Radio Rose
A Change of Heart
Cowboy Romance
Stephanie Berget
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, public or private institutions, corporations, towns, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.
Stephanie Berget
Visit me at my website www.stephanieberget.com, or
Write me at [email protected]
First Printing: June 2015
First E-book: June 2015
Copyright © 2015 Stephanie Bochenek All rights reserved.
For Jan, there is no better friend than a sister. And there is no better sister than you.
For the Coeur du Bois RWA, thank you to my chapter mates for the tons of encouragement and lessons in writing craft you’ve given freely, and for treating me to more fun than a group of women (and Randy) should legally have in a lifetime.
And for all the wacky, wonderful, slightly off-center people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing in my lifetime, Radio Rose is for you. You’re perfect just the way you are.
Chapter One
With less than five minutes to go, it was time to wind down the program. Every line on the console was blinking, but Rose controlled the buttons, and when it came to easing out of a show, she was a pro.
With a tap on the mute, she interrupted the caller mid-sentence. “Thank you, John. As always, you’ve given us another insightful opinion. I'd like to thank all my friends out there who have helped contribute to the safety of the human race by participating in our fight to remain free in mind, free in body, and free in spirit.”
She rested her chin on one hand, took a breath and continued.
“Tomorrow night we’ll continue to delve into the challenge before us. Our subject will be—Is The Military Hiding An Alien Presence In Our Midst? This is Radio Rose saying good-night, be watchful, and be safe.” She was careful to fill her voice with the sincerity her callers loved.
After flipping the switch to send the broadcast to commercial, Rose Wajnowski spun her chair around to face Irwin.
As the late night disk jockey at KTLY Radio, she’d just finished discussing the relative merits of tinfoil hats as opposed to mind screen helmets as a way to protect her listeners against alien abduction and thought control. Each method gathered nearly an equal number of proponents.
The advocates for the mind-screen protection were pulling ahead, strictly because of the helmet’s alleged technical aspects.
Biblical links, including religious counseling, also had a small but growing group of believers who were sure their idea was the way to salvation. Fighting aliens with God's help.
“How was your show tonight?” Irwin asked, pushing his round spectacles up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger. Fine strands of thin blond hair wafted out from the sides of his head. Static electricity always seemed to surround him.
Irwin stood eye to eye with Rose at five feet, two inches and always wore a bow tie. His polyester pants and vest were usually plaid, often mismatched. Offbeat wasn’t quite off enough to describe Irwin, but he was someone she could trust, and he’d become her best friend.
“It was good,” Rose said. “The phones never stopped ringing.”
Irwin didn’t reply. He revealed a flash of his strange, crooked smile then turned his attention to the control panel.
“Since that Lebanese man developed his new mind-screen helmet, the arguments have been intense. I may have to turn Tinfoil Hat Versus the Mind Screen into a weekly show.”
Rose stood and gathered the bits and pieces; odds and ends that always appeared in her work area whenever she did her program. “Did I tell you I bought a mind-protection helmet just to see what the guy was peddling?”
“Will it protect you against aliens, do you think?” Irwin asked, his voice soft as a kitten’s purr.
“Are you kidding?” She dug through the papers on the desk, pulling one out and handing it to him.
“I assure you I did not intend to kid.” He reached for the flyer and spread it flat on the desk.
“That,” she said, pointing to the illustration, “is just a cheap bike helmet spray-painted silver with colored lights glued to the top. Flip a switch and they flash. The only protection you’d get from that contraption is if you ride your bike at night. Then it might keep you from getting hit by a car.”
“You’ll never know until you try it out,” Irwin said then he opened the storage cabinet and pulled out a spray bottle.
“I’d have to find an alien to do that, and that’s not going to happen.” She gave a very unladylike snort. “I’ll bet this inventor makes a mint.”
“Stranger things have happened, Rose,” Irwin said, his smile widening just a bit.
She returned his smile, gathering her papers, candy wrappers, water bottles and other assorted trash in an effort to de-clutter the area around the microphone.
As she moved away, Irwin spritzed the desktop and chair, disinfecting the whole area before taking her spot.
Irwin was a bit of a germaphobe.
The four vintage fountain pens he used to write notes during his show were lined up neatly next to each other, the clips all pointing to the left. The crisp yellow legal pad was parallel to the pens, its edge even with the right side of the desk.
Irwin settled in for his two to six a.m. shift. He placed his four-inch thick foam pad on the chair then climbed up and swung the microphone around until it was exactly two inches from his mouth. As he did every night, he took off his spectacles, carefully placed them in the drawer then became Randall Cunningham III.
Rose watched the transformation as he switched open the mike.
Although his feet didn’t touch the floor, he sat straight and as tall as his short stature would allow. His voice, now deep and indulgent, crept through her insides like the warmth generated by a shot of twenty-five year old Glendronach scotch.
