Daisy Wolf stood inside the crate, tail wagging, big brown eyes pleading.
The half-Lab, half-shepherd mix would be a great watchdog. Soon. An outdoor dog. Soon. For now, she was a twelve-pound puppy who, Tabitha insisted, wanted to be part of the family.
Making a slight detour, he let the dog out of her kennel, tied a rope to the collar around her neck and introduced her to her first day of work on the ranch.
* * *
NATASHA MADE HER way up to the executive conference room just in time for the meeting to begin. Unlike most of the shows filmed in the studio, Family Secrets was independently owned and run. By her. Other than her contract stipulations with the studio, she didn’t answer to anyone.
And felt a bit out of place, like a distant relative at a family dinner, for these monthly meetings. She was there to be kept apprised of all legal and practical activities as some of them pertained to her space.
And she was there to be kept apprised of the studio’s overall numbers and operations, as the success of the station had much to do with the success of her show.
She was a rare bird. Kind of like one of the studio executives, except that she had ownership in only one show.
Taking her usual seat, she was surprised when all conversation immediately ceased. All eyes turned to her.
Of the five other business executives there, one being fifty-year-old Chandler Grey, only one was female. Shelley Hale, a very young thirty, had recently inherited her seat on the board after the death of her father in a boating accident.
Natasha, in a black skirt and matching jacket, was the most professionally dressed among them. All four men looked as though they’d just stepped off the golf course.
Chandler Grey, seated across from her, smiled, folded his hands on the conference table and leaned forward. “Before we get into this month’s regular meeting, we have something to discuss with you, Natasha.”
A sick feeling crept from her toes to her forehead. There was no reason for it. She wasn’t up for contract renewal. Her show continually held the station’s highest rating spot.
She should be filled with anticipation...
And felt like she was in a medical consultation with a team of doctors who had her life in their hands.
“We’re merging with Travel America,” he said, as though telling her what they’d ordered in for lunch. She was familiar with the station, of course. Anyone who watched cable television would have been. Its format was very different from their current one. Instead of live shows, reality TV and cooking, they produced travel documentaries. All day. Every day.
“They’ve got a strong niche market, as do we, and also appear to have reached the top of their growth potential. Our last quarter’s numbers indicate that we may have, as well. The merger is designed to cross-pollinate viewership to escalate growth potential for both of us.”
Great. Fine. Possibly a sound business decision for both stations. But where did it leave Family Secrets?
“We’re going to be merging programming styles and content.” Bob Parker, the station’s CEO, took over from Chandler. As if in slow motion, Natasha’s gaze turned to Bob. In his mid-to late fifties, Bob had been the one she’d first pitched to, back when she’d been a host on a popular cooking show network and wanted to be her own boss.
He’d always been kind to her. Professionally decent.
Was that about to change?
Her mind spun, not out of control, but with options. Family Secrets was a proven success. Someone else would pick her up. Her previous network had offered more than once. But she’d have to give up her autonomy, give up some creative control.
Her stomach knotted.
“We’ll be keeping some of our best-performing shows, with changes to help them fit into the new programming style,” he continued, and she nodded. Told herself to hang on.
“Unfortunately, others that don’t fit will have to go.”
These others were owned by the station, but loved by those who starred in, hosted, wrote and produced them. Did they know, already, what she was about to be told?
“I feel certain that many of them will be picked up by other networks or independent stations...” Chandler Grey said.
Surely this wasn’t her kiss-off. Her contract ended in December, but they could buy her out.
She might lose the faith of some viewers. Or just plain lose them if they didn’t know to follow her elsewhere. She’d have to hire a PR firm. Mid-October audition shows were already scheduled across the United States. This year’s Thanksgiving Day show contest was already open, and recipe entries were flooding in more than ever before after the previous year’s huge success. The show was filmed live right there in the Palm Desert studio. Costs to change any of that could become prohibitive very quickly...
“The deal with Travel America was signed on Friday,” Bob continued.
So Chandler had known during their Saturday dinner...
And never let on.
So much for having the hots for her...
“But because of your unique position of owning the rights to your show, we waited to make an announcement until we could speak with you personally.”
Did the board know that Chandler Grey had taken her to dinner? Had it been at their behest?
Thank God she’d retained the rights to her show. The risk—and financial commitment—had been greater. But the show was hers. These guys could cancel it from their network, but they didn’t control its existence. Or its destiny.
One thing was for certain. She was not going to lose her show. Names started to line up in her mind’s eye. Heavy hitters she would call as she looked for a new home that would allow her full ownership. They’d all require a move—most to LA.
An inconvenience, but not a problem.
This was all potential inconvenience. Perhaps major inconvenience. It wasn’t life-threatening. The main thing was, the show stood in a firmly secure position within the industry. As long as that remained the case, she was good.
