Page 26 of Cowboy

A chorus of what, are you kidding me, no way, and how could that happen rounds the table.

“Forty-two isn’t twenty-two,” I admit, shrugging to dismiss the truth as I push my salad around my plate. I’m no longer hungry for anything at this point.

“You’re still pretty. Will you get another television job?” Joey asks, her voice lowering.

“Unfortunately, talent doesn’t outweigh looks sometimes.” It’s a hard lesson to learn. “And I don’t know if I’ll go back to television. I haven’t applied anywhere. Just taking a life break.” I look up to meet Canyon’s eyes over his daughter’s head, and his chin tips as if he knows what I mean.

“You’ll get another fancy job, and then you’ll leave,” Joey mutters, and my eyes narrow at her. Did something like this happen to her? Did her mother leave for a job?

“For now, I’d like to stay.” I peer over at Bull and then drop my eyes again.

“We’re happy to have you here,” Harland says from his end of the table, and when I glance up to look at him, sincerity shows in his face. “You stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” I answer. I’m lost in my head through the remainder of the meal. Should I be looking for another job in the entertainment industry? I’ll have another mouth to feed, and I need to consider making more than the part-time wages of a coffee shop to support myself and a baby. I don’t want to rely on Bull, father or not, and as he already said, this won’t be a marriage. We’re partners, parenting together, but I’m only a houseguest until we have particulars.

Maybe I should reach out to some old friends, see what’s out there for someone older in the industry. It doesn’t need to be entertainment news. I’m a damn good reporter. With this in mind, I decide it’s time to take more steps toward a new future.

9

More Than a Job

Scarlett

The remainder of dinner turns to more family-related issues—school for Joey and the farm for the men. Later, as Bull and I walk home on a quiet, cool evening, I slip my arm into the crook of his. I imagine this is the life he would have had with his wife or any other woman he was engaged to marry. Share a meal with his family. Take a stroll down the lane. The thought reminds me Bull hasn’t told me about the other engagements rumored about him.

“Saw the wheels spinning in those pretty eyes of yours after Joey grilled you about your job. I’m sorry you lost it because of something ridiculous, and probably unlawful, like age discrimination. What happened?”

“One day, I walked into my boss’s office, full of new scoops and angles, and the next thing I know, I’m being fired because of crow’s feet and saggy breasts.”

“Your breasts don’t sag,” Bull admonishes. “And if they did, I’d volunteer to hold them up.”

I chuckle at his teasing suggestion but fall prey to the memory.

“I hate to do this to you, Red, but we’re letting you go.”

I stared at my boss, Lex Steinburg, disbelieving what he just said. “Good one, Lex. Now, Adrianne Grosse had another mishap in a donut shop, using her tongue to imitate how she’d like to take her girlfriend, and it’s making the rounds on social media that she’s secretly been having an affair with Ellen Lux, which does not make Ellen’s wife happy.”

“Red, you’re not listening to me.”

He was right. I wasn’t. “And then there’s the continued scandal of Ben Alex doing his nanny while his sweet wife raises their three children. I mean, how do you cheat on her? She’s quirky and cute, and devoted. What a dick.”

“Red—”

“And finally, I think we have some inside scoop on the royals. Mikayla Martin has really done it now.” I glance up at him from my tablet, pleased that I’ve made friends with the second cousin of the first person who once worked with the new duchess-no-longer a duchess when she had a job in a coffee shop for a few months at fifteen years old. “So, on that note—”

“Scarlett,” Lex interrupts me again. “You’re fired.”

The words were like one of those slow-motion scenes in a commercial for spilled milk, where the mom reaches for the glass too late and the child gasps, and the background sound is an elongated no.

“Ye – or – fy – err – ed.” Phonetically, the words traveled through the ear canal and stumbled across my brain, and I had no response. I just stared at the man I’ve worked with for twenty years.

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. Not the least bit of chagrin showed on his paunchy face. Over the years, the alcohol had caught up to him, and he was puffy in cheeks, chin, and jowls. He’d also lost hair giving him a landing strip down the center of his head, and no amount of combing this way or that covered the fact he was balding in the middle at forty plus.

“I was told they wanted someone younger, trendier. More perky. Those were literally his words, snapping his fingers to emphasize them.” I snap one set of mine as I explain.

Lex’s eyes dipped to my breasts. There’s nothing wrong with my breasts, I remember thinking. They’re perky . . . enough. And to prove my point, I sat up straighter, adjusting my back to thrust said breasts forward in my tight-fitting sweater. See perky. But Lex looked away.

“My boss said my airtime wasn’t getting the same ratings as it once did. To which I suggested perhaps they needed new material. People were getting tired of the scandalized bits of the rich and famous. They wanted more heart behind their celebrities. Not just the nasty parts.”