“Nonsense,” Lenore said, stroking her arm.
“It’s quite all right,” Catherine assured her, her lips barely moving.
“Henry would have wanted this, and Cord agreed,” Lenore added.
He did? After acting so bizarrely yesterday? She’d felt as though, despite his admission of wanting her, he was trying to keep her his secret. Well, everyone would know her now because a KSIO photographer was taking pictures and one of their cameramen was shooting video. By noon every housewife in Omaha and every bartender from New York to San Francisco would know her dress was Victor Costa, her shoes were Jimmy Choo and she wore no rings, raising speculation that she soon might be considered being made a permanent part of the family.
Keeping her gaze forward on Henry’s steel casket covered with red roses, she could almost block out the sound of the whirring and clicking of the cameras—until she saw a side door open up on the altar and the minister and Cord emerged. They settled on a pair of lavish throne-like chairs upholstered in red velvet and gold trim. Cord leaned slightly toward the minister and murmured something, then he faced the audience, but his gaze didn’t go beyond the front pew. In fact it locked on her. No emotion showed on his face, but his chest rose on a deep breath.
She returned his stare. What do you want? Why are you doing this to me?
Of course, there was not even a hint of a reply. Just when she began to feel that she couldn’t stay there, the Yarrows’ minister stood and began the service, opening with a prayer.
The choir seated above and in back sang two of Henry’s favorite hymns—“Amazing Grace” and “Abide with Me.” That was followed by the minister again, who introduced himself as Pastor Timothy Cook, the Yarrows’ spiritual friend and teacher for almost thirty years. He cited Henry’s great faith, compassion and humanity. Then Pastor Cook spoke of Henry’s love for Lenore and their great partnership. He made the attendees laugh as he recited his one problem with Henry, his insistence to keep most of his donations anonymous. “Well, I’ve finally got one over on you, old friend,” Pastor said to the casket. “Go ahead and threaten me with duct tape for saying too much now.”
He relinquished the floor to Cord, who didn’t go to the dais, either, but stood in the middle of the altar, behind the casket. He took out no notes, only unbuttoned his black suit jacket, slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and spoke as though casually conversing.
“Many of you knew Henry Yarrow only as part and parcel of all he accomplished. Some of you were on the losing side of his achievements, a few of you became thorns in his side because you bested him in business contests. He loved his friends, but he enjoyed his business enemies more.”
“Don’t I know it,” someone in the audience muttered.
The attendees laughed and some applauded.
“Once in a while you got an earful from him if you didn’t do what you said you would do,” Cord continued. “But you didn’t often get overt praise if you did—except if you were a member of the gentler sex. Grandfather used any excuse to hug a pretty lady, as my Grandmother Lenore can attest.”
As he winked at her, Lenore shook with silent laughter.
“My gramps was a man, not a saint, and he built his empire with pure enjoyment. But his intent was to leave the world a better place than he found it. He had the good fortune to have loved deeply twice. Well, three times if you count the young woman he wished had been his granddaughter. I promise you, if she had been, my job would be in jeopardy.”
This time, as people laughed, Cord looked directly at Hunter. It wasn’t his words that made her eyes burn; it was his tender expression.
“But let me tell you what most of you didn’t know about him. He was a frustrated musician. If he could have been anything other than what he was, he would have been a rock star—he would have to have been because his ego was just that large. Thankfully, he couldn’t carry a tune, his voice cracked more than Rod Stewart’s and those pudgy hands that are the one thing I’m grateful I didn’t inherit held a golf club better than guitar.
“As much as he loved toe-tapping, hip-rocking music, nothing touched his core like the purest ballads, and I’d like for us to say goodbye to him by asking Chris Healey to come up and play the song that I found in Gramps’s desk earlier this week. You’ll know it as soon as you hear it. He had a whole CD with nothing but this song playing over and over with various artists’ renditions. I think it captures the spirit of Henry Yarrow, the man I’ll spend the rest of my life thanking and trying to honor—at once a man not afraid to work hard, love completely and wrestle through his doubts. This was, he said, what life is all about. Effort from the heart and at the end of the day, praise. Ladies and gentleman, Chris Healey, accompanied by Neil Evans.”
