A job opportunity? In Paducah? She grabbed the phone and had half of Mike’s number punched in before logic reared its head. Would it be wise to trust the man whose dumb-ass moves had caused her to be blacklisted for the past six months? He and his shady contacts ultimately caused the lawsuit that became the demise of the True Tennessee website—and her own reputation by association.
But his intentions had been good. She punched another button. He was trying to make things up to her.
Four years of eye-opening, truth-seeking public awareness of pollution in the Cumberland River brought down by an asinine lawsuit over a totally unnecessary hack job. Her stomach tightened at the memory.
But it turned completely over at the thought of many more ramen noodle suppers. The ten-cent price had made them a staple when she was growing up, but she’d always dreamed adulthood would bring better fare. And it had for a few short years. Then it was back to ramen noodles—just like Mom used to fix.
But someday her luck would change when she found that perfect shot.
The lure of landing a magazine job and splurging on a carry-out pizza won out over the anxiety of talking with Mike. She dialed the rest of his number, keeping one eye on the pot on the stove.
“Hel-lo?” he drawled.
“Hey, Mike. It’s Kyndal. Got your message.” She hurried on, trying to move the conversation directly to the point. “So, you’ve heard about a new magazine starting up?”
“Hey, Kyndal darlin’. How you been?”
“I’m still getting by. Not getting rich, but paying the bills.” Thanks to the savings she’d put away during the four
good years at True Tennessee. “A tourism magazine out of Paducah, huh?”
“Yep. Outdoor magazine about your beloved old Kentucky home.”
Her heart beat faster. Four years of Nashville had been exciting and fun, but city life wasn’t her thing, and it was way too expensive after the website went under. Dover was too far at the other end of the spectrum, though. Moving back to Paducah and Kentucky Lake…now that was a dream worth having.
“You still shootin’ brats at the five-and-dime?” His words came out slightly garbled by the cigar he inevitably kept in his mouth.
“Well, I’ve wanted to shoot a few, but so far, all I’ve done is photograph them. You still smoking those cheap-ass cigars?”
Mike’s laughed turned into a vicious cough. She waited for it to subside then launched her next tactic to get him on the subject.
“Tell me about the magazine quick before those things kill you.”
“Okay, darlin’, don’t go gittin’ your bowels in an uproar. Here’s the deal. You remember Charlie Short?”
Kyndal dredged up a memory of a squatty fellow with a bad toupee. “Yeah, I remember him.”
“The state’s contracted with him for a quarterly tourism deal showin’ the natural wonders of Kentucky. Now, while I think that means its women, the guys callin’ the shots are looking more for landscape. Seasonal photos and whatnot. I thought of you. On both accounts.”
“I’m sure you did, you old codger.” Sixty-eight years old with four divorces under his belt and a huge beer belly over it, Mike Sloan would forever be a player in his own mind. “Quit flirting and stick to business. What’s Charlie Short wanting? Anything particular I can impress him with?” She stirred the flavor powder into the noodles.
“Caves.”
She stopped stirring. Had she heard him right? “Caves?” She moved the pot away from the heat and turned off the burner.
“Yep. Apparently, Kentucky’s loaded with them. Not well-known ones like Mammoth Cave. Small caves. Ones that might have had historical significance or are just interesting in formation. Know of any you could shoot, like quick? He’s wantin’ to make a decision pretty soon. Maybe the next week or so.”
Kyndal’s chest tightened, and she took a deep breath, letting it out slow and controlled. “Yeah.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I know of one. I can go shoot it tomorrow.”
“You’re not workin’ tomorrow?”
She responded to the sadness in his voice with enthusiasm in her own. “Five to nine, Tuesday. Nine to nine, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. A forty-hour week with time left for freelance work. Or days at other Shop-a-Lots if I can find some that want me.”
Mike sighed, which led into a loud cough followed by a wheeze that probably saved her from further comments. “Here’s his email address.”
She took down the information. “Does Charlie know about…”