“Welcome to Advice for the Lovelorn. I’m your host Randall Cunningham III. Our first caller tonight is Mary from Trinidad. Mary, how can I help improve your life?”
How does he do that?
Amazement filled Rose every time she watched him slip into character. He sounded tall, dark and handsome and able to help his listeners solve any problem.
Even right there in the booth, when she closed her eyes, she imagined George Clooney or Matt Damon sitting in the DJ’s chair.
Irwin was flooded with calls every night, because his audience could use their imaginations and pour their stories out to the heartthrob of their choice.
When she first began working at KTLY, she didn’t think Irwin would stay long at the little station. He'd received good offers from many major companies but turned them all down.
“I like my job. Why would I change?” he’d always said with a quick shrug. His reasoning was so simple.
She had to agree.
The area was rural, and the people were kind. She hadn’t known it at the time, but she was lucky to have found Tullyville. After her father’s suicide four years ago, she’d quit Stanford then gone in search of her grandmother. She hadn’t found Gran, but she’d found a safe place in a scary world. In the years she’d been here, she’d grown to love the town.
Rose cl
osed the door to the broadcast room and headed down the hall, stopping just inside the double glass doors serving as the entrance to the building. Once she was wrapped in her scarf and coat, she pulled on her boots then pushed her way out.
She gasped as the February wind tore the air from her lungs, and her scarf slapped her face like an angry debutante. She staggered toward the '89 Geo Metro she’d dubbed Miss Cool.
When she finally reached the relative safety of her car, she brushed her hair back from her face and sat for a moment, listening to the howling wind.
The little red car was all she could afford. Though it got her where she needed to go, it could be finicky. She rubbed her hands together, the friction warming the key in her palm. As she patted the dash, she pumped the gas pedal three times. Holding her breath, she placed the key into the ignition and . . . nothing.
“Come on Miss Cool.” Stroking the steering wheel softly, Rose pumped the gas pedal once more. When she turned the key again, the engine ground a few times then stopped. She took the key out and reinserted it, stroked the dash with her fingertips and pumped the gas pedal one more time.
“I promise you nothing but super premium for the rest of the month if you’ll just start tonight.” As she turned the key, the engine caught, and when she pumped the pedal several times, the little engine roared.
“I wouldn’t trade you for a Ferrari,” she said, her good mood coaxing her frozen lips to curl into a smile.
The statement was an out-and-out lie, but she was talking to a car so what possible difference could it make? The last thing she wanted was to be stuck in the parking lot bribing a stubborn red scrap of metal.
Of course, if the heap hadn’t started, Rose could have gone back inside and spent the time calling Irwin on the office line to get advice on her own love life, which was nonexistent. But since Miss Cool had decided to cooperate, her love life could remain imaginary, at least for tonight.
With no snow or ice on the road, Rose was driving on autopilot. She'd taken this route so many times the last few years she could drive it in her sleep.
The quarter moon threw out just enough light to outline the stately lodgepole pines that stood sentinel along the edge of the rural highway. Since hers was the only car around at two in the morning, she let her mind wander to the subject of next Monday's show, Aliens Hidden Amongst Us. She was right on top of it before she noticed the big black thing planted in the middle of the road.
“Ohhhhh, shit!” She jammed her foot on the brakes, and jerked the wheel to the left. Panic sped through her veins on ice skates as she lost control. The car slid toward the barrow pit, teetered back and forth for a split second then dropped over the edge.
Flickers of pain traveled from her neck to her brain and back as momentum pushed her up so hard her head slammed into the roof. The flickers melded into an explosion as she collapsed, her forehead bouncing off the steering wheel. The hot burn of tears stung her nose, filled her eyes then flowed down her cheeks.
She really had to start wearing her seatbelt.
Though her mind was still spinning like a helicopter rotor, the feeling of flight had ended. The car had come to a stop.
Holding her head between her hands, she took several deep breaths, groaned and tried to figure out what had happened. One minute she’d been driving along minding her own business. The next she was flying through the air like a drunken duck.
The thought of the black thing in the road caused her heart to bounce off her stomach and lodge in her throat. Some of her callers described their alien abductors as floating, just like the thing she’d seen in the road.
Buzzing rang through her head like a cheap alarm clock, and she squeezed her eyes shut in a feeble attempt to drown out the sound. She pressed her fingers into her eyes, took deep breaths and waited until the pain receded to just-below-migraine level.
Concentrating on the ignition, she managed to turn the key, but of course, Miss Cool wouldn’t start.
A tap at the side window caused her to jump. As she slowly turned her head, all she could see were two dark, shadowy blobs, floating. Floating? Sharp, prickly spots of fear wormed their way down her back as she tried to crawl from beneath the steering wheel.
The door was wrenched open, and whatever was out there drifted inside.
Through the fog that inhabited her brain, she heard words. “Easy there. I’ve got you.” She turned toward the voice, leaning away at the same time, but could only see a shadowy splotch.
