I Know Who Holds Tomorrow

by Francis Ray

  Zachary started to ask what it was, then decided to wait.

  Opening the bag, she pulled out a large roan-colored, hand-crafted leather bag, uncinched the side straps, then opened the nickel closure. Her eyes shut.

  The need to comfort overrode caution. His arm circled her shoulders and pulled her to him. “Talk to me.”

  She leaned against him, unashamed of the tears misting her eyes. “I ordered it the day after I learned I was pregnant.”

  “And it just got here?” he asked, incredulously.

  “It’s a a Hermès handbag, a Birkin, the Rolls-Royce of purses, ridiculously expensive, but I wanted it for her. I—I knew it was a girl and I’d planned to dress up her like a little princess.” His strong arm tightened. “Neiman’s doesn’t sell them, but through Cindi’s connections she was able to order the bag from me.” She swallowed, then continued. “Hermès doesn’t have a waiting list, it has a dream list. They warned me it might take two or three years, because I wanted it custom-made with bottle and diaper compartments. I didn’t care. I wanted a houseful of children so I planned to use it over and over.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I would have loved her with everything within me,” she said, her voice thickening.

  He felt his own throat tighten. “I’m know, Madison.”

  “Ma-da.”

  Both adults jerked apart and looked at Manda, their breaths held. She reached toward Madison. “Ma-da.”

  Laughing, feeling her heart squeeze in her chest, Madison reached for Manda, kissed her on the cheek, then held her tight. “Did I hear what I think I did?”

  “She tried to say your name.”

  “Maybe she was trying to say her name,” Madison said, her eyes glued on Manda.

  Zachary shook his head. “It was Madison.”

  “Ma-da,” Manda repeated.

  “See,” he said proudly, grinning broadly.

  “Oh my goodness. She did.”

  “You’re always saying how smart she is,” Zachary said.

  “Yes, she is.” Madison pulled the bag over to them. “What do you say we go show the people at the station how chic we are?”

  “You’re going down there?” Zachary questioned.

  “We’ll be fine,” she assured him. “After last night at the cookout I’ve had to admit that Manda isn’t the only one afraid. Besides, I’d forgotten an iron rule in public relations. Give the press a story before they put their own spin on it.”

  He frowned. “You’re going to give an interview?”

  “Yes.” She started to get up and he helped her. Going to the refrigerator, she tightened her hold on Manda, opened the door, and took out a bottle. Manda lunged as usual with both hands outstretched.

  “I’ll get it.”

  “I’ve got it.” She held the bottle out of both their reach, set it in the sink, and turned on the hot water. “I have it under control. Go to work. Kelli and the rest of your crew are probably wondering what happened to you.”

  He glanced at the clock. Seven-fifteen. “I’ve made it a practice never to be late, so I think they’ll forgive me this time. Behave, munchkin.”

  He was halfway out of the kitchen when Madison called. “Dinner will probably be Chinese takeout, so don’t worry about me trying to keep food warm or wasting food if you’re too tired to stop by.”

  “I’ll bring the wine. See you tonight.”

  “We’ll be waiting.”

  Wishing it would be with open arms, Zachary let himself out of the house.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “THE TV GODS MUST be smiling on me,” Paula Dennis said, excitement ringing in her West Coast–accented voice. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this exclusive.”

  “WFTA has been good to me. I wouldn’t think of going anyplace else,” Madison said. That was true, but she was also aware that she would be able to control the interview more on her territory. Paula was bright and energetic, but she hadn’t learned to go for the jugular yet, unlike Helen who would be livid when she learned she had been scooped by another, younger reporter.

  “One minute,” the assistant said to the cameraman.

  Paula took a deep breath, blew it out, then straightened her shoulders.

  Madison, hands clasped on her desk, sat miked, calm and ready to go on live television once the newscast came back from commercial. In the carriage, out of camera range, Manda lay asleep in her stroller. Gordon and Traci, Madison’s assistant, stood nearby.

