everything we can to help her get back to work as quickly as possible.”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with me, Mr. Jaxson,” Tyler said.
“I’m sure you’re aware that Kristen has a huge audience here in the Twin Cities—an audience that’s very concerned about how she’s doing. Because they’re so interested, we’d like to do a special report to show just how hard Kristen’s working to recover from the plane crash. What she’s been through is remarkable and the public ought to see just what a strong, determined lady she is.”
“That’s all fine, but I still don’t see what it has to do with me.”
“Why, you’re the reason she’s here to tell her story. It wouldn’t be complete if we didn’t include an interview with the man who saved her life.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Tyler stated in no uncertain terms.
“It wouldn’t have to be a long interview, just a brief visit to either your home or office—”
“No.” Tyler cut him off before he could finish.
“You’re a hero, Mr. Brant,” Jaxson reminded him.
“No, I’m a man who works long hours so I can come home to some peace and quiet and not have to worry about the media invading my privacy.”
That silenced Jaxson momentarily. “I apologize for disturbing you. I had hoped that you would want to say a few words about the remarkable courage Kristen has shown, but I see that I was wrong.”
“Yes, you were, Mr. Jaxson. And I would appreciate not being contacted again by your station. I have nothing to say on the subject of the plane crash,” he said with a note of finality that nobody could mistake.
As soon as he’d hung up, Tyler could see that his mother was upset. However, she didn’t say anything to him but went about the business of clearing away the dinner dishes, her mouth tightly set in a grim expression of disapproval. She disappeared into the kitchen only to return a few minutes later. She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a fistful of papers.
“What’s this?” he asked as she dumped the pile in front of him.
“The messages that were on the answering machine when I got home today. Someone from Channel 12 was trying to get ahold of you. I didn’t realize it was Keith Jaxson.”
Tyler didn’t say anything but glanced through the crumpled papers. They were all from Channel 12. Most from a producer named LeeAnn. All said to please call regarding Kristen Kellar.
“They just won’t leave me alone,” he complained, shaking his head in disgust. “When are they going to get it through their thick skulls that I want nothing to do with them?”
Irritation simmered inside him. Maybe if he hadn’t had such a rotten day, he might’ve simply ignored the messages and gone to bed. But he had had a bad day. And he was furious that there were people out there determined to invade what little privacy he had. So he planted a kiss on Brittany’s cheek, reached for his coat and went out to his car. It was time he put an end to this once and for all.
He was no hero.
KRISTEN WATCHED JANEY and Keith on the six o’clock news. Saw the two of them bantering the way she and Keith had bantered in what seemed like an eternity ago. It had been only four weeks, but it was the longest four weeks of Kristen’s life. Janey was a natural. She had the look, and as Kristen was painfully aware, looks were everything in television.
Janey acted as if the anchor desk were hers. So confident, so at ease. With Kristen’s job. With Kristen’s fiance. Kristen knew she should be worried. She wasn’t.
She told herself that if Janey could maintain the ratings while she was on leave, that was all that really mattered. She didn’t want her job back. At least not yet. So why did she feel like she was on the outside looking in?
Maybe Keith was right. Maybe she had had too much time to think. Maybe the only way to get back on the inside was to go back to work.
Maybe not. She tossed a pillow at the television, frustrated with her indecision. She wasn’t happy staying at home recuperating, yet she really didn’t want to return to the newsroom.
When the intercom buzzed from the lobby, she was tempted to ignore the sound. It couldn’t be Keith since he was at the station, and Gayle had a class on Wednesdays. When the buzzing persisted, she hobbled over to the intercom.
“Who is it?” she asked, her voice laced with an impatience she didn’t try to hide.
“Tyler Brant.”
Kristen gulped. Tyler Brant. The man of her dreams. The man she’d been trying to reach for weeks. The man she needed to thank.
“Come on up. I’m number 211.” She pressed the button to open the lobby door.
As she waited for him to arrive, anxiety sent a rush of adrenaline through her body. Why was he here? Did he want to talk about the crash and the impact it had had on his life? Maybe when he read her letter, he had sensed her need to thank him in person for saving her life. Could it be that he needed to talk to her as much as she needed to talk to him?
When he knocked on her door, her mouth went dry. For weeks, she had rehearsed what she would say to him. Now her mind was a blank. Maybe “thank you” was all that was really necessary.
She peered through the peephole and got a shock. The person standing outside her door looked nothing like the man who had rescued her from the icy waters of the river. Gone was the thick, dark beard that had covered his jaw. There was nothing, not even a mustache, to darken the lower portion of his face.
She unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door. Her eyes met his, and she felt an instant connection. They may have spent only a few hours together, but it seemed like so much longer. She’d been right to believe that for the rest of her life she would feel linked to this man in some intangible way.
Instead of saying, “Hello, how are you?” she blurted out, “You’re okay,” as a way of greeting him, then felt ridiculous. Of course he was okay. He was better than okay. He was healthy, virile and looking strong. She needed to explain her inane remark. “In the hospital they told me you had come through everything with only a few minor injuries, but I never got to see you, so I guess I never really believed you were all right.”
He only said, “May I come in?”
His voice was stiff and formal, not at all like the way he’d talked to her after the crash. His eyes were cold and distant.
“Please.” She motioned for him to step inside. “Would you like me to take your jacket?” she asked, leaning on one of the crutches for support.
“No, I’ll keep it, thank you. I won’t be staying long.”
She shivered, wondering what had happened to the man who had talked so tenderly to her after the crash. She hobbled over to the living room. He followed.
“Have a seat,” she said, noticing how disorderly her apartment looked with the pillow and blanket on the sofa, books and magazines scattered across the coffee table, the end tables littered with glasses and