Bob Parker pierced her with his gaze. “The bottom line here is that we—” he glanced at the other board members around the table, all of whom were watching her and nodding “—want you to join us...”
He went on to explain how her show would fit the new format with only one change. She’d be required to film at least three of her four segments a year on location. The draw of her show’s ratings was what had helped entice Travel America. The board was willing to help offset the cost of travel so that Natasha would not be out revenue due to their change. On the other end, she stood to gain increased revenue with the potential new viewers.
Natasha heard it all. Cataloged it all. She made mental notes to share with Angela and, later, her mother.
She listened. Straight-faced. Giving away nothing.
And through it all, one thing kept running through her mind, over and over, more loudly than anything else.
They wanted her to join them. She and her show still had a home.
CHAPTER NINE
THEY MADE IT all the way to the breakfast table on Wednesday without Natasha Stevens’s name coming up. Tabitha broke the streak that morning with her announcement that it would be only two more days until Natasha’s return. She looked to Spencer for confirmation.
He shrugged, told Tabitha he didn’t know when Natasha would be back and distracted both kids with a mention of the forlorn face looking at them from behind kennel bars. Daisy Wolf couldn’t be freed until they’d finished eating.
The more time they took to eat, the less time they’d have to feed the puppy and take her out to the yard to do her after-breakfast business.
“I can’t wait for Natasha to meet Daisy,” Tabitha said then, and Spencer could have kicked himself for not stopping while he was ahead.
He explained that the televisi
on producer was going to be too busy working to meet a dog, but Tabitha just looked at him with pity. As though he didn’t understand what she seemed to know.
He was the one who understood. Far too much.
His daughter was lonely for female companionship. And was bonding with the wrong woman.
He’d known there’d come a time when he needed to get serious about finding a more permanent relationship for himself—to think about marrying again.
For Tabitha’s sake—and Justin’s, too. But also for himself. He didn’t want to grow old alone. And he knew he was going to be far choosier this time out. No more going for the attraction high, the new love adrenaline, the excitement. He’d had those and knew quite painfully what happened when the novelty wore off.
So, starting that day, he was going to get serious about finding the woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. He’d dated several fine candidates over the past couple of years. Local women who loved ranch life. Who “got” it. He just had to narrow down the field. Choose one. And invite her to the ranch to see if she got along with his kids.
By nightfall.
He could have her over for dinner that very night. That should knock talk of Natasha Stevens right off the table.
Which would get thoughts of her out of his mind, as well. Kind of difficult to forget a woman your kids kept mentioning.
He weighed options all morning as he and Bryant took a side-by-side out to rope one of his prize bulls and get him into the front pasture to impregnate the half-dozen cows who were ready. They weren’t Wagyu, but they were purebred Angus. Part of a herd that he’d raised and grain-fed since they were born.
By lunch, he’d decided on Jolene as their dinner guest. They’d been out a dozen times, at least. Line dancing, mostly. She wasn’t dating anyone, not that he knew of. They got on well together. The oldest of eight, she was used to kids, comfortable around them. Of all of the women he’d spent time with since his wife left, she was the one who consistently asked about his kids.
And who didn’t seem to be any more in love with him than he was with her.
Her job at the local farm and feed store had her well prepared for ranch life. And yet it wasn’t a job that would be horribly difficult to leave. Not like, say, being a television producer.
He shook his head as he took a big hunk out of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich he was eating while standing at his kitchen counter. Then he washed it down with half a glass of milk and took out his phone.
Jolene was in his contacts under Friends. She was pretty enough to look at, just not really his cup of tea. A year or two older than him, she was a little loud for his taste, but Lord knew he wasn’t perfect, either. She was kind.
More important, he trusted her.
He knew she’d always wanted to be married and have a family—just hadn’t ever met the right guy. Her biological clock was ticking.
And he liked slow dancing with her. They fit well.
He dialed. Invited her for dinner. Agreed that it made most sense for her to drive her truck out, rather than have him lugging his kids into town to collect her.
He set a time. And hung up. Good. He felt good. The next important step in their lives had been taken.
Satisfied, he finished his sandwich, leashed Daisy and took her back to work with him.
The afternoon was half-gone before he remembered that he hadn’t taken anything out of the freezer for dinner.
He hoped Jolene liked grilled hot dogs. They had half a pack left from Sunday that needed to be eaten.
Justin and Tabitha were always happy with grilled hot dogs.
And if this next leg of their family’s journey was going to be successful, Justin and Tabitha had to be happy.