  Paula took her cue and gazed straight into the eye of the TV camera. “With us today is Madison Reed, popular talk-show host, whose life was touched by tragedy a little over four weeks ago when her award-winning TV journalist husband, Wes Reed at station KKTA in Fort Worth, was fatally injured while attempting to help a female motorist. Ms. Reed’s name again became headline news when her agent, Louis Forbes, reported that she had assumed temporary custody of the motorist’s nine-month-old daughter, Manda. Today, we learn why.”

  She turned to Madison. “Thank you, Ms. Reed, for allowing us this time after the tragic death of your husband.”

  Madison thought she had been ready for the interview, but still she flinched. Her hands, held loosely atop her desk just seconds ago, clenched. Although Paula’s sympathetic expression remained fixed on her face, Madison saw the alarm in her eyes. “I wanted to set the record straight.”

  “Yes,” Paula said, giving Madison a chance to go on.

  Madison felt panic clawing at her throat, then the door to her office inched open. Gordon and one of the cameraman’s assistant were already trying to shut it. Zachary slipped inside.

  The fear receded as quickly as it had came. “Please forgive me.”

  “That’s all right, Ms. Reed. Take your time,” Paula said, her shoulders relaxing beneath her tailored red suit.

  “Wes’s death was senseless, as was that of Bridget Taylor, the young woman he stopped to help. A man who had been arrested twice for drunken driving took their lives, and his own. One heedless act shattered three families. Wes’s, Miss Taylor’s, and the driver’s. I’ve checked. He left a wife and two small children.”

  Paula leaned forward. “Have you been in touch with his family?”

  “No. I respect their need for privacy and for time to heal. I feel sympathy for the children who wonder why their father isn’t coming back home. They can understand no better than Manda Taylor does, the nine-month-old infant strapped securely in the backseat of the car Bridget Taylor was driving. I emphasize that because on my way over to the studio today, I saw too many children who weren’t. If her mother had been holding her, if she hadn’t been in the backseat …” Madison’s voice trailed off. She swallowed visibly.

  “How is Manda doing?”

  A slow smile spread across Madison’s face. “Better. We’re both getting there. We help each other.”

  “Could you explain that?”

  To the eyes of the people at home, Madison had simply looked away from Paula. People in her office knew she had looked at Zachary. “After Wes’s death, I was angry and feeling sorry for myself. You can’t do that and take care of an active nine-month-old. Manda helped me to forget myself and my grief, and to think about her. I, at least, knew what had happened. She had no idea of why her mother was not there when she woke up or why she won’t be there to sing her a lullaby.”

  “Some people might say you’re being generous, others might question your motives,” Paula said.

  “That’s their problem, not mine. And I don’t intend to let it be Manda’s.” Madison leaned forward, her eyes direct and challenging. “The only other relative Manda has is an elderly great-aunt in a nursing home who understandably can’t take care of her. Her great-aunt is the only person I feel I have to answer to. I’m asking my fellow colleagues to leave us in peace and give Manda and me time to heal.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Reed.” Paula faced the camera. “This is Paula Dennis reporting live from the studios of WFTA. Back to you in the newsroom, Mike.”
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  “We’re off the air.”

  Madison was up and around the desk, pulling the mike off as she walked toward Zachary. “How did you get in here?”

  He pulled a package of photos from his shirt pocket. “These.” They were the pictures they had taken in her backyard.

  People crowded around. There were appropriate oohs and aahs.

  “Where’s the rest?” she asked, when people began to move away. There were none of him and Manda together.

  “Didn’t turn out, I guess.” He smiled innocently into her mutinous face.

  “I don’t think we’ve met.” All smiles, Paula extended her slim hand. “Paula Dennis.”

  “Zachary Holman,” he said, shaking her hand. “Great interview.”

  “Thank you.” Her interested gaze ran over him in a clearly speculative way. “By any chance are you still available?”

  His grin widened. “No, ma’am, I’m afraid not.”

