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Daisy Adams was an enterprising twenty-six-year-old graduate student. She'd written acookbook called Bones for Bowser, and somehow,through sheer tenacity, she'd managed toturn a gimmick into a five-minute slot onWZZZ every Monday morning. She filled herairtime with dog stories and gave detailed directionson how to make homemade dog biscuits,dog soup, and dog stew. She'd becomethe darling of the morning DJs on the FM stations,who made her the brunt of their jokes, referringto her as the "Dog Lady of Snore,"hitting on a tender subject for Steve Crow andhis unfortunate luck in call letters.
A few wisps of bangs straggled over herforehead, tortoiseshell combs held her blond hair swept back from her temples, and big,loose curls tumbled in a luxuriant mass downthe back of her head and neck to an inch belowher shoulders. Her eyes were big and blue, hernose small, her mouth wide. She had a gaminequality to her face that was completely misleadingbecause there wasn't an ounce ofgamine in her personality. Her ex-boyfriendhad compared her to Attila the Hun, but mostpeople thought she was more like the humanversion of the Little Engine That Could.
At ten-fifteen Daisy swung into the newsroom.She waved hello to the anchor in the glassbooth and gave the Capitol Hill correspondent abag of experimental snacks for his beagle. Sheadjusted the strap on her oversized shoulderbag and dropped into a seat beside the editor."What happened to Frank? I heard him givingthe traffic report while I was driving in. He saida rude word and that was the last of him."
"Rear-ended a garbage truck and got buriedunder half a ton of Dumpster droppings. He'sokay except for a broken leg."
Daisy pulled a five-by-seven card from her pocketbook and glanced over a recipe for doggranola. "That's too bad. Who's doing traffic?"
"Nobody's doing traffic. Steve's offered doubleFrank's salary plus a year's supply of GirlScout cookies, but nobody'll take it."
Daisy felt her heart jump. Double Frank'ssalary! "I could do it," she said. "I need themoney."
"You need money that bad?"
She bit her lower lip to keep herself undercontrol. This was the chance of a lifetime. Shehad enormous school expenses, a big rent paymentdue, a live-in little brother who was eatingher out of house and home, and a car that dranka quart of motor oil a week. She was determinedto make it on her own. Besides her doglady job, she worked as a school crossing guard,a cab driver, a waitress on the dinner shift atRoger's Steak House, and delivered newspapers.She'd written Bones for Bowser to give herselfadditional income, but she wasn't due aroyalty check for three more months. If she tookthe traffic job, she could drop waitressing.Maybe she could even give up the newspaper route. She was doing the dissertation for herdoctorate, and she could work on it at night.
She swiveled in her seat and looked across theroom at Steve Crow. She'd always been a littlefrightened of him. With his jet-black hair, dark,piercing eyes, and slightly aquiline nose, he wasan intimidating figure. His complexion was dark,his shoulders broad, his hips narrow. The scuttlebutat the station said his father was pure-bloodNative American; his mother was Hispanic.
Nervously, Daisy waved at him with just thetips of her fingers. He scowled back and immediatelyaverted his eyes to some pressing pieceof business on his desk. She sighed. Stubborn,she thought. She'd nagged him for a month beforehe gave her the five-minute Bowser spot.She wondered what she'd have to do to get thetraffic job.
Nothing ventured nothing gained, she told herself,pushing the hair out of her eyes. She mightas well give it a try. "Excuse me," she said,knocking on Crow's open door. "I'd like to talkto you about the job of traffic reporter. I'd liketo apply for it ... just until Frank's leg is better.I wouldn't want to steal his job. Even if I was wonderful, which I'm sure I'll be, I stillwouldn't expect you to keep me on. Actually,the timing is perfect because I'll get a royaltycheck in three months and then hopefully Iwon't need so many jobs."
Steve looked beyond her, to his secretaryeavesdropping through the glass window. Hewatched Charlene mouth the word "perfect" tohim, watched her eyes fill with suppressedlaughter. He lifted an eyebrow, and she scuttledaway.
Perfectly awful, he thought. Putting DaisyAdams in the WZZZ traffic car was like committingbroadcasting suicide. The woman wascute, but her specialty was baking dog biscuits,for crying out loud. True, she received more fanmail than everyone else combined, but thatwas one of those freak things. She was entertaining.Kind of earnest and goofy all at thesame time. Unfortunately, he had no other option.He'd gone through six traffic reporters inthe past year trying to find a backup. At leastshe wouldn't be doing rush hour, he told himself.How bad could she be?
Without waiting for his reply, Daisy added, "And don't worry about my Bones for Bowserspot. I can do it on the road!"
He managed a small smile. "Terrific."
Ten minutes later they were in the ShulsterBuilding parking garage.
"Wow!" Daisy said, looking at the station'sauxiliary newscar. "It's got enough antennae toget Mars. This is going to be incredible. I thinkI'm going to like this." She cracked her knuckles,looked up into Steve Crow's face, and felt ashiver run along her spine. She wasn't a shysort of person, and she wasn't usually uncomfortablewith men . . .
Excerpted from The Rocky Road to Romance by Janet Evanovich All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
