Promise Forever (The New Commitment Series, Book 1)

By Christine Bush

Frankie Ann is committed to covering the Garden Club news for the local newspaper. But she dreams of being an investigative reporter—until her flowery news-beat plants her into a bed of mistaken identities.

As threats to her life mound, Frankie is determined to unravel the mystery around her. So too is the new Police Chief, who's already stealing her heart.

But when the last knot is unraveled, will any reason remain to promise forever?

Previously Titled: Deadline for Danger

THE NEW COMMITMENT SERIES, in series order
Promise Forever
When Love Prevails

• Language: English
• Publisher: ePublishing Works
• Release date: Aug 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781614174196

Book preview

Promise Forever

The New Commitment Series

Book One

by

Christine Bush

Award-winning Author

Previously titled: Deadline for Danger

Published by ePublishing Works!

www.epublishingworks.com

ISBN: 978-1-61417-419-6

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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© Copyright 1993, 2013 by Christine Bush Mattera. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

Thank You.

This book is dedicated to Andrew Michael,

in the year of his birth.

May you always have laughter and love in your life.

Chapter 1

Happy Birthday, Frankie! Lookin' good!

Hey, Old Lady! Have a good one!

Frankie laughed and tossed her hand lightly in the air in acknowledgment of her coworkers' taunts as she strode quickly through the newsroom. A long sheet of computer runoff paper flapped mercilessly behind her. It was almost deadline. Her eyes scanned the print before her, mentally editing as she walked quickly to her computer terminal.

She tossed herself into her chair, grabbed the pencil that was habitually found stuck behind her ear, and started adding and deleting with one hand. The other hand flipped the switch on her computer terminal and punched in her access codes to bring up her article on the screen. The pencil went back behind her ear, her fingers flew over the keyboard, and she became immersed in the words before her. The eternal noise of the newsroom disappeared as her concentration increased. It was a miracle that occurred every time she began to write.

In a few moments, the article was done. It was accurate, it was correct, it was ready to run. It was three minutes to deadline. She pushed a few more buttons, and her piece was transmitted to her editor, ready for review, ready for production.

She flicked off the computer and stood up and stretched her tired 5'3" body with all her might. She could hear the printer whining in the editor's office a few feet away, spitting out her article with furious speed.

It's about time, Frances Ann, her uncle, Dan O'Reilly, boomed out from his office. You just about missed it this time, kid!

Wrong! O'Reilly, she yelled back. Three minutes to spare! I have never missed a deadline in my life. She grinned at the chubby man who stood in the doorway. He had red hair, the same shade as hers, and a temper to match. He was the only man, she often joked, who could call her Frances Ann and come away still able to walk!

Frances Ann O'Reilly, he continued to tease, Since it's your birthday, I thought you might make an exception. It's not every day that a person turns a quarter of a century old.

She grinned back. A quarter of a century... that's pretty old, huh?

Happy Birthday, Frankie, he smiled. And the article looks darn good.

Right. About as good as an article about the Women's Club Flower Show can be. Those prize-winning mums can be pretty darn newsworthy.... You know, she said, bringing up a familiar argument, Now that I'm a 'quarter of a century old,' some folks might consider I'm about ready for hard news reporting instead of fluff...

Easy girl, O'Reilly said with an understanding but firm look. I told you, when you're ready, I'll let you know, but for now, you write what you're assigned, and keep your nose clean. That's the way it is around here, kiddo.

I know. I just like the word 'meaningful' in my vocabulary. She plopped in her chair and stuck her feet up on the corner of the desk.

She wore a pair of jeans tucked into a pair of high brown leather boots, a white turtleneck, and a wool plaid tailored jacket. Her hair was an eye-catching shade of dark red, and there was a lot of it. When unrestrained, it fell in wild curls long below her shoulders.

But typically, today's hair style was her norm. Her unruly locks were pulled back and anchored securely at the back of her neck. Her only jewelry was a pair of gold hoop earrings, and her freckled face was makeup-free. Her looks matched her personality, her coworkers had often remarked. She had a style of her own, was up front, and open, and ready to work like the devil himself.

Frankie had come to the paper over three long years ago, since graduating from Penn State University with a major in Communications and Journalism. With an uncle as an editor, the staff had originally been hesitant about her abilities, the undercurrent of rumor overshadowing her talents. But with a job as a journalist, a person simply can't hide their strengths and weaknesses, and within a very short time, Frankie Ann had established herself as a vital part of the daily suburban paper reporting team.

Uncle Dan O'Reilly, though her favorite relative in the world, had proved by hiring her that he deserved his 30-year reputation as a respected editor in the newspaper industry. He hired for talent, only talent, and he didn't much care whether that talent came packaged as young or old, as black or white, or as man or woman.

But he was tough, he demanded a lot from his staff. He demanded constant professionalism, an ability to organize and produce great material on a demanding deadline, and a direct willingness of his reporters to write the stories that they were assigned without moodiness or elitism.

A good reporter can report about anything! was his often heard retort. "The last thing we need around here is a bunch of princesses who want to tell me what they want to write!"

"There is no room for an attitude on this paper!"

Dan O'Reilly also believed strongly that there was absolutely no substitution for experience, and he demanded that his reporters go through the paces with the paper, learning step-by-step the type of articles that make up a suburban newspaper.

And that was where Dan O'Reilly and his favorite younger brother's daughter, Frances Ann, tended to lock horns.