  “Pity.” She faced Madison. “Thanks again, Madison.” Then to Zachary. “If your situation ever changes, give me a call.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Zachary said, a smile still teasing his mobile mouth.

  “You seem to have a way with women,” Gordon said, extending his hand.

  “It’s a gift,” Zachary said lightly. “Hope I didn’t mess up things.”

  Gordon glanced at a silent Madison, her body rigid, her mouth tight. “A moment ago I would have said no, now I’m not so sure.” He turned to the crew. “Let’s move it.”

  “Do you need me to do anything else, Madison?” Traci, her assistant, asked.

  “Please call Stanley and have him bring the car around.” Looping the Hermes carryall on her arm, she grabbed the handle of the carriage.

  “I’ll get that.” Zachary’s hand tried to nudge hers aside.

  Hot eyes flashed up at him. “That won’t be necessary.” She started toward the door.

  He easily got in front of her and closed the office door. “What did I do?”

  “You lied to me,” she accused, her voice shaky.

  Fear he didn’t want to face, pressed down upon him. “What are you talking about?”

  “You told me there wasn’t a woman in your life. I’m not so helpless that you have to lie so you can keep hovering over me.”

  His fear receded. He could breathe normally again. “I didn’t lie to you or to Paula. There are two women in my life and they’re right in front of me.”

  She wouldn’t feel ridiculous. She wouldn’t. “Where are my other pictures?”

  “In the truck.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I left them because I didn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

  That, she understood. She removed her hands from the stroller and opened the door. “I didn’t use your name during the interview for the same reason, but almost everything I said I learned from you.”

  They shared a smile, then side by side they started walking. “You two finished for the day?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to disturb her naptime, but if she wakes up we might stop by a bookstore.”

  Zachary glanced down as Manda stirred. “Looks like your next stop is the bookstore.”

  Madison scooped her up. “Have a nice nap?”

  “She sure is a cutie, Ms. Reed,” said the security guard as he pushed open the front door for them. “Makes a man want a family of his own.” He glanced over his shoulder at Frankie, the receptionist at the front desk, who was staring at him with wide, adoring eyes.

  Amen to that, Zachary thought.

  The moment the driver of the limo saw them, he popped the trunk then opened the passenger door. At the same time, a car came barreling around the side of the building, tires screeching. Madison, playing with Manda’s foot encased in her new white leather shoe, glanced up at the sound and straight into the flash of a camera in the car’s open window.

  Zachary said one crude expletive, then pulled Madison and Manda into the protective shelter of his arms. Behind him, the security guard ran toward the car. The late-model sedan turned the corner in front of a car and sped away.

  “You all right?” Zachary asked anxiously.

  “Just mad,” Madison said tightly as she stared down the street where the car had disappeared. “There’s no telling what outrageous price they’ll get when they sell that picture to some sleazy tabloid.”

  “My daddy always said, ‘Don’t get mad, get even.’”

  She looked up at him and smiled. “I like your daddy’s style.”

  Helen was spitting mad.

  It should have worked. It had worked. But once again Madison had managed to come out on top.

  Teeth gritted, Helen watched photographers from area newspapers, cameramen, and freelancers film footage and take pictures of Madison in the gardens of the studio. Miss High and Mighty had insisted the photos be taken outside. She hadn’t wanted the flashbulbs to frighten the brat she held. The newspeople were eating it up and the picture Helen’s boyfriend’s buddies had taken were now worthless. Worse, that flat-footed security guard had gotten the license plate number. If it was traced back to her, her career at the station was over.

  Nothing was going right.

  “That’s enough.” Madison stood, placing the lightweight blanket over Manda’s head and turning her away from the cameras. “This is not something I would have chosen, but neither will I have disreputable people profiting from this child’s loss. Every time an unauthorized photo is taken of Manda, I will do my best to make sure it’s worthless.” Turning, she entered the studio through a side door; a hunk of a cowboy Helen had never seen before, as well as Gordon and Traci, followed.