She was trying to make sense of what was happening when the dome light flickered, dimmed then went out. At the same time, she felt something take hold of her hand and pull her toward the open door.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” Rose cried out as she jerked back. Breaking free, she crab-walked her butt back across the seat until she bumped into the passenger door. With her left hand, she fumbled for the door handle, with her right she felt for the ridiculous helmet she never thought she’d need.
She hadn’t believed in aliens, but then she’d never come across one before. Reality had a way of dispensing with untested doubts. Something was reaching into her car, grabbing hold of her hands. Then it hit her, and her skin turned to ice. Tentacles! With suckers!
Terrified, but determined to do everything in her power to survive, she tried to pull a sufficient amount of air into her lungs. She only succeeded in catching one single breath.
Rose swept her hand along the floor of the car, her fingers coming into contact with the rough edge of a nylon strap. Bursts of panic pulsed beneath her skin when she realized the helmet was wedged beneath the seat. Tears fell one by one from her chin.
Wrapping the strap around her hand, she jerked frantically. With one superhuman tug, it came free. Swinging the mind-protector up to her head, she fought through the fear, settling it into place. With her thumb, she flipped a switch on the side, and the bright colors lit up the interior of the car like a carnival carousel.
As she caught her reflection in the windshield, the hope she’d been holding on to disappeared. She looked like a porcupine decorated in Christmas lights, more ridiculous than frightening. She wasn’t going to scare the alien. Hell, she wouldn’t scare a girl scout.
She’d laughed at the horrible stories of abductions from little-used stretches of country lanes and of the excruciating experiments that followed. They’d happened just like this. Aliens appeared in the middle of the road, and the drivers lost control of their cars.
Though most of the stories had the cars just losing power, not crashing.
With her Novocain numb hands, she couldn’t get the damn straps on the helmet to stay hooked. She had to try. One thing was for sure. She wouldn't let any creepy aliens make her a statistic.
As she fumbled with the mind-screen’s buckles, the door opened behind her and Rose felt herself being lifted out of the car. She had to get away, to save herself. She had to escape.
Pushing with her arms, and flipping like a fish, she dropped free of the being’s grasp. Her mind said run, but her feet were on strike, and she collapsed like a well-worn rag doll. As she attempted to crawl away, a force lifted her off the ground.
Swinging her legs in desperation, one foot connected with something solid. She heard a string of angry sounds as she was pushed face first, against the car. She tried to kick again, but found her legs pinned against the metal. She punched something hard with her elbow and was twisted around to face her attacker.
The thing grabbed her upper arms and shook her. “Stop fighting me. I'm not going to hurt you.”
"That's what they all say,” Rose shrieked, “just before they abduct you.”
“Stop it!” The tone and volume of the words penetrated the static in her head, and she quit struggling. This alien spoke perfect English in a deep voice with no sign of an accent.
She focused her eyes on the way his T-shirt stretched across his muscular chest then slid her gaze up until she came to his face. She was surprised to see a very good-looking man. No not a ma
n, an alien in human form.
With dark blond hair, long black lashes surrounding his eyes and a delectably, kissable mouth, he was the personification of her make-believe boyfriend. She licked her lips and lifted one hand to touch his face before coming to her senses.
Boy, aliens had taken morphing to a whole new level. It would be easy to relax into his strong arms, but she needed to keep what senses she had left sharp.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
Rose was still in shock and shook her head. Glass shards of pain sliced into her brain. She slammed her eyes shut and sucked in a breath.
The helmet slipped to the side, and he gently lifted it off her head. Pressing it into her hands, he waited for her to open her eyes.
She peeked at her helmet and saw half the lights had burned out. “Damn, piece of shit helmet. This piece of crap is guaranteed for ten years. How am I going to make good on the guarantee if I’m abducted? Answer me that.”
“Are you dizzy?” he asked. “Can you walk?”
As she lifted her gaze to his eyes, firefly sparkles flashed across her vision. She’d forgotten he was there. She tossed the helmet to the ground. I must be out of my mind. Abducted by aliens, and I’m worrying about that piece of junk.
As she tried to answer, the words froze into little clumps of ice and melted back down her throat.
“How many fingers do you see?” he asked, holding up one hand.
“Hold them still so I can count.”
“How many?” he asked again, impatience riding on each word.
It seemed a stupid question for an alien to ask, but now was not the time to question these guys on their mathematical skills. Focusing her eyes, she counted the fingers slowly, twice then told the truth. “Seven.”
“You need to sit down while I try to get us out of here.” He carried her to a vehicle, opened the door and placed her on the seat.
“Don't take me with you. Please. I'm not a normal human. I wouldn't make a good specimen,” Rose pleaded as she stuffed her trembling hands between her knees to hide the shaking. “Really, I'll skew your results.”
Radio Rose (Change of Heart Cowboys Book 1) Page 1
