“I’m thirty-two,” Katlynn reminded Mary as she dotted concealer under Katlynn’s eyes. “Ancient by LA standards.”
“Pee-shaw,” Mary clucked. “You’re the most beautiful woman on TV. People magazine said so.”
“Five years ago,” Katlynn reminded her. Yesterday’s news. What would happen when she wasn’t young enough, pretty enough, to headline a show? Would she disappear, fall into the same obscurity she’d grown up in? Become no one again?
She shook the crazy thought aside. Six seasons and still going strong, Scandalous History was here to stay, her hosting position assured.
So why hadn’t the network confirmed next season’s renewal?
Mary lint-rolled Katlynn’s dress then hustled out of frame when the key grip lifted three fingers for the countdown. He curled down one finger, two, then pointed the third. The director yelled, “Action!”
Katlynn leaned forward, lifted her left eyebrow and curled her mouth conspiratorially as she delivered the next take “salaciously.”
One hour and eight takes later, Katlynn briskly strode from the taping room, every step agony as the heels Wardrobe paired with her tight sheath dress strangled her toes.
“Hi, Ms. Brennon.”
“Hey, Bob.” She flashed their set designer a broad smile without stopping. The minute she reached her dressing room she’d shut the door, kick off her shoes and wriggle free of the straitjacket masquerading as shapewear.
A couple of interns flattened against the wall when she approached, wide-eyed and silent as she passed.
Katlynn held her head high, soaking in the attention accompanying stardom on a major primetime show. Twelve years ago, she’d been a no one from Nowhere, Colorado. Growing up poor, the youngest of twelve children, she never had much, especially attention from her hardworking parents. She’d struggled to be seen and heard, to feel important, valued.
One time she’d even run away for two days to draw their attention. When she’d returned home, she discovered a humiliating truth. She hadn’t even been missed.
“Your new eyelashes arrived, Katlynn,” Mary huffed beside Katlynn, striving to match her long-legged stride. “If you have a sec...”
Despite her hurry, Katlynn slowed. “Sure.” She shoved down her need for five minutes of blessed quiet and a non-cinched waist. She was a professional, not a prima donna.
“Also, Jennifer would like to squeeze in a fitting,” Mary continued, referring to the show’s wardrobe supervisor. “You’re going to love this dress. It’s a sheath, which’ll show off your amazing figure. Plus, the rose color will be gorgeous with your blond hair and blue eyes. I’ve already picked out a custom lip color to match.”
“Sounds great,” Katlynn enthused, disguising her dismay. Another “body-conscious” dress. She made a mental note to call her trainer about extending her grueling workout sessions. Yay.
“I knew you’d like it!” Mary seized Katlynn’s arm and steered her toward Wardrobe.
“Katlynn!” One of the show’s producers approached, tie askew and slightly out of breath. “Tom’s calling a meeting in five.”
Alarm bells shrilled. Tom, their executive producer, usually followed a strict schedule, one that included an afternoon round of golf. What was important enough to make him miss his coveted tee time? News about their show’s renewal? Surely, he could have just emailed them, unless...
“Sorry, Mary.” Katlynn’s heartbeat sped. “Tell Jen I’ll stop by after the meeting, okay?”
“Thanks. You’re a doll.” Mary clomped away in square, comfortable-looking heels.
How long since Katlynn had worn anything practical like those to work? Even when running errands, she dressed up, maintaining the classy “brand” her PR agency insisted on, aware of lurking paparazzi eager for the “Stars, They’re Just Like Us” money shot. Since landing in the tabloids when she dated a famous actor for a hot minute, they’d stalked her...a dream for her PR team, and, she’d admit it, a thrill for her. Still, what she’d give to shop in a pair of comfortable jeans and worn cowboy boots like back home.
“Everything okay, Braydon?” she asked as they practically galloped down the corridor.
“What’s going on?” asked Ted, one of the show’s writers, joining them.
“He didn’t say.” Braydon stopped abruptly and lowered his voice. “But according to his secretary, Mr. Warner called him an hour ago and they spoke at length.”