As Cord nodded to them, two slender young men moved up the far side of the church. Dressed like any street musicians, upon taking their spot on the altar, they began Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.”
Hunter didn’t know how everyone else in the audience was reacting to the performance, but it was the most beautiful and heartbreaking rendition she’d ever heard. Her throat ached with emotion, and she stroked Lenore’s arm as the older woman wept quietly into a bundle of tissues. On Hunter’s right, even Catherine wiped her eyes and leaned closer to Charles.
She didn’t want to look at Cord for fear of what she would see, but when she gave into the need, she saw that he sat with a serene smile on his face. His eyes were undeniably full, too, but gone was the haunted look that had been dragging him close to some private hell since all this began.
And then it was over. Applause was sometimes frowned upon in a church, but there was no stopping it this time, or the cheers. People began to stir and the great church was abuzz with praise and comments. Hunter hugged Lenore, knowing she and the Riverses would be taken through a side exit to the back for the loading of the casket and ride to the cemetery.
“Come with us,” Lenore said.
“My car is here. And Tom and Fred want me to help them get some footage and do a brief recap outside for tonight’s news.”
“They’re asking too much of you. I don’t think Henry would have wanted to put you through all of that.”
“You heard Cord. He would have been a rock star. We’ll try for Texas legend and national treasure.”
Welling up again, Lenore squeezed her hands. “All right, but we’ll see you back at the house, yes? A little reception. Catherine, please help me convince her.”
“Catered,” Catherine added as though that was all that mattered. “Do come. I know Charles would enjoy having a chance to converse more, wouldn’t you, dear?”
“Pardon?” Busy people-watching, Charles focused on Hunter. “Yes. Very good to meet you, too.”
“Oh, Charles,” Catherine moaned.
Turning back to Lenore, Hunter said, “I’ll try. But I really need to get to Tom and Fred now.”
“All right, dear. I know you will do your best, and I do respect your dedication.”
Once outside, she was quickly and protectively circled by the crew. The teasing—low-key out of respect, of course—was expected.
“I thought they would stuff you into the limo like a lapdog, Legs,” Fred said.
“What’s life look like on the first row, Hunter?” Jimmy, her favorite remote cameraman, asked, waiting in the background.
“The air is thin up there, and because you’ve got hundreds of eyes zeroed in on the back of your head, the hairs on your nape keep rising like those of a nervous porcupine,” Hunter replied. “So what do you boys have in mind? Let’s try to keep this as brief and dignified as possible. I can tell straight off that our audience will prefer seeing as much of Chris and Neil’s performance as they can rather than listening to me. And if you can resist close-ups, I’d appreciate it,” she added, already reaching for her cosmetic bag to repair what damage she could.
“That was a moving performance,” Tom said in agreement as he inched closer. In her ear, he whispered, “Try not to react
, but Denny is here.”
Hunter did stiffen for a second but then continued with her repair work. “You’ve got to be kidding? What for?”
While the guys still didn’t know how personal her relationship with Denny had become, they did feel he’d dumped his on-air partnership with her faster than a gentleman should have.
“To rub your face in his success, I guess,” Fred replied.
“Now, now, good knight,” Hunter teased. “More people can find Hollywood on a map than Afghanistan.”
Fred had a few choice comments about that. “We pretty much gave him the cold shoulder and chased him off, but even with a silicone-enhanced blonde hanging on him, he’s insistent about seeing you.”
“Then let’s get this done so I can make my getaway,” she replied.
They took several moving shots of the crowd and the church, then Hunter ad-libbed a recap of the memorable service. No sooner was that done than she spotted Denny at the parking lot talking to the blonde the guys had referenced. He put her into a top-of-the-line rental car and then started back toward them.