  It was then Helen saw the handbag the assistant carried. Her envy and animosity grew. Hermès handbags started at over five thousand dollars. It wasn’t fair that one woman had so much. Then there was that gorgeous man who had stood like a guard dog watching the entire photo session as if ready to snatch off the head of anyone who meant Madison or the brat any harm. It was obvious they meant a great deal to him.

  Perfect Madison. Men gravitated to her like flies to cow manure. Lips clamped, Helen stalked back inside. She was at her desk before it hit her.

  What if there was more to it than friendship? What if Little Miss Perfect was having an affair with him?

  Helen didn’t have to think too hard to know that she wouldn’t consider it a hardship to go a couple of rounds with him herself. Just the easy way he moved that powerfully built body of his made her mouth water. But who was he? There was one way to find out.

  At the front desk, she didn’t ask the receptionist, just picked up the sign-in book and went down the list of names before the horde of photographers had signed in. Zachary Holman. His name was written in a bold scrawl. Tossing the book back on the desk, she went to her office and sat in front of her computer. In minutes she had Zachary Holman’s face on her screen. A few minutes more of searching and she saw Wes and Madison standing in front of their Holman Construction—built home.

  Helen now had the connection, but she wasn’t sure how to work it to her advantage, only knew that she would. Even if nothing was going on, the right word to the right person, and rumors would start flying. Then people wouldn’t think so much of Madison. Maybe Helen would even put in an anonymous call to the social worker.

  The idea gaining momentum, Helen leaned back in her seat. She knew just how she’d get back at Madison once and for all. Make damn sure she lost that brat. And when she did, Helen would be there, mike in hand.

  “I want you to have a bodyguard.”

  Madison looked up from straightening the lightweight blanket inside Manda’s carriage and into Zachary’s very determined eyes, then to the protective way he held Manda, and knew she had to talk fast. “A bodyguard would only give reporters and the paparazzi more reason to hound us.”

  His lips thinned into a hard line. “But a bodyguard would also keep them from getting too close.”

  You mean, pound them into the dirt, Madison thought—if the fierce e
xpression on his face was any indication. Without thought she lifted her hand and placed it on his arm. The muscles beneath his denim shirt were taut. “But they’d still take pictures. I’d have a dozen bodyguards if I thought it would keep unscrupulous people away. It won’t. What it will do is call more attention to us.”

  The lines furrowing his forehead deepened. “I’d feel better knowing you have some protection when I’m not with you.”

  To Zachary, protecting those he cared about was paramount. That was as much a part of him as his gentleness. She couldn’t fault him for his desire to keep her and Manda safe. Fact was, it felt nice, but she knew it would cause more problems than it solved.

  Feeling she needed help, she glanced over her shoulder to Gordon who had followed them into her office. “Please tell him we’re not in any danger.”

  Gordon slipped his hands into the pockets of his tailored slacks. “She’s right. Getting a bodyguard will only make Madison and Manda more noticeable. It will also be seen as a challenge.”

  “Exactly,” Madison agreed. “If I get a bodyguard after the photo shoot, it’s going to send a message that regardless of what I said, I’m afraid. And despite what I told the reporters and photographers, I have no intention of subjecting Manda to a photo shoot every other day.” She smiled into Manda’s happy face. “But you sat through this one like a pro.”

  “That’s because she knew she was safe with you,” Zachary said.

  “Manda is more resilient than I gave her credit for,” she said smoothing a hand over the infant’s thick black curly hair. To Madison’s delight, Manda hadn’t stuck her finger in her mouth or tried to burrow into Madison. She’d looked at the approaching men and women with more curiosity than fear. “Maybe I should return to work soon.”

  “Anytime you’re ready.” Gordon said quickly.

  “You plan on bringing her with you?” Zachary asked.

  Her certainty growing that she was making the right decision, Madison lifted her gaze. “Yes. I think it would be good for both of us. Besides, the more we’re seen together, the quicker it will satisfy everyone’s curiosity.”