lisa and Mike O’Neal.”

“A pleasure—and it’s Cord,” he said, shaking hands with both of them. “I hate to intrude with anything that puts a smile on Hunter’s face after such a draining day, but Principal Updike says they need to seat her.”

“Oh, dear—do you think you’ll have time to meet afterward, Hunter? We’d hoped to take you both out for a drink or dinner?”

Hunter winced. “I wish, Lis, but we have to get back to Texas tonight. I have another on-air must tomorrow morning.” Hunter quickly dug out a card from her purse. “Here’s my card. Call or email me and let’s see if we can try to hook up again.”

“I’d love to. Just getting to hug you again means more than I can tell you.”

As the ceremonies began, Hunter lost Cord again. She finally spotted him staying close to their sister station’s reporter and camera crew. After that, she went into work mode.

She wasn’t nervous. She’d already experienced too many emergency live shots to easily unravel over something this planned, and when she finally stood amid friendly, but not riotous, applause, she understood the restraint completely. This was the kids’ day, and speeches were a necessary evil to them. Seventy-five percent of them didn’t know her from their state senators, unless they had taken a glimpse inside their programs. More wouldn’t remember a thing she said, especially if she was formal and somber. On the other hand, if she was too lighthearted, the town leaders and school staff would regret having touted her as the school’s current highest achiever. Hoping to strike a happy medium, she listened as Principal Updike introduced her, and then she rose and set her leather binder on the dais.

“Mayor Steel, Principal Updike, Superintendent Bradshaw, esteemed guests and graduating class—it’s been a whirlwind day, but trust me, being here with you is still the high point.”

The students erupted in cheers and whistles. A good start—she could almost hear them thinking—it’s about us.

“A few hours ago, I was in Texas trying to keep career politicians and strategists—some of the top movers and shakers in the state and country—from gobbling up precious air time with their spin, and now I’m here looking at your vibrant, intelligent faces eager to charge toward the rest of your lives. That’s the speed at which the world is spinning.

“But for a twist of fate, I would have once sat in one of those chairs—where are you H’s?” As a few kids whooped and waved, Hunter pointed and smiled. “There you are. You girls are doing way cuter things with your hair than we did ten years ago.”

After another few laughs and one brave male senior calling “Looking hot, Hunter!” she grinned back and suggested, “I promise any of you with a strong science background that the world is your oyster if you can just develop good hair products that can withstand twelveto sixteen-hour days under hot lights and Gulf heat and humidity.”

Then she grew slightly more somber, “Wherever you go, whatever you do, never stop believing in your dreams or challenging yourself. When I lost my father on the eve of the junior prom, I struggled to believe that things would ever be bearable again. Sometimes it was rough, even though I had a great relationship with my mother, and we were fortunate that my father had planned for such a catastrophe, so money wasn’t our top concern. But it is for many.

“The thing is that Mom was hurting, too, and suddenly had her hands full, becoming the sole provider of a teenage daughter who was expecting to get a car, go to college, gain her independence. My mother was so shattered, she was afraid to let me out of her sight even to go to classes. I knew I needed more input, more help than my steady and sturdy grandparents. The church and my new school’s counselors helped. Mentoring is always there if you’ll open the door to the idea and just ask. That’s how I came to KSIO. I wrote Mr. Henry to ask why he didn’t have an internship program, and he called me and said, ‘Come and be our lab experiment.’”

That comment and her comic, openmouthed look of terror won her laughs and more applause.

“Well, that dear man became my next mentor and slowly the world turned right-side up again. In the decade since I left Mahwah, I’ve had the privilege to interview two governors, one president, several Academy Award winners, a Nobel Prize winner and way too many wounded soldiers returning from war. I’m going to guess that I don’t need to tell you which of them impressed and inspired me the most?”

There were more cheers and someone shouted, “Go Army!” Amid cheers someone else shouted, “Oorah, marines!”

