A Man of Honor Read online

  Could an ex-jock with a heart

  teach her how to love?

  To save the Charleston television station where she works, producer Brooke Montgomery must train former football star Jeremy Crockett as their new news anchor. Brooke is surprised to find herself falling for the bachelor dad—but when he sacrifices a huge story because of old loyalties, Brooke realizes their priorities are worlds apart. Will her drive to save the station mean an end to her future with Jeremy?

  “It’s a challenge,” Jeremy said. “But let’s be hopeful about the station’s future. I won’t leave you alone with this, Brooke. You can count on me.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. Her gaze caught and held his. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

  “I think I do.” He leaned forward, cupped her face with both his hands and kissed the top of her forehead, just like he kissed his kids at the bus stop. Only this was different. This gesture made his heart stop. When he drew back, he kept his hands on each side of her face. He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. Her skin was moist from the tears, but soft and silky.

  And then she leaned just slightly toward him, but it was enough for him to know that she was feeling something, too. He hoped it wasn’t just gratitude. He hoped she felt just a bit of what his senses were telling him now.

  Dear Reader,

  As the title of this book implies, this is a love story about honor, and I examined my own beliefs about honor as I wrote it. I admire Brooke, the heroine of this story, for her drive, ambition and uncomplicated ideal for her life—work hard, achieve, never give up. And then she meets Jeremy, our hero, whose dilemma comes when he must risk a successful future that directly confronts a moral question from his past. His decision isn’t an easy one: pursue fame and security or lose everything he has worked for. As the two characters in this book fall in love, they realize their ideas of right and wrong, self-gratification and self-sacrifice must be examined.

  A weighty plot? To be sure it is, especially when innocent children and a lost relative become intertwined with the main characters’ attempts to do the right thing. I hope you enjoy this journey of self-discovery. I’d love to hear your thoughts. You can contact me at [email protected].

  Thanks for reading.

  Cynthia Thomason

  A Man of Honor

  Cynthia Thomason

  Cynthia Thomason inherited her love of writing from her ancestors. Her father and grandmother both loved to write, and she aspired to continue the legacy. Cynthia studied English and journalism in college, and after a career as a high school English teacher, she began writing novels. She discovered ideas for stories while searching through antiques stores and flea markets and as an auctioneer and estate buyer. Cynthia says every cast-off item from someone’s life can ignite the idea for a plot. She writes about small towns, big hearts and happy endings that are earned and not taken for granted. And as far as the legacy is concerned, just ask her son, the magazine journalist, if he believes. You can contact Cynthia at [email protected] and cynthiathomason.net.

  Books by Cynthia Thomason

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  Twins Plus One

  Baby Makes Four

  The Cahills of North Carolina

  High Country Christmas

  Dad in Training

  High Country Cop

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  This book is dedicated to my son, John Thomason, a journalist and writer whose words always come from his heart as well as his brain. Honorable men do exist and I am proud to know one.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  EXCERPT FROM A CHILD’S GIFT BY LINDA WARREN

  CHAPTER ONE

  BROOKE MONTGOMERY CROSSED the newsroom at her usual hurried pace, grateful that none of the staff stopped her with any of the myriad of questions she answered every day. She had assignments to get to her writers before noon so the stories would be ready for the five o’clock broadcast.

  Could be worse, she thought. And usually is. Sometimes I hand my writers breaking news at four o’clock with only minutes to spare.

  She then expected them to compose literate copy before Fred Armitage, WJQC’s anchor for the last fifteen years, stared at the camera with his serious expression and said, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Once again we have news.”

  Brooke heard scuffling behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Cissy Littleton approaching her. “Brooke, wait, did you get the news about horses being mistreated out in Chandler Acres?”

  Without slowing down, Brooke waved her papers at the young production assistant, who also filled in as an occasional copy editor. “It’s here, Cissy.”

  Cissy caught up to her. “Good, because you know I love animals.”

  “You should have the material for the teleprompter in an hour,” Brooke said. “If we have time, the horse story will be on. Just read through it for mistakes, but don’t add any personal feelings about the fate of offtrack horses. We run a legitimate news program here. If I know you, you’ll make a pitch for every citizen to adopt a seven-hundred-pound animal.”

  “I’ll be good, I promise,” Cissy said. She suddenly grabbed Brooke’s elbow. “Holy cow, Brooke, do you see that man with Milt Cramer coming into the newsroom? He makes Milt look like a troll.”

  “Milt is your boss, Cissy. Nice way to speak about him.”

  “He’s your boss, too, and I’ve heard you say worse.”

  “You have not,” Brooke retorted. “Unless it was two hours into happy hour at Pickler’s.”

  “Brooke!” Milt called out to her. “Come over here. I want you to meet someone.”

  Brooke shoved the papers into Cissy’s hand. “Get these to the writers immediately.”

  “In a minute,” Cissy said. “I want to know who the mysterious stranger is, too. He looks famous, doesn’t he?”