“Okay, I’m gone, guys. Denny’s heading this way, and that’s a reunion I have no desire to participate in.”
Whatever the men said back to her was lost in her determined escape to her car. But before she reached it, she felt a hand on her wrist, and she was spun around.
“So great to see you, sweetie. You’re looking—” he whistled softly at her black sheath dress.
Hunter wouldn’t deny that he was as pretty as ever—sea-blue eyes and sun-kissed hair just mussed enough in that I-love-to-touch-me style and a spray-on tan. It was reassuring to realize that her tastes had matured, or refined. The Barbie doll in the rental could have her Ken for all she cared.
As he leaned closer to kiss her, Hunter reared back and jerked free. It wasn’t her most graceful moment, since she stumbled over gravel. Considering where they were, his behavior was already inappropriate. Add in that the woman in his rental wasn’t clearly along for cerebral inspiration, and Hunter was disgusted at his familiarity.
“Let go, Denny. Not only do I suspect your reasons for paying your respects, but we have nothing to say to each other.”
“I owe Cord,” he replied with a shrug. “And now he’s the top banana, so it’s smart to stay on his good side. From what I hear—and saw—back inside, you’re doing good yourself. Want to get together later and compare notes, maybe help each other?”
“You’re a real piece of work,” she replied. “You’re the only person I know who could bring a date to a funeral and have the nerve to hit on another woman—especially one who has a better memory about your last parting than you apparently do.” Furious, Hunter brushed by him. “You played me for a fool once. It won’t happen again.”
“Not so fast.” His smile became a sneer as he placed his hands on his hips. “You don’t want to blow me off. I’m betting that I could make life pretty difficult for you if I let it be known that KSIO’s princess wasn’t the lily-white angel everyone thinks she is.”
Although she was shaking inside, Hunter merely raised her eyebrows. “You’re threatening to blackmail me?”
“Being in the information business—”
“You make a living spreading gossip, Denny.”
His eyes grew cold. “Fine. Just think of what your new boss will say if he learns that you were once my fiancé.”
“Cord already knows. So did Mr. Henry. I told them the day Cord took over the company.”
Although the news left Denny deflated, he still blocked her way. “Wait a minute. At least smile or say something like it was good to see me again. You’ve got the KSIO watchdogs taking interest, and—okay, look, Fred is heading this way.”
With a brief, humorless laugh, Hunter replied, “And this should mean something to me because?”
“I can’t afford to have my face bashed in. It’s my paycheck.”
“Go to hell, Denny.”
Chapter Nine
Hunter was surprised to make it to her car without Denny trying to stop her again. Trembling with fury, she sped out of the parking lot without looking back. How dare he make her feel cheap and dirty? She’d given him her heart as well as her trust. Regardless of whether he’d ever really loved her, a decent person wouldn’t have tried to bank on a relationship he’d already walked away from.
Humiliated and afraid this would just morph into a bigger scene at the cemetery, she went in the opposite direction. It was the least she could do for the family.
By the time she got home, she was fighting back angry tears. “Don’t you dare!” she scolded herself in the bathroom mirror as she started to change out of her clothes. Denny didn’t deserve them. She could only hope that Cord didn’t hear anything about what had happened. But, of course, he would. Tom or Fred, or someone, would tell him. And if by some miracle they didn’t, he and his family would wonder why she wasn’t at the reception.
Call the house now while no one is home.
That’s it, she thought. There was housekeeping help, she knew. If she didn’t get the answering machine, she could give whoever a message that she had grown ill at the church and needed to go home.
A minute later, after returning to the kitchen to get her BlackBerry from her bag, she called the Yarrow estate and left the message with Inez, Lenore’s housekeeper.
Returning to the master bathroom, she finished changing into her teal-blue sleep shirt. She really did feel physically ill and knew she needed to lie down. Sleep would probably be an impossibility, but these last days and Denny’s behavior had taken their toll on her. Still shaky, she returned to the bedroom, reached for the silvery chenille throw from the gray corner chair and covered herself as she laid down on the bed. Then, as she often did when under emotional overload, she fell into a deep sleep.
