The Father of Her Son - By Kathleen Pickering Page 0,2
the future, he could contact the senator anytime for his opinion.
Major score as a TV anchor.
Expecting to hear cheers and congratulations from the customers in Neverland, he was immediately struck with...nothing. The big-screen television on the wall—which was always tuned to NCTV—was playing the Robin Williams version of Peter Pan instead of the usual midmorning talk show that followed Evan’s news program.
Kelly’s almost-six-year-old son Matt called to Evan from the family booth, but the boy’s eyes quickly returned to the oversize screen, enthralled with the sword battle between Robin Williams and Dustin Hoffman playing the dastardly Hook.
Bewildered, Evan headed for his seat at the counter. Proud of their renewed friendship and Evan’s success, Kelly had painted a gold star on the floor with his name stenciled on it.
Bunny greeted him first. The enthusiasm in her body language was a dead giveaway. Clearly, the manager was embarrassed his show hadn’t been viewed.
“Morning, Evan. Ready for some breakfast?”
He motioned to the television. “Didn’t you watch the interview?”
She scrunched her shoulders with discomfort. “No. Cable is down. Sorry. How did it go?”
Kelly Sullivan emerged through the kitchen doors. She stopped when his gaze, which he knew was full of questions, captured hers. She wiped her hands on the apron tied to her waste.
“Ah, himself, it is. Good morning, Evan McKenna.”
Evan chose to answer Bunny’s question, but kept his eyes on Kelly. Her agitation was not lost on him. “The interview was outstanding, Bunny. Actually, impeccable. I hammered the senator with direct questions and his answers probably launched his candidacy in the best light.”
Kelly clucked her tongue. “Lies. All of them. I’m sorry, Evan. We watched fairy tales this morning instead of more politics. Really hope you don’t mind.”
Hell, yes, he minded. He didn’t realize how much until he felt this blatant snub. He lowered his voice, not wanting the hurt to show. “You’re my friend, Kelly. I told you yesterday how much this interview meant to me. Couldn’t you have withheld your political sarcasm long enough to support me for this one important show?”
He inhaled a breath, really wanting to rant, but realized he sounded trite. He shook his head, needing to find a different tack other than personal insult. “Ratings, Kelly. You had a captive audience here. I could have used the help.”
He didn’t care that Kelly had gone pale, her mouth compressed as if her teeth might draw blood from those luscious lips. Something was very wrong. Kelly knew as well as he did that her support of NCTV was what brought the major portion of her regular clientele. Every employee at NCTV ate at Neverland at least once a week. Half the fun of eating here was watching themselves, their bosses or the celebrities they handled through the ranks appear on the big screen dominating the diner. Fans knew Neverland was the newsroom’s hot spot and the place swelled with curiosity seekers. Was she giving him a rap on the knuckles because he had asked her on a date yesterday for the seventh—or was it the eighth—time?
“Well, Your Majesty, the television cable line failed last night. I’m waiting for the repairman. The best I could do was play a DVD until he arrives.”
Now he’d been out of line. Kelly might be brash but she would never blatantly snub him. If he’d been listening instead of getting insulted, he would have heard Bunny explain the same thing.
He was an idiot. She’d always supported him from the first time they met seven years ago until his return from a seven-year assignment in Europe just four months ago. He had been thrilled to come home and find Kelly now owner of the diner where she previously worked as a waitress. She’d transformed the old dinosaur into a retro hot spot and renamed it. The fact that she was still single added to his enthusiasm.
But the true shocker had been when she introduced him to her son, Matt, of whom she was very protective and curiously tight-lipped about his origins. Her casual responses to his subtle questions never failed to intrigue him. His curiosity was always piqued by this voluptuous Irish siren who occupied more and more of his thoughts.
But something didn’t seem right. His usually bold and funny friend seemed distressed. Her hand had trembled when she pushed a copper tendril off her cheek. Had he upset her that much? He held up a stopping hand, chastened. “Kelly. I’m sorry. I didn’t understand.”