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“It’s true we’ve been a target of her offbeat humor, but we should feel flattered,” he said in a patronizing tone. “She says she gets a ton of calls from irate readers whenever she prints something unfavorable about us. I think that’s why she does it. She loves to be controversial.”
“You mean she loves to dig into people’s private lives,” Kristen pointed out.
“It’s all done in good humor.”
“You didn’t say that when she reported that you needed to get rid of some of your big hair.”
He automatically smoothed a hand over the side of his head. “She was right. I did have big hair when I arrived in Minneapolis. But the point is this. If KC misses the amorous anchors, the viewers do, too. They’ve come to expect that it’ll be the two of us doing the news. We’re the team they want to see. Just ask Bob.”
Kristen knew that Bob Yates as the news director had only one concern and that was ratings. If he thought another anchor could sustain those ratings, he wouldn’t care if Kristen ever returned from medical leave. The fact that Keith was over here encouraging her meant that so far Janey hadn’t done the job. That gave Kristen little comfort. Because if they were losing viewers, it meant another station was gaining them.
“You and I are like friends to many of those people who tune into Channel 12 each evening,” Keith continued. “They’re concerned about you just the way they’d be concerned for a friend who was injured. Just look at the stacks of mail over there.” He nodded toward the dining room.
Kristen knew what he said was true. In the five years she’d been at the station, she’d met many of the people who comprised their target audience. They were warm, friendly, caring members of a community she had grown to love.
“I’d like to say I could return next week, but...” She didn’t finish, knowing perfectly well that it would be a mistake to go back to work in her present condition. “I really don’t think I’m up to it.”
“You could always ease back into it. Actually, I’ve come up with a way for you to do just that.”
Suspicion began to creep into Kristen’s mind when she saw Keith’s eyes sparkling as if he had a great secret. “And what’s that?”
“I’ve talked Bob into giving me the okay to go ahead with a Profile in Courage.”
These profiles were special features the Channel 12 news team produced to highlight community members who had performed acts of extreme bravery. “So how do I fit in?”
“I want you to work with me.” He leaned forward, his face full of enthusiasm. “Guess who we’re going to profile.”
She gave him a blank look.
“Who is one of the most heroic men in the Twin Cities?”
Great. Now he was making it a guessing game. “I don’t know,” she said impatiently.
“It’s someone who’s important to both of us.”
Kristen couldn’t think of a single name.
“Tyler Brant,” he finally revealed.
“Tyler Brant?” she repeated, her heart skipping a beat. “Has he agreed to the interview?”
“Not yet, but I don’t foresee any problems in that area. Why would there be? We’re not doing an investigative report. We’re paying tribute to him. The viewers will love it!”
But would Tyler Brant? Kristen wondered. “He didn’t strike me as the kind who would want the attention.”
“Are you kidding? Every guy likes to be called a hero.”
“Maybe,” she said thoughtfully. She didn’t tell him that she had tried several times to contact Tyler only to be told he was unavailable. Even after she’d left her name and phone number, he hadn’t returned her calls.
“Not only is the man a hero,” Keith continued, “but he’s a well-respected member of the community. And there’s an added benefit. If we do a profile of the two of you, we’ll allow the viewers to see what you’ve been through the past couple of weeks and let them know that you’re on the road to recovery.”
“Wait a minute. You said this was about Tyler Brant. Why would you profile me?” she asked, uneasiness churning her stomach.
“Because he saved your life.” He looked at her as if he were telling her the sky was blue.
“I don’t want to be the subject of any show,” she stated firmly.
“Why not? You said you were upset with the inaccuracy of many of the reports on the plane crash. This would be a way to set the record straight.” He gestured toward the piles of mail in her dining room. “Just look at all those cards and letters. The viewers are worried about you. If we did a segment where we covered the crash, your hospitalization, your recuperation—”
“Stop right there,” she interrupted him, holding up both hands in protest. “You’re not thinking about bringing a crew here?”
“All we’d need are a couple of shots of you at home. We have plenty of video from the crash site. If we interviewed a few doctors and nurses at the hospital, then close with you in the newsroom, staying abreast of what’s going on, we can show the public that you’re still very much a part of the news team.”
Kristen could hardly believe what she was hearing. “You’re joking, right?”