“The new CEO?” Katlynn breathed, her internal alarm bells now shrieking. Recently acquired by another parent company, their network braced for changes, changes she feared included her being replaced. Out with the old; in with the new. “That’s...interesting.”
Ted crossed himself and mumbled something inaudible.
“I just saw the email about the meeting.” Their head writer, Stella, emerged from the writer’s room. “Are we canceled?”
“Not officially,” Braydon groaned as they resumed their hurried trek to the conference room.
“Stay calm, everyone,” Katlynn said through a smile when they reached the glass doors leading to the conference room. She pushed one open and glided in, projecting confidence and star power.
Never let them see you sweat.
“Katlynn, you look beautiful as usual.” Tom stood, exchanged two air kisses with her, then drummed his fingertips on the long, mahogany conference table.
Somber-faced staff filed in and slid into their seats. Katlynn’s cheeks hurt with the effort to keep her lips stretched upward. Eyes swerved between her and Tom. Someone coughed. Someone else tapped a pencil, a snare-drum sound.
Katlynn slid into her seat once everyone took their places. As the show’s star, she was looked to for direction by the staff, and she wouldn’t project fear. Beneath the table, though, her fingernails dug into her palms.
“Our acquisition by Ultima will allow us to reach a larger market share and produce a wider range of shows.” Tom paused and gulped whatever his LA Lakers’ mug contained. By the smell, Katlynn guessed whiskey.
She glimpsed Braydon pantomime slashing his throat and nudged the tip of his dress shoes beneath the table. When he mouthed, “What?” she lifted her eyebrows, a silent, “You know what.” Followed by, “Stop.” He was scaring the staff, given their wide eyes.
“We’re thrilled to be under Ultima’s umbrella,” Tom continued, looking slightly sick, his skin tinged green. “However—”
“Here we go!” Braydon exclaimed.
Chairs creaked and fabric swished as several staff members fidgeted in their seats. Someone knocked over a coffee cup. Others fiddled with their phones beneath the table, frantically contacting their agents, Katlynn suspected...something she’d need to do, too. Possibly. If the show was getting the ax.
She gulped back the sour taste of fear and lifted her chin, her expression serene.
Fake it till you make it...
“It’s not as dire as you think,” Tom assured them, dabbing at his perspiring brow. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of his leather chair, revealing wet stains beneath his arms.
Katlynn blinked. In all her years working with Tom, she’d never seen him without his suit coat. It was disconcerting, and the simple act felt like it heralded the apocalypse.
Was her dream of living in the spotlight, a person who counted, mattered and was noticed, over?
She’d arrived in LA twelve years ago with a broken heart and a job offer at a local news station. Since then she’d worked tirelessly to climb the ladder, meeting influential people, making the right connections, taking night classes to finish her broadcasting degree, even revamping her appearance and style from country mouse to LA chic. She would not go back, not when she’d come so far, sacrificed so much, including the man she’d once thought she’d love forever.
“What is it, then?” blurted their head writer, Stella. “Are we c
anceled?”
“No,” Tom said, and a collective sigh of relief rose from the table. Katlynn released a long, shaky breath. “However, they’re taking a closer look at the viability of some of the current programming, and Scandalous History is on the list.”
“So, what’s our status?” Braydon grabbed a mint from the bowl in the center of the table and struggled to unwrap it with shaking fingers.
“TBD,” Tom stated flatly, his lips leached of color.
To be determined—purgatory for a television show—a temporary stop before cancellation.
No.
“We have to wow them, folks, and show an uptick in ratings to avoid the chopping block.” Tom dropped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Let’s brainstorm.”
“That’s our department.” Stella’s protest was joined by her nodding writers.
“We’re in this together,” Tom insisted. “We need a grand slam.”
“What about Area 51? The sixties are far enough away to be history,” suggested Braydon.
Tom shook his head. “Too sci-fi. We need something that screams Americana. An unsolved mystery maybe. Something to capture the viewers’ imaginations and create watercooler buzz.”