  Brooke watched Cissy tuck the papers under her arm, then they walked over to Milt. In truth, the man’s handsome face, perfectly square jaw, sandy blond hair and minor imperfections from scars on his face did look vaguely familiar, like someone she ought to know. But wouldn’t she have remembered a guy that good-looking, who stood at least six feet three inches tall?

  “Glad I caught you, Brooke,” Milt said. “I want you to meet the greatest wide receiver the Carolina Wildcats have ever had.”

  A conversational buzz began in the newsroom and seemed to spread in all directions. All keyboard tapping stopped, and Brooke felt as though she was the center of attention. Though, of course, she wasn’t.

  Milt identified her. “This is Brooke Montgomery, our head producer.”

  Brooke wiped her hands on her navy slacks and haphazardly tucked loose strands of hair into the topknot at her crown. Her comfy shoes and falling hairstyle were typical stress factors of her day as producer of the five o’clock news.

  She took the hand the greatest receiver offered her. “Sorry, I didn’t
get your name,” she said. She didn’t follow football and had no idea who he was.

  “He doesn’t need a name,” Milt blustered. “Brooke knows who you are,” he said to the “greatest.” “She thinks her job is to check every fact.”

  She looked at Milt. “That is my job, Milt.”

  The man smiled. “I’m Jeremy Crockett,” he said, still holding her hand.

  “Saddest day of my life when he retired last season,” Milt said.

  Okay. Brooke had heard his name before. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Cissy Littleton, Brooke’s personal assistant,” Cissy said, reaching for Jeremy’s hand and forcing him to turn his attention to her. “Nice to meet you.”

  Brooke let her get away with the exaggeration. Wannabe assistant was more the truth. Milt didn’t correct her, either. He probably didn’t know what job Cissy currently had. Milt didn’t pay much attention to the staff directly under Brooke’s supervision. He just let Brooke run the tight ship she commanded on a daily basis.

  “Same here,” Milt’s idol responded to Cissy.

  “I’m showing Jeremy the station,” Milt explained.

  “Well, fine,” Brooke said. She was used to people touring the newsroom, but usually the guests were middle-school kids who didn’t get WJQC’s owner as a guide. “I hate to rush...” Brooke nodded at Cissy to get her to move to the writers’ area. “We’ve got stories to finalize and a deadline looming.”

  “Sure, I understand,” Jeremy said.

  “Brooke, I’d like to see you in my office later,” Milt said. “I expect things will have calmed down by three o’clock.”

  Unless all hell broke loose, as it often did.

  “Come up to see me then,” Milt added.

  “Okay,” Brooke said. She acknowledged Jeremy one more time. “Hope you enjoy seeing how a newsroom operates.” She walked briskly away without waiting for a response. She hoped she’d shown acceptable enough manners to excuse herself.

  Cissy trailed behind her. “Can you believe it? A Carolina Wildcats football player right here in our newsroom.”

  “Yeah, that’s something all right.” They’d reached the glass doors that separated the top writers from the rest of the newsroom mayhem. “Don’t you have something to do, like deliver those rough copies?” she asked Cissy.

  “I do, but I can’t stop looking at him. Can’t you just picture him in those tight pants football players wear? I’ll bet he looks scrumptious.”

  Brooke gave her a warning look.

  “Okay, I’m going.” Cissy grabbed the door handle, her attention still on Jeremy.

  “I’ve got to review some videos,” Brooke said after taking time for a last glimpse at the amazing Mr. Crockett. A wide receiver... Brooke thought he was a guy who caught the ball passed by the other guy—the quarterback, right? She could believe the guy was good. He had strong hands. Today, Jeremy’s legs were covered in beige khaki, so did not resemble the swoon-worthy image Cissy flipped for. But Brooke had to smile. She bet his legs did look pretty good in those tight pants.

  * * *

  AT THREE O’CLOCK Brooke waited outside of Milt’s office for his assistant to announce her presence.

  “Send her in.” Brooke heard Milt’s booming voice over the telephone. He sounded happy so she didn’t expect bad news.

  He stood when she came inside his office. “Have a seat, Brooke.” He came around his desk and leaned on the corner facing her. “How about that visit from Crockett today?” he asked her. “Made my week, I’ll tell you.”

  “Happy for you, Milt.” Brooke sat stiffly in a leather chair. “What was Jeremy doing here, if I may ask?”

  “You may, and I’m glad you did. Hold on to your stockings, Brooke. I have news.”

  Stockings? No one wore stockings anymore and certainly not in eighty-five-degree Charleston, South Carolina, in May.

  “I hired him,” Milt said.

  Brooke had to quit thinking of stockings and reorient herself to the sound of Milt’s voice. “What? You hired him? A former football player? For what position?”

  “He’s going to take over for Armitage in six weeks when the old boy retires.”

  Brooke had to concentrate to keep her jaw from dropping. Milt hired a jock to do the evening news? What credentials did he have? How much confidence would he inspire from listeners who were used to calm, collected, though sometimes dull Fred Armitage? “I’m not sure I understand,” she said.