“No. Why would I joke about your work?”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Keith, you can’t honestly think I’d want to be the subject of such a program?”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want my personal life broadcast to the world, that’s why,” she protested. “And I can’t believe you could be so insensitive as to even suggest such a thing.”
He looked like a little boy who had been told he couldn’t play baseball until after his homework was done. “It’s a news story, not an exposé,” he reminded her.
“It’s an invasion of my privacy. Do you know how many times I’ve had reporters banging on my door since it happened?”
“Because your story is news. You were heroically rescued from a plane crash that killed eight other people. You survived, Kristen. You’ve worked in this business long enough to know that your situation is exactly what interests the public.”
She knew what he said was true. And at one time she would have understood exactly why he was suggesting she be the subject of the in-depth segment. As a journalist, she was familiar with the attitude members of her profession had about the stories they were covering. After all, she herself had often stuck a microphone into the faces of grieving relatives, crime victims—people who wanted to be left alone. Now she was on the other side herself. And she didn’t like it.
“I’m not allowing anyone to come here and film my private life,” she said firmly.
“All right. You don’t need to have the camera crew come here. We’ll skip the personal angle and shoot it from a career perspective.”
“You won’t shoot it at all,” she assured him. “I mean it. I will not be the subject of any features—for you or anyone else.”
“You could have complete control over the content. Heck, you could even do the final edit,” he proposed reluctantly.
“No.”
“Will you at least think about it?”
“No.”
If there was one thing Keith was used to getting it was his own way. When he stiffened his shoulders and tightened his mouth, it was obvious that he wasn’t pleased with her refusal. Kristen discovered his handsome features weren’t so handsome when he pouted. Actually, he looked quite ugly. Funny how she’d never noticed it before.
“Obviously, this crash has affected you emotionally. Why don’t I give you time to think about it and call you later?” he suggested, rising to his feet, his hands automatically smoothing the wrinkles in his creased pants.
Kristen realized that his bringing the flowers and mail had simply been an excuse for him to come over and talk business. He hadn’t come out of concern for her but because he wanted to do the feature segment and he needed her cooperation. Not only was she disappointed in him but in the Channel 12 news team, too. They didn’t want her; they wanted her story. It was a sobering thought.
“I’m not going to change my mind, Keith,” she told him.
His expression hardened. “Now what kind of attitude is that?”
She took a deep breath in an attempt to control the emotions swirling inside her, but it didn’t help. “It’s the attitude I have, and if you weren’t so worried about how my absence is affecting your ratings you could take a moment to support me rather than try to put me through more stress.” He looked startled by her outburst.
“Maybe you should mention these emotional periods you’re having to your doctor. He could probably recommend some medication—”
“I don’t need any more medication,” she snapped. “What I need is a fiancé who understands what I’ve been through.”
“I’m trying to understand, but you won’t leave this apartment.” He sighed. “Look, would you at least think about allowing the makeup artist to come for a visit? I’m emceeing the celebrity auction for the Children’s Hospital next Saturday and I want you to be with me.”
But only if you can cover your scars. He hadn’t said the words aloud, but she knew what he was thinking. “I can’t go.”
“You won’t even consider it?”
“I don’t have the energy.”
“You might feel differently by Saturday.”
Kristen knew she wouldn’t. Come Saturday, her cheek would still be swollen and bruised. The doctor had said four to six weeks. It had only been three. But she knew that—even if her face had been fine—she wasn’t ready to face the outside world.
“Don’t count on that happening,” she said firmly.
He shook his head. “If you come with me to the door, I’ll get those other two bags of mail for you.”
She stared at him in disbelief. Did he honestly think it was easy for her to hobble around after him? If she used her crutches at all, it would be to beat him over the head, not to walk to the door so that he could hand her a couple bags of mail.
“Forget the damn mail,” she barked at him.
He didn’t say another word but quietly left. Without even kissing her forehead.
Strangely, Kristen was not disappointed.
CHAPTER TWO
“I DON’T THINK this is a good idea.”
“Just do it. Please.” Kristen sat in her usual position on the sofa with her leg propped up on the ottoman. Her best friend, Gayle Shaefer, knelt in front of the VCR, a couple of videocassettes beside her.