“I like that!” Stella scribbled on a pad then peered up through the square glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
“How about a missing ship, like the USS Wasp?” suggested their gaffer. “It headed to Bermuda after the War of 1812 then disappeared.”
“Lots of great shots in the Caribbean,” their director, Gabe, mused, his eyes now three-quarters open. “Plus, we’d get to film our gorgeous star on the beach.” He squared his hands and framed Katlynn in them across the table. “The wind blowing through her platinum hair...a sarong around her bikini...”
Katlynn made a face at him, mostly embarrassed but also appreciative of the staff’s approving glances.
“I’m a serious journalist, people. Put me in a one-piece at least,” she joked, earning her a larger laugh than she deserved. Funny how fame amplified life. Everyone and everything was bigger, better, more beautiful. She no longer knew if people laughed at her jokes because they were funny, if others were nice because they liked her, or if they did favors without expecting something in return.
LA was a lonely place, despite all the attention. Still, it beat Carbondale, Colorado. She’d been invisible there except, for a brief time, when her ex-fiancé made her the center of his world. Yet, before their wedding, he’d shoved her needs aside like everyone else and broken her heart.
No.
He’d shattered it.
You could fix broken things, but shattered meant irreparable... Besides a few lackluster dates, she’d avoided romance since, determined to never open herself up to hurt again.
“USS Wasp...” Tom rubbed his chin, considering, then shook his head. “Sounds too military. We need something juicy and personal. Murder. Revenge. Stuff like that...”
Mystery. Scandal. Americana, murder and revenge. Katlynn’s body froze as an idea detonated into her mind, nuclear blast bright and just as devastating.
When a choking sound escaped her, staffers jumped to offer bottles of sparkling water.
“Are you okay?” Braydon thumped her back and appeared ready to perform the Heimlich.
She held up her hand as she swallowed a long, cold gulp of water. “F-fine.”
Only she wasn’t okay, not when she knew the perfect idea to save the show was one that might destroy her in the process.
“Anyone else?” Tom demanded.
“We could return to New Orleans,” Stella suggested. “Dig up more on the Ax Man serial killer.”
Tom’s eyebrows crashed together. “No. We need something new. Something people sitting at home can relate to. A scandalous story about a family, maybe. Star-crossed lovers. Betrayal. Anything?”
Silence descended, and Katlynn’s throat swelled, the answer to the show’s dilemma on the tip of her tongue.
“We’re sunk,” moaned one of the writers.
“Better call your agents, folks,” Stella joked, not sounding amused.
Katlynn’s heart squeezed when their sound tech, seven months pregnant with her first child, swiped away tears. She had to share an idea, which might save not only her career, but also those of this amazing group, who worked hard to make her shine.
At her throat-clearing, everyone quieted.
“Katlynn?” Tom asked, using the gentle voice he reserved for her. “Did you have a suggestion?”
She nodded, temporarily mute at the idea of returning home and seeing Cole Loveland. She’d fled Carbondale to save herself. Now she needed to return to it to do the same.
Oh, the irony.
“The Cade-Loveland feud,” she said once she trusted her voice.
Stella stopped writing and glanced up. “I’ve heard of that...”
“A juicy scandal all right,” Braydon added. “The longest-running family feud in America. Wasn’t the rumor that the feud started when the poor, younger son of one family kidnapped the other family’s heiress daughter and killed her?”
“That’s one version. Some believe there was a secret affair,” added Katlynn, recalling more details. Just last month, when her mother finally returned Katlynn’s call, she’d declared herself knocked over by a feather. Incredibly, the heads of the Cade and Loveland clans were engaged, and everyone in Carbondale speculated that a Titanic of a wedding disaster loomed.
Stella rubbed her hands together. “Ohhhhh, this is going to be juicy.”
“It has it all.” Tom nodded slowly. “Mystery, murder, betrayal, love and a jewel theft. Didn’t a famous fifty-carat sapphire belonging to one of the families disappear at the time? What was it called? Carolyn’s Tear?”
“Cora’s Tear,” Katlynn corrected, knowing the legend of the priceless stone having grown up in Carbondale, not to mention being engaged to the oldest son in the Loveland clan.