The applause and cheers rose to a roar. It was clear that a number of kids were entering the military instead of enrolling in college. Hunter nodded and called back, “God bless and thank you for your service, ladies and gentlemen.”

As she drew to a close, she said, “And so, be curious, be open to new ideas and weigh other perspectives with the respect they deserve, but never allow yourself to wake up one morning without remembering the enthusiasm for life you feel today or lose sight of your core values. And for goodness’ sake, never leave home without sun block or hand sanitizer! Congratulations, graduates!”

The stadium thundered with cheers and applause. Principal Updike rejoined her at the podium to take her hand within both of his. “That was refreshing and insightful.”

“Well, a touch of levity makes the medicine go down easier.”

It took another hour before the ceremonies were over and the awards and diplomas distributed. Then it was an hour after that before Cord and Hunter made it as far as the limo.

Once they were on their way back to the airport, Cord pulled at the knot in his tie. “Well done—again. How you managed to keep the excitement level up after having put in the long day you did, I don’t know.”

“Not everyone would agree with you. I saw a couple of yawns down there in the graduate pit,” she drawled, fidgeting in her impulse to slide her shoes off of her aching feet.

“I’m pulling rank—you’re not permitted to nitpick yourself tonight. Besides, not everyone is going to grow up to be a rocket scientist or even a hair stylist.”

She would be foolish not to appreciate the compliment, but Hunter had her own grading level for herself. “Yes, but I was judging myself, not the audience.”

“I would expect you to say nothing less modest.” Up front, Lane called ahead to the plane to let them know they were on their way while Cord checked the small refrigerator. “Thirsty? I know the bar in this thing comes stocked with champagne.”

“Water for now, please. I’m as dry as if I read them the entire Sunday edition of The New York Times. I might take a glass of bubbly on the plane if you meant it about feeding me on the way home.”

Hunter eagerly accepted the cool bottle he handed her. As she drank, she glanced out her window to see how much of her surroundings she remembered. It was dark, and traffic was heavy due to other graduation ceremonies in the area. The many parties were adding to the usual congestion for this outer wing of one of the country’s major metropolitan areas. While Hunter had enjoyed herself, she was glad the day was over. The celebrity part of this business drained her of energy as much as flying chiseled at her nerves. She understood the need for it, but it still left her physically and emotionally depleted.

“Please forgive my informality,” she said abruptly, “but I give up. I have to get these off.” She leaned forward and slipped off her shoes.

Cord murmured his approval. “Thank goodness, you’re human after all. I wondered how you managed over fifteen hours in those things. Fred says most of the time you ditch them the minute you slide into your anchor seat.”

“Fred is going to be told that he talks too much,” Hunter replied. But she said it with affection for her producer.

“All of it is praise. He’s almost as crazy about you as my grandfather is. I’m going to suggest to him that he and Tom discuss a behind-the-scenes segment and show what all is involved for you as you prepare for your programs every day.”

“Isn’t TV littered enough with reality shows?” Hunter asked before taking a long swallow of water.

“Yes, but we’re not talking about junk, sex and gossip.” Cord turned halfway in his seat to face her. “Reporting has taken a black eye over the years, and journalists are often disliked and distrusted as much as politicians and lawyers.”

“So you want me to be a cheerleader for the industry? I’ll beg you to fire me first. A better idea would be to put young people on TV to encourage their peers to vote. It’s pitiful that in this day and age more senior citizens are voting than people under the age of twenty-five.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” Cord replied. “Maybe we’ll start doing something with local schools. Be careful, you may have just earned yourself more work.”

Hunter saluted him with her bottle. “Believe me, that kind of assignment would be a treat.”

“Because you’re that civic-minded or you like kids as much as you seem to?”

“Both.”

“Do you plan to have your own someday?”

Well, that didn’t take long, she thought. “There you go, diving into personal information again.”

Undeterred, Cord said, “I’ll take that as an affirmative. You all but cooed over your former schoolmates’ pictures of their children.”