Before she inserted one, she asked Kristen, “Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to see someone who’s experienced in dealing with this kind of thing?”
“You think I need therapy?”
“I think talking to someone who understands what happens to a person who’s been in a plane crash is probably a better way to get on with your life rather than looking at a bunch of taped footage,” Gayle said candidly.
Kristen shook her head. “I’m not going to see any more doctors—and that includes psychiatrists, psychologists or whatever. I don’t want to talk about the crash, Gayle.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I’ve done enough of that with my mother. It’s all she ever wants to talk about when she calls.”
“She’s probably trying to sort through her own feelings. After all, she nearly lost her daughter.”
Kristen knew Gayle was right. The problem was, while talking about it may have been therapy for her mother, Kristen didn’t need any reminders of how close she had come to losing her life in the plane crash.
“I didn’t die. I have a broken leg and—” she gestured to her left cheek “—and a face that’s messed up.”
“And both will heal,” Gayle reassured her in the voice Kristen had come to rely on over the years. “You’ll go back to work and your life will be normal again.”
“Yes, well, if I’m ever getting back to work, I need to look at those tapes. So let’s see what you’ve got.”
Gayle looked as if she wanted to protest, but didn’t. “Okay, if you’re sure you’re ready for this.”
Kristen wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she needed to do something to try to make her life normal again. Ever since the accident, she’d been mired in a quagmire of emotions that were unfamiliar to her. Guilt. Self-pity. Uncertainty.
None of them made any sense. She was alive. She’d survived an ordeal in which others had died. Yes, her face had required plastic surgery, but it would heal. She should’ve been grateful and happy. Yet she wasn’t. She was this pathetic bundle of nerves.
“Let’s do it,” she told Gayle, clenching her hands in her lap.
Gayle pushed the play button. Within seconds, Kristen was shivering as images she remembered all too vividly appeared before her eyes. Gayle didn’t move but stayed in front of the VCR, ready to stop the tape should the experience become too much for her friend.
As the images continued, Kristen wondered whether she should have listened to Gayle. She watched as the camera scanned the crash site, capturing all that could be seen of the broken plane left projecting out of the water.
Kristen lost control when she saw a man’s hat floating on the water. “Oh my G—” Her hand flew to her mouth as she choked back a lump of emotion in her throat. “No wonder everyone said it was a miracle we made it out.” Then she started to weep.
Gayle popped the tape out of the VCR. “That’s enough.” She went over to the sofa and put her hand on Kristen’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you.”
“I’m o-okay,” she choked out on a sob. “R-really. Show me the other one,” she said, sniffling as she reached for a tissue.
“I will not!”
Kristen blew her nose. “Gayle, please. I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am and I have to see it. I won’t break down again. I promise. It was just the shock of seeing the plane.”
Gayle didn’t look convinced, but she finally slid the next cassette into the VCR. “Here’s the tape that came from our Hibbing affiliate.”
For Kristen, seeing the crash reported in a matter-of-fact tone by another reporter did not have the same emotional impact as the unedited footage. Although she shuddered once more at the scenes of the shattered airplane, she was able to separate her emotions from the images on the television so that she was no longer reliving the crash. Until her picture appeared on the screen.
It was one of the publicity photos the station used regularly. Next to it was a picture of Tyler Brant—the man who had saved her life. He wore a business suit and tie, his dark hair neatly trimmed, his eyes showing no emotion whatsoever. It was a typical business photo that could have been in the pages of any corporate report. There was no smile on his face.
Kristen watched the entire report, then rewound the tape with the remote until she came to the shot of Tyler Brant. She listened again as the reporter explained that Tyler had been on his way to Hibbing to check out the damage a fire had done to his electronics plant. She freeze-framed the tape.
“There he is. My hero.” She stared at him thoughtfully, trying to connect the austere-looking man in the photograph with the one who had carried her for miles in the cold, refusing to let her perish in the wilderness.
If she were to close her eyes, she thought she might be able to feel his warm breath on her cheek, hear his voice commanding her, “Stay with me, Kristen. Don’t you dare go to sleep. Do you hear me?”
His arms had had a strength that she’d needed, and even if she hadn’t just seen his picture on the screen, she still could’ve recalled every detail of his face.