“That’s your hometown, right?” Braydon asked.
Katlynn nodded, masking her dread. After leaving twelve years ago, she hadn’t looked back. She never wanted to remember the nobody she’d been, the love she’d lost. Could she face her difficult past?
To save her show...yes. She’d have to see Cole to cover the story about his family. Only this time he’d realize he’d been wrong to ask her to give up her dreams, her ambitions. She’d learned to shine on her own so she’d never be diminished again.
“Do you have a connection with the families? An in?” Tom demanded, his voice rising. Excited murmurs circled the table.
Katlynn cleared her clogged throat with a cough. “I’m acquainted with them, yes.”
Tom’s broad smile revealed capped teeth in a flash of white. “Then it’s settled. Katlynn, you’ve saved the day.”
She lingered as the group filed out.
If she solved such a sensational historical mystery, it’d secure Scandalous History’s spot in next season’s lineup, put them on the map and might even win her an Emmy. Could she handle returning home where her family, and the man she’d once loved, had made her feel inconsequential to do it?
* * *
“SHE’S DROPPED HER CALF,” Cole Loveland informed his approaching father, pointing to the bellowing gray Brahman lying on the frosted ground. He’d herded the “heavy” into the small field adjacent to the calving shed last night when he’d noticed the beginning signs of labor. Since then, Cole had checked on the heifer every hour, concerned for the first-time mother.
“Doesn’t appear interested in her calf.” Boyd reined his brown quarter horse to a stop, and they watched the wet newborn shiver in the freezing dawn.
If the mother didn’t lick it dry soon, it’d die of hypothermia. Cole’s brown and white paint horse, Cash, sidestepped and nickered, sensing Cole’s unease.
“She’s new to it.”
Cole steadied his stallion while keeping his eyes on the imperiled calf.
“Might have to pen the two and see if we can’t force them to bond.” Boyd huddled in his saddle. His fleece-lined work jacket was zipped against the arctic temperature.
Spring officially began a couple weeks ago, but frigid air still gripped their Rocky Mountain ranch. Lingering snow capped nearby Mount Sopris, and the rising sun reflected on the white peak, coloring it rose gold against the lavender sky.
“Let’s give her a minute. See if we can avoid stressing them.” Cole watched, narrow-eyed, as the exhausted heifer snorted then sank her head to the ground. Meanwhile, the newborn struggled to rise, its sodden limbs heavy and uncoordinated. It bawled, a child’s universal appeal to its mother for help. The Brahman continued to stare listlessly forward, though, as if she hadn’t heard a thing.
“Can’t afford to lose any more calves.” Boyd reached into his saddlebag and passed over an insulated coffee thermos.
Cole’s fingers, numb despite his gloves, fumbled to open the tab. He lifted it to his nose and breathed in the fortifying, pungent brew. Scalding black liquid burned his tongue as he swigged it back. Instantly, energy zapped his fatigued body, worn through after twenty-four hours of ranch work, anxious vigilance and no sleep. “Saw we got a letter from the bank yesterday.”
“Yep,” his father answered, noncommittal.
Cole slid a sideways glance at his pa’s weathered face, his expression inscrutable beneath the wide brim of his rancher’s hat. Tough old cowboy. He never gave a thing away.
“What’s it say?” Cole asked as the calf hoisted itself on its front legs before it slipped and fell again. Its mother glanced back and pushed to her knees. A sign they were beginning to bond?
“Final notice.”
His father shared the devastating news as if relaying the weather. “Cold out today,” Cole imagined him saying. “Mind the ice. And our one-hundred-and-thirty-year-old family ranch is about to be foreclosed on.”
Cole swore under his breath. The Lovelands had battled to remain solvent for generations, despite their lack of access to the Crystal River. Property lines ceding water rights to their feuding neighbors, the Cades, required longer, danger-riddled cattle drives to distant water sources, depleting Loveland herds. A recent three-year drought pushed them nearly to the point of no return.
A Family For Rose Page 23