  “Jeremy is going to deliver the evening news. Quite a change from the format we’re used to around here. But Jeremy will add life and vigor to the broadcast.”

  “Pardon me for asking, Milt, but what does Jeremy know about broadcasting the news?”

  “Nothing.” Milt hooted, no doubt at the expression on Brooke’s face. “That’s the beauty of my plan. He’s new. He’s fresh. And no one would dare call him stodgy.” Milt’s face grew serious. “I recognize one very important fact, though. He’ll need some training.”

  “I would imagine so.”

  “But we have six weeks.”

  Brooke started to speak but bit her lip. After a moment she said, “What do you mean ‘we’?”

  “That’s why I called you in here, Brooke. Who knows more about the news at WJQC than you do?”

  No one. Brooke could agree with that. Who knew more about the news than Jeremy Crockett? Almost anyone, Brooke feared. “What are you suggesting, Milt?” She held her breath.

  “I want you to train him, Brooke. Take him under your wing.”

  This was not happening. Didn’t Milt watch her run track around the station on a daily basis?

  “Teach him everything from a producer’s viewpoint and skills,” Milt continued. “And then go on to camera work, voice modulation. When he’s absolutely perfect, then go into budgetary concerns, legal matters. The whole enchilada, Brooke. I want Jeremy to be a champion here, too.” Again Milt chuckled at his humor. “I’ll bet that’s something the man can understand.”

  “Milt, I don’t have the time to tutor your golden boy. I barely get my work done as it is. I’m always under pressure. There seems to be one emergency after another in the newsroom. I couldn’t possibly—”

  “Come on, Brooke. I need you to do this. We all do. The future of WJQC could depend on it.”

  “Isn’t that a bit of an exaggeration?”

  “I wish. We’re facing a financial crisis here. I haven’t told anyone because I don’t want people to panic. If you care for this station and the employees as much as I think you do—”

  “That’s not fair, Milt. Of course I care about everyone who works here.”

  Milt’s voice dropped. All humor had been sucked out of the room. “You owe me, Brooke.”

  She couldn’t help it. Her voice rose in disbelief. “I owe you?”

  “You bet you do. You owe me hours of work. It’s either that or you should consider paying the station half of your salary the last few months.”

  “What are you talking about?” Brooke worked her butt off for WJQC. Except maybe for those few times she... No. Milt couldn’t know about that. She’d kept her personal business private.

  “I’ve seen you at your desk talking on the phone. Didn’t sound like WJQC conversation to me. In fact, I walk by and you immediately hang up. I caught you doing personal internet stuff during WJQC time. You can’t think I haven’t seen your computer screen in the middle of the day while you’re looking up names and dates. Heck, Brooke, you’ve even been canvasing prison records. I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t want to know, but one thing’s for sure. You owe me for time and dollars lost while your mind hasn’t been on your work.”

  Brooke couldn’t argue with the truth. But she could plead the obvious. “Has my work suffered?”

  “If you mean has the news gone on at five o’clock every day, then yes,
it has. Was it the best you could offer our listening audience, then who knows?” Milt crossed his arms, clearly frustrated. “You can’t deny the simple truth that our ratings have dropped. Other stations are getting the jump on us with breaking news. Advertisers have gone elsewhere in alarming numbers. At first I thought it was all Armitage’s fault, but he just reads what you put on the prompter. So whose fault is it really?”

  “Milt, you know that a newscast is a combination of many facets. I’m just one. Besides, I didn’t know our stats were so shaky.”

  “Now you do, and so does the board of directors. It won’t be long until the lowliest employee is aware of the situation around here. My butt’s been in the fire lately, and major changes are needed.”

  “But isn’t hiring an ex-jock going a bit too far?”

  Milt’s gaze was fixed on her face, almost pleading with her. “I expect you to be a team player. And right now that means joining forces with Jeremy Crockett. I truly believe that he could be the future of WJQC. He’ll add the spark we need to attract new viewers, ladies especially.” Milt managed a slight smile. “He’s single, you know. And from the way the women are drooling over him, he’s not bad on the eyes.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Brooke said. “And I never thought that putting a has-been jock on the news at dinnertime was the answer to ratings problems.”

  “He’s not a has-been. He quit the team this year for personal reasons. Otherwise he’d still be playing. And as for the ratings, I think Jeremy could be the answer to our problems.”

  “Or he could be an even bigger problem,” Brooke said.

  “Well, sure, we can’t put a buffoon on the air. Not that Jeremy is that. He’s been to college, but he’s raw. He needs training from the ground up, and you’re going to give it to him.”

  Brooke had tangled with Milt before. His bluster didn’t scare her, but this time was different. “And if I don’t?”

  “Now, Brooke, we’re getting into sticky territory. But I’ll level with you. Along with other changes I’ve been contemplating around here, your position is one of the decisions I’ve been mulling over.”