* * *
ACCORDING TO THE VET, Lily was healthy. No worms, parasites or ear mites. She needed milk to drink. A mixture of canned and dry food, and a litter box. Natasha handled all of the details on Wednesday after work. She’d already called one of her previous interns to take care of Lily while she was gone for Saturday’s taping. She’d leave Friday morning and be home either late Saturday or early Sunday morning, depending on how long the postshow interviews went.
And how the taping itself went. Part of the deal with the rancher was that he’d appear with her at the beginning of each show to welcome the contestants to his ranch and talk about some aspect of beef raising or egg laying.
While he wasn’t an official judge, he’d also be tasting every dish at the end of each show.
He was a novice. Which could necessitate retakes Saturday night after the contestants were bused back to their hotel.
When her stomach tingled with anticipation at that thought, she quickly switched gears as she drove home with her new little girl in a crate beside her. She thought of the list of questions she and Angela had created for him to go with this first week’s competition category—vegetables you might find in a cowboy bunkhouse. All of the contestants for this show had been vetted as ones with family recipes from the ranch.
And she thought about Tabitha and Justin. Because they were safe. And sweet. And because thinking about them made her smile.
Justin’s antics. Tabitha’s discipline.
They were a hoot. Which would make good television viewing... Picking up her cell as she pulled into the garage of her luxurious and spacious condominium, she scrolled for the cell number Spencer Longfellow had given her after he’d signed the contract to lease part of his ranch to Family Secrets for six weeks. Clicked to Bluetooth, and was carrying Lily’s crate into the house, the pet-store bag filled with the kitten’s necessities over her arm, by the time she heard the first ring.
He picked up on the third.
She was breathless for a second. Because she’d been carrying in so many things at once.
“Hi, it’s Natasha,” she said, letting Lily out of her crate and grinning as the kitten pounced. And then again. In circles around herself. “Natasha Stevens,” she said into the silence that had fallen on the other end of the line. “Is this a bad time?”
“No.” How could a guy sound so good to her while also sounding as though he could have done without her interruption?
He’d taken a large sum of her money. He owed her what she’d paid him for.
“I’ve got several points to discuss with you,” she said, all business as she took his answer at face value when what she’d almost done was offer to call him in the morning.
The morning might be too late. In the morning Angela would be filling a judging slot that had come open unexpectedly due to an outbreak of head lice in the local elementary school.
“I’m listening.”
She wanted to know where he was. It was after four. The kids would be home. And were probably out running wild on the farm someplace.
Having a blast.
For them. A blast for them. Fishing in the creek and catching frogs did not sound the least bit entertaining to her.
“First, I wanted to confirm the schedule that Angela emailed to you. We’ve got from ten until noon on Friday set aside for rehearsal with you.”
“I got it.”
Angela had sent him a basic on-air fact sheet—what to wear, what not to wear. Information about the makeup team that would be on site, making sure that he looked natural under stage lights, that sort of thing.
She wondered what the twins had been up to that week. A nonessential thought.
“Do you have any questions?” she asked.
“No. There was a number to call if I did.”
His nonchalance got her dander up.
“I hope you’re taking this seriously.” Family Secrets might not mean a lot to him, but it was a million-dollar producer and...her life.
“I won’t let you down, Natasha.” His voice had changed completely. Dr
opped to an almost seductive tone. Except that there was nothing the least bit personal between the two of them. “I give you my word.”
She reminded him about the possibility of retakes on Saturday evening and tried to hear whatever was in the background of his call. Silence. That was it. No children’s shrieks or laughter.
“I have a favor to ask,” she said instead. “In the form of a business offer.” The time-sensitive portion of her call.
There was no plan. There had been no discussions with Angela, no spreadsheet entries or well-thought-out procedures. She was winging it. Which was so unlike her.
But if she didn’t ask now, it would be too late. The idea had only just occurred to her. She was the boss.
Some of her best ideas had come on the fly...
“Don’t you think we should get through our first business venture first before discussing another?” he asked.
Was that a chuckle she heard in his voice?
And a responding grin on her face? Huh?
“My proposal has to do with this current venture,” she said, taking care that the words were imbued with pure professionalism.
“What do you need?”
“Family Secrets hires different judges for each of the five weeks of competition—the four regular competition segments and the final round. We have a pool of vetted judges here locally from which we pull, offering our contestants exposure to many chefs and dining connoisseurs, and gaining them a plethora of feedback as well...”
When she heard herself sounding like a commercial, she paused. Where was her usual poise? The calm and professional demeanor she could count on in the tensest and most chaotic situations? First she was getting girlie on him. Then overboard fake.
If she hadn’t known better, she would have surmised that the cowboy made her nervous.
“Our judges are professional chefs, restaurant owners and culinary instructors. In addition, because no secret family recipe would remain a family favorite if kids didn’t like it, each week we have a juvenile judge at the table. It’s one of the traits that set us apart from every other cooking show out there.”
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