A Thousand Miles

Part 22

Shane pulled a file box from underneath the seat of the small banquette in his RV. Bright, mid-morning sunlight streamed in through the open blinds. But it did little to shed any light on what he should do next about Truman's dictate.

Go home and read your contract...

The challenge reverberated in his mind and quickened his pulse. He knew what his contract said. Didn't he? He'd read it...signed it. It obligated him to thirty-five episodes of Traveling Texas, a year's worth, from June to May. He popped open the file box lid and flipped through the contents until he found the file he was looking for. He pulled it out, grabbed the contract inside, tossed the folder to the table, and sat down. They'd aired six episodes already, and had five more in various stages of editing.

He already knew the document didn't give him a particular title. He'd agreed to come on as a co-host, but in truth, the contract only spelled out that he was employed by Overton Investments to work on the show. No official capacity was outlined.

JoLynn's contract was probably worded in the same manner. So, as long as Truman didn't fire her outright, she had no legal recourse either. She was an employee of the show, expected to serve in whatever capacity the executive producer – Truman Overton – ordered.

Shane flipped through the contract's pages looking for the subsection that mattered now. The one he knew was included, but that he couldn't remember the details of.  The one that outlined the penalty he would face for breaking it. He turned another page, and found what he was looking for.

He read the convoluted legalese, then reread it. Then, leaning forward on the small table, he expelled a long breath. He would be prohibited from writing for any production or publication that could be seen as a competing entity...for the term of the contract. Ten more months. He dragged a hand across his chin. In other words, he could neither publish, nor get paid for any articles written for travel journals in any format, which was basically all he wrote.

The pages dropped from his hand and landed on the table. It would be a financial hit for him. Though he had plenty of money left from the settlement, along with the interest it had accrued over the years, he'd only dipped into that recently to take care of his father's medical needs. They'd never used that money to support themselves. They'd lived poor until he started working. And now that the medical bills were beginning to accumulate, he needed to conserve as much of that nest egg as possible. They had no insurance to offset the cost, which was likely to be immense by the time it was all over.

He sighed and gathered the pages back up, laid them neatly on top of their folder, and placed the addendum page next to them, side by side. Maybe it wouldn't come to that. Maybe he could persuade Truman to let him finish out the contract as they were now. He and JoLynn as co-hosts, working together. Then, if another contract was offered next year, he could simply decline. And JoLynn would never need to know the meeting today between him and Truman had taken place.

He slid the file box back into its spot beneath the bench seat and stood, planting hands on hips and staring blindly out the widow. What if he couldn't convince Truman? How would JoLynn take this news if he was unable to keep it from her? She would hate him. She and Curtis and Mel...they would all think this had been the plan the whole time.

He raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, letting his gaze drift heavenward.

"Seriously, God?" He whispered.

It was going to come down to this? After everything—every loss and trauma and hardship—the best thing he had, the first chance he saw to finally settle down and become a part of something, to belong somewhere, was going to end. At best, it would end with his resignation. At worst, with JoLynn, Curtis and Mel—the first friends he'd ever had—believing he betrayed and lied to them. But either way, it was over.

And after everything else that had happened over the course of his life, God was going to knock him down once again and sit back and watch from afar while he struggled to pick himself back up.

"Seriously?" He asked again.

No answer came from heaven. No understanding. No enlightenment. But he did feel a small, niggling conviction that he had no right to question a God he had no faith in.

Why do you shake your fist in anger at Me, whose very existence you claim to doubt? Why do you blame Me for your hardships, as if I owe you an easy life, when you've never feared, loved or obeyed Me? As if what you've done is My fault?

Shane let his gaze drop to the floor.

This was his fault. Maybe he hadn't overtly lied, but that afternoon in Lampasas, he'd had the perfect opportunity to bring to light the fact that Truman had actually suggested this possibility during his interview. But he seriously thought Truman had just been talking, just blowing smoke. Shane never, for one minute, thought it would really come to this.

Even so, he had already done his research on JoLynn and formed his judgment, deciding he couldn't care less what happened to her, even relishing the thought of exacting, through her, some crazy sort of revenge on those who had wronged him so long ago. He'd been perfectly open to the idea of one day moving into her position, even though those hadn't been the terms of his employment.

But everything was different now.

He loved her, and she trusted him. This was all about to blow up in his face. And there was no way he'd be able to live with the fallout.