be interviewing and photographing Mr. Bannerman for his layout. He’s a hit. Readers are already clamoring online for a chance to meet him, based solely on his entry photos.”
J.J.’s heart dropped to her brightly polished toes, now sticky with cream and sugar. “Assign someone else, Donna. I’m still jet-lagged from back-to-back assignments. I haven’t had time to download the presummer fashions I took in Cancun yet.”
“Joaquin is in Miami filming Mr. July, who’s studying migrating sharks and dolphins. Our part-time photog is on maternity leave. I’d think you’d jump at the chance to check on your mom. I know you were worried that she’d have a hard time after losing your stepdad.”
“True. But honestly, Donna, after taking a closer look, Bannerman’s not all that photogenic. Let me scan our other prospects and find someone better.”
The room erupted in hoots of laughter. “What’s ‘better’?” an assistant shouted. “He’s gorgeous.”
The creative director waved the essay, silencing the staff. “Everyone on the selection committee thinks it’s so sweet, J.J. His daughter nominated him. She hopes we’ll send the check for his charity with a nice lady who might make a suitable wife for her poor, widowed dad.”
Donna broke in again. “This program has given us a huge jump in subscriptions. Almost triple compared to last year. If you write a story to capitalize on the sympathy angle, think of the publicity. Of course, we’ll have to do our best to send a reader who ends up marrying him. That will make a fantastic follow-up down the line.”
J.J. considered Donna a friend as well as a boss, but with Donna the magazine always came first, so she wasn’t surprised by the suggestion. However, the notion that she’d participate in setting Mack up with some unknown woman was appalling. J.J. knew, of course, that he had at least one child. She was only too aware he’d had that child with Faith Adams, his former girlfriend. Although they’d betrayed her, J.J. had been sorry to hear about Faith’s death.
The staff member with the essay said, “We’ll screen the candidates carefully. It’s obvious that his daughter wants her dad to fall in love and be happy again. And she’s yearning for a mother, so we’ll have to find someone nurturing. This poor kid lost her mother at birth.”
That shocked J.J., who had specifically avoided asking about Mack on her trip home. And her mother, who hadn’t wanted her to marry a rancher, would have never been the one to bring him up. However, the Mack Bannerman she’d known had been an intensely private person, and he’d be horrified to have a bunch of people mucking around in his life. Unless he’d changed.
She could still clearly recall the night thirteen years ago when she’d driven from Lubbock to Turkey Creek Ranch to tell Mack about a scholarship she’d been offered to study for her master’s in photojournalism in France. She’d hoped Mack would ask to move up their wedding date; she’d have gladly foregone Paris to be his wife. But she’d walked in on a touching scene with her fiancé consoling his sobbing former girlfriend. Faith was blubbering about being pregnant, and saying that her very religious parents would, if not kill her, make her life miserable for what they’d deem a terrible sin.
Mack had tenderly brushed away Faith’s tears, assuring her he’d speak to her father. Mack insisted Faith move to Turkey Creek straightaway. And he promised to keep her safe from her fire-and-brimstone preacher daddy.
J.J. had died a thousand deaths standing hidden from the entwined pair. She’d felt sick and humiliated to learn that Mack had gotten Faith pregnant. He and J.J. were engaged! The couple didn’t see her leave Mack’s house. She cried her heart out on the drive back to campus, but managed to harden it with help from her mother, who agreed to send back Mack’s ring. Skipping graduation, she’d grabbed the Paris opportunity and hadn’t looked back—until now.
She made one last effort to change Donna’s mind. “What can we really know about the women who enter the contest? Who would want to meet a man that way? What’s to say a winner isn’t a gold digger, or...crazy?”
Donna rolled her eyes. “You know we run background checks on the men we feature and on the readers we select to deliver the five-thousand-dollar check. And everyone signs a release.”
“Out of curiosity, what is Mack Bannerman’s charity?”
The director with the application answered. “He underwrites a steak-fry festival each year. Proceeds go to a Texas contractor who retrofits homes for disabled veterans.”
Impressed against her will, J.J. felt the last of her barricades crumble. Meeting Donna’s steady gaze, J.J. murmured, “Fine. I’ll wrap up this layout and go to Texas next week.”
As the room emptied, Donna kept J.J. behind for a minute. “If the article and photographs go smoothly, take an extra week to visit your mom. I’m going on vacation for two weeks myself. When we’re both back, I’ll help pick the reader we send to meet your Mr. Bannerman.”
“Thanks. I guess I feel extra responsible because he lives in my home territory.”
“Hmm. Is that all it is? I sensed it might be more.”
“N-no,” J.J. stuttered. “I pulled up my Texas roots a long, long time ago.”
The woman gave a crisp nod, squeezed J.J.’s arm and walked out of the room, calling to someone in the hall. J.J. was left feeling rattled. Damn it all, and damn Mack Bannerman for resurfacing from the rubble of her life and causing her to lie to a woman she admired—her boss, no less.
Resolutely but by no means happily, J.J. flew across the country a week later. While in the air she decided how to handle this inconvenience professionally. Once she landed in Lubbock, she’d rent a vehicle, drive to La Mesa and meet Mack’s daughter, as prearranged by staff. She’d ask the necessary questions to write an article, take photos of him on a horse herding cows or whatever he did during his workday. She’d spend one night in town, then go back to Lubbock and visit her mom. Afterward she’d zap straight back to New York—with her heart intact.
She had a plan, and she wasn’t prepared for it to go awry. But late that afternoon when she checked into the motel in La Mesa, her plan did just that. The clerk at the front desk handed her a phone message from Mack’s daughter, Zoey. The girl couldn’t meet J.J. as arranged, the note said, because her best friend’s mother couldn’t bring the kids to town today. The message instructed J.J. to meet the girls at the public library at ten the next day rather than going out to the ranch.
Once in her room, J.J. stared out the window at the Western town that had grown little in the time she’d been gone. She admitted to being curious about the child Mack had with Faith. She hadn’t known Faith well. It was Mack who had included the thin, pale woman in their college group. Sparing a moment to reread the message, J.J. felt a niggling suspicion that Mack might not be aware that he was going to be displayed in a high-circulation women’s magazine. But she knew the staff had sent him a release to sign, so J.J. would meet the kids, then proceed. The staff of Her Own Woman, most of them mothers, had empathy for the motherless Zoey Bannerman. It hadn’t occurred to them that anything might be amiss with the kid’s nomination of her father. And maybe nothing was. This uneasiness in J.J.’s stomach could well be her own reservations over seeing Mackenzie again.
Had she known of this delay earlier, she’d have phoned her mom and taken her to dinner. Too weary now to drive back to Lubbock, she elected to go in search of food in town before calling it a night.
Fewer than twenty minutes later, a short walk down the main street from her motel, she sat at the counter of a hole-in-the-wall café, checking her messages while awaiting delivery of her order. It was frustrating as she kept losing her signal. Purely by chance, she heard Mack’s name mentioned. A trio of rancher types in jeans and cowboy hats were discussing a year-long drought in the area that was of major concern, considering summer was just around the corner.
“If Bannerman has to sell his herd early and take a loss, he might not be able to underwrite this year’s steak-fry festival,” the man closest to J.J. said.