Frankie had had newsprint in her bloodstream almost since birth. Her father had been a newspaper man like her uncle, until his untimely death in a car accident that had killed both him and Frankie's mother. She had been left an orphan, and in her uncle's care since the age of 12.

Even during her early school years, she could be found pounding an old portable typewriter in her classroom, writing and reporting her school news. Through the years of adjusting to the death of her parents, and her exposure to life with her news-oriented uncle, her interest and involvement in journalism continued to grow.

After high school, her decision to major in Communications and Journalism was an easy one. Her decision to work at the Daily Reporter in her home town had not been an easy one, however. With her uncle at the helm, she knew precisely what to expect as she joined the news team. She knew she'd work hard, and she didn't mind that a bit. But she knew that she would cut her teeth on articles such as the one she had just transmitted; human interest news about daily life in a small town.

She didn't disagree with O'Reilly's philosophy, she knew she had learned a lot about interviewing, being concise and accurate, and keeping a cool head in a variety of situations. But patience was definitely not one of Frankie Ann's virtues, and she found herself cringing in frustration some days on the job as she covered local store openings, garden club events, or high school graduations.

In her mind's eye, she saw herself as the next great investigative reporter, uncovering the next Watergate, furnishing remarkable leads that led to undermining the underworld of crime. She saw herself interviewing the movers and shakers of society, making an impact with her clever questions and daring exposes.

She didn't like to envision herself in her more likely role: interviewing little blue-haired ladies from the local quilting club as they proudly presented the Bicentennial Quilt to the Town Council. But she had to bide her time. Basically she knew and accepted that.. it was just once in a while... maybe when the moon was full... that her creative and adventurous side crept up on her, and she thought she would go crazy waiting for her big chance.

So for today, she had dutifully finished the article on the garden show, and tomorrow, she would get to do a human interest interview with the new police chief who had just been appointed to his position. And so it went. Her day would come, she told herself again.

But for tonight, it was her birthday, and she was going to celebrate. Several of the reporters were taking her out to celebrate her big day, and she looked forward to having fun. Tony and Jason were younger reporters, like Frankie herself. Their relationship was a close one, but platonic at best. The two other reporters who were coming were middle-aged, Steve, whose wife was joining them for a night on the town, and Mike, who at 43 was divorced and a bit bitter about women in general. Frankie smiled at the thought of her friends.

Once they had broken past the barrier of her being the niece of their boss, they had proved themselves to be great coworkers and buddies. They accepted her unconditionally, in a profession that was mostly male, and they respected her writing, her ideas, and her values.

There was another woman reporter on the paper, who was older, and not particularly interested in socializing with the rather rough and tumble reporter crowd, and a part-time woman who followed and wrote about the women's sports teams in the area but was rarely around, so for the most part, Frankie Ann was the only woman in the news room.

But she could tell a joke and laugh with the best of them, she played no coy games, and had a temper like a volcano if she felt her rights or beliefs had been violated. The guys loved her, and respected her, and it was mutual.

She said goodnight to her uncle, who she knew would still be hanging around the newsroom long after the 11PM deadline, checked to see that her terminal was off and locked, and straightened up her desk. The other reporters were all doing the same. After deadline each night, the reporters would quickly get ready to leave, their articles safely routed to production where they would be typeset and ready for the presses to roll.

That's the amazing way of the newspaper industry, it never sleeps. As one crew leaves, the next department is arriving, and the cycle repeats itself day after day. Frankie loved the thought of it, she loved the deadlines and the pressure, she loved the very smell of printer's ink that permeated the building as the presses began to roll.

She waved to her friends as she finished, and they met at the door of the newsroom.

Let's go, Old Lady, they teased. Time to celebrate! She smiled at the four men. They met Steve's wife Jenny in the parking lot and climbed into Mike's well-used station wagon. They headed for a local late night restaurant and proceeded to celebrate Frankie Ann's quarter of a century with the robust energy that reporters are known for.

Chapter 2

Frankie opened her eyes with difficulty. The room seemed ablaze with light. She shut them and tried again. This time it was not so bad. She stirred and pulled herself out of bed. The clock on the small table next to her bed said 9AM. Her body disagreed. She looked again and saw the clock was right. It was time to get up.

Her memory went back to the night before, and a slow smile began to grow on her face. Her birthday. They had gone to Molly's Place, a favorite spot in town, and had whooped it up for hours. She remembered Steve and Jenny demonstrating the jitterbug, to the crowd's delight.

She remembered Mike sitting and dancing with a very sweet-looking lady he had met there, the look of distrust and resentment he often felt for women in general finally missing from his face. He had suffered alot at the breakup of his marriage, and Frankie hoped desperately that his fun evening was maybe the beginning of a new phase for him.

She remembered Jason had had too much to drink, and that Tony had pulled her up with him to the microphone when the band had asked for volunteers to sing with them. They had done some crazy version of Proud Mary and she had a vague memory of tambourines and energetic dancing, and her hair flowing free.

Oh boy, she thought, putting a hand to her head. Her hair was free, and it was a mess. She walked over to her mirror and picked up a brush, beginning to untangle the web of red unruly locks. She rarely wore her hair free, and she never (well, almost never) slept with it loose, because of the tangled mess it made. She had hated, for as long as she could remember, the sensation of having the knots brushed out of her hair. Tough little kid that she had always been, she had lived in dread of having her hair pulled, and avoided knots like crazy.

But evidently not on her 25th birthday. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Not too bad, she thought, except for the knots, of course. She began to brush her hair into some semblance of order. Her eyes were green and rather big, her nose was freckled