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turned off the bedside lamp and slid under the covers, momentarily unsettling Beau. Determined to stop thinking about her neighbor, she steered her mind to Sandra Powell. Maybe she’d been too quick to dismiss her. She was definitely attractive, but it seemed she hadn’t been interested in her. Oh, well, Janice would feel her out next week, whether Ellen liked it or not. If Sandra was interested, she’d find out soon.
    As Ellen drifted off, Kate’s face replaced Sandra’s. The gash was no longer there, and Kate’s lips were sensuously close to her own. Even in her dream she felt herself get wet, just as their lips connected.

CHAPTER THREE
    The harsh jangle of Kate’s bedside phone jarred her from her drug-induced sleep. Though her ears registered the sound, her brain didn’t engage for another few seconds. She was home, in her own bed, and it was almost noon. Finally aware of her surroundings she picked up the phone.
    “Hello?” Her first word of the day came out dry and broken.
    “Kate? Are you sleeping? Hey, sorry, I’ll call back later.” It was her agent. He had visited her in the hospital the day after her accident when her face had still been bandaged, and he hadn’t been back to see her. He blamed his reluctance on a deep aversion to hospitals and being out of town, but Kate knew better.
    She cleared her throat and sat up. “No, it’s okay. What’s up, Dean?”
    “Not much. I lobbed a call into the station last Wednesday to let them know I’d seen you and you were recovering rapidly, ready to get back to work and all that, right?”
    “Yeah, right.”
    Kate had received a huge bouquet of roses from the station, followed quickly by visits from both Mike and Sheila. None of her visitors had seen her without the bandage, and she had kept it that way. The only person who had seen her without it besides medical staff was her neighbor.
    The woman’s intrusion last night annoyed her. She had probably wanted her to open her door so she could stare at her wound again and had already spread the news all over town that the thing looked hideous. Kate imagined her standing before a barrage of cameras and reporters, lights flashing as she revealed all the gory details.
    “They asked me if I knew when that might be, Kate. Not that anybody’s pressuring you.” Dean backpedaled quickly. “They don’t want Bob Stelling sitting in the chair too long. They think their ratings drop a point a day while that guy stumbles around his copy.”
    “Bob reads every word from the TelePrompTer. If that thing broke down, he’d be lost.”
    “Which is why they’re asking me when you might return.
    They’re afraid a news event will break and viewers will change the channel in droves when they realize Bob can’t speak extemporaneously.”
    Kate threw the covers off and got up unsteadily. Her left leg was throbbing but she managed to hobble to the large mirror above her dresser. The disfigurement startled her—she was surprised to see it was still there—and her fingers went to it of their own accord.
    It reminded her of strip mining in an otherwise pristine landscape, a shock to the eye and a jolt to her heart. It mesmerized her.
    She knew her voice was devoid of emotion when she spoke.
    “Tell them I’ll call them as soon as I feel up to it.”
    “Uh, Monday, Tuesday…any idea when?”
    “Tomorrow, okay?” She was getting irritated again and her voice rose in pitch.
    “Okay, okay, I’ll let ’em know. They’ll be happy to hear from you.” He paused awkwardly. “Well, I’ll let you get back to sleep. I know you’re still recovering, and everyone wants you to get well soon.”
    Sure you do , Kate thought, knowing everyone was losing money by the day.
    “Oh, and uh, Kate, if you need anything, let me know.” It was an afterthought, an offer made out of obligation rather than kindness, and Kate recognized it for what it was.
    “Thanks, Dean, I’m fine.”
    “Great, just great.” She heard his relief.