It was almost dark when she woke, but thankfully the nausea had passed. In fact, she was even starting to experience a little hunger pang—no surprise, since she hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours.
Slipping off the bed, she folded the chenille throw. Once she set it on the foot of the bed, she headed for the kitchen to see what appealed in the refrigerator. Along the way, she turned on her favorite Tiffany-style lamp. The stove and microwave clocks confirmed that it was nine o’clock. The sun set around this time in the summer.
After taking a frozen container out of the freezer, she paused to open a bottle of cabernet to let it aerate. Inevitably, she thought of Cord and Lenore and everyone. The reception was probably hours over by now. No one had called here and her heart weighed heavily as she accepted that they were probably deeply disappointed in her.
About to reach for a long-stemmed wine goblet from the breakfast nook’s china hutch, she heard the doorbell. It gave her a little jolt. With visitors a rarity, and her neighbor out of town, her dread mounted. Surely Denny wouldn’t have the nerve to try to come here?
She was still barefooted, and her steps were silent on the hardwood floor as she went to the front door. There she checked the security hole. To her amazement, illuminated by the light-sensitive, front-door fixture, she saw Cord. Quickly releasing the dead bolt, she yanked open the door. He stood in his dress shirt and suit pants, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows, making it impossible to miss the bandage on his left hand and wrist.
“Oh, no!” she gasped. “What happened?” She knew the answer as soon as she asked the question. “You hit Denny. Why, Cord? That’s exactly the kind of press you don’t need.”
He’d been doing his own inspection, and after taking in her attire, his tired eyes warmed and his grim mouth curved slightly. “I can tell you out here,” he began, “but I don’t exactly want to share my view with whoever else might drive by.”
Flustered, Hunter glanced down at herself and groaned. Quickly crossing her arms over her breasts, she stepped aside. “Come in. I’ll go change,” she added as soon as she could shut the door behind him.
“Don’t you dare. Looking at yo
u makes me not think of this so much,” he said, indicating his bandaged hand.
At least he wasn’t angry with her—yet, she amended. She winced at the thick, ACE Bandage, which was clearly covering gauze, as well. “Stitches and what else?”
“Mostly stitches.”
“‘Mostly?’”
“Fifteen. The wrist is only mildly sprained. And for the record, I didn’t hit Denny. Fred beat me to him. I got this while keeping Fred from putting Denny’s pretty face into another car’s passenger window.”
Hunter momentarily touched her fingers to her mouth as she visualized the fiasco. “Fred has to have hernia surgery. He has no business getting into a fist fight with someone twenty years his junior. Is he all right?”
“He’s in better condition than I am. He’s rather proud of his black eye and swollen lip. You do inspire chivalry in some men, Ms. Harding.”
She would have to call Fred as soon as Cord left. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what? It gave me the cause I hoped for to fire Denny. He swung at Fred first.” Seeing her doubt, Cord shrugged. “Sure, ratings will nosedive temporarily, and we might lose a sponsor if they want to follow him to whoever is foolish enough to hire him, although by the time I’m through with making his reputation known, I doubt it. Even if it happens, it’ll be a small price to pay.”
This must have all happened hours ago. “Why didn’t anyone call me?”
“I told them that I was handling things where you were concerned. They understood pretty quickly that no one was to dare touch a phone or BlackBerry.”
“Oh.” Hunter mentally ran through all that could have been said. “Oh.”
As dozens of questions started to flood her mind, she looked at him with new curiosity. Belatedly, she realized that he’d changed shirts. The other would undoubtedly have blood on it. It must have been a small agony to button it, even halfway, and tuck it into his slacks as well as he did. “Did they give you something for pain? You drove yourself, didn’t you?” Too stunned when she’d seen his bandages, she’d forgotten to look. “Cord, you shouldn’t be driving. How could Phil let you? How could Lane?”
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